Tonight's post is going to be a shorter one, as I have a wounded wiener dog that needs my complete love and attention. J.R.'s old back injury has been acting up for a couple of days, and he's a miserable long dog tonight. So, I'm stretched out on the floor typing this entry, and his head is resting on my arm. Poor little guy ... even with cortisone shots and pills, and a substantial dose of puppy valium (which I seriously considered sharing with him!), he is still in significant pain from his hurting back. The vet has said from the very first time his back flared up that he thinks it's an old injury ... from someone twisting him when he was young. And yes, every time I think of someone hurting him, I, well, suffice it to say that I should never ever meet the person who injured my sweet boy dog.
As I headed out for my nightly walk tonight, I was missing J.R. trotting along beside me in a big way. I soon noticed that my stride and gait seemed awkward and that I was struggling to find my pace. Not too long into my stroll, a young couple that I pass most evenings stopped me to ask where my four-legged companion was this evening. I explained to them that his back was hurting, and they said to tell him to feel better. As I made my way along my usual route, one person after another ... people who usually simply say hi or nod a casual greeting ... stopped along the trail to ask where J.R. was, and without fail, each of them said to tell him they hoped he was back on his feet real soon.
Making my way across the last bridge on the path before I turned to head across the grass and head home, my eyes filled with tears as I began to pray that God would touch J.R.'s back and make him well. I'm sure that it's more than OK with my Lord that I prayed for my dog ... after all, He's the one who brought J.R. into my life.
So tonight, and every night ... here's to you, J.R. the wiener dog. Here's to the joy that you bring not only to me, but to all those people we pass each evening as we walk. Feel better, little buddy ... people are missing you.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Don't Go There
When I was young, I used to love to venture into the woods near our home, and I quite frequently went deeper into the woods than the boundary line my mom had set forth as far enough. Each time I left the house to venture to my beloved woods, Mom would always say, "Don't go there, Terrie." She never had to say where "there" was ... I knew she meant not to go past her designated safe line in the woods. I well remember looking over my shoulder to make sure she couldn't see me pushing the limits as I scampered farther and farther into the brush that hovered beneath the towering oak trees.
I don't know why it was so appealing to me to traverse so deeply into the wooded wonderland, but once I arrived wherever I deemed far enough on a particular day, I would simply sit under a tree and read a book or write one of the countless stories that was always swirling around in my head. Perhaps I craved the danger involved in breaking the rules, the solitude offered by being surrounded by nothing but tall trees and blue sky, or the rebellious rush that pumped through my body when I was disobedient to Mom. Whatever the reason, no matter the punishment that was handed out when I returned home, the forbidden excursions continued for many years.
Looking back now, I realize that I've always had a "wild" side ... a part of me that wants to break all the rules, to go beyond the set boundaries, to rebel against others who try to tell me what to do. One would only need to look at some of the choices and decisions I've made down through the years to know that my spirit more closely resembles that of an untamed mountain lion than that of a domesticated house cat.
As I've aged, I've often been given reason to ponder this proclivity I possess for rebellion, this tendency I have to constantly think outside the box, this deep desire to refuse to do as I am told. And in this introspection, it gives me pause to consider how God must view my choices that openly and blatantly go against His will, His way, His Word. While I often view obedience, humility, submission, confession and repentance as envelopes to be pushed, He quietly and consistently says, "Follow Me."
Help me, Lord, to not only understand, but to absorb into my very soul, that when You say, "Don't go there, Terrie," You truly mean, "Don't go there." Take my spirit of rebellion and change it to a spirit that revels in You and Your truth. Take my wayward will and transform it into a will of wanting to be obedient only to You.
Take me, Lord ... all of me ... all I am ... all I have ... take me, Lord, and make me fully Yours.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Puppy Love
I am crazy about both of my dogs, Julie and J.R., as those of you who are regular readers of this blog well know. Julie was originally Brad's dog, but when he went off to college, Julie stayed home with me in lieu of striving to earn a degree at the University of Kansas. She is a yellow lab with golden eyes that speak volumes when she gazes into my ocean blues. J.R. was a rescue dog, coming to live with me last August via a short foster placement with my son Matt and daughter-in-law Becca. He is a tween-size doxie, dark brown in color with deep brown eyes that always look just a touch sad.
Julie loves me, of that I have no doubt. But J.R.? J.R. worships me in every sense of the word. I never move that he is not by my side, often licking my legs as I walk. When I sit on the couch, Julie generally lays on the floor in front of me. But J.R.? He snuggles up next to me and lays his head on my arm or leg. Julie sleeps on the bottom of my bed, stretched out lengthwise in her own space. But J.R.? He cuddles up by my head, getting as close as he possibly can to me and usually places his front paws on my hand. Julie loves me for sure. J.R. adores me beyond measure.
Sometimes I must admit that it creeps me out just a bit the way J.R. looks at me and watches me. It's almost as if he is afraid to let me out of his sight, still a bit insecure and concerned that the good life he has could disappear if he blinks or looks away for too long. Out of all the dogs I've owned down through the years, I've never had one who loved me the way J.R. does.
Last night, J.R. and I took our nightly walk late in the night due to the extreme heat and humidity that has blanketed Kansas City for the last few days. Part of our daily walking routine involves J.R. constantly looking up at me while we stroll ... he turns his head to look upward, and, I promise, he smiles at me while doing so. It was very dark by the time we hit the trail last night, and I thought to myself ... we'll see how this goes if he can't see me. Much to my amazement, J.R. still managed to give me his loving gaze simply by the light of the almost full moon. Though he couldn't see me very well, he knew that I was there by his side, right where I was supposed to be.
With each step we took last night, I became more and more aware that God was again burning a great truth into my heart. Even when I'm walking in the dark, when I can't see Him very well, He is there ... where He is supposed to be, right by my side. As J.R. and I made our turn to head home, I thanked my Lord ... over and over ... I praised Him ... over and over ... and I looked toward the heavens ... and I smiled.
Julie loves me, of that I have no doubt. But J.R.? J.R. worships me in every sense of the word. I never move that he is not by my side, often licking my legs as I walk. When I sit on the couch, Julie generally lays on the floor in front of me. But J.R.? He snuggles up next to me and lays his head on my arm or leg. Julie sleeps on the bottom of my bed, stretched out lengthwise in her own space. But J.R.? He cuddles up by my head, getting as close as he possibly can to me and usually places his front paws on my hand. Julie loves me for sure. J.R. adores me beyond measure.
Sometimes I must admit that it creeps me out just a bit the way J.R. looks at me and watches me. It's almost as if he is afraid to let me out of his sight, still a bit insecure and concerned that the good life he has could disappear if he blinks or looks away for too long. Out of all the dogs I've owned down through the years, I've never had one who loved me the way J.R. does.
Last night, J.R. and I took our nightly walk late in the night due to the extreme heat and humidity that has blanketed Kansas City for the last few days. Part of our daily walking routine involves J.R. constantly looking up at me while we stroll ... he turns his head to look upward, and, I promise, he smiles at me while doing so. It was very dark by the time we hit the trail last night, and I thought to myself ... we'll see how this goes if he can't see me. Much to my amazement, J.R. still managed to give me his loving gaze simply by the light of the almost full moon. Though he couldn't see me very well, he knew that I was there by his side, right where I was supposed to be.
With each step we took last night, I became more and more aware that God was again burning a great truth into my heart. Even when I'm walking in the dark, when I can't see Him very well, He is there ... where He is supposed to be, right by my side. As J.R. and I made our turn to head home, I thanked my Lord ... over and over ... I praised Him ... over and over ... and I looked toward the heavens ... and I smiled.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Bring It, Bradley, Bring It
All three of my children are competitive, in a big way, and they each love to win at whatever game they are playing. I well remember some pretty heated competitions when they were young, both between themselves and when they played organized sports. Of the three of them, there is no doubt that Bradley is over the top when it comes to wanting to win and loving to banter.
So today, my sweet son issued me a challenge ... with such intensity that it reminded me of a double dog dare type of challenge from when he was a little boy. Brad is very verbal, and his dare was penned over several paragraphs filled with eloquent language. I couldn't help but smile as I read his argument and defense, and found myself thinking (as I have often done concerning him down through the years) first - that Brad would make an incredible attorney, and second - that he is so very much my son.
I'm not going to share the exact nature of Brad's challenge, but suffice it to say that if you are a regular reader of this blog, you should be able to figure it out over the next few days through my posts. In fact, just to make it a little more interesting, the first 5 people to guess what Brad's challenge to me is will win a copy of my book, Lord, Help! Here Comes Mom! You can email me at terriejohnson401@hotmail.com if you want to make a guess.
It's on, Bradley, so feel free to bring it with all you've got. But I think we need to sweeten the pot a little and put some money, or food, on the table. I propose that the one of us who wins takes the other out for ... oh, say a steak dinner at Outback. And, Birdly ... may the best mom win!
P.S. Missy ... you'll need to keep him honest on this ... how's that for your promised hello in my blog?
So today, my sweet son issued me a challenge ... with such intensity that it reminded me of a double dog dare type of challenge from when he was a little boy. Brad is very verbal, and his dare was penned over several paragraphs filled with eloquent language. I couldn't help but smile as I read his argument and defense, and found myself thinking (as I have often done concerning him down through the years) first - that Brad would make an incredible attorney, and second - that he is so very much my son.
I'm not going to share the exact nature of Brad's challenge, but suffice it to say that if you are a regular reader of this blog, you should be able to figure it out over the next few days through my posts. In fact, just to make it a little more interesting, the first 5 people to guess what Brad's challenge to me is will win a copy of my book, Lord, Help! Here Comes Mom! You can email me at terriejohnson401@hotmail.com if you want to make a guess.
It's on, Bradley, so feel free to bring it with all you've got. But I think we need to sweeten the pot a little and put some money, or food, on the table. I propose that the one of us who wins takes the other out for ... oh, say a steak dinner at Outback. And, Birdly ... may the best mom win!
P.S. Missy ... you'll need to keep him honest on this ... how's that for your promised hello in my blog?
Stripping Me Bare
When I was growing up, there was always one Saturday each summer that I dreaded with everything in me ... corn freezing Saturday. On the appointed day, my dad would rise very early, wake me and tell me to get dressed and get in his truck. We would then travel a little over an hour to a farm where we would spend the next couple of hours picking 30 to 40 dozen ears of sweet corn. Looking back all these years later, I should have treasured that time with Daddy, but as a kid who wanted to do anything except pick corn, I instead whined and complained throughout the whole endeavor.
While the picking of the corn was bad enough to endure, I knew that when we returned home, the day would only get worse as it wore on. The corn then had to be shucked, cleaned, cooked a certain amount of time, some cut off of the cob, and all 30 to 40 dozen ears placed in freezer bags and carried downstairs to the freezer. Trust me ... it was a long day, usually beginning around 5 a.m. and ending around midnight. Daddy always did the shucking outside on the patio, and my niece Sharon and I would carry the corn upstairs into the kitchen. My mom and my sister would wash the corn and pass it back to Sharon and me for a very important part of the preparation process.
Now I need to interject here that my mom had a very real issue when it came to corn silks ... you know, the little stringy things between the kernels that look like a thick thread of silk. It was never enough just to wash the corn under running water or use a brush to lightly scrub away the majority of the silks. Oh, no. Mine and Sharon's job was to take wooden toothpicks and meticulously go between the rows of kernels and remove every last silk, being very careful not to puncture the tender pieces of corn. If there was even a hint of a silk on the ear of corn, Mom would pass it back to us and say, "I want it stripped bare, nothing left ... not even one little piece."
Over the last few months, my life has changed in a big way ... some of the changes have been positive, like losing a bunch of weight and establishing a walking routine. Some changes, however, have been not so much fun and on some fronts, completely unexpected and even unwelcome. And quite honestly, there have been times in the last couple of weeks when I've been pretty frustrated and angry about situations and relationships and health-related events in my life. In fact, I can't remember a time in my life when I have felt that my normally ordered, diligent ... OK, maybe the word is regimented ... life has been so out of my neat and tidy realm of personal control.
Earlier this week, after a particularly wicked blood sugar drop followed rapidly by a soaring blood sugar high, my emotions were running at breakneck speed when a friend called to check on me. My poor friend, bless her heart, got the full force of my loud and angry tirade as I ranted and raved about how much I wanted my life back ... nothing more or less ... I just wanted "me" back. When I finally finished spewing, my friend made a calm and quiet comment that God has used to bring me to my knees multiple times over the last few days.
"Perhaps God is stripping you of everything that you thought you had control over in your life ... stripping you bare, so that you want nothing but Him, so that you realize He is all you need. There was a lot of 'me' and 'I' in what you just said ... a lot of wanting to be back in control, back in charge. Maybe God is stripping you of you to prepare you for something for Him." Wise? Yes. Profound? Yes. Honest? Yes. Hard to hear? Resoundingly yes.
So, God ... here's the deal. I don't like losing control, and I sure don't like asking for help. But, truth is, I think I'm ready for You to use your toothpick, Lord, to clean away every tiny thread that shouldn't be in me ... for You to take away everything I need to let go of. Strip me bare, Lord ... strip me clean, Lord ... come in and fill me up ... leave me wanting nothing but You.
While the picking of the corn was bad enough to endure, I knew that when we returned home, the day would only get worse as it wore on. The corn then had to be shucked, cleaned, cooked a certain amount of time, some cut off of the cob, and all 30 to 40 dozen ears placed in freezer bags and carried downstairs to the freezer. Trust me ... it was a long day, usually beginning around 5 a.m. and ending around midnight. Daddy always did the shucking outside on the patio, and my niece Sharon and I would carry the corn upstairs into the kitchen. My mom and my sister would wash the corn and pass it back to Sharon and me for a very important part of the preparation process.
Now I need to interject here that my mom had a very real issue when it came to corn silks ... you know, the little stringy things between the kernels that look like a thick thread of silk. It was never enough just to wash the corn under running water or use a brush to lightly scrub away the majority of the silks. Oh, no. Mine and Sharon's job was to take wooden toothpicks and meticulously go between the rows of kernels and remove every last silk, being very careful not to puncture the tender pieces of corn. If there was even a hint of a silk on the ear of corn, Mom would pass it back to us and say, "I want it stripped bare, nothing left ... not even one little piece."
Over the last few months, my life has changed in a big way ... some of the changes have been positive, like losing a bunch of weight and establishing a walking routine. Some changes, however, have been not so much fun and on some fronts, completely unexpected and even unwelcome. And quite honestly, there have been times in the last couple of weeks when I've been pretty frustrated and angry about situations and relationships and health-related events in my life. In fact, I can't remember a time in my life when I have felt that my normally ordered, diligent ... OK, maybe the word is regimented ... life has been so out of my neat and tidy realm of personal control.
Earlier this week, after a particularly wicked blood sugar drop followed rapidly by a soaring blood sugar high, my emotions were running at breakneck speed when a friend called to check on me. My poor friend, bless her heart, got the full force of my loud and angry tirade as I ranted and raved about how much I wanted my life back ... nothing more or less ... I just wanted "me" back. When I finally finished spewing, my friend made a calm and quiet comment that God has used to bring me to my knees multiple times over the last few days.
"Perhaps God is stripping you of everything that you thought you had control over in your life ... stripping you bare, so that you want nothing but Him, so that you realize He is all you need. There was a lot of 'me' and 'I' in what you just said ... a lot of wanting to be back in control, back in charge. Maybe God is stripping you of you to prepare you for something for Him." Wise? Yes. Profound? Yes. Honest? Yes. Hard to hear? Resoundingly yes.
So, God ... here's the deal. I don't like losing control, and I sure don't like asking for help. But, truth is, I think I'm ready for You to use your toothpick, Lord, to clean away every tiny thread that shouldn't be in me ... for You to take away everything I need to let go of. Strip me bare, Lord ... strip me clean, Lord ... come in and fill me up ... leave me wanting nothing but You.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Not Finished Loving You Yet
I've decided that sleeping is overrated. Or sleeping has decided it's overrated. I'm not sure which one is more true, but either way, I don't sleep much right now. It's a good night if I sleep six hours ... and I'm not talking about sleeping six hours straight through, but six hours all night. And the odd thing is, I rarely get tired even though I'm not sleeping nearly as much as I used to.
One night last weekend during a sleepless time, I turned on the TV (which I rarely do now) and stumbled across a medical drama dealing with two young people who were engaged to be married, and both had cancer. Before I knew it, I was totally engrossed in the show and ended up spending the next hour glued to the television. Though I fully expected a happy ending to resolve the storyline, the young man died during the surgery to remove the tumor in his brain. As the show ended, I sat on my couch weeping with the young woman who was left behind to face her own uncertain future without the man she loved so dearly ... without the one that she had planned to do life together with, whatever that life may have held.
It wasn't so much the fact that the young man died, though that was very sad, that touched me on such a deeply emotional level. It was one line ... one sentence ... one set of words that moved me to the very core of my being. Before the young man was taken to surgery, he was talking with the young woman who expressed her concern over what she would do if something were to happen to him. He looked deeply into her eyes and gently touched her face and said, "I'm not going anywhere because I'm not finished loving you yet."
Those words have permeated my mind and my heart for the last few days, seared themselves into my consciousness and caused me to think deeply about the people in my own life ... people whom I love so dearly ... people whom I'm not finished loving yet. My children ... my sister and brother ... my nieces and nephews and great nieces and nephews ... my friends. And for as much as I've thought about the people who are dear to me, I've thought even more about God over the last few days ... about how He continues to work in my life, molding and shaping and humbling and breaking me ... about how grateful I am that He isn't finished loving me yet.
Tonight's prayer? That I would have a heart filled with thanks and gratitude for each new day that God gives me ... that the people I love will know I love them ... that I won't waste one more second dwelling on things I can't change ... that I will live every moment that God gives me loving Him, praising Him, focusing on Him and Him alone.
Because ... you see ... He's not finished loving me yet, and the truth is, He never will be.
One night last weekend during a sleepless time, I turned on the TV (which I rarely do now) and stumbled across a medical drama dealing with two young people who were engaged to be married, and both had cancer. Before I knew it, I was totally engrossed in the show and ended up spending the next hour glued to the television. Though I fully expected a happy ending to resolve the storyline, the young man died during the surgery to remove the tumor in his brain. As the show ended, I sat on my couch weeping with the young woman who was left behind to face her own uncertain future without the man she loved so dearly ... without the one that she had planned to do life together with, whatever that life may have held.
It wasn't so much the fact that the young man died, though that was very sad, that touched me on such a deeply emotional level. It was one line ... one sentence ... one set of words that moved me to the very core of my being. Before the young man was taken to surgery, he was talking with the young woman who expressed her concern over what she would do if something were to happen to him. He looked deeply into her eyes and gently touched her face and said, "I'm not going anywhere because I'm not finished loving you yet."
Those words have permeated my mind and my heart for the last few days, seared themselves into my consciousness and caused me to think deeply about the people in my own life ... people whom I love so dearly ... people whom I'm not finished loving yet. My children ... my sister and brother ... my nieces and nephews and great nieces and nephews ... my friends. And for as much as I've thought about the people who are dear to me, I've thought even more about God over the last few days ... about how He continues to work in my life, molding and shaping and humbling and breaking me ... about how grateful I am that He isn't finished loving me yet.
Tonight's prayer? That I would have a heart filled with thanks and gratitude for each new day that God gives me ... that the people I love will know I love them ... that I won't waste one more second dwelling on things I can't change ... that I will live every moment that God gives me loving Him, praising Him, focusing on Him and Him alone.
Because ... you see ... He's not finished loving me yet, and the truth is, He never will be.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Huge Little Blessings
This morning, I went grocery shopping with a friend and three of her children. And, I might add, the experience brought to mind some sweet memories of Walmart runs with my own three children when they were young. Though it took more time than I normally spend at Walmart on a Saturday, I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of the outing and wouldn't trade one second for the countless moments of joy I received.
As fate, or more appropriately ... God, would have it, one of my bags of groceries ended up staying in my friend's car rather than making its way into my house. And, as God would have it, when my friend and her children came to drop off said stray bag this evening, I was in the midst of yet another low blood sugar episode (which have been the rule rather than the exception for a couple of weeks now). I had cooked dinner and was struggling to get some food into my stomach to raise my sugar level to an acceptable place and curtail the shaking. My dear friend has experienced me in this condition enough times that she immediately took charge, filled my plate, helped me sit and started aiding me with my food.
As I've said before in my posts, it is very humbling to have someone else feed me, hold my drink or stick my finger to check my blood sugar when I am trembling. Let me say that again ... it is very humbling for someone who is as stubborn and independent as I have been for 50 years to be relegated to the position of opening my mouth like a child to be fed, having to drink from a straw that someone else places between my lips, or extending my hand for a needle stick and blood draw that another person must execute for me.
When I find myself in the position of needing this type of help, one set of thoughts dominates my mind and consumes my attention ... "This is so embarrassing and humiliating; I wish this would just end. I'm supposed to be the strong one, the person who takes care of my family and friends. It shouldn't be the other way around ... I shouldn't be the one who needs help." As I lifted my shaking fork to my mouth, my eyes closed in concentration, losing half the food on the way, I felt someone take the fork from my hand and place the food gently in my mouth. I opened my eyes and saw a little boy, six years old, carefully feeding his 50-year-old friend. He softly said, "Terrie, you're shaking." I then looked to my right and saw his 10-year-old sister holding a fork filled with blueberries, quietly and calmly waiting to give me a bite, smiling sweetly at me.
I wish I could say that I am totally humble and holy and that my first thought was one of gratitude and thanks. The real truth is that my first thought was, "This is what I've become ... little kids are feeding me." And then ... then I looked into these children's eyes. The care and compassion and love that I saw in their young eyes paled in comparison to what I saw in their hearts. Here were two young kids who didn't see a shaking, sick old lady ... they saw a person they loved who needed help and they stepped up to do just that. No judgment, no fear, no worry ... just pure and simple love and a strong desire to help me get better. Their older sister got in on the act, too, by retrieving my blood sugar testing kit and holding my drink to my lips.
So here I type tonight, humbled once again, but not humiliated. And my prayer? That when God sends even the smallest ministers to help me, my soul will sing with the thought, "Thank you, Lord, for these blessings ... these huge little blessings ... these young friends with such big hearts. Make me worthy, Lord, of You ... and worthy of them."
As fate, or more appropriately ... God, would have it, one of my bags of groceries ended up staying in my friend's car rather than making its way into my house. And, as God would have it, when my friend and her children came to drop off said stray bag this evening, I was in the midst of yet another low blood sugar episode (which have been the rule rather than the exception for a couple of weeks now). I had cooked dinner and was struggling to get some food into my stomach to raise my sugar level to an acceptable place and curtail the shaking. My dear friend has experienced me in this condition enough times that she immediately took charge, filled my plate, helped me sit and started aiding me with my food.
As I've said before in my posts, it is very humbling to have someone else feed me, hold my drink or stick my finger to check my blood sugar when I am trembling. Let me say that again ... it is very humbling for someone who is as stubborn and independent as I have been for 50 years to be relegated to the position of opening my mouth like a child to be fed, having to drink from a straw that someone else places between my lips, or extending my hand for a needle stick and blood draw that another person must execute for me.
When I find myself in the position of needing this type of help, one set of thoughts dominates my mind and consumes my attention ... "This is so embarrassing and humiliating; I wish this would just end. I'm supposed to be the strong one, the person who takes care of my family and friends. It shouldn't be the other way around ... I shouldn't be the one who needs help." As I lifted my shaking fork to my mouth, my eyes closed in concentration, losing half the food on the way, I felt someone take the fork from my hand and place the food gently in my mouth. I opened my eyes and saw a little boy, six years old, carefully feeding his 50-year-old friend. He softly said, "Terrie, you're shaking." I then looked to my right and saw his 10-year-old sister holding a fork filled with blueberries, quietly and calmly waiting to give me a bite, smiling sweetly at me.
I wish I could say that I am totally humble and holy and that my first thought was one of gratitude and thanks. The real truth is that my first thought was, "This is what I've become ... little kids are feeding me." And then ... then I looked into these children's eyes. The care and compassion and love that I saw in their young eyes paled in comparison to what I saw in their hearts. Here were two young kids who didn't see a shaking, sick old lady ... they saw a person they loved who needed help and they stepped up to do just that. No judgment, no fear, no worry ... just pure and simple love and a strong desire to help me get better. Their older sister got in on the act, too, by retrieving my blood sugar testing kit and holding my drink to my lips.
So here I type tonight, humbled once again, but not humiliated. And my prayer? That when God sends even the smallest ministers to help me, my soul will sing with the thought, "Thank you, Lord, for these blessings ... these huge little blessings ... these young friends with such big hearts. Make me worthy, Lord, of You ... and worthy of them."
Friday, June 18, 2010
Provision and Protection
I do not like snakes, not even a little bit. And I think that dislike comes from many, many years ago when I stepped on one as my dad and I were walking on the rocks along the edge of a creek. We were collecting stones for an art project that I had been assigned at school. It was a beautiful fall day in Tennessee ... blue skies and cool temperatures ... and I had just commented to Daddy that it was the perfect day and that we were in the perfect place.
And that's when it happened ... I stepped on a snake, and it was a most horrible experience, one that I obviously have never forgotten. As the hideous creature wound itself around my pants leg, I screamed loudly and tried desperately to shake the writhing beast off, which of course only served to make it wrap itself tighter. When Daddy saw my predicament, he came running across the rocks, calmly reached down and grabbed the snake behind its head and removed it, flinging it out into the flowing water. Daddy then gathered my sobbing and shaking body into his arms and carried me to the car, speaking words of comfort and love into my ear with every step.
After my divorce, I worked three jobs for a while until I finally landed a job as an editor that paid well enough for me to work only one job. I remember well the stuggles that were involved those first few years as a single mother to three young children. In order to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table, I worked many long hours to provide for my family. My children's needs always came before my own, and I have never regretted for one minute my decision to view life in that order. I never resented the necessary and often difficult sacrifices that were required of me to be able to care for my kids. Though at times I grew weary and I often worried about how to make ends meet, I look at my children now as young adults and know beyond the shadow of any doubt that it was worth it all.
As surely as my dad protected me on that day beside the creek, and as surely as I worked hard to provide for my children, I've come to realize that God my heavenly Father showers me with both protection and provision even when I don't ask Him to do so and most certainly when I don't deserve His tender care. Looking back, there have been countless times when He has seen the danger ahead of me ... even when I was rushing headlong into that very danger ... and carefully protected me by steering me in a different direction. There have been so many situations that I've knowingly and willingly walked into when He in His wisdom and mercy provided me a way out ... even though I had been openly disobedient in my pursuit of the wrong path.
So tonight, once again, I'm reminded that my God truly is an awesome God. Protection ... keeping me from danger ... provision ... offering me a way out ... what an awesome God indeed.
And that's when it happened ... I stepped on a snake, and it was a most horrible experience, one that I obviously have never forgotten. As the hideous creature wound itself around my pants leg, I screamed loudly and tried desperately to shake the writhing beast off, which of course only served to make it wrap itself tighter. When Daddy saw my predicament, he came running across the rocks, calmly reached down and grabbed the snake behind its head and removed it, flinging it out into the flowing water. Daddy then gathered my sobbing and shaking body into his arms and carried me to the car, speaking words of comfort and love into my ear with every step.
After my divorce, I worked three jobs for a while until I finally landed a job as an editor that paid well enough for me to work only one job. I remember well the stuggles that were involved those first few years as a single mother to three young children. In order to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table, I worked many long hours to provide for my family. My children's needs always came before my own, and I have never regretted for one minute my decision to view life in that order. I never resented the necessary and often difficult sacrifices that were required of me to be able to care for my kids. Though at times I grew weary and I often worried about how to make ends meet, I look at my children now as young adults and know beyond the shadow of any doubt that it was worth it all.
As surely as my dad protected me on that day beside the creek, and as surely as I worked hard to provide for my children, I've come to realize that God my heavenly Father showers me with both protection and provision even when I don't ask Him to do so and most certainly when I don't deserve His tender care. Looking back, there have been countless times when He has seen the danger ahead of me ... even when I was rushing headlong into that very danger ... and carefully protected me by steering me in a different direction. There have been so many situations that I've knowingly and willingly walked into when He in His wisdom and mercy provided me a way out ... even though I had been openly disobedient in my pursuit of the wrong path.
So tonight, once again, I'm reminded that my God truly is an awesome God. Protection ... keeping me from danger ... provision ... offering me a way out ... what an awesome God indeed.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Elephant Eating
When my children were young, they loved to go to the circus. Each one of them had their favorites at the circus ... Meghann loved the clowns; Matt loved the monkeys, and Brad loved the elephants. They would sit in quiet amazement as the performers and the animals displayed their talents for the crowd.
On one particular visit to the circus, we were treated to a surprise up close encounter with the elephants outside of the arena where the show was being held. As we stood near the animal handlers, I was overwhelmed by the size and stature of the massive creatures as they swung their trunks and raised first one foot and then another in response to the commands of their trainers. Seeing them from a faraway seat inside was altogether different than standing on the ground next to them and gazing up at their enormous bodies close enough that we could reach out and touch them.
A couple of days ago, something a dear friend said to me many years ago came back to me and has caused me to think about the elephants that are present in my life. She said, "You can't eat an elephant in one bite, but you can eat an elephant one bite at a time. With God, all things are possible."
How many times do I look at the issues in my life and see them as impossible or too huge to overcome? How many times do I focus on the giant sin that is present in me and think that it can never be brought under control? How many times do I think that my mind or heart can never be trained to follow God's will rather than my own?
Teach me, Lord, that with You all things are possible and that nothing is ever too big for You. Nothing too wide that You can't cross. Nothing too small for You to care about. Nothing too high for you to climb. And no one too sinful for You to love ... no one ... not even me.
On one particular visit to the circus, we were treated to a surprise up close encounter with the elephants outside of the arena where the show was being held. As we stood near the animal handlers, I was overwhelmed by the size and stature of the massive creatures as they swung their trunks and raised first one foot and then another in response to the commands of their trainers. Seeing them from a faraway seat inside was altogether different than standing on the ground next to them and gazing up at their enormous bodies close enough that we could reach out and touch them.
A couple of days ago, something a dear friend said to me many years ago came back to me and has caused me to think about the elephants that are present in my life. She said, "You can't eat an elephant in one bite, but you can eat an elephant one bite at a time. With God, all things are possible."
How many times do I look at the issues in my life and see them as impossible or too huge to overcome? How many times do I focus on the giant sin that is present in me and think that it can never be brought under control? How many times do I think that my mind or heart can never be trained to follow God's will rather than my own?
Teach me, Lord, that with You all things are possible and that nothing is ever too big for You. Nothing too wide that You can't cross. Nothing too small for You to care about. Nothing too high for you to climb. And no one too sinful for You to love ... no one ... not even me.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Running Away
More than once when I was young, I thought about running away from home. I would get angry or hurt over something (most of the time it was because I was receiving some well-deserved punishment for my less than stellar behavior), and I would pack my things and tell myself I was going to hit the road in search of greener pastures. And each time, I would get as far as the end of the driveway or the end of my street, realize that I didn't really have it so bad and turn around and head back home.
As I've aged, I recognize that the desire to pack everything up and run away when things get tough is one that has stayed with me for all of my 50 years of life. There are situations and events and circumstances that cause my mind to immediately leap to thoughts of selling out, packing up and running away. I can't explain why, but the desire to flee ... to drive until I find a place to land, to start over in a new place where no one knows me, to tell no one where I'm going ... is very strong at times. Don't get me wrong ... I have family and friends whom I love and cherish and treasure, whom I can't imagine life without. And yet, at the same time, sometimes I simply want to run away and never look back.
I'm in runaway mode right now ... wishing I could take off and go find a quiet place to hide until the storm blows over and the skies clear. A place off the beaten path of life where my weary soul can rest and begin to heal. A place by a stream that will wash and cleanse me. A place where tall pine trees tower and give shade to my aching heart. A place where majestic mountains wrap around my tired and racing mind, comforting and cradling me in their glowing warmth.
I can't help but wonder how God feels when I slip into "gotta run" gear and start looking for a way out, a different road, a less rocky path. I can't help but wonder if it hurts His heart when my trust in Him flows relentlessly into a river filled with lack of faith. I can't help but wonder if it grieves His spirit when my hope caves into hopelessness. I can't help but wonder if His soul is wounded each time I duck and cover rather than stand and fight.
Stop me from running away. No more running, Lord, just resting. Help me to stay, God ... just to stay .... every single day. Tied to You, trusting in You, standing in You.
As I've aged, I recognize that the desire to pack everything up and run away when things get tough is one that has stayed with me for all of my 50 years of life. There are situations and events and circumstances that cause my mind to immediately leap to thoughts of selling out, packing up and running away. I can't explain why, but the desire to flee ... to drive until I find a place to land, to start over in a new place where no one knows me, to tell no one where I'm going ... is very strong at times. Don't get me wrong ... I have family and friends whom I love and cherish and treasure, whom I can't imagine life without. And yet, at the same time, sometimes I simply want to run away and never look back.
I'm in runaway mode right now ... wishing I could take off and go find a quiet place to hide until the storm blows over and the skies clear. A place off the beaten path of life where my weary soul can rest and begin to heal. A place by a stream that will wash and cleanse me. A place where tall pine trees tower and give shade to my aching heart. A place where majestic mountains wrap around my tired and racing mind, comforting and cradling me in their glowing warmth.
I can't help but wonder how God feels when I slip into "gotta run" gear and start looking for a way out, a different road, a less rocky path. I can't help but wonder if it hurts His heart when my trust in Him flows relentlessly into a river filled with lack of faith. I can't help but wonder if it grieves His spirit when my hope caves into hopelessness. I can't help but wonder if His soul is wounded each time I duck and cover rather than stand and fight.
Stop me from running away. No more running, Lord, just resting. Help me to stay, God ... just to stay .... every single day. Tied to You, trusting in You, standing in You.
Monday, June 14, 2010
It Takes a Village
Over the last eight months, I've learned more than I ever wanted to know about diabetes and how to best manage my blood sugar. Well, I suppose I should say "am learning" rather than "have learned" because it's definitely a daily process. Some days are better than others ... and some days are just cruddy. And today ... well, today has been a cruddy day.
One of the biggest lessons I'm learning is how God protects me time and time again. In all the spills I've taken over the last couple of months, I haven't broken a bone or split my head open ... some bruises and scrapes, but no serious injuries. The law of averages would say that one of those falls should have done some damage, but none of them have, unless, of course, you count the broken toilet seat. And for some of the worst episodes, in His protection and care, He has placed me in locations where there were people present who know how to help me.
I need to say here that when I go into the land of really low blood sugar, I can be rather difficult to deal with. I don't think clearly and am not always willing to accept the assistance that I need. I can't begin to explain how humbling it is to have someone else stick my finger, hold my juice for me or put glucose pills in my mouth because I'm shaking so badly I can't do it myself. I can't convey how embarrassing it is for me to be at church or work and have a bad episode and not be able to control it or make myself come out of it on my own. I can't describe how helpless I feel when others gather round and won't let me drive my car because they recognize that I'm not OK.
Tonight when I got home from church (after everything that I mentioned in the last paragraph had happened to me), I opened an email that not only touched my heart, it taught me once again that God is in the nitty gritty details of my life and that He has put special people close to me to think for me when I can't, to feed me when I'm not able, to stick me when I'm shaking ... to help me when I need it most. The words of the email jumped off the page at me as they reminded me that I'm part of a new village now that I'm on this diabetes journey ... a village of people who love me and are willing to go the extra mile to ensure that I'm cared for and safe and well. I was convicted of my stubbornness, my obstinance, my desire to do it all by myself as I read.
So I'm going to stop my whining and gracefully accept the blessing of the awesome people who are my village. I'm going to trust them more, respect them more, listen to them more, love them more. And before I close my eyes tonight in sleep, I'm going to thank God for His gift of my village ... my undeserved and unimaginable village.
One of the biggest lessons I'm learning is how God protects me time and time again. In all the spills I've taken over the last couple of months, I haven't broken a bone or split my head open ... some bruises and scrapes, but no serious injuries. The law of averages would say that one of those falls should have done some damage, but none of them have, unless, of course, you count the broken toilet seat. And for some of the worst episodes, in His protection and care, He has placed me in locations where there were people present who know how to help me.
I need to say here that when I go into the land of really low blood sugar, I can be rather difficult to deal with. I don't think clearly and am not always willing to accept the assistance that I need. I can't begin to explain how humbling it is to have someone else stick my finger, hold my juice for me or put glucose pills in my mouth because I'm shaking so badly I can't do it myself. I can't convey how embarrassing it is for me to be at church or work and have a bad episode and not be able to control it or make myself come out of it on my own. I can't describe how helpless I feel when others gather round and won't let me drive my car because they recognize that I'm not OK.
Tonight when I got home from church (after everything that I mentioned in the last paragraph had happened to me), I opened an email that not only touched my heart, it taught me once again that God is in the nitty gritty details of my life and that He has put special people close to me to think for me when I can't, to feed me when I'm not able, to stick me when I'm shaking ... to help me when I need it most. The words of the email jumped off the page at me as they reminded me that I'm part of a new village now that I'm on this diabetes journey ... a village of people who love me and are willing to go the extra mile to ensure that I'm cared for and safe and well. I was convicted of my stubbornness, my obstinance, my desire to do it all by myself as I read.
So I'm going to stop my whining and gracefully accept the blessing of the awesome people who are my village. I'm going to trust them more, respect them more, listen to them more, love them more. And before I close my eyes tonight in sleep, I'm going to thank God for His gift of my village ... my undeserved and unimaginable village.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Son Walking
There is a folder in my heart labeled "Matt." And there's one labeled "Brad." And there's one labeled "Meghann." For those of you who don't know, those are my children ... Matt is the oldest, Brad is the middle child, and Meghann is the baby of the family. Becca (my daughter-in-law) is in a wedding here in Kansas City tomorrow, so she and Matt are in town for the weekend. Matt dropped Becca off at the rehearsal this evening and then came to my house around 6:00. He mowed my yard, and then he and I went for a walk ... with three wiener dogs in tow.
We walked for about 45 minutes, and Matt (who is generally not a big talker) talked the entire time we walked. He and Becca just returned from a two-week trip to China with a group of professors from the university where Matt is working on his Ph.D. in family and marriage therapy, so he talked quite a bit about their trip. He talked about my health and told me how great I look now ... again, for those of you who don't know, I've lost more than 80 pounds. He talked about the Big 12 basketball controversy, his dreams for the future, and reminisced about some funny experiences from his youth.
Nothing heavy, nothing life-changing, nothing earth-shattering in our conversation, and yet it was an incredibly sweet time with my son ... one that will definitely go into the "Matt" folder. As we walked and I listened to Matt, my heart was filled with unspeakable love for this young man, my firstborn son ... the little boy who tried to teach our wiener dog Choo Choo to swim in the toilet is now a man, a husband, a caring and loving gentleman who will, I'm certain, do big things in his lifetime to help others.
As we rounded the corner to walk into my driveway, I found myself thinking about my relationship with God's Son ... about the way He loves me, cares for me and protects me. About the sacrifice He made for me on the cross. About His limitless and boundless forgiveness and grace.
So, tonight I went son walking ... with Matt and with Jesus. And I wouldn't trade those 45 minutes for all the wealth in the world.
We walked for about 45 minutes, and Matt (who is generally not a big talker) talked the entire time we walked. He and Becca just returned from a two-week trip to China with a group of professors from the university where Matt is working on his Ph.D. in family and marriage therapy, so he talked quite a bit about their trip. He talked about my health and told me how great I look now ... again, for those of you who don't know, I've lost more than 80 pounds. He talked about the Big 12 basketball controversy, his dreams for the future, and reminisced about some funny experiences from his youth.
Nothing heavy, nothing life-changing, nothing earth-shattering in our conversation, and yet it was an incredibly sweet time with my son ... one that will definitely go into the "Matt" folder. As we walked and I listened to Matt, my heart was filled with unspeakable love for this young man, my firstborn son ... the little boy who tried to teach our wiener dog Choo Choo to swim in the toilet is now a man, a husband, a caring and loving gentleman who will, I'm certain, do big things in his lifetime to help others.
As we rounded the corner to walk into my driveway, I found myself thinking about my relationship with God's Son ... about the way He loves me, cares for me and protects me. About the sacrifice He made for me on the cross. About His limitless and boundless forgiveness and grace.
So, tonight I went son walking ... with Matt and with Jesus. And I wouldn't trade those 45 minutes for all the wealth in the world.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Seventy Times Seven
I'm so sorry ... can you please forgive me? Ever said those words? Ever heard those words? I have, on both counts. And as much as it pains me to say it, I've had to offer an apology far more times than I've had to accept one. Think about that last sentence for a moment ... I've had to say I was sorry and ask for forgiveness far more often than I've had to hear someone apologize to me and ask me to forgive them. If ever there was a sentence ... a thought ... a moment ... that could and should bring about some self-analysis, that one would be it.
On those rare occasions when I am on the receiving end of an apology (translated ... the few times when I'm not the one who goofs things up royally), I always feel awkward, out of place, like I should just kick the dirt under my shoe and look down at the ground and say, "Awww, shucks, it's OK. No apology necessary." Funny, though, when I'm the one doing the apologizing, I want the other person to feel my pain, to really listen to me, to appreciate the sincerity and depth of my remorse, to forgive me so that I am absolved of my guilt and able to move forward.
I've been doing a lot of pondering about forgiveness lately ... about what it means to forgive another person, about what it means to be forgiven by someone, about what it means to be forgiven by God, about what it means to forgive myself. And in that pondering, I've come to realize that it's not hard for me to forgive another person when I feel their apology is sincere ... key words being "I feel." While I can come up with all kinds of "reasons" for only forgiving another when I deem the person worthy, none of them even begin to measure up to the standard set for me in God's Word.
In Matthew 18, Peter comes to Jesus and asks how many times he needs to forgive someone who has wronged him. Good old Peter thinks he's going the extra mile by asking Jesus if seven times to forgive is good enough. Can you imagine how shocked Peter was when Jesus says, "I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven."
I'm pretty sure that Jesus wasn't saying Peter needed to count how many times he forgave and stop at 491. I think he was making the point to Peter that our forgiveness of others should far exceed the customary level of forgiveness, that it should be boundless, limitless and unconditional. I think Jesus was saying to forgive and forgive and forgive and then forgive again.
So my prayer tonight? That you would teach me, Lord, all over again, that Your forgiveness has no timeline, no boundaries, no limits, no conditions, no fee, no ceiling. That I would remember that because I am forgiven by You, I must forgive others ... not once, not twice, but seventy times seven.
On those rare occasions when I am on the receiving end of an apology (translated ... the few times when I'm not the one who goofs things up royally), I always feel awkward, out of place, like I should just kick the dirt under my shoe and look down at the ground and say, "Awww, shucks, it's OK. No apology necessary." Funny, though, when I'm the one doing the apologizing, I want the other person to feel my pain, to really listen to me, to appreciate the sincerity and depth of my remorse, to forgive me so that I am absolved of my guilt and able to move forward.
I've been doing a lot of pondering about forgiveness lately ... about what it means to forgive another person, about what it means to be forgiven by someone, about what it means to be forgiven by God, about what it means to forgive myself. And in that pondering, I've come to realize that it's not hard for me to forgive another person when I feel their apology is sincere ... key words being "I feel." While I can come up with all kinds of "reasons" for only forgiving another when I deem the person worthy, none of them even begin to measure up to the standard set for me in God's Word.
In Matthew 18, Peter comes to Jesus and asks how many times he needs to forgive someone who has wronged him. Good old Peter thinks he's going the extra mile by asking Jesus if seven times to forgive is good enough. Can you imagine how shocked Peter was when Jesus says, "I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven."
I'm pretty sure that Jesus wasn't saying Peter needed to count how many times he forgave and stop at 491. I think he was making the point to Peter that our forgiveness of others should far exceed the customary level of forgiveness, that it should be boundless, limitless and unconditional. I think Jesus was saying to forgive and forgive and forgive and then forgive again.
So my prayer tonight? That you would teach me, Lord, all over again, that Your forgiveness has no timeline, no boundaries, no limits, no conditions, no fee, no ceiling. That I would remember that because I am forgiven by You, I must forgive others ... not once, not twice, but seventy times seven.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Sweet Hour of Prayer
One of the unusual side effects of my diabetes journey is that I don't sleep as much as I previously did. Part of that, I think, is because I have more energy now and just require less sleep to function. Part of it, as much as I hate to admit it, may actually have very little to do with diabetes and more to do with the fact that I'm getting older. Nah ... that can't be the reason; it has to be the diabetes!
Last night was a stormy night here in Kansas City, and when I went to bed I thought, "It's a great night for sleeping." But, as often happens, after three hours of sleep, I was wide awake. After a trip to the bathroom, letting J.R. go outside and eating some peanut butter, I headed back to bed. Most nights when I wake up like that, I toss and turn for a while and eventually go to sleep again. But last night ... well, last night was different.
With J.R. and Julie snuggled in close to me because of the lightning and thunder, I began to pray out loud in my bed. My prayer was pretty generic at first ... you know the type I'm talking about ... thanks for everything, don't let the storm blow my house down, protect my kids. Just as I thought I was going to drift off to sleep, I felt compelled to get out of bed and get on my knees. And even though I'm often not, this time I was obedient to that still small voice and got up and knelt by the side of my bed.
Almost from the moment my knees touched the floor, I recalled the words of a friend from a couple of nights before encouraging me to listen more to what God was saying to me and less to the opinions or advice of other people. With tears rolling down my face, I began to ask ... no, I began to beg God to speak to me, to lead me, to guide me, to direct my steps, to show me His will, to wash me, to cleanse me, to humble me, to use me, to send me. Before I even realized it, I had shifted from my knees to being stretched out face down on the floor. But even more than the change in my posture was the change in my heart ... instead of asking, I was listening, really listening to my Lord.
When I finally climbed back into bed, an hour had passed. A sweet hour, indeed. A sweet hour of prayer. I'd say it was time well spent.
Last night was a stormy night here in Kansas City, and when I went to bed I thought, "It's a great night for sleeping." But, as often happens, after three hours of sleep, I was wide awake. After a trip to the bathroom, letting J.R. go outside and eating some peanut butter, I headed back to bed. Most nights when I wake up like that, I toss and turn for a while and eventually go to sleep again. But last night ... well, last night was different.
With J.R. and Julie snuggled in close to me because of the lightning and thunder, I began to pray out loud in my bed. My prayer was pretty generic at first ... you know the type I'm talking about ... thanks for everything, don't let the storm blow my house down, protect my kids. Just as I thought I was going to drift off to sleep, I felt compelled to get out of bed and get on my knees. And even though I'm often not, this time I was obedient to that still small voice and got up and knelt by the side of my bed.
Almost from the moment my knees touched the floor, I recalled the words of a friend from a couple of nights before encouraging me to listen more to what God was saying to me and less to the opinions or advice of other people. With tears rolling down my face, I began to ask ... no, I began to beg God to speak to me, to lead me, to guide me, to direct my steps, to show me His will, to wash me, to cleanse me, to humble me, to use me, to send me. Before I even realized it, I had shifted from my knees to being stretched out face down on the floor. But even more than the change in my posture was the change in my heart ... instead of asking, I was listening, really listening to my Lord.
When I finally climbed back into bed, an hour had passed. A sweet hour, indeed. A sweet hour of prayer. I'd say it was time well spent.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Point Being
When I began writing this blog a couple of years ago, I never anticipated the responsibility that would come with putting my thoughts "out there" for a multitude of people to read and peruse. And I never anticipated that people would begin copying the blog link and putting it on their Facebook pages or sending it out to all their email contacts. And I never anticipated that I would be flooded with emails offering commentary, both positive and negative, concerning my subject matter, style of writing, color of the blog background ... you name it, and I've gotten comments about it. And I never anticipated that God would drive me over the last few months to blog and blog and blog some more.
While several entries have drawn significant responses (including one that garnered over 2,000 emails), my previous post has generated a great deal of unexpected feedback. Because of the content of some of that feedback, I feel the need to expand a bit on my "The Face of Hate" entry.
From the very start of penning this blog, I felt that I should be open, honest, transparent, if you will ... writing from my heart, holding nothing back, sharing both the joys and struggles that I encounter in my day-to-day walk along the path of life. And, in that quest for openness and honesty, the last year or so has brought with it ... well, some twists and turns that I didn't expect or see coming. Some physical challenges in regard to my diabetes, some emotional highs and lows in dealing with living alone now that my children are all grown and have moved out, and some spiritual rough patches brought about by events and situations that have caused me to question at times how real my faith is and how deeply I hold and know the truth of God's Word.
My point in writing "The Face of Hate" was that we all have sin in our lives ... not one of us is perfect; not one of us is truly holy; not one of us has the right to judge another. And yet, I often think that we as Christians ... those of us who claim to mirror our lives after Jesus Christ ... are the ones to cast the first stone toward others whom we deem as sinners because of their speech, their addictions, their sexual orientation, their income level ... you choose the tag or label. Though we are called to love without strings, we don't. Plain and simple ... gut honest ... we don't love people the way we are commanded by Jesus himself to love. We've lost the concept of "hate the sin but love the sinner" as a general rule, until those "sinners" become someone dear to us. It suddenly becomes hard to hate someone who is gay when that someone is your best friend, your sister, your uncle. It's hard to hate the hidden drug addict who is your neighbor, the person sitting next to you at church, your child.
God has more than abundantly blessed me with family and friends who love me no matter what I am doing or what I have done. People who don't judge me, even though they know the dirt in my life. And trust me (for those of you who commented about me being a Christian speaker and therefore should never sin), there is dirt ... there will always be dirt because I will always be human until I reach heaven and God makes me completely pure. And so much more important than the love I receive from my family and friends is the love that God showers on me ... unconditional, undeserved, unlimited.
So my point being? The Scripture that says, "Judge not lest you be judged," isn't in the Bible by accident. And the Bible is complete and total truth, every single word. I should be eternally grateful that God never ever wears the face of hate ... and the truth is ... I shouldn't wear it either, ever.
"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another." John 13:34.
That, my friends, says it all.
While several entries have drawn significant responses (including one that garnered over 2,000 emails), my previous post has generated a great deal of unexpected feedback. Because of the content of some of that feedback, I feel the need to expand a bit on my "The Face of Hate" entry.
From the very start of penning this blog, I felt that I should be open, honest, transparent, if you will ... writing from my heart, holding nothing back, sharing both the joys and struggles that I encounter in my day-to-day walk along the path of life. And, in that quest for openness and honesty, the last year or so has brought with it ... well, some twists and turns that I didn't expect or see coming. Some physical challenges in regard to my diabetes, some emotional highs and lows in dealing with living alone now that my children are all grown and have moved out, and some spiritual rough patches brought about by events and situations that have caused me to question at times how real my faith is and how deeply I hold and know the truth of God's Word.
My point in writing "The Face of Hate" was that we all have sin in our lives ... not one of us is perfect; not one of us is truly holy; not one of us has the right to judge another. And yet, I often think that we as Christians ... those of us who claim to mirror our lives after Jesus Christ ... are the ones to cast the first stone toward others whom we deem as sinners because of their speech, their addictions, their sexual orientation, their income level ... you choose the tag or label. Though we are called to love without strings, we don't. Plain and simple ... gut honest ... we don't love people the way we are commanded by Jesus himself to love. We've lost the concept of "hate the sin but love the sinner" as a general rule, until those "sinners" become someone dear to us. It suddenly becomes hard to hate someone who is gay when that someone is your best friend, your sister, your uncle. It's hard to hate the hidden drug addict who is your neighbor, the person sitting next to you at church, your child.
God has more than abundantly blessed me with family and friends who love me no matter what I am doing or what I have done. People who don't judge me, even though they know the dirt in my life. And trust me (for those of you who commented about me being a Christian speaker and therefore should never sin), there is dirt ... there will always be dirt because I will always be human until I reach heaven and God makes me completely pure. And so much more important than the love I receive from my family and friends is the love that God showers on me ... unconditional, undeserved, unlimited.
So my point being? The Scripture that says, "Judge not lest you be judged," isn't in the Bible by accident. And the Bible is complete and total truth, every single word. I should be eternally grateful that God never ever wears the face of hate ... and the truth is ... I shouldn't wear it either, ever.
"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another." John 13:34.
That, my friends, says it all.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The Face of Hate
Some conversations have a way of searing themselves into my brain ... because of the person or people involved, because of the depth of the subject, because of the location, because of the emotion that comes forth. Whatever the reason, there are conversations that I will remember all my life. More often than not, these particular conversations make me think deeply, challenge what I believe, make me search my heart for truth or cause me to dive into the very depths of my soul to evaluate who I truly am.
This week, I've had two such conversations. One involved much emotion and many heartfelt tears ... tears of regret, tears of sorrow, tears of confession. The other dealt with a subject that divides many people, that causes lines to be drawn and sides to be taken. And interestingly, both conversations, though on different levels, were concerning the same controversial topic. And even more interesting, both conversations ended with basically the same two conclusions ... ultimately, the face of hate disappears when the issue at hand wears the face of someone I love, and God's grace covers a multitude of sins.
It's easy to label someone a despicable sinner when that person is an anonymous face in a crowd, but it is altogether different when the person is a friend, a family member or someone I attend church with. When the person is someone I love, grace, mercy and forgiveness quickly replace judgment, hostility or hate. That doesn't mean that the issue or the sin is swept under the carpet or condoned, it simply means that my response suddenly shifts to one of compassion and love. It means that my heart more closely mirrors the heart of Christ ... loving, forgiving, caring, concerned, healing.
Even as I type these words, I know there are things in my life that cause me to deserve judgment or condemnation. There are parts of me that I try desperately to keep hidden away, tucked deeply within, fearing that they will escape from the fortress I have built around them and others will see the real me, the secret me, the me who isn't holy or honorable or sinless.
And yet, those closest to me ... those whom I've allowed inside the walls I've created ... have refused to wear the face of hate but choose instead to wear the face of love. They don't hesitate to call me on my sin, but they love me still, love me completely, love me in spite of who I am. And most important of all, they encourage me, push me, pull me, tug me and point me to the heart of the One who wears the ultimate face of love, the One who paid the supreme price to make me clean, the One who knows my innermost being ... Jesus Christ.
So, go look in the mirror. What does your face look like?
This week, I've had two such conversations. One involved much emotion and many heartfelt tears ... tears of regret, tears of sorrow, tears of confession. The other dealt with a subject that divides many people, that causes lines to be drawn and sides to be taken. And interestingly, both conversations, though on different levels, were concerning the same controversial topic. And even more interesting, both conversations ended with basically the same two conclusions ... ultimately, the face of hate disappears when the issue at hand wears the face of someone I love, and God's grace covers a multitude of sins.
It's easy to label someone a despicable sinner when that person is an anonymous face in a crowd, but it is altogether different when the person is a friend, a family member or someone I attend church with. When the person is someone I love, grace, mercy and forgiveness quickly replace judgment, hostility or hate. That doesn't mean that the issue or the sin is swept under the carpet or condoned, it simply means that my response suddenly shifts to one of compassion and love. It means that my heart more closely mirrors the heart of Christ ... loving, forgiving, caring, concerned, healing.
Even as I type these words, I know there are things in my life that cause me to deserve judgment or condemnation. There are parts of me that I try desperately to keep hidden away, tucked deeply within, fearing that they will escape from the fortress I have built around them and others will see the real me, the secret me, the me who isn't holy or honorable or sinless.
And yet, those closest to me ... those whom I've allowed inside the walls I've created ... have refused to wear the face of hate but choose instead to wear the face of love. They don't hesitate to call me on my sin, but they love me still, love me completely, love me in spite of who I am. And most important of all, they encourage me, push me, pull me, tug me and point me to the heart of the One who wears the ultimate face of love, the One who paid the supreme price to make me clean, the One who knows my innermost being ... Jesus Christ.
So, go look in the mirror. What does your face look like?
Friday, June 4, 2010
Water Dog
Down through the years, I've had several dogs ... Frisky, Rocky, Brandy, Choo Choo (my oldest son named this poor dog!), Cocoa, Cinnamon, Ali, and now I have Julie and J.R. Out of all of those canines I shared life with, I've never had a dog who loved to play like Julie. And I've never had a dog who loved the water as much as she does. She loves to swim and play in the water hose ... she even jumps in the tub, wagging her tail and barking for me to turn on the water.
Yesterday, a friend and her two youngest children and I took Julie to the off-leash dog park near my house. As is always the case when I take Julie there, she couldn't get to the small lake in the park fast enough. And when she got there, she didn't waste any time in going for a swim. I have one of those tennis ball launchers, and the kids delighted in tossing the ball out into the water for Julie to retrieve. We spent about an hour there by the lake, and I'm not quite sure who had the most fun ... Julie, the kiddos or me and my friend as we watched.
It was a beautiful day ... clear blue skies and not too hot. As I sat on the bench watching the kids and Julie play, I was struck by how happy they all were. In fact, they were more than happy, they were joyous. The kids were laughing and having a great time, and Julie's tail never stopped wagging the entire time. Pure, complete and total joy for each of them.
As I spent time reading God's Word last night, I couldn't help but think that God had taught me yet another lesson earlier that day at the dog park. He wants me to be excited about spending time with Him. He wants me to run as fast as I can to the water of His grace. He wants me to swim out and retrieve His mercy when He tosses it to me. He wants me to feel the warmth of His love in my heart and soul. He wants me to experience pure, complete and total joy when I am in His presence.
I'm thinking I should make more trips to the dog park, and I'm thinking I should watch and listen to more ... so much more ... than my dog.
Yesterday, a friend and her two youngest children and I took Julie to the off-leash dog park near my house. As is always the case when I take Julie there, she couldn't get to the small lake in the park fast enough. And when she got there, she didn't waste any time in going for a swim. I have one of those tennis ball launchers, and the kids delighted in tossing the ball out into the water for Julie to retrieve. We spent about an hour there by the lake, and I'm not quite sure who had the most fun ... Julie, the kiddos or me and my friend as we watched.
It was a beautiful day ... clear blue skies and not too hot. As I sat on the bench watching the kids and Julie play, I was struck by how happy they all were. In fact, they were more than happy, they were joyous. The kids were laughing and having a great time, and Julie's tail never stopped wagging the entire time. Pure, complete and total joy for each of them.
As I spent time reading God's Word last night, I couldn't help but think that God had taught me yet another lesson earlier that day at the dog park. He wants me to be excited about spending time with Him. He wants me to run as fast as I can to the water of His grace. He wants me to swim out and retrieve His mercy when He tosses it to me. He wants me to feel the warmth of His love in my heart and soul. He wants me to experience pure, complete and total joy when I am in His presence.
I'm thinking I should make more trips to the dog park, and I'm thinking I should watch and listen to more ... so much more ... than my dog.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Do-over
Remember when you were a kid playing with your friends and someone wouldn't like the way things were going and would shout, "Do-over, do-over, I need a do-over!" And after some discussion ... OK, after intense arguing ... the person who had made a wrong move or play would either get their do-over and the game would proceed, or the person would quit the game, storm off angrily and ruin the fun for everyone else.
As an adult, I've often thought how awesome it would be if I could have a do-over at times in my life. Times when I spoke in anger and hurt another person; times when I made a poor choice that lived on to affect not only me but those I loved for years to follow; times when my behavior or actions were anything but Christlike or godly. I can't help but wonder what path my life would have taken had I been allowed to back up, start over and do things differently from time to time.
Perhaps the greatest dilemma of all presents itself in the questions that are begged from this introspection ... why do I continue to make the same mistakes over and over again? Why do I not listen to the ones God places in my life to give me guidance and direction and to steer me away from dangerous situations? Why do I make choices that I know will cause me or others pain or heartache? Why do I knowingly and willingly choose to sin? Why do I ... why do I ... why do I?
I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately, about grace, about mercy. I've been thinking a lot about the ways I dishonor the Savior whom I claim to serve. I've been thinking a lot about integrity, character and purity. I've been thinking a lot about confession and honesty and repentance. I've been thinking a lot about needing a do-over in certain areas of my life. And I've come to the conclusion that the truth is that God offers me a do-over every single morning ... a clean slate to start the day. He stands waiting for me to take Him up on that offer ... to fall on my knees, to weep before Him, to tell Him I am nothing without Him, to throw myself on His grace, to embrace His mercy, to beg His forgiveness.
So here's the deal, God ... I need a major do-over. I need that clean slate. I need a new start. I need You, Lord, more than anything or anyone else ... I need You.
As an adult, I've often thought how awesome it would be if I could have a do-over at times in my life. Times when I spoke in anger and hurt another person; times when I made a poor choice that lived on to affect not only me but those I loved for years to follow; times when my behavior or actions were anything but Christlike or godly. I can't help but wonder what path my life would have taken had I been allowed to back up, start over and do things differently from time to time.
Perhaps the greatest dilemma of all presents itself in the questions that are begged from this introspection ... why do I continue to make the same mistakes over and over again? Why do I not listen to the ones God places in my life to give me guidance and direction and to steer me away from dangerous situations? Why do I make choices that I know will cause me or others pain or heartache? Why do I knowingly and willingly choose to sin? Why do I ... why do I ... why do I?
I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately, about grace, about mercy. I've been thinking a lot about the ways I dishonor the Savior whom I claim to serve. I've been thinking a lot about integrity, character and purity. I've been thinking a lot about confession and honesty and repentance. I've been thinking a lot about needing a do-over in certain areas of my life. And I've come to the conclusion that the truth is that God offers me a do-over every single morning ... a clean slate to start the day. He stands waiting for me to take Him up on that offer ... to fall on my knees, to weep before Him, to tell Him I am nothing without Him, to throw myself on His grace, to embrace His mercy, to beg His forgiveness.
So here's the deal, God ... I need a major do-over. I need that clean slate. I need a new start. I need You, Lord, more than anything or anyone else ... I need You.
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