Every time I come home, there are two furry creatures who are always happy to see me. They come bounding toward me with tails wagging their whole bodies ... filled with joy that their favorite person in the world has come home once again. It doesn't matter if I've been gone for 10 minutes or 10 days, they are overwhelmingly elated when I return. Whatever my mood, good or bad, I can't help but smile at the love and loyalty that reside in the hearts of my canine companions.
It's a rainy night here tonight ... my sweet mom used to always say that rainy nights were good sleeping nights. And that is what Julie and J.R. have done all evening, curled up as only doggies can do, right beside me on the couch. Peaceful, quiet, rested, content ... next to the person they love most in this world.
Watching them sleep, I think about how God must feel when I've been away from Him ... away from home ... and how He must feel when I return, when I find my way in the dark night, back into the safe haven that is Him. His joy must be boundless when he hears me put my key in the lock and open the door to my heart, when I call out, "I'm home," when I curl up beside Him and slip into a contented, restful, quiet, peaceful sleep.
"I'm falling on my knees, offering all of me."
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Over the Fence
When I was a little girl, our neighbors to the southwest of us had a six-foot wooden fence surrounding their backyard. From the time I was about 10 years old, one of my missions in life was to see what was on the other side of that fence. It was more than mere curiosity that drove me; it was a mystical force of some sort that caused my friends and me to spend hours devising plans to scale the jail-like wooden bars and creating scenarios of what might lie in wait over the fence.
Eventually, when I was in my late teens, our neighbors sold their house and the new owners promptly removed the fence from the property. You can imagine my disappointment in seeing that there was nothing more than a patio with a table and chairs, some flowers and a few trees populating the land that in our childhood imaginations had been filled with aliens and prairie folk and even The Partridge Family bus (stolen of course by our neighbors who were spies).
Recently, I've been thinking a lot about that fence and about my childhood home. Losing family members and reconnecting with old friends seems to be drawing my heart toward home quite often. Perhaps it is simply that I'm growing older and getting more nostalgic as time passes. Whatever the cause, my mind in its travels homeward has paused more than once to contemplate the fence and the fascination that it held for me during my years of innocence.
I've always heard it said that with age comes wisdom, but I'm not so sure about the truth in that particular maxim. I find myself still searching and dreaming and wondering what is on the other side of the fence ... wishing that I knew all the answers and had x-ray vision to see through the boards of life. I'd like to know that there is adventure ahead, dreams to be pursued and love to be embraced.
I'm still pretty short in stature, and the fence is still pretty tall, much like when I was a young girl. And I've come to realize that while I'm trying to see over it or create scenarios for what lies beyond its boundaries, I often miss the beauty of what lies right in front of me. I'm so busy trying to figure out the future that I'm missing the present.
So keep me in today, God. Help me to look at You, to trust You and to know that whatever lies over the fence, you already hold in Your hand.
Eventually, when I was in my late teens, our neighbors sold their house and the new owners promptly removed the fence from the property. You can imagine my disappointment in seeing that there was nothing more than a patio with a table and chairs, some flowers and a few trees populating the land that in our childhood imaginations had been filled with aliens and prairie folk and even The Partridge Family bus (stolen of course by our neighbors who were spies).
Recently, I've been thinking a lot about that fence and about my childhood home. Losing family members and reconnecting with old friends seems to be drawing my heart toward home quite often. Perhaps it is simply that I'm growing older and getting more nostalgic as time passes. Whatever the cause, my mind in its travels homeward has paused more than once to contemplate the fence and the fascination that it held for me during my years of innocence.
I've always heard it said that with age comes wisdom, but I'm not so sure about the truth in that particular maxim. I find myself still searching and dreaming and wondering what is on the other side of the fence ... wishing that I knew all the answers and had x-ray vision to see through the boards of life. I'd like to know that there is adventure ahead, dreams to be pursued and love to be embraced.
I'm still pretty short in stature, and the fence is still pretty tall, much like when I was a young girl. And I've come to realize that while I'm trying to see over it or create scenarios for what lies beyond its boundaries, I often miss the beauty of what lies right in front of me. I'm so busy trying to figure out the future that I'm missing the present.
So keep me in today, God. Help me to look at You, to trust You and to know that whatever lies over the fence, you already hold in Your hand.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Weak, Weaker, Weakest
Some people have no problem at all asking for help, and I must admit, I admire those people. People who can readily reach out to others for help when they are ill, when they are hurting emotionally, when they are struggling spiritually. And I also admire the people who offer assistance when someone calls out in the midst of a deep need. People who prepare meals or clean house for a friend who is sick, people who listen and counsel when another's heart is breaking, people who point the way to the Father when someone has lost their way.
Most of the time, I'm relatively good about helping others ... most of the time, but not always. Asking for help, however, has never come easily for me. Somewhere along the path of life, I became convinced that I had to be strong, to somehow be able to handle everything that came my way on my own, to always be the one to whom others came for help. And somewhere, somehow, I learned to cover my sickness, my pain, my sin ... to hide behind a mask of strength and a veil of perfection.
While I want to believe that I never need to ask for help, the truth is that at times my illness is so severe, my hurt so painful, my sin so deep, the only way out is to open up and allow someone else to see inside of me. To let a friend to take my hand and walk beside me, to love me unconditionally, to pray for me and with me, to take care of me, to help me.
I'm learning that help may come in human and divine form. I'm learning that asking for help shouldn't come only when I have carried my burden so long that I am too weak to take another step. I'm learning that when I ask, there are friends who will answer. I'm learning that God is always there, waiting for me to whisper, "I need help."
Most of the time, I'm relatively good about helping others ... most of the time, but not always. Asking for help, however, has never come easily for me. Somewhere along the path of life, I became convinced that I had to be strong, to somehow be able to handle everything that came my way on my own, to always be the one to whom others came for help. And somewhere, somehow, I learned to cover my sickness, my pain, my sin ... to hide behind a mask of strength and a veil of perfection.
While I want to believe that I never need to ask for help, the truth is that at times my illness is so severe, my hurt so painful, my sin so deep, the only way out is to open up and allow someone else to see inside of me. To let a friend to take my hand and walk beside me, to love me unconditionally, to pray for me and with me, to take care of me, to help me.
I'm learning that help may come in human and divine form. I'm learning that asking for help shouldn't come only when I have carried my burden so long that I am too weak to take another step. I'm learning that when I ask, there are friends who will answer. I'm learning that God is always there, waiting for me to whisper, "I need help."
Monday, March 15, 2010
How Much?
Driving into work this morning, I noticed a bumper sticker on the rear of a car that has made me think and ponder and wonder all day. It was a simple black and white sticker that said, "How much?" I immediately had a strong desire to pull up next to the car and yell out to the driver, "How much what?" Being a senior copy editor can be a curse at times, such as when I have a strong urge to edit a bumper sticker on a car right in the middle of my morning commute on the interstate.
My mind has stumbled over that sticker today; my brain has been stuck in bumper sticker land. How much what? How much money? How much food? How much water? How much love? How much did the car cost? How much soap does it take to clean a dirty toddler? How much sunshine? How much mud? How much medicine? How much vacation time do I have? How much is enough? How much? How much? How much? How much what???
As the day has worn on, my "How much" focus has shifted a bit, and I find myself asking some much deeper questions. How much compassion do I have for the sick, the weak or the homeless? How much love do I show to others who are in difficult places in their lives? How much money do I give to help others in need? How much forgiveness do I extend when someone hurts me? How much acceptance do I demonstrate to people with different backgrounds or lifestyles? How much? How much? How much?
I wonder ... I wonder ... I wonder ... if God ever asks how much?
My mind has stumbled over that sticker today; my brain has been stuck in bumper sticker land. How much what? How much money? How much food? How much water? How much love? How much did the car cost? How much soap does it take to clean a dirty toddler? How much sunshine? How much mud? How much medicine? How much vacation time do I have? How much is enough? How much? How much? How much? How much what???
As the day has worn on, my "How much" focus has shifted a bit, and I find myself asking some much deeper questions. How much compassion do I have for the sick, the weak or the homeless? How much love do I show to others who are in difficult places in their lives? How much money do I give to help others in need? How much forgiveness do I extend when someone hurts me? How much acceptance do I demonstrate to people with different backgrounds or lifestyles? How much? How much? How much?
I wonder ... I wonder ... I wonder ... if God ever asks how much?
Friday, March 12, 2010
Rolling Thunder
My not-so-fat-anymore wiener dog J.R. is terrified of thunder. I'm not talking just a little nervous or frightened when there is a loud clap or a sudden boom. I'm talking even a small little rumble, and he's shaking all over and finding somewhere to hide. When he first came to live with me, he was afraid of everything and everyone. He's improved so very much (I can actually vacuum now without him having a meltdown), but when it comes to thunder, fear consumes him.
Last weekend, we had rain and some thunder here in Kansas City. It was pretty minor compared to some of the storms I've lived through since moving here over 20 years ago, but there was a low rolling thunder that pierced the evening air. J.R. jumped from his perch in my lap and took off for the bedroom looking for a place where he would feel safe and secure. When I went to find him, he had his head and half of his body under my bed, shaking for all he was worth. I pulled him from his hiding spot, wrapped him a blanket, held him close and rocked him until his shaking subsided.
As we rocked, I had one of those "ah ha" moments ... you know the ones, when you realize a great truth that may well change who you are for the remainder of your life. I began to think of the thunder in my life, of the drenching rain that at times seems to be pursuing and following me, of my desire to run away and find a place to hide.
And as J.R. snuggled his head into the crook of my arm and finally drifted off to sleep, I had a profound revelation, a moment of truth. He felt safe and secure in my arms, cradled against me, tightly held, warm and safe. In the midst of the storm, he had found his spot ... his hiding place ... his refuge. In his fear, his port in the storm didn't shift or move ... J.R. was the one who ran and hid.
When the thunder rolls across the plains of my life, my knee-jerk response is to run and hide, to allow the fear to overtake me, to claim me, to disable me. And yet, my spot, my hiding place, my refuge never moves, never runs away, never leaves me or forsakes me. My God is bigger than the storms, stronger than the thunder and more than able to keep me safe and secure. He is always there, even in the middle of the drenching rain and the rolling thunder.
He is God ... and He is there.
Last weekend, we had rain and some thunder here in Kansas City. It was pretty minor compared to some of the storms I've lived through since moving here over 20 years ago, but there was a low rolling thunder that pierced the evening air. J.R. jumped from his perch in my lap and took off for the bedroom looking for a place where he would feel safe and secure. When I went to find him, he had his head and half of his body under my bed, shaking for all he was worth. I pulled him from his hiding spot, wrapped him a blanket, held him close and rocked him until his shaking subsided.
As we rocked, I had one of those "ah ha" moments ... you know the ones, when you realize a great truth that may well change who you are for the remainder of your life. I began to think of the thunder in my life, of the drenching rain that at times seems to be pursuing and following me, of my desire to run away and find a place to hide.
And as J.R. snuggled his head into the crook of my arm and finally drifted off to sleep, I had a profound revelation, a moment of truth. He felt safe and secure in my arms, cradled against me, tightly held, warm and safe. In the midst of the storm, he had found his spot ... his hiding place ... his refuge. In his fear, his port in the storm didn't shift or move ... J.R. was the one who ran and hid.
When the thunder rolls across the plains of my life, my knee-jerk response is to run and hide, to allow the fear to overtake me, to claim me, to disable me. And yet, my spot, my hiding place, my refuge never moves, never runs away, never leaves me or forsakes me. My God is bigger than the storms, stronger than the thunder and more than able to keep me safe and secure. He is always there, even in the middle of the drenching rain and the rolling thunder.
He is God ... and He is there.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Trial by Jury
I've never served on a jury. I've had to report for jury selection several times, including once for federal court, but I've never been chosen to serve. Most of the times, the jury was chosen before my number was called. Once, I was dismissed because my mom had recently passed away, and I was in tears throughout the entire selection process. I'm certain that the judge was concerned for my mental state and allowed me to step down.
Each time, as I sat and listened and observed the questioning process for the potential jurors, I couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to be on trial for committing a crime. I cannot imagine the emotional upheaval that would be involved, especially if the accused was innocent and on trial for a serious enough crime that could destroy the remainder of his or her life.
Recently, I've experienced both acceptance and judgment in my life, and both outcomes have given me pause for deep contemplation concerning how we as humans are inclined to do life together. More often than not, we categorize and label our fellow man or woman according to a multitude of criteria ... skin color, profession, size of bank account, parent or non parent, married or single, religious affiliation, sexual orientation, and the list goes on and on.
Ultimately, when the layers are peeled back to reveal the core of who I truly am, none of the categorizations or labels even matter in the end. It is of no consequence how I am accepted or judged by a jury of my peers, but only how I am viewed in the eyes of God.
Each time, as I sat and listened and observed the questioning process for the potential jurors, I couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to be on trial for committing a crime. I cannot imagine the emotional upheaval that would be involved, especially if the accused was innocent and on trial for a serious enough crime that could destroy the remainder of his or her life.
Recently, I've experienced both acceptance and judgment in my life, and both outcomes have given me pause for deep contemplation concerning how we as humans are inclined to do life together. More often than not, we categorize and label our fellow man or woman according to a multitude of criteria ... skin color, profession, size of bank account, parent or non parent, married or single, religious affiliation, sexual orientation, and the list goes on and on.
Ultimately, when the layers are peeled back to reveal the core of who I truly am, none of the categorizations or labels even matter in the end. It is of no consequence how I am accepted or judged by a jury of my peers, but only how I am viewed in the eyes of God.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
The first thing I do each morning is head to the bathroom, as I'm sure many people do. And every single morning, I wash my hands and stare into the mirror above the sink. Every single morning. Like the possibility exists that I may have changed physically somehow overnight ... thinner, heavier, grayer, younger, worse, better ... and on and on.
A few weeks ago, I had a revelation as I stared into the mirror on a bitterly cold January morning. I realized that my morning gaze into the mirror wasn't about overnight physical changes at all, but rather about something much more profound and life-changing. I realized that I was looking for something much deeper, something much more lasting. I've spent years of my life looking into the mirror searching for myself.
It's so easy to slip into the daily routine of life and to identify who I am by all kinds of tags or labels or names ... I'm a mom; I'm a Christian; I'm a writer; I'm a speaker; I'm a gardener. And while I fill all of those roles and more every day, who am I really? Down in the deepest recesses of my soul, in the place where only God can see and know my innermost thoughts and desires, who am I?
Perhaps the answer to that question lies in the journey of life; perhaps I will find it in the daily walk along the path. Perhaps I am ever-changing, always growing and constantly learning, and the answer will come at the end of the winding road that has been my life. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
For now, I will rise each morning and gaze into the mirror. I will look for me for a time. Then, I'll switch off the light, feed the dogs and have a cup of tea.
A few weeks ago, I had a revelation as I stared into the mirror on a bitterly cold January morning. I realized that my morning gaze into the mirror wasn't about overnight physical changes at all, but rather about something much more profound and life-changing. I realized that I was looking for something much deeper, something much more lasting. I've spent years of my life looking into the mirror searching for myself.
It's so easy to slip into the daily routine of life and to identify who I am by all kinds of tags or labels or names ... I'm a mom; I'm a Christian; I'm a writer; I'm a speaker; I'm a gardener. And while I fill all of those roles and more every day, who am I really? Down in the deepest recesses of my soul, in the place where only God can see and know my innermost thoughts and desires, who am I?
Perhaps the answer to that question lies in the journey of life; perhaps I will find it in the daily walk along the path. Perhaps I am ever-changing, always growing and constantly learning, and the answer will come at the end of the winding road that has been my life. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
For now, I will rise each morning and gaze into the mirror. I will look for me for a time. Then, I'll switch off the light, feed the dogs and have a cup of tea.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Just a Vapor
Last fall, my sister-in-law Charlotte passed away after a long battle with a neuromuscular disease. A few weeks before Christmas, my friend Karen lost her dad after many years of suffering from Alzheimer's disease. Exactly one week later, her mom passed away from what Karen truly believes was a broken heart after losing her husband of almost 60 years. In early January, my brother-in-law lost his fight with Parkinson's disease.
Seeing so much loss of life recently that has touched people I love and cherish has made me realize that our lives here on earth truly are but a vapor in the grand scheme of time and eternity. As I go about accomplishing the daily "stuff" that consumes me each day, I often wonder now how much of that "stuff" really matters, how much of it really helps my fellow travelers sharing the path of life with me.
If I live to be as old as my mother did, my life is more than half completed. I pray that my first 50 years have been ones that have been loving, unselfish, kind and compassionate. I pray that every single day that I am given I care more about others than I do about myself. I pray that I share the love of Christ in a passionate and driven manner, pointing the way to Him in every action, word and deed of my life. I pray that I surrender myself more and more to God and His plan for my life with every breath that He allows me to draw.
Only God knows the days He has planned for me and what the future holds. While my life is a but a vapor, God has the ability to take a simple vapor and turn it into an amazing manifestation of His breath. Breathe in me and through me, Lord, and use me, simple though I may be, to touch someone for you.
Seeing so much loss of life recently that has touched people I love and cherish has made me realize that our lives here on earth truly are but a vapor in the grand scheme of time and eternity. As I go about accomplishing the daily "stuff" that consumes me each day, I often wonder now how much of that "stuff" really matters, how much of it really helps my fellow travelers sharing the path of life with me.
If I live to be as old as my mother did, my life is more than half completed. I pray that my first 50 years have been ones that have been loving, unselfish, kind and compassionate. I pray that every single day that I am given I care more about others than I do about myself. I pray that I share the love of Christ in a passionate and driven manner, pointing the way to Him in every action, word and deed of my life. I pray that I surrender myself more and more to God and His plan for my life with every breath that He allows me to draw.
Only God knows the days He has planned for me and what the future holds. While my life is a but a vapor, God has the ability to take a simple vapor and turn it into an amazing manifestation of His breath. Breathe in me and through me, Lord, and use me, simple though I may be, to touch someone for you.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Through the Fog
For the past three mornings, I have awakened to the sight of dense fog blanketing our city. I've always thought that fog was kind of eery or spooky in an old horror movie sort of way. It is especially frightening to me to drive when the fog is so deep that it's hard to see the road or other cars ahead of me.
This week, a massive earthquake struck the small country of Haiti, causing untold death and devastation. Image after image of the unbelievable human suffering occurring there rolls across the television screen on an hourly basis, even days after the event occurred. In a country where poverty and disease were already major problems, the people now have to deal with so much more loss than ever before.
It's easy to change the channel as I sit in my comfortable living room in my small house that would be considered a mansion to many Haitians. It's easy to go about my daily life and not really think about the Haitians who are struggling to survive one more day ... without water or food or shelter. It's easy to tell myself that I "need" all the possessions I have.
What is hard is to listen to the voice of God whispering to me, calling to me, telling me to come out of the fog and pay attention to Him and to His children who are hurting. What is hard is to be willing to give up my "things" and go where He wants me to go. What is hard is allowing Him to give me a heart for the world, for the hurting, the homeless and the needy.
My prayer, my hope, my deepest longing is that I have the courage to follow the hard road ... to jump in and trust God to show me the next step ... to have the faith to know that He knows where the journey will lead and the road ahead ... to know that is all I need to know.
This week, a massive earthquake struck the small country of Haiti, causing untold death and devastation. Image after image of the unbelievable human suffering occurring there rolls across the television screen on an hourly basis, even days after the event occurred. In a country where poverty and disease were already major problems, the people now have to deal with so much more loss than ever before.
It's easy to change the channel as I sit in my comfortable living room in my small house that would be considered a mansion to many Haitians. It's easy to go about my daily life and not really think about the Haitians who are struggling to survive one more day ... without water or food or shelter. It's easy to tell myself that I "need" all the possessions I have.
What is hard is to listen to the voice of God whispering to me, calling to me, telling me to come out of the fog and pay attention to Him and to His children who are hurting. What is hard is to be willing to give up my "things" and go where He wants me to go. What is hard is allowing Him to give me a heart for the world, for the hurting, the homeless and the needy.
My prayer, my hope, my deepest longing is that I have the courage to follow the hard road ... to jump in and trust God to show me the next step ... to have the faith to know that He knows where the journey will lead and the road ahead ... to know that is all I need to know.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Seize the Day
It's hard to believe that another year has come and gone, and a new year is beginning. I believe there is great truth that as I age, time seems to pass more quickly. Perhaps more important, however, is that as I age, the minutes and hours and days and months and years become even more precious to me. I am so much more aware of the time that God has given me and the need to use that time wisely and for His glory and honor.
Perhaps because I celebrated my 50th birthday on December 26, I find myself being rather introspective as this new year begins. I awoke this morning thinking of the blessings that my 50 years of life have seen ... three amazing and wonderful young adult children who, in spite of being raised by a single mother, are happy, productive, achieving, intelligent, loving, caring, giving and compassionate people. I have a daughter-in-law who loves my son with every fiber of her being, loves me like a mother, fits in our family like a hand in a glove and is an awesome person in her own right. I have a job that provides for my needs, a growing speaking ministry, friends who are loyal, honest and true, an incredible church family, and health that is improving with each passing day.
So, as this new year rolls in, I recognize that I haven't a clue as to what it may bring. I also recognize that though I don't know what the future holds, I do know Who holds my future. It is that knowledge that keeps me, that envelops me, that surrounds me ... it is that knowledge that makes me know that all things, whatever they may be, work together for good for those who love and serve God.
My resolutions this new year? To love God with all my heart and soul and mind, to be the servant that He calls me to be, to honor and love the people on the journey with me, and to make the most of every single moment that I am given.
Happy New Year, and remember to seize the day with gusto!
Perhaps because I celebrated my 50th birthday on December 26, I find myself being rather introspective as this new year begins. I awoke this morning thinking of the blessings that my 50 years of life have seen ... three amazing and wonderful young adult children who, in spite of being raised by a single mother, are happy, productive, achieving, intelligent, loving, caring, giving and compassionate people. I have a daughter-in-law who loves my son with every fiber of her being, loves me like a mother, fits in our family like a hand in a glove and is an awesome person in her own right. I have a job that provides for my needs, a growing speaking ministry, friends who are loyal, honest and true, an incredible church family, and health that is improving with each passing day.
So, as this new year rolls in, I recognize that I haven't a clue as to what it may bring. I also recognize that though I don't know what the future holds, I do know Who holds my future. It is that knowledge that keeps me, that envelops me, that surrounds me ... it is that knowledge that makes me know that all things, whatever they may be, work together for good for those who love and serve God.
My resolutions this new year? To love God with all my heart and soul and mind, to be the servant that He calls me to be, to honor and love the people on the journey with me, and to make the most of every single moment that I am given.
Happy New Year, and remember to seize the day with gusto!
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