God Showed Up

Perhaps one of the things I miss most now that I have diabetes is having the freedom to eat a houseful of comfort food when I'm sick. You know the kind of food I'm talking about ... chips and dip, ice cream smothered in chocolate syrup and caramel, a whole everything-in-the-world-on-it pizza (yes, I used to eat a whole pizza by myself when I was sick), Twizzlers, Milk Duds and Hot Tamales candies, Kraft macaroni and cheese (yes, the whole box) ... well, you get the idea. So yesterday when I was stretched out on my couch moaning to Julie and Ollie about my rolling stomach, I was also moaning about how I missed all those comfort foods. Weird cause it's my stomach that's upset which means that if I could eat all those foods, I would surely be paying homage to the stool in my bathroom for days to come. I was channel surfing while I was moaning and groaning and whining and complaining, thinking perhaps it would take my mind off of the forbidden food list ... hmmmm, it's funny how much I want something when I know it's off limits ... the whole forbidden fruit thing, you know, or forbidden carbs and sweets I suppose. You'll never guess what movie I stumbled upon in my quest for something to watch that would consume my mind and calm my tummy ... yep, Forrest Gump. I know I've written about Forrest several times before, but I also know that I've said that it seems like each time I watch it, God teaches me a new lesson. And that's exactly what He did ... God showed up and taught me a big lesson through the words of Forrest and Lieutenant Dan.

Because he made a promise to his friend Bubba who was killed in combat, Forrest buys a boat and starts a shrimping company. He soon discovers that he's a terrible shrimper, having little to no luck in harvesting the beady-eyed little critters. Forrest's former lieutenant, Dan, the guy Forrest rescues from the same battle where Bubba lost his life, made a promise to Forrest that should he become a shrimp boat captain, he would be his first mate. And just like Forrest honored his promise to Bubba, Lieutenant Dan shows up on the dock one day in his wheelchair (he lost both his legs in the battle Forrest rescued him from, by the way) to honor his promise as well. Now Dan had a mighty big chip on his shoulder, and he'd been carrying enough anger since his injury to fill a warship ... anger at Forrest for saving his life, and anger at God for not letting him die. Lieutenant Dan's arrival to Forrest's newly established shrimping company didn't do anything to change their luck at catching shrimp ... not a single thing. For as angry and filled with doubt as Dan was about many things, including the shrimp business, Forrest had faith ... simple, childlike faith. He went to church every Sunday, sang in the choir and believed that things would somehow always work out in the end.

As I laid on the couch nursing my upset stomach, it was a scene when Forrest and Dan were out on the boat trying to catch shrimp that spoke to me yesterday. Forrest hauls in the net and opens it to reveal one shrimp ... one measly shrimp. Dan asks Forrest, "Where the (bleep) is this God of yours?" And it was what Forrest said as he narrated the story of his life to the person sitting on the bench next to him as they waited for the bus that struck me ... struck me right to the core of my heart. "It's funny Lieutenant Dan said that, 'cause right then, God showed up." I won't recount the rest of what took place in case you haven't seen the movie, but suffice it to say that Forrest and Dan rode out a hurricane on the open sea and Dan made his peace with God.

I recently met with a group of dear ladies who are in charge of planning a retreat that I'll be speaking at in September to discuss plans for the event, their theme and the topics they felt led for me to speak about during the sessions. As we ate together and I listened to them talk about some of the details of the event, I felt a heaviness settle on my heart as I struggled to determine God's direction and leading as to what I should talk about when I spoke. Where are You, God? I thought to myself. Why aren't You speaking to me about this? What am I supposed to say at the retreat? Where are You? And then it happened ... God showed up in a big way. I suddenly felt strongly led to share with the ladies about the desert I had been in over the last year ... all the ladies on the committee have been to events where I've spoken, and I felt an incredible leading to be transparent with them about my journey. I began to tell them about how depression had wrapped its tentacles around my brain, about the shame and isolation that accompanied it, about how it had rocked the very foundation of my faith to take the medications. Though I tried my best not to, I couldn't stop the tears that filled my eyes as I talked. I told the ladies that I'm not the same speaker I was before ... the journey of the last year has changed who I am on many levels and that I am learning ... learning ... learning ... learning that God is humbling me, causing me to bow down before Him and surrender to His will and His way, to acknowledge my arrogance and pride, and understand that I am nothing without Him. I used to think that God had called me to be a speaker because I was good at it ... now I know with every fiber of my being that God has called me to speak for one reason only ... because He is good at it ... speaking has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Him. As I finished talking, the ladies looked at one another and said, "That's what you should speak about ... say what you just said ... that's what we want you to share."

God showed up at our meeting, ladies ... He showed up in a big way ... and something tells me He's going to show up at your event in September, too. My prayer is that He will lead and guide your planning and that He will be present in every detail of the weekend, that He will bring the ladies who need to be there, and that He will make me an ever humble, ever obedient, ever faithful servant for Him.

Bazinga

There are few television shows now that will make me sit on the couch for hours and watch them. I used to be a big TV hound, but not so much anymore ... unless of course there are storms in the forecast and then I'm glued to the set ... of course. In fact, I rarely turn on the television in the evenings; instead I read a lot, write a lot and play with my dogs a lot. But there is one show that I will always watch if I'm home and it's on, and it's probably going to surprise some of you, especially when I tell you who my favorite character on the show is ... or then again, maybe not. I love the show The Big Bang Theory, and I adore Sheldon Cooper. No matter how lousy my day has been or how down I am, Sheldon can always make me at least smile, and more often than not, laugh out loud. Though I can't even come remotely close to understanding Sheldon's genius intelligence, I can, however, completely relate to some of Sheldon's quirky behaviors ... eating certain foods on certain days; having irrational fears; possessing more than a touch of obsessive compulsiveness; being as stubborn as a mule; needing to be cared for when he's sick; wearing only specific types of clothing ... hmmm, that list should probably scare me a little ... or a lot. Sheldon is an odd duck, an enigma of sorts, and maybe that's why I like him so much.

On Wednesday, my doctor made some changes to my medication, and for the last couple of days my stomach has felt like I've been on a heavy-duty roller coaster ride. Yesterday was especially rough in the tummy department, so I left work at noon and came home and went to bed for the afternoon. As I was driving home, I came up behind a pickup truck pulling an old, open-air, beat up trailer with a horse inside. I groaned as the interstate traffic came to a stop due to construction ... seriously, there should be a law against narrowing interstate traffic down to one lane on a day when my stomach hurt so badly. Sitting behind the trailer with the horse inside, my mind shifted into Sheldon mode and I started thinking ... what if that horse decided to poop right now? He was a big horse, and it looked like it was a tight fit for him in the little trailer. In fact, his tail was hanging down over the back gate right in front of my car ... he so could have pooped right over the gate. The mere thought of horse poop splatting on my car sure didn't do much for my already upset stomach, but my mind raced there like a speeding bullet anyway. I was surer than sure that the horse was going to poop ... don't laugh ... I could see it in his ... well, his rear, I suppose, since I couldn't see his eyes. I leaned forward and tried to calculate the distance between my car and the horse's rear, wishing I hadn't pulled quite so close to the trailer. Thankfully, the traffic started moving, the lanes opened and I was able to drive around the truck before a horse poop disaster occurred.

Now here's where my true Sheldon came out yesterday ... as the evening wore on and I felt worse and worse, I couldn't get my mind off of the horse in the trailer. Those of you who've been reading along with me for a while know that I work for an advertising agency and that one of our clients is an animal health company. You know that I spend a good part of my time at work reading about horse and cow poop ... more specifically, I read a lot about the parasites that are in that poop. So by the time I went to bed last night, I had come to the conclusion that if that horse yesterday had decided to poop on my car, that poop would by all means have contained parasites which would have somehow managed to survive their fall onto the hood of my car, made their way through the windshield and eventually infected me. Makes my irrational fear of cracks in the basement, flying on an airplane and stormy weather seem almost sane and rational, huh? When I woke up this morning, I must admit that I shook my head at myself ... seriously ... a horse pooping on my car and me getting infected with parasites? Seriously, seriously, seriously. Maybe my next post needs to be about my newly hatched plan for surviving the zombie apocalypse that's most assuredly coming one day ... bazinga, Sheldon fans ... bazinga.

 

Blistered Sunrise

Recently, I came to the conclusion that I am a walking encyclopedia of what many would consider to be relatively meaningless information, due in part to the wide variety of books, articles and short stories I read on a regular basis. For example, did you know that roses cut in the morning last longer than ones cut in the afternoon? Or that the average human takes 23,000 breaths in a day? Or that spotted skunks (yes, spotted skunks) do handstands before they spray? Or that there's a company that sells fallout shelters made especially for pets? Yeah, yeah ... I know what some of you are thinking ... I checked and they're way too expensive for me to buy for Julie and Ollie for when the tornado sirens sound. I'll just have to keep putting them in their kennels and attaching them to the water pipes in the basement with bungee cords ... the kennels, not the dogs ... geez ... I may be irrational when it comes to storms, but I'm not crazy enough to bungee the dogs themselves to the pipes. And one more ... fulgurite is formed when lightning strikes sand (think the movie Sweet Home Alabama and the cool statues good old Jake created). See? I really am a walking encyclopedia of pretty meaningless info ... I'm pretty sure I'll never encounter a spotted skunk doing a handstand or find some fulgurite anytime soon. The roses thing is good knowledge to have, though, and should I ever win the lottery, I'm so buying fallout shelters for my hounds ... so perhaps my penchant for meaningless facts has some meaning after all.

A few weeks ago, I read somewhere that taking a short, brisk walk in the morning would help a person be more focused and better able to concentrate throughout the remainder of the day. Since I have significant difficulty in the areas of focus and concentration now, I decided that I would give it a try and see if it really worked. So I've been getting up every morning at 5:15 and walking at a pretty fast pace on my treadmill for 20 minutes. Until Monday anyway ... that morning I got up and went upstairs, stepped on the treadmill, inserted the little plastic thingy into the slot to turn it on ... and nothing. Yep, my treadmill wouldn't turn on no matter what I did, so I finally just gave up and went back to bed ... so much for focus and concentration, unless of course focusing and concentrating on going back to sleep counts in some way. I decided last night, however, that I needed to get up this morning and go walk outside, because the truth is that my early morning walks did seem to be helping my brain to work better throughout the day.

I need to back up for a sec and tell you that I woke up yesterday morning with an enormous fever blister on my bottom lip ... seriously, it's the size of a speed boat, and it hurts like crazy. I've been doing all the stuff that I normally do to get them to go away, but this morning I found myself wishing that I could just walk around all day with a warm rag on my lip. So as I headed across the street in the darkness to begin my walk, I was mentally griping about my lip ... about how much it hurt and how gross it looks. It didn't take long for my lip griping to turn into just a huge, gigantic, overall gripe about lots of things ... diabetes, depression, loneliness, Matt moving, my long commute to work, missing my family, driving a car I despise ... you name it, and I was griping about it. I don't walk on the trail when it's dark ... well, I guess I walk on it for a short distance until I get to the sidewalk that runs alongside the main road and then I walk up to the big parking lot behind the high school. I had my head down this morning in full-blown gripe mode and didn't notice that it was growing lighter outside with every step I took. Until something happened that made me not only notice but stop in my tracks and marvel at how much God loves me ... even though I so do not deserve His love.

As much as I wish I could say that my God moment was caused by me being ultra-spiritual and in tune with my heavenly Father, that's so not the case. Instead, in my self-absorbed, head down, griping mode, I failed to notice a dip in the pavement, lost my balance and bit the dust ... well, actually, I bit the grass by the side of the parking lot and smacked my already aching, fever-blistered lip. It hurt so stinking bad that my eyes instantly filled with tears as I rolled over and just laid in the grass, sure that my lip was probably bleeding profusely. Well that's just awesome, God, I said aloud. It's not enough that I've got this huge sore on my lip, now it's gonna be a hundred times worse ... just awesome, God ... just awesome. At almost the exact second that the words left my lips, the sun broke over the horizon and filled the sky with light. And deep in my heart, it was as if God was saying, "All the stuff you've been complaining about this morning? I've got it covered, child ... why don't you just surrender and trust Me? Look at the sun, Terrie ... I set it in the sky ... I raised it this morning just as I raise it every morning. Look at the Son, Terrie ... you put Him on the cross ... but I raised Him from the dead ... for you, Terrie, to cover your sin, I raised Him from the dead. Look at the sun ... look at the Son." I stood up and brushed the dirt from my shirt and gazed at the sun ... I stood up and brushed the dirt from my heart and gazed at the Son.

Thank You, Father ... thank You for my blistered sunrise this morning ... thank You for loving me even though I so do not deserve Your love. Thank You for never giving up on me, for reaching for me, for knocking me down, for picking me up ... thank You for my blistered sunrise.

All Good Dogs

When I first moved to Kansas City over 20 years ago, I often heard people say, "If you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes and it will change." I didn't fully understand that statement until I experienced a day when the weather went from foggy and cool to sunny and hot to windy and muggy to the tornado sirens blaring to cold and snowing ... honestly ... all within one day. If there's one thing you can count on in Kansas, it's that you can't count on the weather. So I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that I drove home on Saturday after visiting Matt and Becca and C.J. with the windows on my car open enjoying the warm summerlike temps, and then last night I sat at an outside soccer game freezing even though I was dressed in three layers, had on a down vest and was sharing a blanket with my friend. Yep, driving down the interstate at 75 miles per hour with the windows down one day and freezing my tail off while sitting outside the next. You just gotta love Kansas weather, friends, you just gotta love it.

While we were watching her daughter play soccer (in shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt ... I still can't believe all the girls who were playing didn't turn into ice pops right before my eyes), my friend asked me if I had read the book "Heaven is for Real." I said that I had, and she said that she just read it yesterday. I asked if she thought it was true, and I must admit that I was a bit surprised when she said that she did. When she asked me what I thought, I was quick to reply ... "The little boy says there are dogs in heaven." I couldn't help but smile when she agreed and said, "But he doesn't say there are cats." Me being a huge dog person and knowing that she's got a cat ... oh yeah, that made me smile for sure. And then I grew serious again and said, "If it's true that good dogs go to heaven, I know one who's there." She said, "Oh, yes, he's there." I nodded as my eyes filled with tears, and I said, "If he's there, I bet he's waiting for me. I like that the boy said we know each other and that there are dogs ... I like that a whole lot."

As she went on to talk about some other things from the book, my mind raced back to the gray Saturday afternoon when I lay stretched out on my couch reading the book. I sobbed when I read about the dogs in heaven ... I sobbed thinking about my little J.R. and the way he saved my life. I sobbed thinking about him in heaven ... running and playing and free from pain. I sobbed thinking about the day I would see him again ... I could picture him when I arrived ... tail wagging, jumping into my arms and licking my face, so happy to be with me once again. I'm sure my friend sensed where my mind had gone ... she perhaps more than anyone knows the sorrow that permeated my heart the day J.R. died ... she took us to the animal hospital that Sunday morning ... she came into the room as they took J.R.'s lifeless little body from my arms ... she listened to my gut-wrenching sobs as she drove me home ... she knew that J.R. and I shared a very special bond, a bond that was God-ordained, God-sent, God-blessed. As I shivered in the cold and wiped my misty eyes, my friend patted my arm and said again, "He's there."

I don't know if it's true that there are dogs in heaven; in fact, there's way more about heaven that I don't know than what I do. And while there are definitely things that I wonder about concerning heaven, there's one thing I know for sure ... heaven will be the most wonderful, most perfect, most incredible place ever. I do indeed believe that heaven is for real and that it's only because Jesus died for me that I have the hope of going there one day.

Hey, God ... if all good dogs go to heaven, then I know my little fat buddy is there. If it's not too much to ask, would You give him a hug for me and tell him that when I get there, we'll go for a long walk on the trail? You know which trail I'm talking about, Father ... the one that's right next to the street that's paved with gold. 

Faith-in-the-box

Sometimes I wonder at the inventions that catch on with folks and go on to make millions of dollars. And even more, I wonder why I can't seem to come up with an idea that would do just that ... make millions of dollars, that is. I mean, some inventions are just ... well ... they just seem dumb to me, and yet they generate millions and millions of dollars for their inventors. Out of curiosity, I Googled the phrase, "Top 10 stupid inventions that made millions." Bet you can't guess what topped the list ... the Pet Rock. Yep ... rocks with plastic eyes glued on them, and people bought millions of them. The guy who came up with the idea was a former advertising executive (which speaks volumes to me since I work for an ad agency) ... he sold the rocks on a bed of hay in a cardboard box that looked like a pet carrier and included a training manual for the "hassle-free pet." He sold each one for $3.95, earning himself a nice profit of $3.00 per rock. Dumb idea? Yes. Genius inventor who is now sitting on a tropical beach somewhere drinking strawberry daiquiris? Yes. Somewhat jealous woman penning this blog who bought one of said rocks as a teenager? Yes.

Now I'm sure you're wondering why in the world I'm thinking and writing about dumb inventions such as the Pet Rock.Something my doctor said on Wednesday night caused me to think about another million-dollar invention that seems not only dumb, but a little mean, too. This one has been around since the early 1500s, which is simply astounding to me. The Encyclopedia of American Folk Art credits the element of surprise for the enduring popularity of the ... wait for it ... yes ... the jack-in-the-box. Element of surprise? Really? You turn a crank on the side of a box that plays an atrocious form of music and when you least expect it, a devilish-looking clown pops out of the box and scares the daylights out of you. I remember my Matt in particular crying crocodile tears because he was so afraid of the jack-in-the-box toy someone gave him. Element of surprise ... enduring popularity ... yeah, right. And yet, the creepy, jumpy toy in the box has not only been on my mind for the last couple of days, it's even made it's way into my dreams at night ... think creepy times a million.

So what did the good doctor say to me on Wednesday that prompted my thinking to travel down such a path as this? She talked about my faith being in a box, and she talked about it in a completely unapologetic manner. She said there are parts and pieces of my life that I haven't been able to get to fit together with my faith-in-the-box, things that I believe can't coexist inside the box with my faith. She had a ton to say about my need to find a way to let my faith jump out of the box and wrap itself around me ... wrap itself around every part and piece of me. When she tells me things like that, I nod my head as if I understand and intend to do what she has suggested. And as I've pondered what she said about my faith being in a box, I've found myself wishing that I could just turn a crank on my heart and let my faith jump out and surprise me. But here's the thing ... I think perhaps I'm afraid of what might happen, of what God might ask of me, of where allowing my faith-in-the-box to jump out might take me.

I wonder if I've still got Matt's old jack-in-the-box hidden away somewhere in the basement ... I'm good at that you know, hiding things away in the basement. Maybe I need to practice letting some of those things jump out of their boxes ... maybe I do indeed. 

Curves and Canyons

I can't remember exactly when I fell in love with the mountains of Colorado in photos, but I do remember my first trip to Denver when I saw those mountains with my own eyes as they appeared on the horizon as I drove. They. Were. Majestic. They. Were. Breathtaking. They. Were. Peaceful. I only thought I grew up in the mountains all those years I lived in Tennessee. Please don't misunderstand me, the hills of Tennessee are stunningly beautiful, and my heart will forever and always be drawn to them. But that's what they are in comparison to the Rocky Mountains ... my beloved Tennessee mountains are but hills, beautiful rolling hills, but hills nonetheless.

For all the times I've driven to both Colorado and Tennessee over the last 20 or so years, I've always been struck by something ... the highways that line the gentle rolling hills of Tennessee have guardrails along the side, pretty much all of them do in fact. But on those gigantic 12,000-foot mountains in Colorado? Hardly any guardrails anywhere, at least in the places I've been, and that includes Trail Ridge Road, which is the highest paved continuous road in the United States ... did you get that? No guardrails on Trail Ridge Road ... sheesh. I'm well aware that terrible accidents can occur should a car venture off the highway on a hill in Tennessee ... for that matter, terrible accidents can and do occur on flat, hill-less roads every day. But seriously? If your car veers off of a 12,000-foot mountain and plunges into the steep canyon below, short of a miracle, it's a pretty good bet that it's not going to bode well for you. And should you survive the fall and find yourself lying at the base of the canyon, there's a big chance that a wild renegade moose will come along and try to eat you. And for those of you who are thinking it ... the moose eating you is not irrational thinking at all ... those moose can be really mean when they're hungry.

In my previous post, I mentioned that last Sunday at church the preacher began a series called Guardrails and that he said some things in his sermon that hit home with me. I don't care much for when that happens, by the way ... when I go to church and feel like every word the minister speaks is directed to me, like he can see inside my heart somehow or that he's reading my mind. He began by giving the definition of guardrails and then listed three places where guardrails are present ... on bridges, on roads where there are lanes of traffic traveling in opposing directions, and on curves ... yep, curves. As he talked about roads that curve and turn, my mind instantly flew back to my drives through Colorado and the switchback curves along the mountain passes. Just when I would think the road ahead would be straight and level, I would encounter another series of turns in the road that resembled a slithering snake ... switchback curves with no guardrails.

As the preacher spoke about the curves in life, the times when you're traveling along in one direction and life suddenly goes sideways ... I can assure you that I could relate to every word he was saying. When he spoke about the importance of having guardrails in place so you don't veer off the road of life when it changes direction, I couldn't help but acknowledge that my own personal guardrails have gotten some pretty big dents in them over the last couple of years. In fact, if I'm truly open, honest, real and transparent ... some of the curvy roads in my life resemble the ones in Colorado more than the ones in Tennessee when it comes to the presence of guardrails. The more I think about it, the more I think it wasn't the preacher who could see inside my heart or read my mind at all ... I'm pretty sure it was God ... I'm pretty sure He's the One who put me in a chair last Sunday and had me listen to a sermon about direction and protection ... I'm pretty sure He meant for me to be unable to get the guardrails concept out of my mind ... I'm pretty sure it was God.

"Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil. So then do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is." Ephesians 5:15-17

Margin of Error

Those of you who've been reading this blog for a while know that I am terrified of storms, especially when the weather guys say the "t" word ... tornado. And I'm sure that most of you have seen on the news about all the tornadoes yesterday on the plains, the last I read it was close to 100 tornadoes in like 15 hours. When the Storm Prediction Center issued a rare high risk warning a few days ahead of the storms and used the words "life-threatening" and "catastrophic," my fear mode shifted into overdrive and I was worked up for three days worrying about the coming bad weather. This time, however, my fear was much deeper than being afraid that I would experience a tornado at my house ... this time, I was beyond terrified for my children, especially Matt and his little family since they live right in the middle of what the weather guys were saying was the target area with the greatest risk for a tornado outbreak. Thankfully, though there were tornadoes all around them, none of them touched down in their town and they are safe in their apartment tonight.

Remember how irrational I was when I had a leak in my basement and cracks in the floor? Well ... some might argue that my fear of the potential severe storms caused my irrational thinking to rise to a whole new level (because you all know that in my mind, if I tornado was spawned anywhere in the Kansas City area, it would, of course, hit my house ... just like the cracks in my basement were going to cause my house to cave in or my furnace to explode). I spent most of yesterday morning building a little fort of sorts in my basement for me and Julie and Ollie. I cleared out the southwest corner of the basement (because that's where I've always been told is the safest place), only to decide to get online and Google "safest corner of a basement in a tornado" and discover it's actually the northeast corner that most experts say offers the most protection. So I spent most of the afternoon cleaning out the opposite corner of the basement and moving my fort. Oddly enough, the northeast corner is where I had always gone to before people told me to go to the southwest corner ... my gut told me that it felt the safest, and for at least once in my life, my gut was correct.

There are sturdy, heavy wooden shelves that are attached to the concrete wall in the northeast corner of my basement, and there are water pipes there that come in from underground. I put Julie and Ollie's kennels in the space between the shelves and the pipes, and then bungee corded their kennels to the water pipes ... not crazy at all ... remember the end of the movie Twister when they used their leather belts to hang on to the water pipes? I made myself a bed out of sleeping bags and blankets under the shelves, and stocked my little cubby with food, water, meds, radio, flashlight, hiking boots, first aid kit and a sweatshirt. I dragged one of my twin-size mattresses downstairs and placed it on top of an 8-foot heavy table, and then positioned the table in front of my hiding place under the shelves, being sure to leave enough space so that I could pull the mattress off the table and cover myself and my dogs should the sirens start blaring. Then I decided to turn another 8-foot table on its side and slide it up against the standing table, creating what I hoped would be a barrier from flying debris. When I finished, I stood back and looked at my little fort and hoped it would protect me and my hounds should a tornado indeed strike my house.

I spent the evening glued to the Internet and the television monitoring the unfolding outbreak of tornadoes, and the more the weather guys said that the storms would hit Kansas City after midnight, the more I wondered if my cubby under the shelves and the dogs' bungeed kennels would keep us safe. For all the weather guys who were saying that it was a sure thing that the storms were going to roll into the metro, my favorite Fox weather guy kept saying, "There's a chance we may see nothing but wind from this system ... there's a big question mark as to whether the storms will lose some of their intensity and when they will enter our area. There could be a fairly wide margin of error in the severity of what we will experience in Kansas City." Turns out, thankfully, that he was correct ... we got nothing more than some sprinkles of rain and strong winds. I didn't know that, however, when I finally headed to the basement around 12:30 a.m. and locked Julie and Ollie into their kennels and crawled (quite literally) into my makeshift bed under the shelves. It was when I woke up around 3:00 a.m. and checked the local news website that I found out that Kansas City was in the clear and gratefully came upstairs and climbed into bed with my equally grateful dogs.

This morning at church, the preacher began a new series called Guardrails, based on Ephesians 5:15-17. A lot of what he said today hit home with me, and I've got some posts churning in my mind about it that I'll be penning in the next few days. But when he used the words "margin of error" this morning, I couldn't help but think about the weather guy's words yesterday and how relieved I was that the margin of error on the severity of the storms when they arrived in our area landed on the side of the storms missing us. And the more I've thought about it today, the more I've thought about my own margin of error and how often God keeps me safe and protects me from sure disaster.

Thank You, Lord ... for protecting us yesterday ... thank You for watching over us in the storms of life ... thank You for always being my safe place to hide ... thank You that You alone are perfect ... thank You that there's no margin of error with You.

Nothing Doing

There are some kid activities that seem to be treasured and enjoyed by youngsters all over the world, as is evidenced both by the written word and photos alike. You know, things like eating ice cream or making snow angels or jumping in puddles or going fishing or watching the stars or blowing bubbles ... and a gazillion more things that kids everywhere love to do. Some of my favorite memories from when each of my three kiddos were littles involve the times they would climb onto my back and say, "Mommie, will you give me a piggyback ride? Please, Mom, please??" I'm not sure why exactly, but something about carting my kids around on my back always brought out my playful side ... I mean, seriously, it's hard not to laugh when you've got your kids' arms and legs wrapped around you as they hang on tightly and yell, "Go faster, Mommie, go faster!" I'm sure you're wondering why I'm reminiscing about piggyback rides ... it's because tonight I'm going to piggyback on my last post and talk about another one of my sticky note quotes on my computer screen at work.

I have no idea where I read the statement, but I do know that the words had a huge impact on me then and still do each time I read them. They remind me that the true character of a person can be seen most clearly through a certain action that many folks, myself included, fail miserably at carrying out. "You can easily judge the character of a man (or woman) by how he (or she) treats those who can do nothing for him (or her)." Those, friends, are some pretty powerful words ... those are words that make me search my soul and think about the deepest motivations that lie within my heart in regard to my interaction with others. Do I help them because I want them to help me? Do I give to them because I want something from them in return? Do I listen to them because I want them to hear me? How do I treat those who can do nothing for me ... those who aren't financially successful, those who are physically ill, those who are emotionally or mentally damaged or wounded, those who are jobless or hopeless or faithless ... those who can do nothing for me? How do I really treat them?

The reality of the world we live in is that we often deem one another worthy or unworthy based upon our level of performance ... what we can do rather than who we are. That mentality is present in the workplace, in schools, in churches, and even in many homes. Last weekend I saw the movie The Hunger Games, and I must say that it certainly isn't a story for the faint of heart. It is, however, a huge commentary on the most carnal meaning of the term "survival of the fittest," and it has given me pause to think once again about the quote that stares back at me each day from my computer. "You can easily judge the character of a man (or woman) by how he (or she) treats those who can do nothing for him (or her)." The main character in the story chooses to treat two of her competitors in the game with respect and honor, even though she knows that it is a battle to the death and that there can only be one survivor. I won't tell you how the film ends, but I will say that the young girl revealed her true character by how she treated those who could do nothing for her ... nothing, that is, except to eventually try to take her life.

I can't help but acknowledge that there are a few people in my life who have stuck by me over the last couple of years while expecting nothing from me. Those people haven't judged me or condemned me or chastised me. Rather, they have understood my inability to do anything for them, and they have continued to demonstrate respect and honor to me. And in doing so, they have demonstrated their true character ... they have proven themselves to be pure and honest and loyal and trustworthy. I would be remiss, however, if I didn't also acknowledge that I've experienced the demonstration of true character from some that proved them to be ... well ... suffice it to say that they were not so pure or honest or loyal or trustworthy as I once thought them to be.

The more I think about it, the more I am struck by a thought ... Jesus is the ultimate example of character and integrity, and He chose to lay down His life for a world filled with sinners without hope, without faith, without love. "You can easily judge the character of a man (or woman) by how he (or she) treats those who can do nothing for him (or her)."

Think about it, friends ... think about it a lot. 

P.S. Keep the folks in the path of the nasty weather developing tonight in the plains in your prayers ... my son Matt, daughter-in-law Becca and granddaughter C.J., as well as several of my friends, live in an area that is under a high risk for tornado outbreaks over the next day or two. May God place His mighty hand of protection around you all ... love you.

Woof

A while back, my office upgraded our computers to include two monitors for each of us who work from traditional desktops ... one of the perks of working for the ad agency I do is that the managing partners make a huge effort to keep all of our technology up-to-date, and if it happens to look really cool in the process, that's an extra bonus. One of our most recent upgrades was getting rid of our desk phones and transferring our phone system to a computer-based operation. Now all of our calls come through our computers, and we all wear bluetooth thingys in our ears or headset thing-a-ma-jigs on our heads. My use of the words "thingys" and "thing-a-ma-jigs" should tell you just how savvy I personally am when it comes to describing technological items. But back to my two monitors ... they are attached to my desk via a metal arm contraption, and one monitor is large and the other is small. I use the smaller one for keeping my email open during the day, and the bigger one for editing digital proofs and such or checking facts and spelling via the Internet. And all along the bottom edge of both of my monitors are sticky notes ... the smaller monitor's notes are client-related, reminding me of certain things I need to be sure and check on each piece of work; and the larger monitor's notes are quotes I've read that have inspired me along the way.

Sitting at my desk today, one of the quotes that's been stuck on the bottom of my monitor for quite a while caught my attention, and I've been thinking about the statement all evening. It says, "How to handle stress like a dog: If you can't eat it or play with it, then pee on it and walk away." As I watched Julie and Ollie eating and playing tonight and the sheer joy they have when they are involved in either of those activities, I couldn't help but think about the quote. And when I took Ollie for a walk on the trail and he peed on every light pole, stop sign, fire hydrant, tree, stick and blade of grass he passed and then did his little moonwalk backwards digging thing and stuck his chest out and walked proudly down the trail when he was finished, I thought about the quote again. I ran across the bridge with Ollie and played our "chase me and bark with me and look like a crazy woman" game, came home and tossed the ball in the back yard with Julie and that's when it struck me ... I think perhaps I've been approaching the stress in my life all wrong ... I need to think and act more like a dog. If I can't eat it or play with it, I need to pee on it and walk away ... in a figurative sense, of course, in a figurative sense. I'm pretty sure that I won't be hiking my leg like Ollie ... well, not today anyway.

Woof. Woof. Woof.

Face Down

September 27, 1999 was a cold and rainy Monday in Kansas City, and it was a day I will never forget. To say that I was in a miserable place in life back then would be an understatement in the truest sense. I was struggling financially, emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually ... just pick an area of my life, and you can bet I was struggling in it. People would often tell me what an incredible job I was doing as a single mom and how they admired my strong faith, and I would slap my "pretend that I'm doing just fine" smile on my face and say thanks. Then I would retreat into my room and sob my heart out because I knew the truth ... I knew that I wasn't the woman people thought I was ... I certainly wasn't Super Mom, and I wasn't at all the strong, confident woman of faith that others believed me to be. Not at all. Oh, I was involved in church and put on a good act alright, much like the act I put on about having it all together as a single mom, but the truth was that I had gone through the motions of wearing the name "Christian" for many years. I had a ton of head knowledge about God and the Bible; heck, I even led Bible studies and taught Sunday School ... I knew all about Him, but I didn't know Him. Until that cold and rainy Monday in September of 1999 ... the reason I will never forget that day is because that's the day I met God, that's the day I found out what knowing Him really means, that's the day I fully understood the words I had mouthed so many, many times ... Jesus died for me. And the deep and undeniable truth I finally grasped that day still holds true today, and will for all eternity ... He died for me even though I was a despicable, pretending, lying, horrible, miserable sinner ... Jesus died for me.

I met God on that Monday at ... of all places ... the church I had attended for many years. My intention when I left work at lunch that day all those years ago certainly didn't involve having a life-changing encounter with the Creator of the universe. In fact, my intention when I pulled into the parking lot at the church was far less spiritual in nature. I went there to tell the pastor and his secretary (both close friends of mine whom I had told about my double life and who had been talking with me about my need to give my heart to Christ) that they needed to get off my back about how I was living and that I was done listening to anyone talk to me about God or church. That was my intention, but God ... well, God had a different plan altogether for that particular afternoon, and a hugely different plan for my eternal soul. When I walked into the church office, my two friends took one look at me and knew that I was in bad, bad shape. They took me into the small prayer room next to the office and began to talk to me once again about surrender, about God's love for me, about my need for a Savior. I don't remember many of the details of our conversation that afternoon, but I do remember that the presence of God filled that little room in an incredible way as they spoke and prayed for me. As sure as I am typing these words, God stepped into that room that day and won the battle for my soul ... He stepped in while I was face down on the floor sobbing and begging for His forgiveness ... He stepped in and saved me for one reason alone ... He saved me because His Son, His only Son, Jesus, died for me.

I've been thinking a great deal recently about being face down, due in part to my weekly visits with my newest doctor and her request that I have some face-to-face conversations with various people in my life. For months, I've avoided eye contact with people as much as possible, which, according to the doctor, is a common behavior that accompanies depression. In fact, for all the weeks I've been meeting with the doctor, I've yet to look her in the eye ... and many weeks have been like this past Wednesday was ... sitting in a chair with my head down, crying until my shirt is drenched from my tears, wishing I could flip a switch and make it all disappear. Guilt, shame, humiliation, fear, loathing ... all of those feelings contribute to my face down posture, my unworthy, apologetic, broken, humbled, face down posture. I believe one of the most awesome attributes of God is His ability to take the difficult times of my life and teach me lessons that I could never learn when my life is filled with sunshine and roses. It's not when the vase of beautiful, blooming petals is sitting on the table of my heart that God's grace becomes real to me ... it's when I am wounded and bleeding from the thorns that have pierced my soul during the cutting and pruning required to create the final masterpiece ... that's when God's grace and mercy and unconditional love become so very alive and real to me.

God often speaks to me through the words of songs, and recently I've been listening to the Casting Crowns CD "Come to the Well." During the last week, the lyrics to one particular song have permeated my heart and reached deep into my soul. Perhaps because it's Easter tomorrow and I've been thinking a lot about that cold and rainy Monday when I met Jesus ... about His sacrifice for me ... about being face down then and face down now ... perhaps. Or perhaps God is continuing His work in me, continuing to teach me, continuing to humble me, continuing to love me, continuing to demonstrate His unending grace to me ... perhaps indeed. 

"I try to find a new way to tell You
Some way to show You what You mean to me
There’s nothing new
I exhaust myself searching
The world just keeps turning
What else can I do
‘Cause I find myself empty and

Face down
Having nothing else to cling to
But need of love that only You can give
Face down
Where I know that I belong
And I pray with grace that this world sees in me
Someone humbled and broken at Your feet

I stand amazed, see the work of Your hands
Still I don’t understand why You would rescue me
An empty cross
Where You suffered and bled
Overcoming my death
Recreating me
With this freedom I will be

Face down
Having nothing else to cling to
But need of love that only You can give
Face down
Where I know that I belong
And I pray with grace that this world sees in me
Someone humbled and broken at Your feet

So I’m asking for Your help
Just can’t do this by myself
After all, this life’s for You and not for me
Through Your mercy now I see
Brokenness is what I need
So I’ll stay right here at Your feet
Right here at Your feet and

Face down
Having nothing else to cling to
But need of love that only You can give
Face down
Where I know that I belong
And I pray with grace that this world sees in me
Someone humbled and broken at Your feet
Oh, humbled and broken at Your feet
At Your feet."

What it Can Become

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." ---- Dr. Seuss, The Lorax.

I've written about my young movie buddies, a brother and sister, the two youngest children of one of my friends, and how I see way more kid movies than grown-up ones because ... well, because my movie buddies are 12 and 8 years old. If someone would have told me a couple of years ago that I would be learning some huge life lessons from all the kid movies I've seen, I would have probably laughed and said, "Not hardly." And yet, those of you who are long-time readers of my blog know that more than a few times, I've shared some deep truths I've gleaned from the films I've watched with my young friends. So this evening, I picked up my little movie buddies and we went to see The Lorax ... a 3D film adaptation from the children's book of the same name by Dr. Seuss.

If you don't know the story, you should go see the movie ... it's loaded with lessons about greed, love, hope, forgiveness, trust, dishonesty and restoration, and it's peppered with some great action and comedic moments as well. Not too long into the movie, a line was uttered by the Once-Ler (who is an interesting character to say the least) ... "It's not about what it is, it's about what it can become." The Once-Ler was talking about a seed, folks ... a tiny little tree seed ... and when I heard the line, I immediately thought about the parable in the Bible of the sower and the seed. "It's not about what it is, it's about what it can become." God chooses all sorts of different ways to sow seeds into our hearts and minds, and He knows that it's not about who we are, it's about who we can become if we allow Him to grow those tiny seeds He plants within us.

When I dropped the kids off at their house after the movie, they both gave me great big hugs and thanked me for taking them to the movie. I was smiling as I climbed in my car and headed for home, and I thought about a conversation I had a week or so ago with the kids' mom ... a conversation in which I told her that God has used her kids to touch my heart in a big, big way. I thought about her response to my words ... "I've known for a long time that God is using my kids in your life ... I've known for a long time." You see, God planted a seed of love in my heart for those kiddos, but He also planted seeds of love in their hearts for me ... seeds of love that He is using to help me get better. I'm so beyond grateful that my friend and her husband continue to allow me to spend time with their children ... so beyond grateful that my little movie buddies care a whole awful lot ... a whole awful lot. You know ... we adults could learn some mighty big lessons from kiddos ... some mighty big lessons indeed.

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." ---- Dr. Seuss, The Lorax.

Dry Bones

It's funny the memories from childhood that seem to have seared themselves into my brain ... some happy, like the time my brother Jerry took me to the fair in his convertible with the top down; some are sad, like the day my little dog Frisky was hit by a car; and some are just plain weird, like getting locked in a cemetery with Dad, Mom and Granny while we were visiting Granddad's grave. I can still remember Granny insisting, "We've got plenty of time," when Daddy pointed out the sign at the entrance that indicated the gates would be chained and locked at sunset. Thinking back about that night, I can't help but wonder why in the world there would be a need to lock up a cemetery. The sun hadn't completely set as Daddy drove the car slowly toward the iron gates, but the light of day was certainly fading fast when we got to the entrance to find it securely chained and locked. I can't remember how he did it, but Daddy eventually managed to loosen the chain enough so that he was able to drive us out of the then very dark cemetery. What I do remember, however, is sitting in the back seat of the car awash in sheer terror that the skeletons in the caskets were going to rise up from the ground and drag me out of the car. Yeah, yeah, I know, my irrational thinking goes way, way back. And every single time I read the story in Ezekiel about the valley filled with dry bones, I think about that night ... I think about that night and my overwhelming fear of the skeleton bones in the cemetery.

Before I talk about old Ezekiel and his vision of the dry bones, I've got a confession to make ... I'd much rather spend my Bible study time in the New Testament than the Old, well, except for the book of Psalms ... I like the book of Psalms a lot. But God being God and knowing that He always has a reason when He directs me to certain passages in His Word, I've found myself sort of parked in the book of Ezekiel for the last week or so. And the more I've read from the book, the more I'm certain of two things ... 1) I've never really spent much time studying Ezekiel, and 2) God can use any and every word in the Bible to teach me the lesson He has for me. Here's the thing ... the book of Ezekiel is basically the recounting of a series of seven visions that Ezekiel had, and the description of those visions makes for quite interesting reading to say the least. But as I read through the book, I found myself completely mesmerized by the first 14 verses of chapter 37 ... the recounting of Ezekiel's vision of the valley of dry bones. So captivating is the story to me right now that I've read it over and over again, and last night I even read it out loud to Julie and Ollie (those dogs of mine should be holy, by the way, as much as I read the Bible aloud to them). And each time I read about the valley of dry bones, the more I knew that God was asking me to search for the deeper truth ... that my reading of the dry bones story was to teach me about more than God's promise to restore and bless the nation of Israel. God planted me in the book of Ezekiel and caused me to linger in chapter 37 to speak to me about the dry bones within my own heart, about His Lordship and power to restore life to my spirit, about His desire to make me a walking, breathing, living warrior who proclaims glory and honor to Him.

"The hand of the LORD was upon me, and He brought me out by the Spirit of the LORD and set me down in the middle of the valley; and it was full of bones. He caused me to pass among them round about, and behold, there were very many on the surface of the valley; and lo, they were very dry. He said to me, 'Son of man, can these bones live?' And I answered, 'O Lord GOD, You know.' Again He said to me, 'Prophesy over these bones and say to them, 'O dry bones, hear the word of the LORD.' Thus says the Lord GOD to these bones, 'Behold, I will cause breath to enter you that you may come to life. I will put sinews on you, make flesh grow back on you, cover you with skin and put breath in you that you may come alive; and you will know that I am the LORD.' So I prophesied as I was commanded; and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold, a rattling; and the bones came together, bone to its bone. And I looked, and behold, sinews were on them, and flesh grew and skin covered them; but there was no breath in them. Then He said to me, 'Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, son of man, and say to the breath, 'Thus says the Lord GOD, 'Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe on these slain, that they come to life.' So I prophesied as He commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they came to life and stood on their feet, an exceedingly great army. Then He said to me, 'Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel; behold, they say, ‘Our bones are dried up and our hope has perished. We are completely cut off.’ Therefore prophesy and say to them, ‘Thus says the Lord GOD, 'Behold, I will open your graves and cause you to come up out of your graves, My people; and I will bring you into the land of Israel. Then you will know that I am the LORD, when I have opened your graves and caused you to come up out of your graves, My people. I will put My Spirit within you and you will come to life, and I will place you on your own land. Then you will know that I, the LORD, have spoken and done it,” declares the LORD.'" Ezekiel 37:1-14

Send the breath of Your Spirit, Father, into the valley ... bring life into my bones, and raise me up from the grave ... make me righteously effective ... a strong and faithful warrior for You.