When I was young, I remember watching a movie starring Vincent Price as a mad scientist who developed this elaborate system for draining blood from people so that he could transfuse it into himself. I don't remember the plot or the story line or how the movie ended, but the image of all those tubes and bottles seared itself into my brain and even creeps into my dreams now from time to time. As an adult, I never watch scary movies, and I attribute my aversion to the genre to that early movie-watching experience ... good old Vincent Price succeeded in scaring me forever.
Tonight is Halloween, and I've opened my front door to Ninja Turtles, Spiderman, princesses, Iron Man, cowboys, soccer players, ballerinas and without a doubt the cutest little red devil I've ever seen. It was, however, the mad scientist who rang my doorbell who sent shivers up my spine and caused that old sense of fear to sweep over me just as it did in my youth. Yep, all these years later, a little guy dressed like a mad scientist asking for candy completely creeped me out, and the vision of Vincent Price and all his tubes and bottles haunted me.
As I closed my door and turned off the porch light tonight, my thoughts turned to another kind of haunting ... the haunting that sometimes covers me when I begin to think about the mistakes I've made in my life, the sins I've committed, the people I've wounded. Though my head knows that God has forgiven me because I have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, my heart at times has a really difficult time forgiving myself. I've often wondered why forgetting past sins seems to be so hard, why memories and promises of grace can so quickly be replaced with regret and self-loathing. Perhaps it is the innate nature of us as humans to repeatedly chastise ourselves, to punish ourselves somehow for what we see as shortcomings or failures in our lives.
It's time to ready myself for bed, and as He is always faithful to do, God has taken my haunting and changed it to thanksgiving ... thanksgiving for His forgiveness, for the clean slate He gives me each morning, for the release from sin He offers unconditionally. And as He is also faithful to do, He brought to my mind a true jewel from His Word ... Psalm 103:12 ... "As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us."
Pretty sure that means that nothing should haunt me since I belong to Him. Pretty sure that means that I'm forgiven. Completely, totally, through grace alone ... forgiven.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Bird on a Wire
Please allow me to begin this post by saying that I am well aware that I've written several pieces lately that deal with winged creatures ... and though a part of me feels that I should begin this post with an apology for what could be seen by some as a lack of material or inspiration, I believe it is quite the opposite. I believe that God is trying to teach me, and perhaps some of you readers of this blog as well, some deep and lasting lessons from my friends with feathers. You see, it is often in the repetition that we see the truth, recognize the insight, understand the meaning, soak in the teaching that is intended for us and directed our way. And ... being open, honest, real and transparent ... sometimes God simply must use repetitive events to get His message through my thick skull. There ... I've said it ... I'm stubborn and bull-headed on occasion and don't always listen or pay attention as I should.
It's full-blown fall here in Kansas City ... the leaves are changing colors; there's a chill in the air; the smoky aroma of wood-burning fireplaces wafts through my neighborhood; and one of the truest signs of fall's arrival ... the birds are beginning their southern trek. Growing up in Tennessee, I don't remember seeing large flocks of birds migrating to a warmer climate, perhaps because it's relatively mild in the winter in southeastern Tennessee. But here in KC, it's one of the things that has fascinated me for each of the 20 plus years I've lived here.
A couple of mornings ago on my daily commute to work, I pulled up to a traffic light and my eyes were drawn to the power line across the street. The line was literally filled from end to end with birds, sitting peacefully atop the wire as it swayed a bit in the gusty Kansas wind. I was completely mesmerized by the performance of these birds, so much so that the driver in the car behind me honked to encourage me to move forward through the green light which had escaped my attention. As I proceeded down the street and pulled into the parking lot at my office, my mind remained captivated by the birds along the power line, and as I entered the building, I was struck with a thought ... the power surging through those lines was intense, enormous, life-threatening under certain circumstances. And yet, the birds were unafraid, relaxed, comfortable and safe in their perch high above the street.
Settling in at my desk, I realized that God was again teaching me, prodding me, deepening my understanding of Him and His love for me through the display I had just witnessed by the birds. God's power is so far beyond my comprehension, and I so underestimate the width or depth or height of that power ... power that controls the entire universe, and power that controls every breath I breathe. Power that He offers to share with me ... power that He invites me to call upon ... power that He pours out in my life even when I don't recognize it ... power that surpasses all of my human understanding.
Driving home tonight, God reminded me of His lesson as I noticed a flock of birds flying overhead ... His power ... overwhelming, fathomless ... His power ... wide and deep and high ... His power ... His unimaginable power.
It's full-blown fall here in Kansas City ... the leaves are changing colors; there's a chill in the air; the smoky aroma of wood-burning fireplaces wafts through my neighborhood; and one of the truest signs of fall's arrival ... the birds are beginning their southern trek. Growing up in Tennessee, I don't remember seeing large flocks of birds migrating to a warmer climate, perhaps because it's relatively mild in the winter in southeastern Tennessee. But here in KC, it's one of the things that has fascinated me for each of the 20 plus years I've lived here.
A couple of mornings ago on my daily commute to work, I pulled up to a traffic light and my eyes were drawn to the power line across the street. The line was literally filled from end to end with birds, sitting peacefully atop the wire as it swayed a bit in the gusty Kansas wind. I was completely mesmerized by the performance of these birds, so much so that the driver in the car behind me honked to encourage me to move forward through the green light which had escaped my attention. As I proceeded down the street and pulled into the parking lot at my office, my mind remained captivated by the birds along the power line, and as I entered the building, I was struck with a thought ... the power surging through those lines was intense, enormous, life-threatening under certain circumstances. And yet, the birds were unafraid, relaxed, comfortable and safe in their perch high above the street.
Settling in at my desk, I realized that God was again teaching me, prodding me, deepening my understanding of Him and His love for me through the display I had just witnessed by the birds. God's power is so far beyond my comprehension, and I so underestimate the width or depth or height of that power ... power that controls the entire universe, and power that controls every breath I breathe. Power that He offers to share with me ... power that He invites me to call upon ... power that He pours out in my life even when I don't recognize it ... power that surpasses all of my human understanding.
Driving home tonight, God reminded me of His lesson as I noticed a flock of birds flying overhead ... His power ... overwhelming, fathomless ... His power ... wide and deep and high ... His power ... His unimaginable power.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Losing Control
When I was young, I always wanted to have a horse of my own that I could ride anytime. We lived in the city, though, so having a horse was out of the question. But, my sweet daddy recognized that longing in my heart, so he often took me and my niece Sharon to a friend's farm so that we could ride his friend's horse. Sharon and I would take turns sitting on the front of the saddle and guiding the horse through the backwoods trails that wound around the farm's extensive acreage. Most of the rides were uneventful and pleasant, since the horse was a gentle beast that matched his gait and speed to our direction from tugs on the reins. I remember one ride, however, that was quite different from all the others.
It was a warm summer day, and I was the one directing the horse along the path. All of a sudden, something spooked Copper the horse, and he took off at breakneck speed, heading straight for the woods and a line of trees. Nothing I could do would stop the wild ride, and before we knew it, my niece and I were hanging on for dear life as Copper raced through the trees. Branches slapped our faces and arms as the crazed and wild horse seemed to pick up speed with every forward motion of his hooves. Just as the thought ran through my mind that Sharon and I were going to die in the woods, I looked up and saw a huge branch approaching that appeared to be at about the level of our waists. Before I could utter a word, the branch caught me in the gut and propelled me directly backwards to the ground, taking my niece right along with me in the fall. Amazingly, neither of us suffered any major injuries, unless you count our severely wounded pride. As we trudged back to the barn, I remember saying out loud, "That horse was out of control. There was just no stopping him."
Looking back, I think it was easier as a kid to just accept that certain things ... or horses, as the case may be ... are just not within our control. With youth seems to come a greater ability to roll with the punches, take things as they come, adapt easily and quickly to change. I've often wondered at what point in our life development we suddenly decide that as adults we must somehow be able to control so many things ... our employment, our health, our relationships with family and friends, even our God. We struggle and strive and pull and push and grasp and grapple to gain some sort of control over things that, quite honestly, are not at all within our power to change or alter in any way ... things that are, again, quite honestly, most often unchangeable because they are meant to grow us or teach us or humble us in some way that we cannot see or understand when we are in the midst of them.
In recent months, I've gained a whole new perspective regarding control ... physically, emotionally and spiritually. And a huge part of that new perspective is coming to the realization that it's only in giving up whatever semblance of control I thought I had over any of those areas of my life and completely surrendering myself to the total control of God that life has any real or true meaning and significance. It's more than a little bit interesting to me that it has taken me over 50 years of living to finally understand that concept, to come to terms with what it means to give up, to let go and let God. That's all ... just let go and let God. While the world tells me to scratch and claw and fight to hang on to "my" power, to "my" control, to "my" world, God's Word tells me that what I need to carry, to pick up, to hold on to is the cross of Jesus Christ.
Help me to let go, Lord ... to let go and let You lead my way. Help me to lose control, Lord ... to lose control of me and trust You to hold me in Your arms ... to lose control and rest in You.
It was a warm summer day, and I was the one directing the horse along the path. All of a sudden, something spooked Copper the horse, and he took off at breakneck speed, heading straight for the woods and a line of trees. Nothing I could do would stop the wild ride, and before we knew it, my niece and I were hanging on for dear life as Copper raced through the trees. Branches slapped our faces and arms as the crazed and wild horse seemed to pick up speed with every forward motion of his hooves. Just as the thought ran through my mind that Sharon and I were going to die in the woods, I looked up and saw a huge branch approaching that appeared to be at about the level of our waists. Before I could utter a word, the branch caught me in the gut and propelled me directly backwards to the ground, taking my niece right along with me in the fall. Amazingly, neither of us suffered any major injuries, unless you count our severely wounded pride. As we trudged back to the barn, I remember saying out loud, "That horse was out of control. There was just no stopping him."
Looking back, I think it was easier as a kid to just accept that certain things ... or horses, as the case may be ... are just not within our control. With youth seems to come a greater ability to roll with the punches, take things as they come, adapt easily and quickly to change. I've often wondered at what point in our life development we suddenly decide that as adults we must somehow be able to control so many things ... our employment, our health, our relationships with family and friends, even our God. We struggle and strive and pull and push and grasp and grapple to gain some sort of control over things that, quite honestly, are not at all within our power to change or alter in any way ... things that are, again, quite honestly, most often unchangeable because they are meant to grow us or teach us or humble us in some way that we cannot see or understand when we are in the midst of them.
In recent months, I've gained a whole new perspective regarding control ... physically, emotionally and spiritually. And a huge part of that new perspective is coming to the realization that it's only in giving up whatever semblance of control I thought I had over any of those areas of my life and completely surrendering myself to the total control of God that life has any real or true meaning and significance. It's more than a little bit interesting to me that it has taken me over 50 years of living to finally understand that concept, to come to terms with what it means to give up, to let go and let God. That's all ... just let go and let God. While the world tells me to scratch and claw and fight to hang on to "my" power, to "my" control, to "my" world, God's Word tells me that what I need to carry, to pick up, to hold on to is the cross of Jesus Christ.
Help me to let go, Lord ... to let go and let You lead my way. Help me to lose control, Lord ... to lose control of me and trust You to hold me in Your arms ... to lose control and rest in You.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Wise Owl
As I sit here typing this post, there are two very tired dogs who are snoring next to me on the couch. They are both exhausted hounds this evening and are sleeping the sleep that only completely tuckered out canines can sleep. And I ... well, honestly, I am sitting here feeling rather jealous of my dogs and their blissful sleep. For the last several months, there has been a change in my sleeping pattern and I never sleep through the night any longer. But at least when I first go to bed, I fall asleep quickly and get my best rest of the night during those first few hours ... until a week or so ago anyway.
There is a large tree in my neighbor's yard that sits close to the part of my house where my bedroom is located, and some of the branches hang quite near my bedroom window. And for several nights, that tree became the resting place for a large owl ... a large, very vocal owl. While his constant, "Hoo, hoo, hoo," is, I'm certain, music to his own ears, my perception of his loud cacophony of sound is quite different. For the first two nights of Mr. Owl's relentless noise-making, I lay in my bed thinking, "He'll pipe down soon ... surely he can't carry on like that for very long." The next three nights brought about a definite change in my patient and understanding manner concerning my newly acquired feathered nemesis. What began as at least an attempt to see some sort of beauty in having an owl outside my window quickly deteriorated into a strong desire to go out at midnight with a slingshot and encourage Mr. Owl to go bless someone else with his nonstop hooting for a while.
It perplexes me immensely why it seems to take so long for me to "get it" when God is trying to speak to me or get my attention. By the sixth night, as I once again listened to the relentless, "Hoo, hoo, hoo," of the seemingly tireless creature outside my window, I finally said aloud in the darkness of my room, "OK, God ... I give ... what is up with this blasted owl? I need at least some sleep in order to halfway function." The minute the words escaped my lips, Mr. Owl's hooting seemed to take on a different timbre ... a different cadence ... a different tone. Rather than annoying and frustrating me, his voice became almost soothing, peaceful, restful. I began to join him in his "Hoo, hoo, hoo," keeping pace with him in the pauses between each utterance in a sing-song manner until I drifted off to sleep.
Upon the arrival of the seventh night, I was actually anticipating my new nightly routine as I readied myself and my dogs for bed. Snuggled under the covers with the hounds nestled in their respective spots, I once again joined the great winged songster in repeating, "Hoo, hoo, hoo," when it happened ... I had a God moment that brought me quite literally out of my bed and to my knees. In chanting along with Mr. Owl, I suddenly remembered the story of Peter when Jesus asked him, "Who do you say that I am?" Did you catch that word? "Who ... who ... who do you say that I am?" My mouth formed the "Hoo, hoo, hoo," with Mr. Owl as I heard God whisper, "Terrie, who, who, who do you say that I am? Do you say that I am your Lord? Do you say that I am your Savior? Do you say that I am the Christ, the Son of the living God? Who, who, who do you say that I am?"
My prayer as I practically jumped from my bed and fell to my knees is the same prayer that has been constantly in my heart since that night ... may my words, my thoughts, my actions, my very life shout that You are my Lord, my Savior, my Master, my Protector, my Healer ... may my life reflect You ... Your love, Your patience, Your forgiveness, Your truth.
Oh ... and Mr. Owl? He's moved on to croon another night in another tree, to speak to another heart ... hoo, hoo, hoo ... Who, Who, Who do you say that He is???
There is a large tree in my neighbor's yard that sits close to the part of my house where my bedroom is located, and some of the branches hang quite near my bedroom window. And for several nights, that tree became the resting place for a large owl ... a large, very vocal owl. While his constant, "Hoo, hoo, hoo," is, I'm certain, music to his own ears, my perception of his loud cacophony of sound is quite different. For the first two nights of Mr. Owl's relentless noise-making, I lay in my bed thinking, "He'll pipe down soon ... surely he can't carry on like that for very long." The next three nights brought about a definite change in my patient and understanding manner concerning my newly acquired feathered nemesis. What began as at least an attempt to see some sort of beauty in having an owl outside my window quickly deteriorated into a strong desire to go out at midnight with a slingshot and encourage Mr. Owl to go bless someone else with his nonstop hooting for a while.
It perplexes me immensely why it seems to take so long for me to "get it" when God is trying to speak to me or get my attention. By the sixth night, as I once again listened to the relentless, "Hoo, hoo, hoo," of the seemingly tireless creature outside my window, I finally said aloud in the darkness of my room, "OK, God ... I give ... what is up with this blasted owl? I need at least some sleep in order to halfway function." The minute the words escaped my lips, Mr. Owl's hooting seemed to take on a different timbre ... a different cadence ... a different tone. Rather than annoying and frustrating me, his voice became almost soothing, peaceful, restful. I began to join him in his "Hoo, hoo, hoo," keeping pace with him in the pauses between each utterance in a sing-song manner until I drifted off to sleep.
Upon the arrival of the seventh night, I was actually anticipating my new nightly routine as I readied myself and my dogs for bed. Snuggled under the covers with the hounds nestled in their respective spots, I once again joined the great winged songster in repeating, "Hoo, hoo, hoo," when it happened ... I had a God moment that brought me quite literally out of my bed and to my knees. In chanting along with Mr. Owl, I suddenly remembered the story of Peter when Jesus asked him, "Who do you say that I am?" Did you catch that word? "Who ... who ... who do you say that I am?" My mouth formed the "Hoo, hoo, hoo," with Mr. Owl as I heard God whisper, "Terrie, who, who, who do you say that I am? Do you say that I am your Lord? Do you say that I am your Savior? Do you say that I am the Christ, the Son of the living God? Who, who, who do you say that I am?"
My prayer as I practically jumped from my bed and fell to my knees is the same prayer that has been constantly in my heart since that night ... may my words, my thoughts, my actions, my very life shout that You are my Lord, my Savior, my Master, my Protector, my Healer ... may my life reflect You ... Your love, Your patience, Your forgiveness, Your truth.
Oh ... and Mr. Owl? He's moved on to croon another night in another tree, to speak to another heart ... hoo, hoo, hoo ... Who, Who, Who do you say that He is???
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Better Than Santa
Have you ever people-watched at an all-you-can-eat buffet? If you haven't, you should ... you'll be amazed at the fascinating things you can surmise about people by watching the way they fill their plates at a buffet. Though I rarely frequent those types of restaurants now that my diet is so restricted, I had reason to visit one a couple of weeks ago with some friends. As I sat there watching people stack their plates as high as they could, I found myself quite in wonderment ... though they could return to the buffet as often as they desired, some people obviously had an overwhelming desire to pile on as much food as the plate could hold (and then some). It was as if they were afraid that the mashed potatoes, buttery rolls or that green Jello marshmallowy stuff thrown on top for good measure would somehow disappear before they could make their way back to the food for a second (or third or fourth) trip. And I must admit ... in true open, honest, real and transparent fashion ... that sometimes my eyes well with tears when I drive past my favorite Chinese buffet and remember my own mile high plates from days gone by.
While I no longer consume the same amount of food as I previously did, I often continue to stack the plate of my life with as much as it can possibly hold. Some days, it seems that I race from one task or event to the next with little to no downtime in between. Wednesdays are those kinds of days ... I race home from work each Wednesday to feed my dogs, gulp down some dinner and head to the church to be a listener for the little kids who attend our Awana program. There were a couple of weeks between me agreeing to serve in that capacity and when the program started, and during that time, I chastised myself heartily for saying yes to the mid-week commitment.
The third week into serving as a listener, I discovered that rather than dreading Wednesdays, I was actually looking forward to the time I got to spend with the kiddos. Listening to them recite their Bible verses, seeing their little eyes light up as I high-five their hands when they are correct, talking to them about what the verses mean, hearing them shout my name when I walk into the room ... it's ... well, it's a true blessing to me each week. And as is so often the case, God taught me a valuable lesson last week through one of the little boys ... a lesson that has caused me to think and ponder and wonder and pray for days.
I wear two necklaces ... one is a beautiful and rather expensive diamond journey necklace given to me by my daughter, and it carries very deep and significant meaning for both of us. The other is a $20 medical ID dog tag with emergency information engraved on the back, and I keep it tucked inside my shirt. As I listened to the little boy say his verse for the week, he suddenly stopped and reached up and touched the chains around my neck and said, "I have a chain, too, but I don't have it on." He then asked what was on the end of the chain that was tucked into my shirt, and I pulled the tag out and showed it to him. He looked back and forth from the glistening diamond necklace to the cheap dog tag and without missing a beat, he reached out and touched the tag and said, "This one is so cooler than the shiny one."
It's been said that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, but I think maybe instead that beauty is in the perspective of the beholder. How many times do I get so focused on the "shiny" stuff in life that I miss the true beauty of the simple? While my diamond necklace will always hold a special place in my heart because it was a gift from my daughter during a difficult time in our lives, my inexpensive dog tag could one day quite literally save my life. The little boy saw something with his little boy eyes and his little boy heart that I didn't ... he saw the beauty, the coolness, the importance in the simple.
So, here's to Wednesdays and the "so cooler" moments that God is showering upon me ... tonight, a little boy told me that I smelled better than Santa Claus. It just doesn't get any better than that ... not one bit better!
While I no longer consume the same amount of food as I previously did, I often continue to stack the plate of my life with as much as it can possibly hold. Some days, it seems that I race from one task or event to the next with little to no downtime in between. Wednesdays are those kinds of days ... I race home from work each Wednesday to feed my dogs, gulp down some dinner and head to the church to be a listener for the little kids who attend our Awana program. There were a couple of weeks between me agreeing to serve in that capacity and when the program started, and during that time, I chastised myself heartily for saying yes to the mid-week commitment.
The third week into serving as a listener, I discovered that rather than dreading Wednesdays, I was actually looking forward to the time I got to spend with the kiddos. Listening to them recite their Bible verses, seeing their little eyes light up as I high-five their hands when they are correct, talking to them about what the verses mean, hearing them shout my name when I walk into the room ... it's ... well, it's a true blessing to me each week. And as is so often the case, God taught me a valuable lesson last week through one of the little boys ... a lesson that has caused me to think and ponder and wonder and pray for days.
I wear two necklaces ... one is a beautiful and rather expensive diamond journey necklace given to me by my daughter, and it carries very deep and significant meaning for both of us. The other is a $20 medical ID dog tag with emergency information engraved on the back, and I keep it tucked inside my shirt. As I listened to the little boy say his verse for the week, he suddenly stopped and reached up and touched the chains around my neck and said, "I have a chain, too, but I don't have it on." He then asked what was on the end of the chain that was tucked into my shirt, and I pulled the tag out and showed it to him. He looked back and forth from the glistening diamond necklace to the cheap dog tag and without missing a beat, he reached out and touched the tag and said, "This one is so cooler than the shiny one."
It's been said that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, but I think maybe instead that beauty is in the perspective of the beholder. How many times do I get so focused on the "shiny" stuff in life that I miss the true beauty of the simple? While my diamond necklace will always hold a special place in my heart because it was a gift from my daughter during a difficult time in our lives, my inexpensive dog tag could one day quite literally save my life. The little boy saw something with his little boy eyes and his little boy heart that I didn't ... he saw the beauty, the coolness, the importance in the simple.
So, here's to Wednesdays and the "so cooler" moments that God is showering upon me ... tonight, a little boy told me that I smelled better than Santa Claus. It just doesn't get any better than that ... not one bit better!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Make Me a Goose
This morning on my drive into work, I saw a wonder in the sky above me. It was such an awesome sight that I had to pull over and get out of my car for a few moments so that I could gaze in amazement and fully take in the parade above me. Perhaps parade isn't the correct word; it was more like a symphony ... an orchestrated concerto of God's creation and handiwork. Set against a clear blue, cloudless sky, flying in perfect V formation was one of the largest groups of geese I have ever seen. I would estimate there to have been over 100 of the flying feathered fowl ... wafting on the wind, soaring through the sky, determined in their direction.
I've seen countless flying formations of geese over the years, but this group grabbed my attention and gave me pause to stop and watch, perhaps because of the sheer size of the flock ... or perhaps because once again, as has happened quite frequently over the last months, God was slowing me down ... causing me to look up ... teaching me a lesson. As I stood beside my car and shielded my eyes from the sun, I noticed something about the flying V that I hadn't seen at first glance. While the majority of the geese were completely in line and in sync with one another in their flight pattern, there were two of the feathered creatures who were flying together to the left of the group ... pretty far to the left, in fact, almost as if they weren't even part of the flock at all. I kept thinking they would rejoin the group, but they never did ... instead, they fell farther behind and flew farther away.
Returning to my car, my mind was racing and my heart was pounding ... there's nothing like a strong God lesson first thing in the morning to get your brain humming and your blood pumping. It struck me as I merged onto the interstate that it was the beauty of all those geese flying in formation that initially garnered my interest, but it wasn't until I stopped and looked up, really looked up, that I saw the two renegade geese flying on their own. And it also struck me that once my sight was focused on the two outsiders, I was mesmerized by them ... wondering what their story was ... how they ended up separated from the others and what was to become of them if they didn't rejoin the group.
After finishing up some early morning editing, I jumped on the Internet and Googled "geese formations" and "separated geese." What I discovered was nothing less than astounding to me ... the two geese who were flying alone probably weren't renegades or rebels at all. According to my limited research, there is documented evidence that when a goose becomes sick or injured and falls out of formation, another goose immediately leaves the group as well and stays with his ill comrade until he either recovers or passes on.
As I type this blog, my heart is heavy and convicted ... I get so caught up in my own stuff, my own busy life, my own worries that not only do I not leave the formation to help my suffering friend, I often don't notice that he or she is sick or troubled or injured. And honestly? Sometimes I don't even see when my friend leaves the flock and begins to drift toward the ground.
Make me a goose, Lord, a goose who cares more about others than about myself ... a goose who flies in formation with You ... a goose who sticks close by my family and friends when they need me most. Make me a goose, Lord ... please ... make me a goose.
I've seen countless flying formations of geese over the years, but this group grabbed my attention and gave me pause to stop and watch, perhaps because of the sheer size of the flock ... or perhaps because once again, as has happened quite frequently over the last months, God was slowing me down ... causing me to look up ... teaching me a lesson. As I stood beside my car and shielded my eyes from the sun, I noticed something about the flying V that I hadn't seen at first glance. While the majority of the geese were completely in line and in sync with one another in their flight pattern, there were two of the feathered creatures who were flying together to the left of the group ... pretty far to the left, in fact, almost as if they weren't even part of the flock at all. I kept thinking they would rejoin the group, but they never did ... instead, they fell farther behind and flew farther away.
Returning to my car, my mind was racing and my heart was pounding ... there's nothing like a strong God lesson first thing in the morning to get your brain humming and your blood pumping. It struck me as I merged onto the interstate that it was the beauty of all those geese flying in formation that initially garnered my interest, but it wasn't until I stopped and looked up, really looked up, that I saw the two renegade geese flying on their own. And it also struck me that once my sight was focused on the two outsiders, I was mesmerized by them ... wondering what their story was ... how they ended up separated from the others and what was to become of them if they didn't rejoin the group.
After finishing up some early morning editing, I jumped on the Internet and Googled "geese formations" and "separated geese." What I discovered was nothing less than astounding to me ... the two geese who were flying alone probably weren't renegades or rebels at all. According to my limited research, there is documented evidence that when a goose becomes sick or injured and falls out of formation, another goose immediately leaves the group as well and stays with his ill comrade until he either recovers or passes on.
As I type this blog, my heart is heavy and convicted ... I get so caught up in my own stuff, my own busy life, my own worries that not only do I not leave the formation to help my suffering friend, I often don't notice that he or she is sick or troubled or injured. And honestly? Sometimes I don't even see when my friend leaves the flock and begins to drift toward the ground.
Make me a goose, Lord, a goose who cares more about others than about myself ... a goose who flies in formation with You ... a goose who sticks close by my family and friends when they need me most. Make me a goose, Lord ... please ... make me a goose.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Steel Magnolias
The week before we moved from Florida to Kansas, the group of gals that met each week to play games, go to dinner, head to the beach with all of our children ... the gals who were among my closest friends, took me to see the movie "Steel Magnolias." Being a Southern girl, I still count that flick in my top five favorite films. Not only was the cast astounding ... I mean, seriously, Sally, Dolly, Julia, Daryl, Olympia and Shirley all together in one film sporting heavy Southern accents while delivering some of the most memorable one-liners in the history of movies, the storyline was also heartfelt and timeless.
Wonderful or nothing special? With Him or against Him? Treasured minutes or wasted years? The choice is up to you, friend. Make the most of your moments ... cry when you need to, laugh as often as you can and love with all you've got.
- "I'm not crazy, I've just been in a very bad mood for the last 40 years!"
- "Miss Truvy, I promise that my personal tragedy will not interfere with my ability to do good hair."
- "You are too twisted for color TV."
- "I don't trust anyone who does their own hair. I don't think it's natural."
- "I have a strict policy that nobody cries alone in my presence."
- "That which does not kill us makes us stronger."
- "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."
- "I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life, and I was there when she drifted out."
- "I would rather have 30 minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special."
Wonderful or nothing special? With Him or against Him? Treasured minutes or wasted years? The choice is up to you, friend. Make the most of your moments ... cry when you need to, laugh as often as you can and love with all you've got.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Heaven Bound
Some of the greatest blessings that come with being a speaker are the people I meet as I travel from town to town and church to church. Like the gals in Solomon, Kansas, who put a fake snake and mouse and frog in my bed. Or the woman in Polo, Illinois, who met Jesus at the weekend retreat at a church camp. Or the young man in St. Louis, Missouri, who called me "Tennessee Tater" for four days. Or the women from all over who keep in contact with me and have become my friends. So many different folks over the last 10 years ... so many stories, so many entwined and connected lives, so many blessings in these brothers and sisters in the Lord.
For those who are avid readers of this blog, you have followed me along on my beloved walking trail, keeping step with me as God teaches me lesson after lesson as J.R. and I march along on our nightly walks. I've met quite a few people as we hoof it each night, and earlier this year, I met Andy, a Baptist minister whose love for the Lord was contagious and recognizable in our first conversation. Andy and I have had many conversations since that initial one, and he recently asked me to come and speak to a group of folks at his church for their Wednesday evening gathering. As is so often the case, I left the church last Wednesday feeling more than abundantly blessed myself.
Andy's group was ... well ... different than many of the groups I'm asked to address. Most often, I speak to women's groups whose ages run the gamut from young to old. Andy's crowd was made up of men and women, and they were an older, wiser group than my usual audience. And, to be completely honest, I was a little nervous as to how well they would receive my at times warped sense of humor. There's nothing worse as a speaker than delivering a line that you think is hilarious and have it met with complete silence ... or worse yet, groans of disapproval. These folks, however, were simply awesome ... warm and welcoming, smiling and laughing and nodding their heads in agreement as I spoke.
Andy had asked me to share my testimony, and in doing so, it seems that at some point during the story, I always end up talking about heaven. As I began to tell the group that my view of heaven has changed recently ... that I think about heaven more ... that I wonder about heaven more ... that I long for heaven more ... I noticed smiles cross the weathered faces of many of the precious men and women in the group. Their countenances reflected something deep, something touching, something tender. It was one of those God moments ... a moment when it was as if I suddenly knew what those kind and gentle souls were thinking. "We're closer to heaven than you are, young woman, we are closer to heaven than we've ever been." Tears welled in my eyes as I looked around the room and saw the peace, the serenity, the comfort in the knowing and wise eyes that gazed back at me.
Only God knows the numbers of those precious ones' days, just as He is the only one who knows the number of the days He has appointed to me or you. Age doesn't matter ... sickness doesn't matter ... time doesn't matter ... all that matters is that my Father in heaven is in control of all things, and He will one day call me home to be with Him for all eternity. As I drove away from the church last Wednesday, one prayer flooded my mind and engulfed my heart.
"Help me to cherish every day, Lord, every moment that You allow me to have ... help me to be your servant in all I say and do ... help me to live my life wisely in a way that honors You at all times. I want to be all yours, God, all yours, so that when that day comes ... when the days you have appointed to me are complete ... when I'm heaven bound ... You will find me ready for the journey."
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