I've lived in Kansas City for 22 years ... that's where my house is ... that's where my job is ... that's where my life is. But my heart ... my heart will forever be in Chattanooga, Tennessee ... Chattanooga is where my home is. When I make the journey there, I always say, "I'm going home." And when I get there ... I breathe in the Southern air and declare, "I'm home."
Yesterday, I had a major meltdown ... at work. Not an angry yelling at everyone in my office meltdown, but rather an emotional sobbing my heart out meltdown. For all the things I've experienced in my life, I don't ever recall sitting in a conference room with one of the vice presidents of the company I work for and crying so hard that I could barely breathe ... yep, can't say that I've ever done that before or that I ever envisioned doing that ... ever. I remember saying over and over, "I just need a break," and she readily agreed with me and told me to go home ... to take a vacation ... to rest, to recharge, to relax.
So tonight, I'm in a hotel room in Chattanooga after a long, long day in the car. A friend came with me on this trip ... I'm finally willing to admit that driving such a long distance alone right now probably isn't a really great idea for me. She used her vacation time to accompany me, and she drove the entire distance. And as we came around the bend at the Nickajack bridge, the tears that consumed my day yesterday returned ... they returned in full force as I tried to tell my friend about going fishing with my dad on the expanse of water we were crossing. I get a lump in my throat every time I hit that stretch of highway, every single time I come home.
My only sister came to the hotel tonight after we arrived and brought dinner to us and visited for a while. She's aged since I saw her a year ago, but she came right in and began to mother me. She's a good deal older than me, and she's always mothered me. A friend told me last night ... "Go on the trip ... go see your family and let them love on you. Spend time with the Lord and your family ... let them love on you." And I told her in between sobs ... "I don't want them to see me like this ... I don't want them to see me like this." And her reply? "Oh, please ... go let them love on you."
I have a feeling that lump in my throat may linger with me this week ... it may linger indeed. But for tonight, friends ... for tonight, I'm home.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
Melodies from the Past
Whenever I smell baby powder, I instantly remember a time when Meghann dumped a whole container of it on the carpet in her room ... and then poured her juice on top of it and made a paste that she then used to paint a picture of a cow on the wall. Whenever I smell clay, I instantly remember the infatuation Brad had with modeling clay and how he would sit at the plastic little kid picnic table in the corner of our kitchen for hours creating all kinds of things. Whenever I smell sugar cookies, I instantly remember Matt standing on a chair at the counter next to my mom insisting that she be more meticulous in the rolling, cutting out and placing of the sugar cookie dough on the cookie sheet when she would visit us at Christmas. Whenever I smell shaving cream, I instantly remember watching Daddy put powder into a white porcelain container, mix it with water, put it on his face and use a straight-razor to shave. Whenever I smell corn cooking, I instantly remember Mom standing for hours over a hot stove as she prepared hundreds of ears of corn to freeze so that we could have fresh corn throughout the winter. I'm sure many of you have similar experiences ... certain scents, certain sounds, certain places spark memories within you that are powerful and strong ... memories that instantly transport you to events and places from your past.
Last Sunday, I had one of those moments ... a moment that instantly sent me back to my teenage years. The worship minister sang the first few lines of a song that was written by one of my favorite Christian artists when I was a teen. The minute he began to sing, I was back in my hometown of Red Bank ... shopping at The Vine bookstore ... purchasing a Keith Green album ... curling up in my bed ... listening intently as the music filled my room. After the worship leader sang the lines, he talked to the congregation about the song, about the man who penned it, and about the deep meaning contained within the words. And as he spoke about prayer and need and hurt and pain, my eyes filled with tears as I instantly remembered sitting in the small Baptist church I attended in my youth ... sitting in a pew in the church with all my friends hearing the truth spoken to me time and time again ... sitting in church for years and never getting it, never really knowing what it was to have a real faith, a deep commitment, a passion for God's Word, a longing to know Jesus Christ as more than the man the preacher always talked about. As the worship minister led the congregation in singing the rest of the song, I instantly remembered ... I instantly remembered so many times of listening ... to music, to preachers, to everyone except God.
I haven't been able to get the words and the melody of the song from Sunday off of my mind, and I also haven't been able to get the swirling memories from the past that were evoked by the song to leave my thoughts either. Youth conferences ... Bible studies ... late-night conversations ... so many melodies from the past ... so many, many times God called me to come to Him ... so many, many times I wouldn't listen.
"Thank You, God, that You kept calling ... thank You, Lord, that You reminded me Sunday once again of Who You are ... of what You desire from me ... of where I belong."
"My eyes are dry, my faith is old
My heart is hard, my prayers are cold
And I know how I ought to be
Alive to You and dead to me
Oh what can be done for an old heart like mine
Soften it up with oil and wine
The oil is You, Your Spirit of love
Please wash me anew in the wine of Your Blood
My eyes are dry, my faith is old
My heart is hard, my prayers are cold
And I know how I ought to be
Alive to You and dead to me."
--Keith Green
Last Sunday, I had one of those moments ... a moment that instantly sent me back to my teenage years. The worship minister sang the first few lines of a song that was written by one of my favorite Christian artists when I was a teen. The minute he began to sing, I was back in my hometown of Red Bank ... shopping at The Vine bookstore ... purchasing a Keith Green album ... curling up in my bed ... listening intently as the music filled my room. After the worship leader sang the lines, he talked to the congregation about the song, about the man who penned it, and about the deep meaning contained within the words. And as he spoke about prayer and need and hurt and pain, my eyes filled with tears as I instantly remembered sitting in the small Baptist church I attended in my youth ... sitting in a pew in the church with all my friends hearing the truth spoken to me time and time again ... sitting in church for years and never getting it, never really knowing what it was to have a real faith, a deep commitment, a passion for God's Word, a longing to know Jesus Christ as more than the man the preacher always talked about. As the worship minister led the congregation in singing the rest of the song, I instantly remembered ... I instantly remembered so many times of listening ... to music, to preachers, to everyone except God.
I haven't been able to get the words and the melody of the song from Sunday off of my mind, and I also haven't been able to get the swirling memories from the past that were evoked by the song to leave my thoughts either. Youth conferences ... Bible studies ... late-night conversations ... so many melodies from the past ... so many, many times God called me to come to Him ... so many, many times I wouldn't listen.
"Thank You, God, that You kept calling ... thank You, Lord, that You reminded me Sunday once again of Who You are ... of what You desire from me ... of where I belong."
"My eyes are dry, my faith is old
My heart is hard, my prayers are cold
And I know how I ought to be
Alive to You and dead to me
Oh what can be done for an old heart like mine
Soften it up with oil and wine
The oil is You, Your Spirit of love
Please wash me anew in the wine of Your Blood
My eyes are dry, my faith is old
My heart is hard, my prayers are cold
And I know how I ought to be
Alive to You and dead to me."
--Keith Green
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Tangled Web
When my daughter was young, she was terrified of bugs of any kind. If she saw a bug, she would scream loud enough to shake the walls of the house. She was especially afraid of spiders ... big spiders, little spiders and in-between sized spiders. While I don't care much for bugs myself, I never had an over-the-top fear of them the way Meghann did. I say "did" because she's no longer afraid of bugs ... I'm not sure whether that's because she and her hubby now live in a small town that's sort of out in the country or because my son-in-law's lack of fear has rubbed off on her. Either way, I was amazed the last time I visited them and there was a large green bug of some sort on the concrete floor of the carport next to their house, and Meghann wasn't the least bit afraid of it (and I must admit, it was a big, weird-looking bug that creeped me out more than a little). I couldn't believe that my bug-fearing, screaming little girl just shrugged her shoulders and said, "It's just a bug, Mom ... good grief!"
Remember in my previous post when I wrote about finally caving in and telling a friend my biking and walking routes? To prove that God has a sense of humor and that He wants me to learn my lesson about relinquishing at least some of my stubborn will and independent spirit, something happened yesterday morning on my bike ride that came as close as anything ever has to making me call someone to come and get me. It was a cool morning, and I was cruising along at a pretty fast clip. I knew that I had a tough day ahead of me at work editing a massive technical document (about cow parasites ... and it ended up taking me 12 1/2 hours to complete), so I knew that I needed to ride to clear my mind before I headed to the office. It's staying dark longer each morning, and the sun hadn't even begun to rise on the horizon as I turned off the street and onto the trail to come home.
There's a little downhill section when I first hit the trail part of my morning ride, and by the time I get to that point, I am flat moving. I had my head down as I pedaled, watching the trail in front of me that was illuminated by the light on the front of my bike when it hit me. Or I hit it. Or we hit each other. No, I didn't smash a rabbit or a bobcat or a deer. I did, however, ride right into a massive spider web that stretched across the trail. And yes, I completely freaked out. Thankfully, I didn't go soaring over the handlebars ... but suffice it to say that my departure from my bike has left me quite sore and with a couple of gorgeous purple bruises on my hip. Had anyone been watching or listening to me as I rolled around on the grass trying to remove the sticky spider goo off of me as I screamed much like my daughter did when she was young, I'm sure they would have immediately called the police to come and take me away. For all the scenarios I've thought about in my mind of things that could happen to me while I'm out riding my bike in the dark, being attacked by a spider web was never one of them.
So here's the thing ... I haven't been able to get my web encounter out of my mind, and this afternoon it struck me ... that spider web came out of nowhere and wrapped itself all around me. Before I knew it, I was all tangled up in something that I couldn't even see ... something that caused a sudden stop in my journey ... something that was hard to get out of ... something that made me travel more cautiously for the rest of my ride home. There's a big, huge, gigantic lesson in getting caught in that tangled web, friends ... a big, huge, gigantic lesson. I think sin is a lot like a spider web ... sometimes it comes out of nowhere from a place I can't see, and it wraps itself all around me and is hard to get out of once I'm in the middle of it. Sin can take me from a peaceful, soothing journey to a sudden stop ... a stop that causes pain and wounds that can linger for a long while even after I've confessed and repented and started over. And if I'm smart ... if I pay attention ... if I look at the One Who will lead me home ... I'll travel more cautiously for the rest of the journey.
Help me to ride carefully, Lord ... tangled webs are stretched across lots and lots of trails in this life. Help me to look up and see You ... help me to ride carefully, God ... help me to ride carefully.
Remember in my previous post when I wrote about finally caving in and telling a friend my biking and walking routes? To prove that God has a sense of humor and that He wants me to learn my lesson about relinquishing at least some of my stubborn will and independent spirit, something happened yesterday morning on my bike ride that came as close as anything ever has to making me call someone to come and get me. It was a cool morning, and I was cruising along at a pretty fast clip. I knew that I had a tough day ahead of me at work editing a massive technical document (about cow parasites ... and it ended up taking me 12 1/2 hours to complete), so I knew that I needed to ride to clear my mind before I headed to the office. It's staying dark longer each morning, and the sun hadn't even begun to rise on the horizon as I turned off the street and onto the trail to come home.
There's a little downhill section when I first hit the trail part of my morning ride, and by the time I get to that point, I am flat moving. I had my head down as I pedaled, watching the trail in front of me that was illuminated by the light on the front of my bike when it hit me. Or I hit it. Or we hit each other. No, I didn't smash a rabbit or a bobcat or a deer. I did, however, ride right into a massive spider web that stretched across the trail. And yes, I completely freaked out. Thankfully, I didn't go soaring over the handlebars ... but suffice it to say that my departure from my bike has left me quite sore and with a couple of gorgeous purple bruises on my hip. Had anyone been watching or listening to me as I rolled around on the grass trying to remove the sticky spider goo off of me as I screamed much like my daughter did when she was young, I'm sure they would have immediately called the police to come and take me away. For all the scenarios I've thought about in my mind of things that could happen to me while I'm out riding my bike in the dark, being attacked by a spider web was never one of them.
So here's the thing ... I haven't been able to get my web encounter out of my mind, and this afternoon it struck me ... that spider web came out of nowhere and wrapped itself all around me. Before I knew it, I was all tangled up in something that I couldn't even see ... something that caused a sudden stop in my journey ... something that was hard to get out of ... something that made me travel more cautiously for the rest of my ride home. There's a big, huge, gigantic lesson in getting caught in that tangled web, friends ... a big, huge, gigantic lesson. I think sin is a lot like a spider web ... sometimes it comes out of nowhere from a place I can't see, and it wraps itself all around me and is hard to get out of once I'm in the middle of it. Sin can take me from a peaceful, soothing journey to a sudden stop ... a stop that causes pain and wounds that can linger for a long while even after I've confessed and repented and started over. And if I'm smart ... if I pay attention ... if I look at the One Who will lead me home ... I'll travel more cautiously for the rest of the journey.
Help me to ride carefully, Lord ... tangled webs are stretched across lots and lots of trails in this life. Help me to look up and see You ... help me to ride carefully, God ... help me to ride carefully.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Rogue in the House
My children loved the X-Men movies, especially my two sons Matt and Brad. We saw each one of the films in the theater, and like The Lord of the Rings trilogy or the Batman films, my kiddos waited with great anticipation for each X-Men flick to hit the big screen. While many of the characters were fascinating ... I especially liked Wolverine ... one in particular has been on my mind for the last few days (probably because I watched an X-Men marathon on TV a week or so ago). Rogue is the character portrayed by Anna Paquin ... a young runaway whose mutant power is a true curse that has caused her great pain and hurt throughout her life. I'll spare you the lengthy description, but whenever Rogue touches another person, she absorbs their life force and leaves them near death. Because the transfer of life force requires skin to skin contact, Rogue wears gloves to ensure that she doesn't hurt those she loves by accidentally touching them. Each time I watch the movie, I always feel sorry for Rogue, and I always wonder why the author chose that particular name for her character ... one of the meanings of the word rogue is "one who behaves in a manner that is considered to be outside the expected norms, often exhibited through isolation and risk-taking behavior." Hmmm ... very interesting.
Last week, my doctor called me a rogue ... she didn't use that specific word, but the more I've thought about what she said, she might as well have handed me a T-shirt with the words, "I Am a Rogue" emblazoned across the front. She talked about the isolation that accompanies depression and about the ongoing battle that seems to have taken up residence within me now ... the fight to make myself leave my house or interact with other people. But what she was totally focused on was what she termed my "risky" behavior ... not checking my blood sugar levels as I should, walking or riding my bike in the dark, not telling anyone the route I take or when I walk or ride, along with a few others that I'm not willing to share in a blog post for the whole world to read. We wrangled back and forth about ... in her words ... my lack of concern for my own well-being or safety. She listed several actions that she would like for me to agree to perform, and the one that I agreed to was to email someone and tell that person in detail my routes and times for my outdoor activities. The good doctor asked that it be someone who lived close to me who could come to my aid should I have an accident or get injured or sick, someone who knows the area well enough to be able to find me. My first response was, "I have my phone with me most of the time ... I can just call for help if I need it and tell someone where I am." And her reply? "Unless you are disoriented and can't give the person correct directions. If they know your route ahead of time, they could find you easier and quicker." So ... it took me a week to decide to honor her request, and yesterday I emailed a friend with all the information the doctor asked me to provide. I even complied with her request that I ask for a reply from the person so that I could print the email and bring it to my next appointment to prove that I did my homework.
A few weeks ago, a friend confronted me about my rebellious attitude toward my doctors, toward taking my medication, even toward God. The more I thought about my doctor's request over the last week, the more I thought about what my friend said. And the more I thought about what both of them said, the more I thought about the meaning of the word rogue ... and the more I realized that both the doctor and my friend are ... right. After dinner this evening, I hopped on my bike to go for a ride in the beautiful cool evening air. As I rode deep into the woods, I must admit that I thought more about the fact that I was alone on a very deserted trail ... and the doctor's use of the word "risky" even popped into my head. And when I stopped to take a drink and grab some lip balm out of my backpack, God smacked me right between the eyes with the lesson He had for me about being obedient and submissive ... honoring my doctor's request and caving in and sending the email to my friend was about way more than the routes I walk or ride or the times I go ... way, way more. I can't believe I never noticed it before, but I surely noticed it tonight ... my biking backpack is a Camelbak ... a Camelbak Rogue.
OK, Lord ... You got my attention this time in a big way ... a really big way.
Last week, my doctor called me a rogue ... she didn't use that specific word, but the more I've thought about what she said, she might as well have handed me a T-shirt with the words, "I Am a Rogue" emblazoned across the front. She talked about the isolation that accompanies depression and about the ongoing battle that seems to have taken up residence within me now ... the fight to make myself leave my house or interact with other people. But what she was totally focused on was what she termed my "risky" behavior ... not checking my blood sugar levels as I should, walking or riding my bike in the dark, not telling anyone the route I take or when I walk or ride, along with a few others that I'm not willing to share in a blog post for the whole world to read. We wrangled back and forth about ... in her words ... my lack of concern for my own well-being or safety. She listed several actions that she would like for me to agree to perform, and the one that I agreed to was to email someone and tell that person in detail my routes and times for my outdoor activities. The good doctor asked that it be someone who lived close to me who could come to my aid should I have an accident or get injured or sick, someone who knows the area well enough to be able to find me. My first response was, "I have my phone with me most of the time ... I can just call for help if I need it and tell someone where I am." And her reply? "Unless you are disoriented and can't give the person correct directions. If they know your route ahead of time, they could find you easier and quicker." So ... it took me a week to decide to honor her request, and yesterday I emailed a friend with all the information the doctor asked me to provide. I even complied with her request that I ask for a reply from the person so that I could print the email and bring it to my next appointment to prove that I did my homework.
A few weeks ago, a friend confronted me about my rebellious attitude toward my doctors, toward taking my medication, even toward God. The more I thought about my doctor's request over the last week, the more I thought about what my friend said. And the more I thought about what both of them said, the more I thought about the meaning of the word rogue ... and the more I realized that both the doctor and my friend are ... right. After dinner this evening, I hopped on my bike to go for a ride in the beautiful cool evening air. As I rode deep into the woods, I must admit that I thought more about the fact that I was alone on a very deserted trail ... and the doctor's use of the word "risky" even popped into my head. And when I stopped to take a drink and grab some lip balm out of my backpack, God smacked me right between the eyes with the lesson He had for me about being obedient and submissive ... honoring my doctor's request and caving in and sending the email to my friend was about way more than the routes I walk or ride or the times I go ... way, way more. I can't believe I never noticed it before, but I surely noticed it tonight ... my biking backpack is a Camelbak ... a Camelbak Rogue.
OK, Lord ... You got my attention this time in a big way ... a really big way.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Tech Baby
Tonight's post is simply to deliver information ... no lessons, no clever stories, no deep thoughts or musings ... my brain is exhausted and my body isn't far behind, so I'm heading to bed real soon. And yes, I know it's not that late, but I'm old ... I'm tired ... and I've got some weird bite or rash or leprosy or something on my belly that's freaking me out. Yep, that's how I roll these days ... it's such a short little hop from sane thinking to that of irrational for me now. And I've discovered that when my insane side takes over, the best thing I can do is take my medicine and go to bed.
Many of you have messaged me asking about how my son Matt and his little family are adjusting to their new lives as Canadians. They love it there (but it's not winter yet either). The kids say the people have somewhat of a pioneering spirit and are quite outdoorsy types (again I say, but it's not winter yet either). Matt either walks or bikes to work every day and insists that he will continue to do so in the winter as well (with snow tires on his bike, of course ... but ... it's not winter yet either). Becca and C.J. take long walks while Matt is at work, and they enjoy riding the bus to the library for story time each Tuesday (but it's not winter yet either). Matt has spent the last few weeks getting his research projects set up and writing a paper for submission to psychological journals for publication. He starts teaching his class in early September, a class of 120 students that meets twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And so far, he completely loves his job ... great co-workers, tons of awesome benefits, wonderful academic environment. Their rental house is located in a great area near many authentic ethnic restaurants and grocery stores, and, according to Matt, the most incredible indoor farmer's market in the world. The bottom line? They are very, very happy and enjoying experiencing things they never have before.
Last weekend, I got to Skype with them for the first time since they moved, and after we hung up from our computer talking, I couldn't help but think how hard it would be to not be able to see them. I couldn't help but think of families separated by great distances who don't have access to the technology that we do. C.J. is accustomed to doing the Skype thing with Becca's family, and it tickled me pink to see her little face light up when I talked to her. And yes, tears filled my eyes as she laughed and I longed to hold her in my arms and kiss her adorable baby cheeks. I was thinking this afternoon that C.J. is going to grow up knowing me through technology ... she will know how to use an iPad before she knows how to walk. She will be a tech baby for sure ... a genius tech baby, of course ... the prettiest little genius tech baby in the universe. Matt and Becca sent me a list of books they would like me to read to C.J. ... we came up with the idea of checking out the same book from our respective libraries and me reading to C.J. via Skype while they turn the pages for her as she listens. And when she's old enough, she and I will choose books together to read ... at least I hope that she'll want to read with me.
So that's it ... they are happy ... C.J. is growing like a weed, getting close to crawling, eating homemade baby food (she hates avocado, by the way and loves butternut squash), teething and finally sleeping through the night again. And me? I'm missing them like crazy and trying my best to overcome my fear of flying and plan a trip to Canada in the near future. That is, of course, providing I'm not overcome by leprosy while I sleep tonight.
Good night, friends ... sleep well.
Many of you have messaged me asking about how my son Matt and his little family are adjusting to their new lives as Canadians. They love it there (but it's not winter yet either). The kids say the people have somewhat of a pioneering spirit and are quite outdoorsy types (again I say, but it's not winter yet either). Matt either walks or bikes to work every day and insists that he will continue to do so in the winter as well (with snow tires on his bike, of course ... but ... it's not winter yet either). Becca and C.J. take long walks while Matt is at work, and they enjoy riding the bus to the library for story time each Tuesday (but it's not winter yet either). Matt has spent the last few weeks getting his research projects set up and writing a paper for submission to psychological journals for publication. He starts teaching his class in early September, a class of 120 students that meets twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And so far, he completely loves his job ... great co-workers, tons of awesome benefits, wonderful academic environment. Their rental house is located in a great area near many authentic ethnic restaurants and grocery stores, and, according to Matt, the most incredible indoor farmer's market in the world. The bottom line? They are very, very happy and enjoying experiencing things they never have before.
Last weekend, I got to Skype with them for the first time since they moved, and after we hung up from our computer talking, I couldn't help but think how hard it would be to not be able to see them. I couldn't help but think of families separated by great distances who don't have access to the technology that we do. C.J. is accustomed to doing the Skype thing with Becca's family, and it tickled me pink to see her little face light up when I talked to her. And yes, tears filled my eyes as she laughed and I longed to hold her in my arms and kiss her adorable baby cheeks. I was thinking this afternoon that C.J. is going to grow up knowing me through technology ... she will know how to use an iPad before she knows how to walk. She will be a tech baby for sure ... a genius tech baby, of course ... the prettiest little genius tech baby in the universe. Matt and Becca sent me a list of books they would like me to read to C.J. ... we came up with the idea of checking out the same book from our respective libraries and me reading to C.J. via Skype while they turn the pages for her as she listens. And when she's old enough, she and I will choose books together to read ... at least I hope that she'll want to read with me.
So that's it ... they are happy ... C.J. is growing like a weed, getting close to crawling, eating homemade baby food (she hates avocado, by the way and loves butternut squash), teething and finally sleeping through the night again. And me? I'm missing them like crazy and trying my best to overcome my fear of flying and plan a trip to Canada in the near future. That is, of course, providing I'm not overcome by leprosy while I sleep tonight.
Good night, friends ... sleep well.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Lights Out
When my children were young, summertime meant two things ... no school and church camp. I'm not sure which they enjoyed more, sleeping in and not having to do homework or spending a week at the rustic camp in Missouri with their friends from church. The first time I went with some other parents to drive the kids to camp, I was amazed at just how rustic it was ... no television, no air conditioning, community showers. I know many of you are thinking ... so? That's what church camp is supposed to be ... rustic and far removed from the comforts of home so that the kids can focus on getting closer to God and closer to one another. Here's the thing, though ... I grew up going to Ridgecrest Conference Center for church camp. Nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, it was far from rustic with hotel-like dorms, a massive auditorium for the worship services and a cafeteria that resembled a 5-star restaurant.
I've got some great memories of the summertime weeks I spent at Ridgecrest, including meeting Billy Graham and his wife Ruth at a little doughnut shop one morning when several of us snuck off the Ridgecrest campus and went into town. But when my children reminisce about church camp, they have memories of smoky campfires and messy food fights and nighttime cow tipping and tear-filled confessions and quiet walks with God in the woods. I remember how shocked I was the first time I saw the camp my kids were attending and thought I was depriving them somehow ... but all these years later, I know that my children were richly blessed by their church camp experience and I wouldn't have changed one thing about their time there. For all the differences between my church camp experience and that of my children, there was one ritual that was the same. Each night at a predetermined time, a counselor would shout, "Lights out!" signifying that it was time to quiet down and go to sleep. And I'm sure that my children did what I did when those words were spoken ... got quiet until the counselor was asleep and then stayed up all night talking to friends. Or in my case, snuck out and got into trouble of some sort.
Now that summer is nearing its end and fall is right around the corner (it was a chilly 59 degrees when I hopped on my bike at 5:15 this morning), the days are getting shorter ... it stays dark later in the mornings and it gets dark later in the evening. And for the first time since I've been biking again, I rode my entire route in the dark this morning with the sky only beginning to get a little lighter when I pulled into my garage. I was extra deep in thought this morning, and it seemed appropriate that I was surrounded by the lingering darkness of the cool night sky as I pedaled. Thoughts tumbled through my mind ... thoughts about a multitude of things ... work, my children, little C.J., an email my doctor sent me on Sunday, church, the diabetes walk, my dogs, traveling to Tennessee. But one thought that came crashing into my mind about halfway through my ride has been stuck in my brain all day ... the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer ... the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer ... the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer ... I wonder when God is going to shout, "Lights out!"
"And there will no longer be any night; and they will not have need of the light of a lamp nor the light of the sun, because the Lord God will illumine them; and they will reign forever and ever." Revelation 22:5
"'Behold, I am coming quickly, and My reward is with Me, to render to every man according to what he has done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.' Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they may have the right to the tree of life, and may enter by the gates into the city." Revelation 22:12-14
I've got some great memories of the summertime weeks I spent at Ridgecrest, including meeting Billy Graham and his wife Ruth at a little doughnut shop one morning when several of us snuck off the Ridgecrest campus and went into town. But when my children reminisce about church camp, they have memories of smoky campfires and messy food fights and nighttime cow tipping and tear-filled confessions and quiet walks with God in the woods. I remember how shocked I was the first time I saw the camp my kids were attending and thought I was depriving them somehow ... but all these years later, I know that my children were richly blessed by their church camp experience and I wouldn't have changed one thing about their time there. For all the differences between my church camp experience and that of my children, there was one ritual that was the same. Each night at a predetermined time, a counselor would shout, "Lights out!" signifying that it was time to quiet down and go to sleep. And I'm sure that my children did what I did when those words were spoken ... got quiet until the counselor was asleep and then stayed up all night talking to friends. Or in my case, snuck out and got into trouble of some sort.
Now that summer is nearing its end and fall is right around the corner (it was a chilly 59 degrees when I hopped on my bike at 5:15 this morning), the days are getting shorter ... it stays dark later in the mornings and it gets dark later in the evening. And for the first time since I've been biking again, I rode my entire route in the dark this morning with the sky only beginning to get a little lighter when I pulled into my garage. I was extra deep in thought this morning, and it seemed appropriate that I was surrounded by the lingering darkness of the cool night sky as I pedaled. Thoughts tumbled through my mind ... thoughts about a multitude of things ... work, my children, little C.J., an email my doctor sent me on Sunday, church, the diabetes walk, my dogs, traveling to Tennessee. But one thought that came crashing into my mind about halfway through my ride has been stuck in my brain all day ... the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer ... the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer ... the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer ... I wonder when God is going to shout, "Lights out!"
"And there will no longer be any night; and they will not have need of the light of a lamp nor the light of the sun, because the Lord God will illumine them; and they will reign forever and ever." Revelation 22:5
"'Behold, I am coming quickly, and My reward is with Me, to render to every man according to what he has done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.' Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they may have the right to the tree of life, and may enter by the gates into the city." Revelation 22:12-14
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Nothing is Wasted
There was a drawer in the kitchen of the house I grew up in that I will always remember. Not because it was filled with money or food or cool gadgets, but because it was full to overflowing with Mom's collection of bread bag ties. You know ... the little colored, plastic-coated, wire twist ties that are found on the wrappers of loaves of bread. There must have been a million of them in that drawer ... every time Mom finished off a bag of bread, she would put the tie in the drawer. I have no idea how long Mom had been saving bread bag ties, but I know that when she decided to sell her house and move to Kansas City, I specifically told her to throw them away. She laughed ... and I could picture her eyes squeezed shut and her nose crinkled up as she did. After Mom passed away and I was packing the things into boxes that were in her little kitchen in the apartment she was living in, I couldn't help but chuckle when I found a large Ziploc bag filled to the brim with ... yep ... bread bag twist ties. Since Mom only lived in the apartment for six weeks and couldn't have possibly eaten that many bags of bread, I surmised that she had done one of two things. She either went door-to-door to the other senior citizens who lived in the apartment complex and begged for their twist ties, or ... and probably much nearer to the truth ... she had brought the bag of ties on the airplane with her in her purse. She did, after all, manage to bring several leaves of African violets wrapped in moist paper towels along with her ... African violets, which, I might add, have grown into beautiful flowering plants that line my kitchen windowsill. Oh, Mom ... how I do miss you and the crazy things you did.
Back when I still lived with Mom and Dad, I used to tease Mom about the drawer of bread bag ties and ask her what in the world she planned to do with all of them. She would always respond with the same answer ... "You just never know when a pile of bread ties will come in handy." As I grew older, I came to understand that Mom's collecting of twist ties, washing and reusing plastic bags, watering down the dishwashing soap and only putting a small amount of water in the tub when she took a bath ... she did all of those things because there were some very lean years for her and Daddy when they first married and began raising their family. Daddy didn't make much money, and times were hard back then ... Mom learned by necessity not to be wasteful and to make everything last as long as possible. While I'm still not sure what Mom used the twist ties for, I am sure that she used them somehow, quite possibly in creative ways that I can't even imagine. Oh wait, I do remember one thing ... she would use them to create a loop on the back of picture frames to hang them on the wall. I guess Mom was planning ahead by saving all those ties ... she must have been planning to hang a multitude of pictures.
Here's the thing ... though I saw no value or worth in Mom's collection of twist ties, they meant something to her. So often I find myself questioning my worth, my value, my purpose, my meaning ... so many times I wonder how there could be any use for the tears, the pain, the hurt, how God could possibly have a reason ... a plan ... a lesson. And yet ... and yet ... and yet ... just as Mom kept those twist ties ... just as she intended that they not be wasted but rather used over and over and over again ... I'm God's drawer ... filled to the brim with twist ties that He refuses to waste. Every single tear, every ounce of pain, every piece of hurt is gathered up by Him, gathered up and held close to His heart. And from the ruins and the wreckage and the ashes and the darkness of my life, He will cause His beauty to rise up and His glory to brilliantly shine. Nothing is wasted with our Redeemer, friends ... not one thing is wasted with Him.
Back when I still lived with Mom and Dad, I used to tease Mom about the drawer of bread bag ties and ask her what in the world she planned to do with all of them. She would always respond with the same answer ... "You just never know when a pile of bread ties will come in handy." As I grew older, I came to understand that Mom's collecting of twist ties, washing and reusing plastic bags, watering down the dishwashing soap and only putting a small amount of water in the tub when she took a bath ... she did all of those things because there were some very lean years for her and Daddy when they first married and began raising their family. Daddy didn't make much money, and times were hard back then ... Mom learned by necessity not to be wasteful and to make everything last as long as possible. While I'm still not sure what Mom used the twist ties for, I am sure that she used them somehow, quite possibly in creative ways that I can't even imagine. Oh wait, I do remember one thing ... she would use them to create a loop on the back of picture frames to hang them on the wall. I guess Mom was planning ahead by saving all those ties ... she must have been planning to hang a multitude of pictures.
Here's the thing ... though I saw no value or worth in Mom's collection of twist ties, they meant something to her. So often I find myself questioning my worth, my value, my purpose, my meaning ... so many times I wonder how there could be any use for the tears, the pain, the hurt, how God could possibly have a reason ... a plan ... a lesson. And yet ... and yet ... and yet ... just as Mom kept those twist ties ... just as she intended that they not be wasted but rather used over and over and over again ... I'm God's drawer ... filled to the brim with twist ties that He refuses to waste. Every single tear, every ounce of pain, every piece of hurt is gathered up by Him, gathered up and held close to His heart. And from the ruins and the wreckage and the ashes and the darkness of my life, He will cause His beauty to rise up and His glory to brilliantly shine. Nothing is wasted with our Redeemer, friends ... not one thing is wasted with Him.
"The hurt that broke your heart
And left you trembling in the dark
Feeling lost and alone
Will tell you hope's a lie
But what if every tear you cry
Will seed the ground where joy will grow
And nothing is wasted
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer
Nothing is wasted
It's from the deepest wounds
That beauty finds a place to bloom
And you will see before the end
That every broken piece is
Gathered in the heart of Jesus
And what's lost will be found again
Nothing is wasted
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer
Nothing is wasted
From the ruins
From the ashes
Beauty will rise
From the wreckage
From the darkness
Glory will shine
Glory will shine
Nothing is wasted
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer
Nothing is wasted
From the ruins
From the ashes
Beauty will rise
From the wreckage
From the darkness
Glory will shine
Glory will shine"
And left you trembling in the dark
Feeling lost and alone
Will tell you hope's a lie
But what if every tear you cry
Will seed the ground where joy will grow
And nothing is wasted
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer
Nothing is wasted
It's from the deepest wounds
That beauty finds a place to bloom
And you will see before the end
That every broken piece is
Gathered in the heart of Jesus
And what's lost will be found again
Nothing is wasted
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer
Nothing is wasted
From the ruins
From the ashes
Beauty will rise
From the wreckage
From the darkness
Glory will shine
Glory will shine
Nothing is wasted
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer
Nothing is wasted
From the ruins
From the ashes
Beauty will rise
From the wreckage
From the darkness
Glory will shine
Glory will shine"
Nothing is Wasted --- Jason Gray
Friday, August 10, 2012
Listen Up
I don't know why, but I don't sleep well anymore. I'm lucky if I sleep 3 or 4 hours without waking up, and then I'm even luckier if I can go back to sleep and snooze for another 3 hours. Most nights, however, I wake up every couple of hours and lay awake for a long while before I drift back off to sleep. So this morning, I finally gave up on trying to sleep and got up and was out the door for a bike ride at 5:15. It was cool this morning, around 60 degrees, and as I began to pedal down my street, I was thankful I had thought to put on a long-sleeve biking shirt. I had no more than turned onto the main road to head toward the sidewalk when my mind began to churn with thoughts, and it didn't take me long to understand that those thoughts weren't my own but rather God speaking to me. This post is going to be different than others I've penned ... I'm going to give you a peek inside my early morning brain and share the thoughts that flowed through my mind while I was riding. Listen up, and see if maybe God wants to say something to you, too.
My front light is crooked ... I need to adjust it so that it shines on the path in front of me. Every time I hit a bump, my light gets jostled around. There are more critters out when it's dark than when it's light ... I sure hope I never see a snake. If I hit a rabbit, I'm sure I will crash. Gosh, there are a lot of people out ... probably because of the cooler temperatures. When it's too hot outside, people hide inside their homes ... when it's too hot outside, it's hard to breathe. Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. That car was too close to me ... I could feel the wind from it as it went by. What if I get hit by a car in the dark? It's so much easier to ride on the smooth road than on the bumpy sidewalk. There are way more rabbits on the bumpy sidewalk than the smooth road. It's really hard to ride into the wind ... it's really windy this morning. It's so windy I can't hear the cars coming ... it's so windy I can't hear anything. Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. Lean forward more so there's not as much resistance to the wind. I'm going to take a different route today ... maybe I won't be riding into the wind if I change directions. Man, this hill didn't look this steep from the bottom. P e d a l, p e d a l, p e d a l, p e d a l. Finally ... the top of the hill. It's so much easier to coast downhill than it is to pedal uphill. Ahhh ... the wind is behind me now, and I'm going faster. It feels so much better to have the wind behind my back than it does to have it in my face. My fingers are tingling ... I'm gripping the handlebars too tightly ... I need to loosen my grip. I wonder how long it would take for someone to find me if I had a heart attack out here in the dark. Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. What is that over there? Is it a cat? A dog? A fox? A bobcat? Oh, it's just a bag of trash ... I wonder whose trash that is? There's no other trash out here on this road. The sun is coming up ... it's getting lighter out. The final turn toward home ... I think this hill is steeper than it was yesterday ... breathe in, breathe out, pedal, pedal, pedal. I need to stop and take a drink ... have I had anything to drink since I started riding? OK ... start pedaling again. I hate this last hill on the trail. Lean forward ... pedal hard ... dig, dig, dig ... don't stop pedaling ... almost to the top. Ahhh ... made it. Nod good morning to the two women I pass every time I ride. They must live on the trail. Just a couple of minutes, and I'll be home. Pedal, breathe, pedal, breathe, pedal.
"Listen up, Terrie ... listen up. Your light is askew, yes, but it's still on ... trust Me to point it in the right direction. Stop worrying about the unexpected beasts of fur or metal along the way ... trust Me to keep them at bay. It's easy to venture out when life is cool and comfortable ... trust Me to breathe for you when the heat of life takes your breath away. The hills are steep ... the sidewalks are bumpy ... the wind will blow you about ... trust Me, Terrie ... trust Me to help you up the hills, to guide you over the bumps, to be your shelter from the wind. Loosen your grip, let go and put your hand in Mine ... trust Me to hold on for you. I will always find you ... trust Me to never let you out of my sight. You needn't be concerned about the trash left behind by others ... trust Me to clean up their garbage ... and yours, too. Look for the light in the darkness ... trust Me to be that Light. Drink ... drink ... drink ... drink deeply of My grace, My mercy and My love ... trust me to quench your thirst. Look not at the height of the hill but gaze upon the One who owns it ... trust Me to help you climb it. Pedal ... breathe ... drink ... pedal ... breathe ... drink. I am your strength ... I am your air ... I am your living water. Pedal ... breathe ... drink ... trust ... trust ... trust. Listen up, my child ... listen up to Me."
My front light is crooked ... I need to adjust it so that it shines on the path in front of me. Every time I hit a bump, my light gets jostled around. There are more critters out when it's dark than when it's light ... I sure hope I never see a snake. If I hit a rabbit, I'm sure I will crash. Gosh, there are a lot of people out ... probably because of the cooler temperatures. When it's too hot outside, people hide inside their homes ... when it's too hot outside, it's hard to breathe. Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. That car was too close to me ... I could feel the wind from it as it went by. What if I get hit by a car in the dark? It's so much easier to ride on the smooth road than on the bumpy sidewalk. There are way more rabbits on the bumpy sidewalk than the smooth road. It's really hard to ride into the wind ... it's really windy this morning. It's so windy I can't hear the cars coming ... it's so windy I can't hear anything. Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. Lean forward more so there's not as much resistance to the wind. I'm going to take a different route today ... maybe I won't be riding into the wind if I change directions. Man, this hill didn't look this steep from the bottom. P e d a l, p e d a l, p e d a l, p e d a l. Finally ... the top of the hill. It's so much easier to coast downhill than it is to pedal uphill. Ahhh ... the wind is behind me now, and I'm going faster. It feels so much better to have the wind behind my back than it does to have it in my face. My fingers are tingling ... I'm gripping the handlebars too tightly ... I need to loosen my grip. I wonder how long it would take for someone to find me if I had a heart attack out here in the dark. Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. What is that over there? Is it a cat? A dog? A fox? A bobcat? Oh, it's just a bag of trash ... I wonder whose trash that is? There's no other trash out here on this road. The sun is coming up ... it's getting lighter out. The final turn toward home ... I think this hill is steeper than it was yesterday ... breathe in, breathe out, pedal, pedal, pedal. I need to stop and take a drink ... have I had anything to drink since I started riding? OK ... start pedaling again. I hate this last hill on the trail. Lean forward ... pedal hard ... dig, dig, dig ... don't stop pedaling ... almost to the top. Ahhh ... made it. Nod good morning to the two women I pass every time I ride. They must live on the trail. Just a couple of minutes, and I'll be home. Pedal, breathe, pedal, breathe, pedal.
"Listen up, Terrie ... listen up. Your light is askew, yes, but it's still on ... trust Me to point it in the right direction. Stop worrying about the unexpected beasts of fur or metal along the way ... trust Me to keep them at bay. It's easy to venture out when life is cool and comfortable ... trust Me to breathe for you when the heat of life takes your breath away. The hills are steep ... the sidewalks are bumpy ... the wind will blow you about ... trust Me, Terrie ... trust Me to help you up the hills, to guide you over the bumps, to be your shelter from the wind. Loosen your grip, let go and put your hand in Mine ... trust Me to hold on for you. I will always find you ... trust Me to never let you out of my sight. You needn't be concerned about the trash left behind by others ... trust Me to clean up their garbage ... and yours, too. Look for the light in the darkness ... trust Me to be that Light. Drink ... drink ... drink ... drink deeply of My grace, My mercy and My love ... trust me to quench your thirst. Look not at the height of the hill but gaze upon the One who owns it ... trust Me to help you climb it. Pedal ... breathe ... drink ... pedal ... breathe ... drink. I am your strength ... I am your air ... I am your living water. Pedal ... breathe ... drink ... trust ... trust ... trust. Listen up, my child ... listen up to Me."
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Lest I Forget
A couple of weeks ago someone asked me a rather unusual question. I didn't think too much about it at the time, but over the last couple of days, I've come to understand that the question had far deeper meaning than I realized when it was asked of me. The question was offered up by one of my co-workers when she saw a photo of me from a few years ago ... a picture of me when I was ... well ... when I was very, very overweight. First came the usual statements that I've grown accustomed to hearing ... "You don't even look like the same person ... that can't be you ... you've lost a ton of weight." I'm especially fond of the "ton of weight" comments ... yep, especially fond of those for sure. And then came the question ... a question that no one has ever asked me since I lost half my body weight. "When you look in the mirror, do you still see yourself as a heavy person, or do you see yourself as thin now?" I didn't hesitate even a second as I answered, "I will always see myself as heavy ... always."
As I'm sure most of you do, each morning I spend time in front of the mirror in my bathroom. I dry my hair and spike it up with gel, put makeup on my face to help hide the wrinkles, floss and brush my teeth, and place earrings in my ears. For as much as I do each of those things on a daily basis, I can't remember a day when I've stood in front of that mirror and said to myself, "I sure am thin ... I need to gain some weight." I do, however, know that there have been countless times when I've gazed into that mirror and thought the opposite. See here's the thing ... it's way easier to see myself as the overweight, unhealthy, inactive person I used to be than to see who I am now ... the thinner, healthier, walking, biking, lifting weights person I view in the mirror each morning.
The song I mentioned in my last post that I listened to when I followed a link on Facebook, the song by Jason Gray that caused me to purchase his album, is the song that has made me return to ponder my co-worker's question more deeply as of late. Just as I need to be reminded of who I am physically, I need to be reminded of who I am spiritually. Just as I need to be reminded that I don't have the body I had three years ago, I need to be reminded that I don't have the heart I had before I met Jesus. On my refrigerator hangs a family photo ... a family photo taken when I was at my heaviest weight. Several people have asked me why I have that photo in such a prominent place ... a place where I am forced to look at it every single day. And my answer is always the same ... "I don't ever want to be that person again ... it reminds me of who I am now and of who I was before."
For the days I lose my way ... for the days my heart is hard ... for the days I am lonely ... for the days I forget, Father ... remind me who I am, Lord ... lest I forget ... lest I forget ... remind me who I am.
"When I lose my way,
And I forget my name
Remind me who I am
In the mirror all I see
Is who I don't wanna be
Remind me who I am
In the loneliest places
When I can't remember what grace is
Tell me, once again
Who I am to You, who I am to You
Tell me, lest I forget
Who I am to You, that I belong to You
To You
When my heart is like a stone,
And I'm running far from home
Remind me who I am
When I can't receive Your love
Afraid I'll never be enough
Remind me who I am
If I'm Your beloved, can You help me believe it
Tell me, once again
Who I am to you, who I am to You
Tell me, lest I forget
Who I am to you, that I belong to You
To You
I'm the one You love, I'm the one You love
That will be enough, I'm the one You love
Tell me, once again
Who I am to you, who I am to You
Tell me, lest I forget
Who I am to you, that I belong to You
Tell me, once again
Who I am to You, who I am to You
Tell me, lest I forget
Who I am to You, that I belong to You
To You"
---Jason Gray
As I'm sure most of you do, each morning I spend time in front of the mirror in my bathroom. I dry my hair and spike it up with gel, put makeup on my face to help hide the wrinkles, floss and brush my teeth, and place earrings in my ears. For as much as I do each of those things on a daily basis, I can't remember a day when I've stood in front of that mirror and said to myself, "I sure am thin ... I need to gain some weight." I do, however, know that there have been countless times when I've gazed into that mirror and thought the opposite. See here's the thing ... it's way easier to see myself as the overweight, unhealthy, inactive person I used to be than to see who I am now ... the thinner, healthier, walking, biking, lifting weights person I view in the mirror each morning.
The song I mentioned in my last post that I listened to when I followed a link on Facebook, the song by Jason Gray that caused me to purchase his album, is the song that has made me return to ponder my co-worker's question more deeply as of late. Just as I need to be reminded of who I am physically, I need to be reminded of who I am spiritually. Just as I need to be reminded that I don't have the body I had three years ago, I need to be reminded that I don't have the heart I had before I met Jesus. On my refrigerator hangs a family photo ... a family photo taken when I was at my heaviest weight. Several people have asked me why I have that photo in such a prominent place ... a place where I am forced to look at it every single day. And my answer is always the same ... "I don't ever want to be that person again ... it reminds me of who I am now and of who I was before."
For the days I lose my way ... for the days my heart is hard ... for the days I am lonely ... for the days I forget, Father ... remind me who I am, Lord ... lest I forget ... lest I forget ... remind me who I am.
And I forget my name
Remind me who I am
In the mirror all I see
Is who I don't wanna be
Remind me who I am
In the loneliest places
When I can't remember what grace is
Tell me, once again
Who I am to You, who I am to You
Tell me, lest I forget
Who I am to You, that I belong to You
To You
When my heart is like a stone,
And I'm running far from home
Remind me who I am
When I can't receive Your love
Afraid I'll never be enough
Remind me who I am
If I'm Your beloved, can You help me believe it
Tell me, once again
Who I am to you, who I am to You
Tell me, lest I forget
Who I am to you, that I belong to You
To You
I'm the one You love, I'm the one You love
That will be enough, I'm the one You love
Tell me, once again
Who I am to you, who I am to You
Tell me, lest I forget
Who I am to you, that I belong to You
Tell me, once again
Who I am to You, who I am to You
Tell me, lest I forget
Who I am to You, that I belong to You
To You"
---Jason Gray
Monday, August 6, 2012
Fearlessly Loving
The first time I watched the television show Fear Factor, I thought I was going to throw up. People were eating the most disgusting things imaginable, getting covered in snakes or bugs or bees, and bobbing for chicken feet in a container full of rats. No amount of money could convince me to do any of those things ... never, never, never ... and I didn't ever watch the show again. But the producers were counting on one thing when they developed the show ... fear is a very powerful emotion that millions of people could relate to and that those folks would tune in each week to watch that emotion displayed in others. And they were correct ... for a few years anyway, until ratings began to plummet and the show was eventually cancelled.
I've been musing quite a lot about fear lately, about the power it can wield in our lives on so many different levels. Fear can stop us from loving, prevent us from listening, keep us from going... it can render us ineffective in ways we may not even realize. Fear can eat us up from the inside out ... it can destroy relationships, weaken hearts and souls, cause bodies to become physically ill. Fear can change who we are, what we believe, how we serve one another ... fear can ... if we let it ... cause us to run away ... to run away from love, from living, from letting God use us to minister to others.
Last night, I happened to click on a link that someone had posted on Facebook ... a link to a song written and performed by a young man named Jason Gray. As I listened to him sing, tears poured down my cheeks as word after word pierced my heart and I heard God saying, "Listen to the words, Terrie ... I want you to hear Me through these words." After the song finished playing, I immediately went to the iTunes store and purchased the album that contained the song, transferred the music to my iPod and laid on the couch listening to the young man's voice as he sang. And today, I read the young man's story ... the story of a young man who has stuttered since he was a little boy ... a young man who could have easily chosen to allow fear to consume him and chosen not to follow God's leading in his life. As often happens when I purchase an album because one particular song speaks to me, God had another song He wanted me to hear as well. I've got another post swirling around in my head about the first song, but today I've been overwhelmed with the messages God has pounded into my heart from the second song.
I have a few special friends who have stood by me through the darkest nights of the last couple of years, friends who refused to allow fear to stop them from loving me. I often think of the words of one of those friends spoken to me when I was having so many physical issues related to diabetes not long after I was diagnosed. I told her that I would understand if she didn't want to be my friend ... that I understood why others had distanced themselves from me. Her words were ones that I haven't forgotten ... "I don't run easily." A very simple statement that was loaded with meaning ... "I don't run easily." When I heard the words of the song Without Running Away by Jason Gray, I instantly recalled what my friend had said. But I said "messages" that God's been pounding into me from the song ... recalling my friend's promise to stick by me was only one of those. There are messages about hope, about not giving up, about being wounded, about being afraid to let go of pain, about trying to hear Jesus above the sometimes angry and condemning voices of those who say they follow Him, about finding my way in the darkness, about taking the risk of putting my heart out to others again and again and again, about fearlessly loving and not running away.
Tonight as I drove home from work listening to the song again, I had one overriding thought that kept coursing through my mind ... God is good ... He is so very good and faithful and just and merciful.
Without Running Away by Jason Gray
"I’ve spent some days looking
For a length of rope
And a place to hang it
From the end of my hope
But where I thought hope had ended
I always find a little bit more
It’s not like I’m trying
To be optimistic
If the truth be told
I’d rather dismiss it
And be free of the burden
Of the living that hoping requires
To bring my heart
To every day
And run the risk of fearlessly loving
Without running away
Jesus is speaking
But it’s so hard to hear
When disciples with swords
Are cutting off ears
Broken and bleeding
I’m waiting for healing to come
But wounded’s a part
That I’ve learned to play well
Though the wound may run deeper
Than I know how to tell
Where pain’s an addiction
That keeps me buried alive
But when it’s all that I know
I’m afraid to leave it behind
And bring my heart
To every day
And run the risk of fearlessly loving
Without running away
My heart is not lifted up
My eyes are not lifted up
But calm and quiet is my soul
Like a child with its mother is my soul
After a while in the dark
Your eyes will adjust
In the shadows you’ll find
The hand you can trust
And the still small voice
That calls like the rising sun
Come
And bring your heart
To every day
Run the risk of fearlessly loving
Without running away
You must run the risk of fearlessly loving
Without running away"
Sunday, August 5, 2012
The Great Escape
Ever wished you could don a cape, grab your magic wand and pull a furry bunny out of a hat? Or make a shiny coin appear behind someone's ear? Or turn a silk scarf into a snow white dove? I'm not sure how old I was when I read a book that caused me to think for a short while that I wanted to become a magician ... a book written by the man who is still considered to be, more than a century after he first began performing, the greatest magician, illusionist and escape artist of all time. The book was "Houdini on Magic," and it didn't take me long after I read the master magician's words to recruit my friends to assist me in my short-lived attempt to recreate some of Mr. Houdini's stunts. Suffice it to say that my ill-fated venture was squelched by Mom the day she found me hanging upside down from a tree in the back yard, twisting and turning as I tried desperately to free myself from the ropes my dear friends had triple-knotted around my feet and hands. Looking back on some of the stunts I attempted during my youth, I can't help but shake my head and acknowledge that it was only by God's grace that I survived.
I woke up tired this morning, perhaps because I didn't get to bed last night until well after midnight and then spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in less than restful sleep. After shoveling down some breakfast to still my shaking hands, I took my dogs, my Bible and a cup of coffee and sat out on my deck soaking in the cooler 60s temperatures that arrived in the night compliments of a passing cold front. I flipped through my Bible reading first one verse and then another, but I couldn't seem to concentrate or focus on any one passage. Thirty minutes or so passed, and I finally closed the blue, leather-bound book on my lap, stood up and called out to Julie and Ollie to come inside the house. It was cool enough outside that I was a little chilly when I placed my coffee cup in the sink and laid my Bible on the table, so I decided to climb into the shower and let the hot water warm me up. As the steam filled my little bathroom as I showered, I thought ... Well, it's Sunday. And as quickly as that thought entered my mind, I began to think of Sundays gone by ... Sundays when my kids lived at home and the hectic activity of trying to get them out the door so that we would get to church on time. Sundays when I had to be at church early because I was involved in a drama skit and needed to get miked and run through lines. Sundays when I co-taught the high school Sunday School class with a dear young man who always amazed me with his depth of faith and wisdom. Sundays when I fit ... Sundays when I belonged ... Sundays when I couldn't wait to go to church. Tears filled my eyes as I turned off the water, reached for my towel and thought ... I'm going back to bed ... pull the covers over my head and escape into the land of sleep. At the same moment the thought formed in my mind, my phone dinged that I had a text message. I rolled my finger across the screen to read it ... I read the message from my friend that said, "9?" I replied, "K" and headed into my room to get dressed.
It was dark in the sanctuary when I arrived and slipped in next to my friend as the voices of people singing in worship filled the room. I closed my eyes as I attempted to keep the tears at bay that quickly sprung to my eyes, and I gripped the back of the chair in front of me as I struggled to keep my composure. The senior pastor has been on sabbatical for the last few weeks, so the other three ministers on staff have taken turns delivering the sermons on Sunday. Today when the worship minister stepped on stage and began to speak, I sucked in a deep breath of air as I recalled another Sunday many years ago when he spoke ... a Sunday when he preached the sermon that started my journey toward a real relationship with Jesus Christ, a sermon about authenticity, a sermon about being real. Today, he talked about treasure ... today, he talked about heaven ... today, he talked about being a sinner. I managed to blink back my tears until the end of his message, and then the floodgates opened as he concluded by reading a passage from the book of Revelation ... a passage about heaven ... a passage about the end of tears and sorrow and pain. As I drove home after slipping out of the service following the invitation hymn, I knew from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet that God meant for me to be there this morning and to hear Him ... not to hear the words of the minister or the words of the songs or the words of my friend ... God wanted me to hear Him.
After I ate lunch, I played with Julie and Ollie for a while and then I put on my perfect PJs and climbed into bed to take a nap, sleeping soundly for almost 3 hours. Escape, I thought when I woke up ... sleeping is escape for me. I started thinking about how often I ponder the idea of putting Julie and Ollie in the car and just driving away and not coming back. I started thinking about Mr. Houdini and how he was always trying to create new and better methods to escape from more and more difficult challenges. I started thinking about that Sunday so many years ago ... I started thinking about church this morning ... I started thinking about God.
Thank You, Father, for not letting me escape from You this morning ... thank You for holding onto me, for seeking me out, for keeping me from running away. Thank You, Lord, for not letting me ever escape from Your love.
I woke up tired this morning, perhaps because I didn't get to bed last night until well after midnight and then spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in less than restful sleep. After shoveling down some breakfast to still my shaking hands, I took my dogs, my Bible and a cup of coffee and sat out on my deck soaking in the cooler 60s temperatures that arrived in the night compliments of a passing cold front. I flipped through my Bible reading first one verse and then another, but I couldn't seem to concentrate or focus on any one passage. Thirty minutes or so passed, and I finally closed the blue, leather-bound book on my lap, stood up and called out to Julie and Ollie to come inside the house. It was cool enough outside that I was a little chilly when I placed my coffee cup in the sink and laid my Bible on the table, so I decided to climb into the shower and let the hot water warm me up. As the steam filled my little bathroom as I showered, I thought ... Well, it's Sunday. And as quickly as that thought entered my mind, I began to think of Sundays gone by ... Sundays when my kids lived at home and the hectic activity of trying to get them out the door so that we would get to church on time. Sundays when I had to be at church early because I was involved in a drama skit and needed to get miked and run through lines. Sundays when I co-taught the high school Sunday School class with a dear young man who always amazed me with his depth of faith and wisdom. Sundays when I fit ... Sundays when I belonged ... Sundays when I couldn't wait to go to church. Tears filled my eyes as I turned off the water, reached for my towel and thought ... I'm going back to bed ... pull the covers over my head and escape into the land of sleep. At the same moment the thought formed in my mind, my phone dinged that I had a text message. I rolled my finger across the screen to read it ... I read the message from my friend that said, "9?" I replied, "K" and headed into my room to get dressed.
It was dark in the sanctuary when I arrived and slipped in next to my friend as the voices of people singing in worship filled the room. I closed my eyes as I attempted to keep the tears at bay that quickly sprung to my eyes, and I gripped the back of the chair in front of me as I struggled to keep my composure. The senior pastor has been on sabbatical for the last few weeks, so the other three ministers on staff have taken turns delivering the sermons on Sunday. Today when the worship minister stepped on stage and began to speak, I sucked in a deep breath of air as I recalled another Sunday many years ago when he spoke ... a Sunday when he preached the sermon that started my journey toward a real relationship with Jesus Christ, a sermon about authenticity, a sermon about being real. Today, he talked about treasure ... today, he talked about heaven ... today, he talked about being a sinner. I managed to blink back my tears until the end of his message, and then the floodgates opened as he concluded by reading a passage from the book of Revelation ... a passage about heaven ... a passage about the end of tears and sorrow and pain. As I drove home after slipping out of the service following the invitation hymn, I knew from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet that God meant for me to be there this morning and to hear Him ... not to hear the words of the minister or the words of the songs or the words of my friend ... God wanted me to hear Him.
After I ate lunch, I played with Julie and Ollie for a while and then I put on my perfect PJs and climbed into bed to take a nap, sleeping soundly for almost 3 hours. Escape, I thought when I woke up ... sleeping is escape for me. I started thinking about how often I ponder the idea of putting Julie and Ollie in the car and just driving away and not coming back. I started thinking about Mr. Houdini and how he was always trying to create new and better methods to escape from more and more difficult challenges. I started thinking about that Sunday so many years ago ... I started thinking about church this morning ... I started thinking about God.
Thank You, Father, for not letting me escape from You this morning ... thank You for holding onto me, for seeking me out, for keeping me from running away. Thank You, Lord, for not letting me ever escape from Your love.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
BS
No, this isn't a post about abbreviations for four-letter words ... don't even tell me some of you didn't immediately think that when you saw the title. It always surprises me, though I suppose it shouldn't, that the posts with titles that people think might be about a controversial subject are the ones that garner the most views. And quite honestly, I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing ... I guess it could mean that people want to know my opinion about such topics, or people are simply drawn to subjects that may stir the pot, so to speak. Either way, this isn't one of those posts ... sorry, but you'll find no controversy nor four-letter words in this post, though the two words the abbreviation BS represents for me are often not very nice words for sure.
One of the most frustrating aspects of diabetes is that it's never the same illness ... at least not for very long anyway. A person can follow the exact same routine every single day ... eat the correct foods, exercise the most beneficial amount of time, take all the right meds at the right time, and still wake up one morning to find that everything that has worked to keep your blood sugar at a steady level suddenly doesn't work anymore. That's exactly what happened to me Wednesday night ... I went to bed feeling fine and woke up at 3:15 a.m. with the shakes and the sweats and my bedroom spinning around me. And for the last couple of days, that's where I've been living again ... in the land of constantly fluctuating blood sugar and feeling like one giant bag of dog poop. It's amazing how fast I can go from feeling good to feeling lousy when my blood sugar gets out of whack, as I'm sure those of you who have diabetes can completely understand. After a visit to my doctor yesterday and yet another change in the dosage of my diabetes medications, I'm finally feeling better this evening.
When I woke up this morning, I had one overriding thought ... I need to eat right now. And after eating four eggs, drinking two glasses of almond milk and downing half a jar of peanut butter, I sat on my couch next to my sleeping hounds and realized that God had once again gotten my attention in a big way because He wanted to teach me yet another lesson. I will always have diabetes, no matter what I do or how good I think my control over the disease is ... I will deal with times when it suddenly changes until I draw my last breath. And that is something I can never ever change ... the changes that will always accompany this illness. What I can change is my attitude when those changes come ... I can swallow my pride and ask for help when I need it; I can put aside my stubbornness and be proactive about calling my doctor right away when I start feeling bad; I can stop feeling sorry for myself and do whatever it takes to keep on fighting.
Happy weekend, friends ... I hear a jar of peanut butter calling my name.
One of the most frustrating aspects of diabetes is that it's never the same illness ... at least not for very long anyway. A person can follow the exact same routine every single day ... eat the correct foods, exercise the most beneficial amount of time, take all the right meds at the right time, and still wake up one morning to find that everything that has worked to keep your blood sugar at a steady level suddenly doesn't work anymore. That's exactly what happened to me Wednesday night ... I went to bed feeling fine and woke up at 3:15 a.m. with the shakes and the sweats and my bedroom spinning around me. And for the last couple of days, that's where I've been living again ... in the land of constantly fluctuating blood sugar and feeling like one giant bag of dog poop. It's amazing how fast I can go from feeling good to feeling lousy when my blood sugar gets out of whack, as I'm sure those of you who have diabetes can completely understand. After a visit to my doctor yesterday and yet another change in the dosage of my diabetes medications, I'm finally feeling better this evening.
When I woke up this morning, I had one overriding thought ... I need to eat right now. And after eating four eggs, drinking two glasses of almond milk and downing half a jar of peanut butter, I sat on my couch next to my sleeping hounds and realized that God had once again gotten my attention in a big way because He wanted to teach me yet another lesson. I will always have diabetes, no matter what I do or how good I think my control over the disease is ... I will deal with times when it suddenly changes until I draw my last breath. And that is something I can never ever change ... the changes that will always accompany this illness. What I can change is my attitude when those changes come ... I can swallow my pride and ask for help when I need it; I can put aside my stubbornness and be proactive about calling my doctor right away when I start feeling bad; I can stop feeling sorry for myself and do whatever it takes to keep on fighting.
Happy weekend, friends ... I hear a jar of peanut butter calling my name.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Liquid Gold
When we were young, my friend Cindy and I played a lot of tennis ... and we dreamed a lot, too, of becoming famous tennis players and playing at Wimbledon. When we were young, my niece Sharon and I swam and dived until our skin was shriveled ... and we dreamed of swimming or diving in the Olympics. When we were young, my friends from Alpine Baptist Church and I worked together as a team to win several softball tournaments ... and we dreamed of going on to win a national competition. When I was young, sports were a huge part of my life, and though none of the dreams I mentioned came true, I wouldn't take anything for the times I spent playing tennis, swimming and diving, or being part of a softball team. Playing sports taught me many things, but perhaps the most important lesson I learned is one that has proven to be true over and over again in my adult life. Becoming a winner requires hard work, practice, determination, strength and faith ... let me say that again ... becoming a winner requires hard work, practice, determination, strength and faith.
As I'm sure many of you have, I've spent most of my evenings for the last week watching the Olympics. Even if it's a sport that I'm not the least bit interested in, such as table tennis or rowing, I am glued to the television ... there's just something mesmerizing about the Olympics. And as I watch, my minds slips back to years gone by ... the aroma of a freshly opened can of tennis balls, the coolness of the water in the pool, the smack of the bat against a softball. Perhaps because I once had dreams of being one myself, I have a tremendous amount of respect for the dedication of the athletes ... many of them have spent most of their lives preparing to compete on the world level, sacrificing so much to follow their dreams.
While I've watched many different events, I definitely have two favorites ... women's volleyball and swimming. The two United States women who are competing for the gold medal in volleyball are amazing ... married with children, older than many of the women they are playing against ... two women who never gave up on their dream. And swimming ... there have been several stars for the U.S. in that arena, but hands down, the big story is Michael Phelps. Whether you like the guy or not, he has achieved something that no other human in history ever has ... he's won more medals in the Olympics than have ever been won ... and he's my oldest son's age ... 28 years old. As I watched him swim in the relay race that garnered him his record-breaking medal, I jumped up on the ottoman in front of my couch and cheered as he churned through the water in the anchor position ... a position he had never swam before, by the way. Though watching Michael break a record that had stood for 48 years ... a record that won't be broken again in my lifetime ... while watching that young man do something no one had ever done before was captivating and moving, it was what he said when he was interviewed later that brought tears to my eyes as I listened and has been stuck in my mind since that night.
The world's most decorated athlete gave credit to his teammates who swam the first three legs of the relay race ... he acknowledged that the three men who went into the pool before him gave him a giant lead over the other teams, that they set him up to be able to earn the honor of becoming the person to win the most medals in Olympic history. I think Mr. Phelps understood that his breaking of a 48-year-old record was the result of a group effort, perhaps being even more significant considering that his performance in his first two solo swims was disappointing to say the least. The greatest swimmer of all time came in fourth in his first event ... fourth, friends, fourth. But it was the team event ... it was the efforts of all four men working together that helped him secure his place in history. And here's the thing ... people won't remember the names of the other three men on that team ... people won't talk about their great swimming prowess in that particular race ... people will remember and talk about Michael Phelps.
I'll leave you with this ... as I said earlier, Michael had never swam in the anchor leg of an Olympic relay. For all the races he's competed in, he was never the last man in the pool. I can't help but wonder if his placement as the final swimmer carried much more meaning than a simple strategy in an attempt for the United States team to win the race. I think it was about three other men wanting their friend to be able to touch the wall himself in the race that they knew would change his life forever. I think it was about respect and sacrifice and honor ... I think it was about helping their friend fulfill his dream.
As I'm sure many of you have, I've spent most of my evenings for the last week watching the Olympics. Even if it's a sport that I'm not the least bit interested in, such as table tennis or rowing, I am glued to the television ... there's just something mesmerizing about the Olympics. And as I watch, my minds slips back to years gone by ... the aroma of a freshly opened can of tennis balls, the coolness of the water in the pool, the smack of the bat against a softball. Perhaps because I once had dreams of being one myself, I have a tremendous amount of respect for the dedication of the athletes ... many of them have spent most of their lives preparing to compete on the world level, sacrificing so much to follow their dreams.
While I've watched many different events, I definitely have two favorites ... women's volleyball and swimming. The two United States women who are competing for the gold medal in volleyball are amazing ... married with children, older than many of the women they are playing against ... two women who never gave up on their dream. And swimming ... there have been several stars for the U.S. in that arena, but hands down, the big story is Michael Phelps. Whether you like the guy or not, he has achieved something that no other human in history ever has ... he's won more medals in the Olympics than have ever been won ... and he's my oldest son's age ... 28 years old. As I watched him swim in the relay race that garnered him his record-breaking medal, I jumped up on the ottoman in front of my couch and cheered as he churned through the water in the anchor position ... a position he had never swam before, by the way. Though watching Michael break a record that had stood for 48 years ... a record that won't be broken again in my lifetime ... while watching that young man do something no one had ever done before was captivating and moving, it was what he said when he was interviewed later that brought tears to my eyes as I listened and has been stuck in my mind since that night.
The world's most decorated athlete gave credit to his teammates who swam the first three legs of the relay race ... he acknowledged that the three men who went into the pool before him gave him a giant lead over the other teams, that they set him up to be able to earn the honor of becoming the person to win the most medals in Olympic history. I think Mr. Phelps understood that his breaking of a 48-year-old record was the result of a group effort, perhaps being even more significant considering that his performance in his first two solo swims was disappointing to say the least. The greatest swimmer of all time came in fourth in his first event ... fourth, friends, fourth. But it was the team event ... it was the efforts of all four men working together that helped him secure his place in history. And here's the thing ... people won't remember the names of the other three men on that team ... people won't talk about their great swimming prowess in that particular race ... people will remember and talk about Michael Phelps.
I'll leave you with this ... as I said earlier, Michael had never swam in the anchor leg of an Olympic relay. For all the races he's competed in, he was never the last man in the pool. I can't help but wonder if his placement as the final swimmer carried much more meaning than a simple strategy in an attempt for the United States team to win the race. I think it was about three other men wanting their friend to be able to touch the wall himself in the race that they knew would change his life forever. I think it was about respect and sacrifice and honor ... I think it was about helping their friend fulfill his dream.
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