12:15 AM Again

This is my first attempt at a blog hop.  It was a lot of fun...hope you enjoy too!

This was absolutely the last time that she was going to procrastinate. She couldn't do it any more - let things build up and pile up until she felt like the weight of everything could crush her. 12:15 AM and the house was still a mess, the dishes from dinner still strewn all over the counters and the alarm set to go off at 5:00 AM tomorrow - no, not tomorrow, later today!

"AHHHHHH" she screamed inside her head chastising herself. “I cannot keep this pace up! I know better than to put things off like this. Especially important things." And yet, as she thought about it, it wasn't that she had been lazy, or idle. She had made plans, good plans to finish everything, but she was interrupted. Something came up. Something always came up. She had to drop this to care for that. Put off doing this so she could do that. Take care of her - take care of him, this one that one, and now, there was no more time. So much to do and no time.

She wondered how others did it. How did they take care of everything and everyone without going crazy? She was losing sleep, forgetting things, running out of time, out of patience, out of desire. With so much before her on her to do list she could not even bring herself to a point of desire - a point of urgency to do the things - any of the things on her list. It was no use, something had to give...but what? What in her life was unnecessary? The children? Definitely not. The clean house? She smiled - she gave that up a long time ago. The job? No, she'd been doing it for years - she could handle that. Then what? What in her life could she possibly let go of to make her days more manageable?

“I know” she thought. That's it! That's what I can give up that will give me back my life. That's what I can do that will free me to do my tasks! I'll stop blogging!” She smiled - laughed out loud from relief! “Yes, yes, YES that's it! I'm free!” Relieved, she moved to her comfy bed anticipating sweet mindless dreams and a day of accomplishment ahead.

But she was wrong. Give up blogging? Blogging had become her lifeline - her link to sanity, to her emotions, and to her thoughts. It's what allowed her to bring clarity to the chaos of thoughts running around in her head. Blogging gave her the ability to make sense out of the wonderings - the wanderings and the musings in her mind. Give up blogging? She might as well give up breathing. Give up blogging? No, she couldn’t stop doing that. She was wrong.

Z is for Zebu and other Celebratory Markers

I don't know if there are markers, things in your life that serve as a reminder to you.  Reminders in your life that cause you to react, or respond.  For example, water reminds me to pray for people I know in Hawaii.  A candle reminds me that I am not alone in my walk with Christ.  A brick causes me to remember I need to be diligent to take down the walls in my life.  And a zebu reminds me to give thanks with all of my heart.


The zebu is a type of cattle found mostly in South Asia, but they can be found in many different countries where they have been cross bred to create a cattle that produces a better meat and are better suited to work in hot climates.  They are used as oxen, as dairy and beef cattle, and for their hide.  I learned of the zebu, not in a biology class, or a zoology class, but rather, I learned about the zebu, more commonly referred to as cebu, by watching Veggie Tales.
When our children were preschool age, our home was filled with Veggie Tale video tapes. The kids loved them and we found them quite humorous ourselves, so we enjoyed them too.  The songs were catchy, the humor was simple - but there were also underlying jokes that adults could enjoy too.  And the messages were always good.  When our youngest was three, and we would ask her what video she would like to watch, she would sing the entire Veggie Tales theme song before naming the video she wanted to watch.  It was cute.  The first time.


The Veggie Tales videos would have Silly Songs with Larry, in addition to their main story.  Larry would sing songs about his hair brush, his cheeseburger, and his pet cebu,  (also known as a zebu), just to mention a few of his silly songs.  So, when thinking about the letter Z, one word I could not get out of my head, was zebu.  (mostly because once I thought of that word, Larry's silly song has been running through my brain nonstop ever since), and zebu (obviously) made me think of Veggie Tales, and thinking about Veggie Tales reminds me of a very stressful time in our family.  A time when I was so exhausted, I could barely get through the day. For an entire month, my husband and I had additional responsibilities that we needed to tend to that took us 6 hours each day to complete - in addition to our jobs, in addition to 'normal' outside activities, and in addition to raising our three young children.   The circumstances that lead to our family obtaining additional obligations are not mine to tell - but the stress was our children's too.  During this wearying month letting the girls watch veggie tales - every night, every single night, for an entire month helped with them.  So Z is for Zebu which reminds me of Veggie Tales, which reminds me of a difficult time which brings me to the celebratory portion.
During this month of stress, I found myself angry.  Angry with God, angry with the situation, and our home was no longer a place of peace, or joy, or a place anyone wanted to be.  I was reading Psalms at the time, and this verse jumped out at me "I will give thanks to You, O Lord my God, with all my heart, And will glorify Your name forever" and I told God, "No, I can't do that.  Not now.  I cannot be thankful now."  But the verse wouldn't let me go.  So I gave in.  One night, I fixed a simple dinner - but I put out our best china, a table cloth and candles.  I bought some Martinellis and told my family we were going to celebrate and give thanks.  They thought I was crazy. 
"What," they said, "just what are we celebrating?" 
"Our circumstances."  They just stared at me. 


But we did it.  We had a candlelight dinner.  We used the good dishes.  We opened up the sparkling fruit juice - and we started to give thanks.  Soon, we were laughing, sharing stories and our home became a place of joy again - all because we gave thanks with all of our hearts in the middle of some trying days.  The kids were quite little then - and they don't remember the night.  But I do.  I remember that in stressful times I am to still give thanks with all of my heart. And because that time in our life was closely associated with Veggie Tales, those videos, and a water buffalo cattle called a zebu, will always serve as markers to me to remind me to give thanks to God with all of my heart.

Y is for Yakity Yak

I love to talk.  And talk.  And talk.  I enjoy conversation.  Well, I enjoy it when people are listening to me converse.  Talking, it comes quite naturally to me.  Listening…not so much.  Listening is something that I have had to work on.  And work.  And work.  Listening is not just about being silent while someone else speaks.  Listening involves thinking and asking and responding to what you are hearing.  Listening is an active undertaking – it is not passive.  I am much better at listening than I used to be.  I am better at asking questions, I am better at filtering out negative emotions in heated discussions to hear what is really being said – but I am not perfect at it by any means.  I have tons of room to improve. But sometimes when things are difficult to do, we are aware of our shortcomings and we make a conscious effort to change and grow.  And sometimes, when things are easy, we do not think about it – we just do it.  Talking for me has always been effortless.  I can easily fill up space with words.  And as a result – I haven't always given it much attention.  In the past, I rarely thought much of how carelessly I used words.  How inconsiderate and reckless I could be with what would jump out of my mouth. Over the years, God has been helping me with it.  He has been - and continues to be patiently teaching me to stop with the yakity yak.

The first step was when I began to focus on listening - to myself.  As I began to hear the words - really hear what was coming out of my mouth, I discovered I was spending a great deal of time with meaningless chatter.  Not that it is wrong to have light, pleasant conversations, but it is wrong to monopolize a conversation, especially if what you are saying is fairly pointless.  I also learned that I gossip.  And no, I really didn't realize it before.  Idle words, thoughtless words, words disguised as prayer requests - too many of my words were not about lifting someone up.  They were not about carefully drawing them into the presence of the LORD, but they were about disseminating unflattering information that I did not need to disseminate.

The second step to help me with my yakity yakking, was to learn to think before I spoke (yes, I know, that's not a novel idea to most people). As I started considering my words I realized that I was running to people first with my concerns and my worries, my disappointments and my hurts - not to God.  I remember a few years ago when a very close friend and I had a significant disagreement.  I remember while we were discussing our conflict she said to me, "And I already talked to several other people about this and they agree with me."  My first impulse was to get off the phone with her, and call as many of the 'several other people' I could think of and defend my name.  But instead, I turned to God.  I prayed, I read scripture, I journaled.  I prayed some more.  And overtime, our friendship was not only repaired, but God brought healing to both of our lives in a very profound way through the restoration of our friendship.  Had I instead chosen to yakity yak with my friends, under the guise of defending myself, I do not think the outcome would be the same.  People's impressions of her - and me, would have been tainted if I had ran to my own defense.

And now - I'm working on another step - not that I have fully mastered the first two yet.  But currently I am also realizing just how powerful words really are.   I am trying to not treat words with casual indifference.  I have been known to speak quickly without filtering, without considering the full ramifications of what I was saying, or rather, what someone else might be hearing.  When that occurs, I hurt people’s feelings.  I cause them to doubt themselves, and to doubt me.  I am trying to become more aware of choosing words that mean something rather than saying sounds to simply fill up empty space.  I am trying to learn to be cautious with the words that come out of my mouth.  But, I still have a long ways to go.  I still quite regularly let words fall out of my mouth that hurt and do not need to be said.  Just ask my daughters - they'll be happy to testify to that!

X

X is for X-Ray

I am not a big fan of the dentist –for a number of reasons, but mostly because I am a wimp and I don’t like pain.  I have a great dentist, and he is very aware of how much I do not like pain because I remind him.  Often.  He really does go out of his way to minimize any pain I might encounter while sitting in his chair, and I greatly appreciate that.  Once, he even offered to buy me a bottle of wine if I felt even the slightest bit of discomfort.  The hygienists, however, are not always so kind.  Sometimes just the process of getting my teeth cleaned can be a very uncomfortable experience.  Mostly, it is the sound made while she is scraping my teeth that drives me crazy.  I am also not a big fan of the whole x-ray process. 

I don’t mind the large lead apron that they cover you with to absorb the excess radiation while leaving your brain exposed.  But it’s the way that the film is situated in my mouth that I find uncomfortable – and sometimes even painful.  The contraption that the film is placed on is shaped oddly and placed precariously in my mouth.  The hygienist then asks me to hold my mouth slightly closed, keeping the device precisely placed while she leaves the room to go have a cup of coffee.  While she is gone, the apparatus inevitably slips into a painful position that I am resigned to hold until she returns only to tell me we have to do it all over again because I moved.  Yep.  I am not a big fan of dental x-rays.

And yet, I subject myself to them faithfully.  I have my teeth cleaned every 6 months and a complete round of x-rays every year.  I do this because I want to have a healthy mouth.  I want to catch problems early so that they can be resolved simply and with the least invasive procedure possible, should a problem be found.  Sometimes, I can feel pain in my mouth and I know I am going to need to have work done.  Other times, I cannot see the problems at all – but having an X-ray will point it out.  X-rays are a helpful tool used in dentistry, and the medical field to see what is going on inside, beneath the surface. Even in travel and air safety x-rays are common.  In fact, just last month I found myself holding still, raising my arms and sucking in my stomach while an airport screener x-rayed me.  Yes, there is no getting around the importance of checking out what lies beneath.  And just as physical x-rays are a vital part of our good health, regular spiritual x-rays are important too.

Reading the Bible daily, studying, memorizing and meditating on scripture is a good habit.  It informs us and can shed light on areas in our life that we can work on or improve.  It helps us to understand and know God.  It reveals His character and helps us have a more intimate relationship with Him.  Prayer too draws us into a deeper, more personal and more meaningful connection.  But there is step in the process of intimacy with God that is a bit more difficult and sometimes ignored.  It is when we ask God to look into our minds, our hearts, our souls, and search the places that we cannot see, the areas where we may not be informed, and ask Him to show us where we need His power, and His cleansing work.   It is when we, in essence, ask Him to x-ray us. 

In Psalm 19:12-13 it says “Who can discern his errors?  Forgive my hidden faults.  Keep your servant also from willful sins; may they not rule over me. Then will I be blameless, innocent of great transgression.”  When I read those verses this morning, I was reminded of the necessity of having God find and root out the things in my life of which I may not be aware.  Psalm 139:34 requests it this way, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.” And Psalm 51:6 puts it like this “Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.”  We are called to ask God to search us, to look at our deepest places and deal with What He finds there.  And just like I am not a fan of dental x-rays, I am not huge fan of spiritual ones either.

Asking God to show me where I am failing, where I need to adjust an attitude, or change a habit, or be more loving towards someone I would rather avoid, is not an enjoyable process.  But, it needs to be done.  I need times, regular times, where I am still before God, quiet, patient, and willing to let Him do His work in me – all of me.  I need to be humble, fully surrendered, and ready to hear what He wants to show me.  Sometimes, it’s a good report, sometimes, I need to do something different - maybe even difficult, but either way, giving God permission and time to x-ray me is a vital and critical part of staying healthy and growing in my faith.

W is for Wishing

When I was a little girl my grandmother would send me a birthday card every year that told me I could make three wishes for my birthday, and she always promised to make at least one of them come true.  Although I truly only remember my annual wish, I do have vague recollections of my mother being mortified by the outlandishness of some of my other wishes.  But my annual wish, that I have not forgotten.  The annual wish - Disneyland.  Every year my grandmother, my mom and I would pack the car and drive two hours to go to Disneyland - the happiest place on earth.  We would go on all of the rides I was tall enough to go on - until we ran out of "E" tickets, and then we had to ride the 'other' rides.  Sometimes we would spend the night and go the next day too.  One time, she even let us stay at the Disney Grand Hotel.  I loved my birthday wishes and I loved that I had a grandmother who was willing to make my wishes come true.  Even when they were extravagant wishes that embarrassed my mother, like wishing I could go to England and walah!  I went.

At some point I outgrew my birthday wishes - but I never outgrew wishing for things.  As a teenager my wishes went something like this: "I wish I could have a car for my birthday." Or,  "I wish that boy would like me."  Or "I wish I hadn't said that...done that...eaten that..."  And even now, I still have wishes - "I wish I had our house paid off," or "I wish summer were here," or "I wish I could go to Europe."  We all have wishes, hopes, desires, no matter what our age.  But one of the problem with wishes, is that we often treat them as if we have no power - no ability to make the wishes happen.  We stay childlike and wait around for someone else to come and grant them.  Someone like God.

And when He doesn't grant our wishes, we can become angry, resentful, hurt, bitter.  The truth is that many wishes we do have the power to make happen.  I can stop eating the bag of chips.  I can rearrange my financial priorities and save for the trip to Europe.  It might take a long time to save enough money.  A really really long time, but there are things that I can make happen, but I don't.  I buy things I don't need, eat out when I don't feel like cooking and then, I get mad at God because He isn't giving me my wish for  _______ (fill in the blank). 

But there's another problem with wishes too.  Sometimes we truly can't make them happen.  Sometimes we are powerless to make them happen and God is the only one who can make our wishes come true.  Wishes like, "I wish my parents wouldn't get divorced." Or, "I wish my child wasn't so sick."  Or, "I wish he would stop drinking."  And sometimes God doesn't make our wishes come true, no matter how much we beg and plead.  No matter how selfless and good the wish seems, sometimes God doesn't grant it for us.  Sometimes parents do divorce, children stay sick, and sometimes, people never stop drinking, even though it causes others to hurt.  And when God doesn't magically grant the wish we desire, we have a choice to make.  We can choose to become angry and bitter - or we can choose to give Him not just our wish, but the outcome of our wish too.  We can choose to trust Him that no matter whether we get our wish or not, He can use it to bring glory to Him and blessing to us.  That is not an easy thing to do all the time, but when I do trust Him, He does bring beauty out of it - no matter how 'it' turns out.  And even if I don't get to see it.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

V is for Vacation

It all out started innocently enough, a few families, sitting around a friend’s dining room table, staring at a map of the US, reminiscing about places we had seen as children.  We all had stories to tell of trips gone wrong, dads who lost tempers over whiny children, children who were left in hotel rooms by parents who thought ‘someone else’ had them, and tales of siblings bonding over endless hours sitting in the back of the family car playing the license plate game. It wasn’t long before the reminiscing became dreaming and the dreaming became planning -and planning became the vacation of a lifetime.  Before the summer’s end, we would travel over 5,000 miles together.  In a motorhome.  Together.  Over 5000 miles and 21 days.  Together.  In a motorhome.  

After hours and hours of planning and negotiating the adventure, we decided on our route.  We would drive the middle of the country on the way out, and hit the southern route on the way back.  Our trip started on a Saturday morning around 6AM.  A family of four and me with our three girls loaded into a motorhome and headed out to see our great country.  First stop, The Orange, just a few miles down the road.  We jumped out of the motorhome – well some of us jumped while others grumbled, stumbled and whined, seeing that we were only 25 minutes away from our house and we were stopping to see a big Orange on the side of the road.  We took some pictures, met the owner, who opened up the restaurant so we could tour inside, and soon we were on the road again.

While we drove with the intention of seeing the ‘usual’ sites, we also stumbled onto some more out of the way places and attractions like the Orange that gave our trip a more organic, simpler feel than a frenzied destination driven experience.  We stood on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, we had our picture taken with the “Big Texan,” and we ate frozen custard in St. Louis.  We chased fireflies in the Ozarks and met some of the most delightful people while we were lost.  (Met some scary people too, but that’s a whole other post)  We watched the sunrise over Pennsylvania farmhouses and dipped our toes in the Atlantic Ocean.  Other families joined us along the way and we explored Central Park in New York, ate pizza on the steps of some brownstone apartments, and had our picture taken in front of the world’s largest guitar.  We watched Fourth of July Fireworks on the Mall in DC and walked for miles to find food.  We played board games, sang show tunes and listened to stories on tape.  We ate at the Pig Out Palace and the Cracker Barrel.  We saw Ground Zero and placed our hands on the memorial at Oklahoma City.  We visited Sky City in New Mexico and got caught in a terrible thunderstorm in Ohio - and in DC.   We played hide n seek in Totem Pole Park and the Bass Store – yes, we were entertained for hours in a Bass Store.  We drove through Memphis and Oklahoma City and even Roswell, not one of original the places on the itinerary.  But, as wonderful as the trip was, we had some disappointments too.

We missed New Orleans and didn’t get to see Bourbon Street.  We didn’t get to sip mint juleps on a terrace while watching southern belles stroll down the sidewalks.  We didn’t get to enjoy southern hospitality or see the French Quarter.  There was a hurricane that summer, and the motorhome just couldn’t take the winds, and we ended up having to travel home the same road that we had taken on our way out.  Oh well, we shrugged it off – no big deal, there’s always next year.  How were we to know, that just a few moments in time later the New Orleans that we had so casually postponed to another vacation was headed to a disaster?

Years have now passed, the children are nearly grown and haven’t much interest in driving across the country with mom and dad.  While we had a wonderful time, and we are all still friends, we never did make it to New Orleans, and the days of little kids crammed in a motorhome for long road trips are long since gone.  The vacations of old are beautiful memories to treasure and stories to be retold to friends around dining room tables.  And who knows, it might not be too long before one of our children find themselves sitting around a dining room table swapping stories with friends only to find themselves planning their vacation of a lifetime.

U is for Under the Covers

I love my blankets.  I love crawling into bed at night with three or four heavy wool blankets and my comforter surrounding me.  I like the feel of their weight.  They make me feel warm, relaxed, and ready to surrender to the night.  I like to snuggle and burrow myself deep down into the bed so I am practically invisible.  If I am cold at all during the night – I cannot sleep.  I will toss and turn but I will not sleep if there is the slightest hint of cold touching my body.  My husband – who will generally kick off even a sheet, does not share my passion for being covered in layers and layers of blankets.  He finds them constricting and he can’t move.  They tangle his feet and he wakes up unable to sleep under their suffocating weight.

That is the problem with blankets.  They can suffocate, and when we live our lives buried underneath them, covering up who we really are, we become entangled in a mess.  If you have read any of my earlier blog posts, you know that through college I did not always live up to the expectations of one who claims to be following Christ.  And while I was learning, there were lots of steps forward, but there were some huge steps backwards as well.  I remember one occasion sharing with a Christian woman some of my struggles – even naming some of the sins I had committed, and while she herself was very kind, she warned me that I should never talk about these things because people would judge me and gossip about me.  I respected this woman a great deal, so I took her words to heart.

Unfortunately, trying to live your life with a big chunk of it covered up, is not easy to do.  I wasn’t sure how to deal with the dirty laundry that I had accumulated – and, was continuing to accumulate.  And since I wasn’t supposed to share with anyone, I covered it up. I hid it under a blanket where no one could see.  I continued to live my life, attempting as best I could to live like Christ wanted me to, but on those occasions when I didn’t, I just shoved those things to the pile under the cover of my blanket.

On the outside, I looked good.  I looked righteous, I looked like the pristine example of a Christian, but on the inside, where I kept my dirty laundry hidden under layers of blankets – it was beginning to stink.  And the pile seemed to keep growing.  So, unable to take the suffocating weight of it all, I did what I had been advised not to do, I began to let people see the dirty laundry that I was hiding under the blankets.

And, in doing so, I was able to get the laundry clean.  Each person that I shared with helped me carry some of the dirty clothes to the foot of the cross where Christ cleaned them – and made me clean.  The confessions would cause me to feel better, stronger, and then, I would take my laundry, clean now, fold it all up in nice neat piles and put them right back under the blanket where they stayed hidden.  Never realizing that even though my laundry was now clean, and it was no longer a burden in my life, I was still covering up, still sharing only a slice of who I am – and in doing so, I was concealing the healing power of Christ in my life.  It is one thing to say, “I am a sinner, healed by Christ” and quite another to say, “Here is my journey, here is where Christ has cleansed me and this is how He continues to bring healing in my life.”

I am not there yet.  I have kicked off some of the covers and let a selected, hand-picked few in – but it’s scary.  “What if people gossip about me?  What if people say terrible things about me? What if I lose their respect?  What if they hate me and no longer want to associate with me?”  However, slowly, with the help of good friends and God’s prompting, I am learning to live without the blankets that cover up Christ’s amazing redemptive work in my life.  I am learning to walk in obedience and share what He has done.  I am learning to live without the blankets in my life – but not at night, I’m not giving up the blankets on my bed anytime soon!

T is for Transition

Once, when I was a fifth grade elementary school teacher, our school was short on subs. I had a student teacher at the time, so I said I would help by filling in for an hour in the Kindergarten class. When I arrived the students were coloring quietly at their desks. The teacher had left on a personal emergency, so there were no written plans. The principal introduced me to the students, and told me to let them color for about 15 more minutes and then call them to the circle rug. She said that I should pick out a story and read to them. After the story I was to let them out into the yard so they could run and play until it was time to go home.

I glanced at the clock when the principal left, noted the time, and began walking around the room. After five minutes had passed, I announced to the class that in 10 minutes we would clean up and have story time. I continued to walk the classroom, smiling at the children, asking them about their pictures, complimenting them, and keeping an eye on the clock. Five more minutes passed and I made the second announcement. "In five minutes, boys and girls, we will clean up and have story time!" I said with as much five year old excitement in my voice as I could muster. And I continued my stroll around the room.

Finally, it was time to transition from coloring to story time. All teachers know that the transition time, the time in between one activity and the next is a critical time. If the students do not move quickly, orderly, and quietly to the next task then all discipline can be lost and mayhem can break out. If a teacher is going to lose control of a classroom it is most likely going to happen in between lessons.  Now, being a fifth grade teacher, I wasn't at all frightened of a bunch of 5 and 6 year olds. Besides, I had done exactly what you are supposed to do with students when transitioning from one activity to the next. This was going to be a piece of cake.

"Alright boys and girls, it's time to come to the rug for story time!" I declared. "It's time to put your crayons and drawings away and clean up so we can read a story!" With that statement, all of the children began putting their crayons away and placing their pictures into their cubbies. All of the children except Joey. Joey did not stop when I asked the children to stop. He kept right on coloring. I moved over towards Joey and placed my hand softly on his shoulder. "Joey," I said quietly. "It's time to put your crayons away. You may color later." Then I walked over to the teacher's chair by the rug and sat down.  As each table finished, I called them to come sit on the circle rug to wait. As they were called they came quietly and sat criss-cross-applesauce with their hands folded in their laps. I looked over towards Joey's table and saw everyone seated and ready to be called. Everyone except Joey. Joey was still coloring. "Joey," I said from across the room with some firmness in my voice. "You must put your things away now." The three little girls at Joey's table began frantically putting away his crayons and encouraging him to stop. But Joey didn't want to stop. Joey took one of his arms and folded it across his paper and hunkered down. He had no intention of stopping.

All eyes were on me. "Joey you need to put your coloring away and come to the rug," I said with authority. "Or you will be taken to the principal's office." The girls at Joey's table gasped. The children on the rug became wide eyed with fear (Apparently being sent to the principal's office is just a tad more traumatic as a five year-old than as a fifth grader). Tears began to run down Joey's cheeks. He tightened his arm around his drawing as the concerned and panicked girls tried to make him stop.  He began coloring harder and faster.  "Joey!" they pleaded, "You have to stop!" One girl managed to pry the paper from underneath him and ran it to his cubby while the others put away the last of his crayons. The girls came to the rug and I began the story, leaving Joey to sit in his chair.

After the story, all of the children went out to play.  All except for Joey.  Joey still sat in his chair.  Alone - alone and sad.  I watched Joey from the door - never leaving him out of my sight, while I also kept an eye on the other children who were laughing and playing outside.  I realized while standing there, reflecting on what had transpired, that Joey didn't know me.  He didn't know he could trust me.  He had no prior experience with me to know that I had something good and wonderful planned.  That following me would make everything better.  Instead, he chose to cling to what was past- and that resulted in him missing out.  Instead of running around outside, playing and laughing with his classmates, he was sitting inside sad and alone.

Several years later, I found myself on the verge of numerous changes. My husband had been laid off from his job.  I was being moved from one school to another, our children were all changing schools, the pastor of our church had resigned, and my parents were moving 1500 miles away.  I was not happy.  I did not want a new school - for me or my children.  I did not want a new pastor, nor did I want my parents to move 1500 miles away from me or their grandchildren.  And I was most certainly not happy that my husband did not have a job.  And, I let God know.  Repeatedly.  Over and Over again.  I was not happy. 

And then, one day, while I was whining to God I remembered.  I remembered Joey.  I saw him with his arm stubbornly laying across the table holding tightly to his drawing.  I saw the tears streaming down his face.  I saw the other children around him, trying to help, trying to keep him on track.  And I remembered my thoughts.  I recalled thinking how Joey didn't know he could trust me. He had no prior experience with me to know that I had something good and wonderful planned. That following me would make everything better. Instead, he chose to cling to what what was past- and that resulted in him missing out.  I started to wonder about the one in control of my life, and I had to ask myself.  "Do I not know Him?  Have I not experienced His working in my life?  Do I not believe that following Him would make everything better?  Don't I trust Him?" And then it became clear to me. I was Joey,  stubbornly holding onto my crayons, coloring my picture while God was calling me to come sit on the rug and listen to a story.  And I saw that it was time.  Time to put my crayons away and come sit on the rug.  Because I do know God and I do trust that He will make everything better.  Even when I can't see it for myself.

S is for Spiral

When I was a little girl, I loved going to the park.  I loved the swings, and the teeter totters, and the monkey bars.  I loved flipping and pulling and twisting and spinning on the pull up bars too.  But my most favoritest, funnest and bestest thing to do at a park, was to go down the slide.  And not just any slide, but the spiral slide.  I loved the thrill of climbing to the tippie top, standing on the edge, holding the bar and hurling myself down into the unknown.  Would I get stuck?  Would I crash into some clueless child playing at the bottom?  Would I go flying off when I reached the bottom?  And just where was the bottom?  That was the best part of all.  In a spiral slide - you didn't quite know when the end was there.  It could be after the first turn or the second - or maybe not even until after the fourth twist!  Oh how I loved playing at the park!

There is another spiral that has always intrigued me.  A spiral staircase.  A spiral staircase holds so much mystery.  It is always a feature in the best detective stories, especially when the setting is the 1940s.  They are grand, elegant, sophisticated.  One can always 'make an entrance' on a spiral staircase.  Can't you just see Lauren Bacall or Ingrid Bergman, standing at the top, looking down at the reporters, the suitors, the adoring fans below.  Can't you picture her as she lingers at the top, one hand softly trailing on the banister as she gracefully descends to the doting crowds below.  Her dress, flowing ever so delicately behind her as she steps, pauses, steps, pauses, never breaking her rhythm as she circles down, down, down to the bottom.

As an adult, the word spiral does not have the same fun and sophisticated connotations for me as it once did.  Generally now, when I speak of spiraling, I am usually referring to the sense of losing control - as in, my life is spiraling out of control. If we are, metaphorically speaking, standing at the top of a spiral slide, it is because we are about be thrown into a project, or a problem, or a situation where we do not know how many twists and turns there are going to be, or how fast we will go through the curves, or where the bottom lies. And often, it feels like we are being shoved down the slide.  Perhaps there is an illness, a job loss, or a unwanted relocation - most of these circumstances I would not walk into by choice.  But, just as a child can throw herself down a spiral slide because she knows her daddy is there, ready to catch her or help her through the twists and curves, we too can enter the spiral slides of our life with the same confidence because our Father is there also.

But some spirals in our life aren't slides where the ride is short and fast and unexpected.  Some spirals in our life cause us to feel as if we are on the top of a staircase, about to descend into a long, dark path that may take years to travel.  We could be facing the death of a child, or a divorce or a life altering illness.  These kinds of spirals of can be devastating and destructive.  Standing at the top, wondering if you can make it without falling head first and crashing at the bottom of the stairs has to be foremost in any one's mind who waits at the top of these kind of spiraling stairs.  But just like Lauren and Ingrid, we can descend the stairs with confidence- slowly, carefully, pausing with each small step to pray, to and make sure our footing is secure, keeping one hand on the scriptures for support just like we would cling to the banister, knowing that our friends are there, waiting and watching and encouraging us every step of the way.

So when I feel like my life is spiraling out of control - perhaps these images will serve as reminders that no matter the circumstances, no matter the path, I can make it.  With prayer, scripture and friends, spiraling never has to be done out of His control.

R is for Redeemer

Many years ago, my sister challenged me to  come up with one key thought or idea that summed up my testimony.  A word or phrase that frames who God is in my life.  I realize that God is multifaceted - He is indescribable actually, and the challenge to think of one key characteristic of God that has been most prevalent in my life was not an exercise to put God in a box, but to help me synthesize my understanding of His work in my life.  At first, it was hard to find a word.  One thought, one idea to sum up a complicated, powerful, creative God seemed unthinkable.  But, then it came to me.  That word for me, the one word that sums up His most prevailing work in my life is Redeemer.   

Growing up in the church, I heard that word, Redeemer, a lot.  It always sounded like an old-fashioned word.  A word that had lost its significance over time.  I remember singing the song, "My Redeemer Lives," and as a child - and even as an adolescent, that word had little meaning for me.  It wasn't until my life had spun out of control and I found myself living a lie that I came to understand what it meant to need a Redeemer - someone who had the power and authority to restore my life .

When I was very young, I gave my heart to Christ.  I gave Him everything I had - and I followed Him, as best as I could, as faithfully as I could, until I was knee deep in college.  In college, I saw what the world had to offer, and I knew it was shallow, temporary and meaningless.  It wasn't the lure of the world from the world that broke my resolve.  It was the safety of my Christian community.  One by one my Christian friends began dabbling with the world's offerings and it made everything seem less wrong - less black and white.  Things that I should have viewed as black became grey - and grey didn't seem that wrong.  The lifestyle of a Christian became out of date, irrelevant, and I found myself with one foot in both worlds.  I was living in a manner, making choices and decisions about my life that didn't even come close to resembling what God desired for me. 

And I found myself in a world from which I could not escape.  I wanted to live like Christ calls us to live,  I wanted to be the person He created - but I could not do it.  There were not enough good deeds to be done, or enough money to give away, or time in my life to serve Him that could ever erase the sinful things I had done.  My shame overwhelmed me and I found myself spiraling into depression.  I thought about suicide, but my ideas of repentance, grace and redemption were so warped that I thought if I died I would be going to hell and that terrified me.  I thought that I had sinned beyond God's grace.  Because I was a Christian - I knew better than to make the choices I had made.  I knew what it would cost God to forgive me and yet I willfully chose to sin anyway.  Why would a just God ever want to forgive me?  I knew God had the power to forgive me - but I didn't believe He would want to.

Fortunately, God did not allow me to remain in that place of lies.  He brought people, and books, and most importantly the truth of His word - the Bible into my life and has helped me to experience His redemption.  Over time, He has helped me to see how much He loves me, how much He forgives me.  I know that I am redeemed.  I have been bought by the price of Christ's blood.  I am not the old Susan - I am a new creature in Christ.  I still sin - but it isn't sin that keeps me from being saved.  It is only Christ's blood on the cross that saves me.  My salvation has nothing to do with what I do or do not do.  It is based on God's love, His power to forgive through Christ's death.  I cannot do good to earn salvation anymore than I can do bad and lose it.  It is only Christ's redemptive act on the cross that redeems my life. 

One book in particular that meant a great deal to me is by Kay Arthur.  She writes in her book Our Covenant God "We think we can have God, Jesus Christ and eternal life...on our terms.  That we can interpret for ourselves what it means to be in covenant with God.  Our logic is dangerously skewed..."  She continues a few pages later with this statement "Either you come to God on His terms, or you don't come.  It is that simple.  It is that clear - and it really doesn't matter what man thinks about it."  When I read this book - it dawned on me that I was believing my own made up definition of God when I decided I had outsinned His grace. That belief was a lie designed to destroy me.  The truth is I am forgiven.  I am redeemed.  The Bible is Truth- not my warped, misguided, distorted interpretation of it.  The Truth is, He has Forgiven me.  The Truth is, He does love me and Truth is, He continues to redeem me everyday. 

He redeems

 restores  

atones for

liberates

releases

heals

and

redeems me -

by His choice, by His love, by His power. He is my Redeemer and I know He lives.

Q is for Quiet

The cul-de-sac is alive, teeming with children young and old.  A little five year old girl is on her bike riding around with her friends.  Laughing, giggling, her blonde hair tied up in pigtails, she tears up and down the street without a care in the world.  It’s summertime.  The days are lazy, long and endless.  Neighbors sit on porches, talking about sports and the weather, while watching the children.  Some are on roller blades, jumping off curbs, while others choose skateboards, attempting to ‘hang ten.’  All of them are smiling, yelling, completely fixated on their own made- up games.  “Hey, if I get to this corner on my bike before you get to the green house on your skate board – then I win.” One young innocent voice rises above the rest.

“No way!  Not fair!” another calls back.  “I should only have to go to the blue house to win.”

“I’ll beat you all!” shouts the blonde haired girl with pigtails as she races past everyone.

Delicious smells of barbecue waft to the heavens.  The sights, the sounds, and the smells of summer are intoxicating – until the sound of a scream breaks through the air.

All the children stop and turn in horror towards the sounds of the little girl’s wails. The adults stand to assess the damage.  The little girl with the blonde pigtails slowly gets to her feet, untangling herself from the twisted bike.  Screaming and crying she leaves the bike in the middle of the street and half limps, half runs to the only place of safety she knows – her daddy’s arms.  At the sound of her crash, he was already on his feet.  Before her screams left her mouth he was moving to her side.  Bloody, dirty, grimy and with tears streaming down her checks, she throws herself at him.  He lifts her in his arms and holds her tight.  It matters not that he is wearing a white shirt.  She buries her face into his chest and is lost in the embrace of her daddy.  “Sh, sh,” He comforts her.  “Sh, sh, it’s all going to be OK.”  He sits down on the sidewalk with her and moves gently side to side, rocking her, swaying her until her screams become sobs, her sobs become tears, and her tears become quieted. 

He stands up.  Her little legs and arms still wrapped tightly around his body – so tight that his arms around her aren’t even necessary, but he puts them there all the same.  He walks her inside to clean her wounds.  “Daddy’s here,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.  And you are going to be just fine.”

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.
~Zep. 3:17

P is for PARTY

It's that time again.  Time to get out the party invitations.   Make the lists - food, decorations, tables and chairs, it's time to celebrate another high school graduate!  I sent the cards to the printer yesterday, finalized the guest list last night and then began organizing the 'to do' list.  And it was overwhelming.  It sounded so simple at the get go.  Let's have some friends over to celebrate.  Let's have an open house.  And being a 'big picture' kinda girl - it seemed like an uncomplicated thing to do.  But, it really isn't.  And the more I thought about all that needed to be done, the more concerned I became of getting it all done.  But, being one who learns from past experiences, (H is for Help) I decided to call some friends.  The first friend said she was camping and wouldn't be able to help.  No problem I told her - have fun!  The second friend I called, I didn't even get a chance to ask.  She monopolized the entire conversation with how overwhelming her life is right now.  I thought of a third friend, who had initially promised to help, but the date conflicts with previous plans so she's out - and I began to sense an old familiar feeling.

It starts like a wave - gently lapping at my feet.  Over the years, I have begun to recognize it.  And most days, I can step right out of its flow before it overtakes me - but last night, I didn't want to move out of its destructive path.  I wanted to be swept away.  Thoughts of  depression began to swell and I could feel the pull of its current. And I knew at that moment that I needed to walk away - but I didn't have the fight in me.  And so I sat there, with the phone in my hand and I began to listen to the voices in my head.

"No one ever helps you."  The soft whispers began. 
"You are alone." 
"You can't do this."
"If they loved you - they would help.  No one must love you."

I thought about calling a fourth friend - one who had just that morning assured me of her help - but by now the waves lapping at my ankles had become a rip tide dragging me out to sea. 

"Why do you even try?"
"Look around you - everyone else helps everyone else - but no one helps you"

And suddenly I found myself at another kind of party.  A dangerous one.  A destructive one.  I was having a pity party.
I got up and walked away from the table.  I still felt the pull.  I still felt the longing to go to my room, and pull the covers over my head.  But I walked to another room of the house and tried to distract myself.  I didn't have the energy to truly fight it off, to go to my knees in prayer and banish it from my home.  The truth is, there was a part of me that really did want to be carried away - but enough of me knew that doing so was a selfish, self absorbed pathetic path that I didn't want to walk.

And, writing this now, in the light of day, it really does sound pathetic.  "Really, Susan," I chastise myself.  "All of that over planning a party?  No wonder God doesn't call you to big tasks - you can't even handle a party."

Did you catch that - the waters are starting to rise again.  Even in the process of seeing how stupid it was to be upset I can spiral into dark, unhealthy thoughts.  You see, it wasn't the party planning.  It was when I focused on what I don't have, what I don't get, what I, I, I...it was when I took my eyes off of the God of the universe, the one who loves me with more passion and zeal than anyone I know, when I took my eyes off of the one who saved my soul - the one who right now is preparing the ultimate party, that is when the waves of depression begin to swell.  When I no longer care about those around me - when all I can see is me - that is when I can be easily swept away.

I wish I could conclude this post with some sage words of wisdom of how all is now good and I am 100% focused on God and His love for me - but I'm not quite there yet.  I know what I need to do - pray, read scripture (especially the Psalms), but all of that takes energy that today I do not possess.  So, instead I will end by saying, I am not over taken by the waves.  I am standing firm - but the water is still there, lapping at my feet.  And some days, it is just good enough to not drown, to not go under. Because otherwise I will begin to chastise myself for not being stronger - for being weak and the waters will rise.  Not today.  Today I am not going to a pity party - I am turning down the invitation.

O is for Obstacles

When I was studying to be an elementary teacher, I had to take a class to learn how to teach PE effectively. One of the favorite lessons that we did with the students was when we set up an obstacle course. It was never excessively challenging – but it always had areas to jump, objects to climb, and places to overcome. The students would take turns going through and the object was to not just get the fastest time, but also to improve their time. Students were rewarded for getting better just as much as they were for being the best.

The obstacle courses always started out benign and would increase in difficulty as we encountered older students. A few students would rather sit down and not participate – but nonparticipation was never an option. Some students hesitated and wavered before starting, but gained confidence when they saw others make it through unscathed. Others performed their best when their friends cheered them on. But once finished, they were always able to go through a second or even a third time more quickly and with more confidence.

As much fun as it was for the students to go through a made up set of challenges and obstacles, when we must contend with them in our own life, it isn’t so pleasant. From time to time it can appear as if our lives are one big obstacle course. There is a continuous stream of something we must jump through, like an interview for a job or a promotion. There is constantly a wall we must climb, like getting fired, or the death or illness of someone we love. And it seems like there is always something we must overcome, like fear, or depression, or an illness of our own.

And just like the elementary students we hesitate and waver when those obstacles appear before us. We don’t want to go through the obstacles in our path. Sometimes we would rather sit down and stay right where we are – but nonparticipation is not an option. When we encounter others who have gone before us and see that they made it through, when we have our friends and family cheering us on, then we can make it. We might stumble, we might drop things, we may need help scaling the wall, but if we approach it in community with God’s help, we will finish. And when the obstacle race is over, we will be stronger, more confident and ready to face the next challenge.

For me, one of the biggest obstacles in my life has been fear. Whether real or imagined, fear has kept me from doing many things. But now that I believe that nonparticipation is not an option, I have begun to step out. The fears have not gone away - but I am no longer living as if they have power. It is scary out here - but I am still pushing forward. And in doing so, I have grown closer to my children, and my husband. I have discovered that I am stronger than I thought I was and I have friends who love me deeply and are cheering me on. Facing my obstacles and moving forward has improved my life. I still have fear - but it no longer has me.

When troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. ~James 1:3, 4

N is for Name

“What’s in a name?  That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

When I was pregnant with our oldest daughter, we began pouring through baby books to find the best name for our child.  We wanted a name that we not only liked the sound of, but we also wanted a name that had significant meaning behind it.  And, as a teacher, it was important that the name did not immediately bring to my mind a child with whom I had had a negative experience - for even a child will create a ‘name for themselves.' After many hours of deliberation, we decided on a name. 

We chose Tiffany Noelle.  We liked the sound of the name, and most important to us, we liked what her name meant.  Tiffany comes from the Latin word epiphany which means the appearance of God, and Noelle is the French word for Christmas.  So, when we put it together her name means, “The appearance of God at Christmas.”  She was taught early on the meaning of her name so she would have the opportunity to make her life reflect the definition of her name, right from the start. 

And I think she has.  Even as a baby, she was patient and kind.  When I think of her as she is now, I think of someone who is sensible and calm – although I am well aware she can be quite loud and boisterous with her friends.  She is slow to anger and quick to help.  She is creative and a powerful story teller.  She is intelligent, but does not display her intelligence in a way that is arrogant or self-promoting.

Her collection of friends is probably what describes her as most Christ like.  It is quite an eclectic group.  She has friends that are cheerleaders and friends that are nerds.  She has some that are brainy, and some that barely made it through high school.  She has friends from all walks of life, Christian, and non-Christian, atheists and seminary students.  She has friends from all over the world – some she has met in person, and some she has only met on-line.  She can relate to all groups of people, much like Christ did while He was here.

She has a passionate heart for the broken – for those who have been deeply wounded, ostracized, and marginalized.  She sees people that others overlook and offers them her friendship and in the process leads them towards the healing power of a life redeemed in Christ. She will witness to anyone – at any time.  She is never afraid to share the gospel with people she meets.  She can offer both intellectual arguments for God’s plan of salvation – or relationally based ones, it does not matter - she will meet you wherever you are.

She is not one for small talk – she likes conversations that mean something, but lest you think she is a serious creature, she loves movies, anime and dressing-up in costumes for conventions.  She likes to play games, to laugh and is competitive.  She will climb any tree, scale any wall and is not afraid to get hurt in the process.  She knows the ER doc at all anime conventions personally, and most lines to the Disney princess movies.

To know her is to know that God appeared to us at Christmas to redeem all lost people.  This is what her life stands for.  Tiffany lives up to the definition of her name.   And while it’s nice to think she is a product of the definition of her name, that isn’t necessarily true.  Had we called her Abigail, or Theresa, she would still have a Christ-like character.  In our culture it isn’t your name that defines you – but you define your name. 

We define our names by our actions more so than the static pre-determined definition of our name.  We all have a reputation we create; an association that goes with our given name or, that goes with a name we have chosen to wear. 

When someone recalls our name, do they recall a Christ-like attitude, compassion, and love?  Do they think of someone who is strong, humble, selfless, or would they connect our name to mean someone who is bitter, gossipy, and haughty?

A name means something – and when we choose to call ourselves Christian, the question then becomes, are we living up to the meaning of our name?