I called my mom to let her know that I had started the project, but after the allotted amount of days, there was nothing to show for it, I had broken it. She assured me that I hadn't done anything wrong. She said that since I had followed the directions on the box exactly, that it wasn't anything I had done. It was just that sometimes things like this don't work out. Perhaps the seeds had been bad. "Well, I didn't follow the directions exactly on the box," I confessed. There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. Oh.
Over Spring Break, I had told her that I had planned to start a pot garden on the balcony of my apartment. After clarifying that the word "pot" was in reference to the containers within which I would grow the desired vegetables (green peppers, cucumbers, and tomatoes), we proceeded to the store to check out the garden supplies and to see what we could see by way of pots. We compared pots, read plant food labels, and dreamed about my little balcony farm before we stumbled upon something new and exciting. Upside down tomato-growing kits. What?! What a clever idea! You water from the top! How cute! Wouldn't that be fun?! One for you and one for me! Basket, cashier, money, done.
The directions are written in multiple languages. There are pictures on the box to illustrate most steps of the instructions. And still, I fudged a little. The packet of seeds tore easily enough, but the seeds were so teeny, tiny that my chubby fingers had trouble gathering just the "three per hole" as directed for complete success. I ended up dumping the seeds in my hand and then scattering them as best I could into the three holes. This, apparently, had been my tomato plant demise, because after the 7-10 days of waiting for those little seeds to germinate, I had nothing in my green planter bucket but soil. It was a sad day.
* * *
After showing a friend of mine some class pictures from previous years, she looked up at me and asked if I could pinpoint the time that I started gaining weight. I snapped to attention. I looked at her in disbelief. I calculated my words, knowing defensiveness would point to her being correct in her observation that in recent years, I had gained weight. But, she was right. I have gained weight. And, so, I told her that I didn't know, took my pictures, and hit my knees in prayer. Conviction lead me to look at my diet. And, to own up to the fact that I have been abusing food since I was in college.
Gluttony is a sin, and I am a gluttonous sinner. Eating has become the one thing I can control. And, in that idea, I have lost complete control. Eating is not for nutritional value anymore. It is for emotional release. It is a reward when I have had a good day. It is sympathy when I have had a bad day. It is the thing I come home to every night because there is nothing else to come home to. It is what to do when there is nothing else to do. It makes me full when I feel empty. It has consumed more time, money, and effort in my life than I care to admit. Although, who am I kidding? The pudgy cheeks, muffin top, and bigger clothes sizes say more than I have ever dreamed of saying.
My first encounter with the Holy Spirit was through a Bible study of the Fruit of the Spirit. I had read the passage in Galatians countless times but had never really understood it until this Bible study. After the study was over, I understood the fruit of the Spirit to be gifts, given by God, to enable us to act as He has commanded us to. But, I also understood that we would need the indwelling, supernatural power of the Holy Spirit to pull off this fruit; that they were not things we could do on our own. Not for any length of time, anyway. I believe that the Holy Spirit is such that He enables me to do things that I would never be able to do without Him. He can make me into something that I cannot make on my own. He is God's battery, if you will, inside each of us who have chosen Christ. Like the batteries of a flashlight, the Holy Spirit makes us work.
* * *
I was sitting outside in my rocking chair, listening to worship music and enjoying the Springtime weather. As I settled my gaze on the "broken" green, upside down tomato bucket, my eye caught something that hadn't been there the day before. I grabbed the bucket and shed my sunglasses. There, in the bucket, were two teeny, tiny shoots of a growing tomato plant. They were less than an inch tall. But, they had tiny leaves and enormous potential to be full-blown, tomato-producing plants. I was so excited! I hadn't killed them! They had grown, just as the directions said they would, even with my indifference to following the directions exactly. They were little bitty, now. But, they would grow. I would water them and leave them in the sunlight, and they would grow. And, when it was time, they would produce tomatoes! Ripe, red, juicy tomatoes! Just like the directions said. Because that is what they were designed to do!
* * *
I read about this lady who only ate the bent-over tortilla chips out of the basket at restaurants. Those were the ones she liked best. The ones that were the more complete triangle were too wide to fit in her mouth comfortably with the dollop of salsa on top. So, she only ate the bent -over chips. Sometimes, the basket was overflowing with bent-over chips. She ate them all. Sometimes, there weren't any bent-over chips in the basket at all. She ate none. She only ate the bent-over tortilla chips. I tend to lean toward the bent-over chips, myself. However, it has never occurred to me to only eat those. There is a whole basket full. Why just eat the bent-over chips? But, today, I tried something different. I prayed before the meal - out in my car before anyone else showed up to meet me. I asked for the Holy Spirit to help me; to sustain me; to guide me; and by all means, to stop me. There were five bent-over chips in the basket. I ate only those. Five chips. Lest you miss the magnitude of this sight, let me tell you that I have polished off a whole basket by myself more than once. But, today, I ate five chips. I made other positive adjustments to my normal eating habits during this meal; the most noteworthy - those five chips.
Baby steps. The Holy Spirt seeps in through any crack we allow Him. The tiniest amount of control we relinquish to Him is used for His glory and contains enormous potential for a life lived relying solely on His Spirit. Like those tomato shoots, the Holy Spirit may be seen in teeny, tiny ways in my life, right now, but He will grow. If I continue to pray and study in the Scriptures, and daily submit my life to Him, His Spirit will grow within me. And, when it is time, my life will produce the fruit of the Spirit, gifts from God, allowed to be used through me to glorify Him. Just like His Word commands. Because that is what I have been designed to do.
"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." Galatians 5:22
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Inclement Weather
The phone calls started early in the evening. One by one, as my friends and I sat watching movies at another friend's house, calls came in for kids to go home. Apparently, according to the weather man, a snow storm was coming, and the only way Texans know to brace themselves is by bringing all their chickens in for the night. Most parents came to get their kids, mentioning how bad it was getting out there and how much more comfortable they felt being the ones driving, as opposed to trusting their 16-year-old kids, my friends, to the snow. No call came for me. When I phoned home to let them know I was on my way, Dad seemed unimpressed. I asked if he was going to be waiting out front for me when I got home. His answer - "Baby, it's cold outside. Come inside when you get here. Then, I'll know you made it home." Fine. I made the five-mile trek home, having never driven in snow before, flawlessly. There were two, perfectly straight, unwavering tire tracks in the snow, marking my route and my confidence in a God who seemingly shows out through weather.
I grew up in Wichita, Kansas - in the smack-dab heart of Tornado Alley. One would think that because of the documented destruction and devastation that a tornado causes, an element of respect would emerge. One would think. My dad ran a local radio station in Wichita. Anytime inclement weather rode into town, he was up and out the door to check on the transmitter; assuring the listeners of Oz that their radio programs would be uninterrupted. My mother, being a super-mom, could not waste time in a basement away from laundry and dishes and papers to grade. So, when the tornado sirens screamed, they rounded us kids up and herded us down to the basement before heading out to the transmitter or over to the sink to finish the dinner dishes. And, once in the basement we had little worry about what was happening above ground. Our basement boasted amenities like a TV and fridge and Nintendo game system. We had all we could ever want, save for a bathroom. We just didn't let our feathers get too ruffled by things like tornadoes.
One of my all-time favorite things to do is sit out on my balcony, in my rocking chair, listening to music while a rainstorm rolls in. If the temperature is right, I'll slip off my shoes and prop my bare feet up on the railing and watch the lightening show that usually accompanies North Texas thunderstorms. My neighbor across the way does not like this. She is, obviously, a mother. A mother to the core such that she would shout out across the way, waving at me to go inside. One particular time, I took off my headphones long enough to see what she was yelling about. "Get yourself inside! There's a bad storm coming. You shouldn't be out in this weather!" she yells. I just smiled, waved, slipped my headphones back on, and continued rocking. I don't take my headphones off anymore for her. I just smile and keep watching God show off.
I am not of the mind to understand meteorologists and their science. I don't really want to. Arctic air masses, downdrafts, McFarland signature thrusts, and atmospheric pressure have nothing on God's fingers and whispers and laughter which is what I imagine inclement weather as being. There is something comforting about the changing weather. It's a visible reminder, for me, that God is in complete control; that He created something so complex as a human that can sit out on her balcony to watch something else so complex as a lightening storm. He runs it all. He moves it all. Humans and weather are ever-changing, but God is not. And, that is very comforting to me.
"...He causes his sun to rise..., and sends rain..." Matthew 6:45
I grew up in Wichita, Kansas - in the smack-dab heart of Tornado Alley. One would think that because of the documented destruction and devastation that a tornado causes, an element of respect would emerge. One would think. My dad ran a local radio station in Wichita. Anytime inclement weather rode into town, he was up and out the door to check on the transmitter; assuring the listeners of Oz that their radio programs would be uninterrupted. My mother, being a super-mom, could not waste time in a basement away from laundry and dishes and papers to grade. So, when the tornado sirens screamed, they rounded us kids up and herded us down to the basement before heading out to the transmitter or over to the sink to finish the dinner dishes. And, once in the basement we had little worry about what was happening above ground. Our basement boasted amenities like a TV and fridge and Nintendo game system. We had all we could ever want, save for a bathroom. We just didn't let our feathers get too ruffled by things like tornadoes.
One of my all-time favorite things to do is sit out on my balcony, in my rocking chair, listening to music while a rainstorm rolls in. If the temperature is right, I'll slip off my shoes and prop my bare feet up on the railing and watch the lightening show that usually accompanies North Texas thunderstorms. My neighbor across the way does not like this. She is, obviously, a mother. A mother to the core such that she would shout out across the way, waving at me to go inside. One particular time, I took off my headphones long enough to see what she was yelling about. "Get yourself inside! There's a bad storm coming. You shouldn't be out in this weather!" she yells. I just smiled, waved, slipped my headphones back on, and continued rocking. I don't take my headphones off anymore for her. I just smile and keep watching God show off.
I am not of the mind to understand meteorologists and their science. I don't really want to. Arctic air masses, downdrafts, McFarland signature thrusts, and atmospheric pressure have nothing on God's fingers and whispers and laughter which is what I imagine inclement weather as being. There is something comforting about the changing weather. It's a visible reminder, for me, that God is in complete control; that He created something so complex as a human that can sit out on her balcony to watch something else so complex as a lightening storm. He runs it all. He moves it all. Humans and weather are ever-changing, but God is not. And, that is very comforting to me.
"...He causes his sun to rise..., and sends rain..." Matthew 6:45
Doug
I heard Doug the other day. Every now and again, his song comes on the radio. I crank it up and sing along and somewhere during the verses that we pretend have nothing to do with illegal recreational drugs, I always say, "Hey Doug. Glenna's doing fine. She's doing just fine." And then, I finish out the song, loud and proud.
His song came on all the time, it seemed, right after the funeral. I couldn't go a day, for a while, where it didn't come on at least once. And, since it came on so often, I figured it best to say hello and let him know how his wife was doing. I didn't know what to tell him about his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I didn't know any of them too well. But, his wife, I knew. And, I knew that she was getting along as best she could. And, I knew that her well-being was what he had been most concerned with there at the end.
Colon cancer is hell. It strikes fast and hard. It snakes its way through the digestive track and clings to the very walls of the colon. It is terribly painful and brings with it some of the most uncomfortable side effects of all the cancers. Doug's December diagnosis was met with a fist-in-the-air fight song of beating the odds. After a March surgery to see what was removable, the doctors gave him 18 months to live, assuming he underwent chemotherapy. Forking over the money to pay for those chemotherapy pills hurt worse than the side effects of the actual treatment. Doug's hair stayed firmly in place, he rarely got sick, never felt the exhaustion you read about. He continued to work and fish and play with his grandchildren as if there weren't some foreign growth in his body silently killing him.
His physical decline became noticeable in mid-August. He stopped joining the group for lunch after church. He stopped meeting up for the movies. He stopped caring about fishing lures and treble hooks. He stopped being able to stand for as long as any activity would require of him. He started needing around-the-clock care; Glenna took the wife-shift - she was never far from his side.
Late one Sunday night, Doug seemed agitated, fitful, uncomfortable. He thrashed around in the bed, making a mess of the sheets and blankets. Glenna was handing over the reigns of night-watchman to Doug's sister in hopes of some much-needed rest. Before she left, she sat on the bed and told Doug, "I'm going to be fine. If you need to go, you just go on and go. I understand. I'm going to be fine." His thrashing calmed. He had the permission he needed. He died not an hour later.
And amid all the planning that loved ones do to occupy the time that seems to stretch like a life-sized rubber band between death and grieving, and living again, someone remembered that Doug had mentioned wanting "Spirit in the Sky" played at his funeral. Doug liked a good joke as well as the next guy, so there had to be a chuckle when this notion came up of actually playing the song at his funeral.
But, you can't very well argue with a dead man. Not one that had spent his life wanting very little other than for his wife to be happy, his children and grandchildren to be close by, and some good fishing weather every now and again. He asked for a specific song. What could they do?
So, after the kind words, healing Scripture, and loving prayers had been said, the familiar opening chords rang out as we all got to our feet to file out and view the casket. It was hard not to bob your head a little. And, by the time we young people on the back row made it up to pay our last respects to Doug, we were all but dancing. It was what Doug had wanted. That, and to make sure his wife would be okay.
And, she is doing fine, Doug. Just fine.
"Prepare yourself
you know it's a must
Gotta have a friend in Jesus
So you know that when you die
He's gonna recommend you
to the spirit in the sky."
-Norm Greenbaum
"Spirit in the Sky"
His song came on all the time, it seemed, right after the funeral. I couldn't go a day, for a while, where it didn't come on at least once. And, since it came on so often, I figured it best to say hello and let him know how his wife was doing. I didn't know what to tell him about his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I didn't know any of them too well. But, his wife, I knew. And, I knew that she was getting along as best she could. And, I knew that her well-being was what he had been most concerned with there at the end.
Colon cancer is hell. It strikes fast and hard. It snakes its way through the digestive track and clings to the very walls of the colon. It is terribly painful and brings with it some of the most uncomfortable side effects of all the cancers. Doug's December diagnosis was met with a fist-in-the-air fight song of beating the odds. After a March surgery to see what was removable, the doctors gave him 18 months to live, assuming he underwent chemotherapy. Forking over the money to pay for those chemotherapy pills hurt worse than the side effects of the actual treatment. Doug's hair stayed firmly in place, he rarely got sick, never felt the exhaustion you read about. He continued to work and fish and play with his grandchildren as if there weren't some foreign growth in his body silently killing him.
His physical decline became noticeable in mid-August. He stopped joining the group for lunch after church. He stopped meeting up for the movies. He stopped caring about fishing lures and treble hooks. He stopped being able to stand for as long as any activity would require of him. He started needing around-the-clock care; Glenna took the wife-shift - she was never far from his side.
Late one Sunday night, Doug seemed agitated, fitful, uncomfortable. He thrashed around in the bed, making a mess of the sheets and blankets. Glenna was handing over the reigns of night-watchman to Doug's sister in hopes of some much-needed rest. Before she left, she sat on the bed and told Doug, "I'm going to be fine. If you need to go, you just go on and go. I understand. I'm going to be fine." His thrashing calmed. He had the permission he needed. He died not an hour later.
And amid all the planning that loved ones do to occupy the time that seems to stretch like a life-sized rubber band between death and grieving, and living again, someone remembered that Doug had mentioned wanting "Spirit in the Sky" played at his funeral. Doug liked a good joke as well as the next guy, so there had to be a chuckle when this notion came up of actually playing the song at his funeral.
But, you can't very well argue with a dead man. Not one that had spent his life wanting very little other than for his wife to be happy, his children and grandchildren to be close by, and some good fishing weather every now and again. He asked for a specific song. What could they do?
So, after the kind words, healing Scripture, and loving prayers had been said, the familiar opening chords rang out as we all got to our feet to file out and view the casket. It was hard not to bob your head a little. And, by the time we young people on the back row made it up to pay our last respects to Doug, we were all but dancing. It was what Doug had wanted. That, and to make sure his wife would be okay.
And, she is doing fine, Doug. Just fine.
"Prepare yourself
you know it's a must
Gotta have a friend in Jesus
So you know that when you die
He's gonna recommend you
to the spirit in the sky."
-Norm Greenbaum
"Spirit in the Sky"
DNA vs. God's Will
I have, somewhere deep in my DNA structure, a gene that causes me to want to make things happen.
A born cruise-director. If I could just be put in charge of the clipboard with the master list of activities, snapping my fingers and pointing to where and when things were going to happen, answering questions for those who weren't listening, and readjusting my sun visor as I demonstrated the exit route after having done the giant slide at the back of the boat, I would have fulfilled one of my life's desires.
An insta-conductor. I have never been able to play an instrument; can barely carry a tune; have no idea what those little notes on the steps mean. But, if I could be that guy in the tux, waving the stick with everyone poised and looking at me to know what happens next, I could die a happy woman.
A wanna-be wedding planner. The absolute delirium I would feel in getting to be the person who knew when everything was to arrive, who was to be where at what time, the time-keeper, the delivery-checker, the go-to woman in the headset would be enough to float me right on up to heaven with a smile on my face.
So, you can imagine the fall out when, upon putting the Lord on in baptism, I learned that He wanted to be the cruise-director, the conductor, and the wedding planner - all in one. I handled it well for a time. I was gracious enough to let God think He was in control from November of my 6th grade year until the following September. Then, we began having problems. I had agreed to let God be the prayer-answerer, as long as He stuck to the prayers I had asked for. You know, did what I said. But, from my 7th grade year on, I realized that I had a rogue -God on my hands. He wasn't always where I needed Him to be. And, He certainly wasn't answering my prayers like I had wanted Him to. This incensed me to no end. I had plans! I had dreams! I had things to do! I knew where everything was and when it was to take place! Obviously, he hadn't noticed the clip board, the stick-thing, or the headset. He, clearly, did not recognize that I was the one in charge; the one making things happen.
I sat at a homecoming football game a few years out of college watching the young ladies be driven around the track, sitting high on the back of a very expensive car, being escorted to their place on the field, all of them waiting to hear their name being called as that year's homecoming queen. As each girl was introduced, the announcer gave a run-down of the things that she had participated in at school and church, and he listed out loud for all to hear her goals and dreams for the future. Each girl's goals had to do with whatever career path she wanted to take: "Barbara Sue wants to attend Texas Tech University and major in Veterinary Science." Her dreams had to do with her family life: "Barbara Sue wants to be married with three kids by the time she is 34." I sat in the stands, wearing black and red to support the team I was going for, freezing cold from an early-October cold front that had moved in, shaking my head, completed jaded. I had been one of those high school girls with goals and dream, too. None of the things on my list of goals and dreams had manifested themselves. My ability to make things happen had failed. And, God had been boycotting my prayer requests for some time, by then.
I asked for a set of Oneida 18/10 stainless flatware from a department store for Christmas about three years ago. I had been using the cheap, plastic-handled, college-y kind for all of my adult life. I was holding out on real flatware in hopes that whatever fiance ended up next to me and I would register for some at Macy's so our friends would have something to buy us for our wedding showers. I am embarrassed to admit all of the things that I "held out on" while waiting for the life I had dreamed up to start taking shape. The problem was, my real life had already begun taking shape. I just hadn't had a thing to do with the shaping of it, and it didn't look anything like I had dreamed it would. I had sucummbed to God's Will, by then. Gave in to it. Admitted defeat. Waved a white flag and surrendered to it. And, so on Christmas morning, there in bright-colored wrapping, tied up with a bow, an outward sign of the acceptance of how my life had shifted from what I wanted to what God had prepared.
My mom teaches middle schoolers. God help her. She teaches three classes of regular English and one class of fancy English. Her coworker teaches three classes of fancy English and one class of regular English. To me, it seems like it would make more sense and be less work for one teacher to teach all of the regular English and the other teacher to teach all of the fancy English. I made noise as such to my mother who assured me that, although she had similar thoughts, she trusted the schedule-makers because they knew all the rules, they had years of experience in creating schedules, and they had the big picture in mind. She recognized that just because it didn't make sense to her (or her know-it-all, cruise director, insta-conductor, wedding planner wanna-be daughter), it didn't mean that it didn't make sense at all. Her classes were a detail in the school's big picture. And, she trusted the person with the big picture.
Oh, that I would be able to apply such a concept to my life!
I finished reading a book this past week that spoke on, among other things, trusting God. Not trusting God to do this or that for us. Just trusting God. And, I was convicted by the idea that trusting God to do something for us is to have expectations. Trusting God to do what He Wills is to have faith.
Clipboards, stick-things, and headsets are a part of me. I am who I am. But, I want to make sure that I have a free hand to take hold of what God has for me, whatever it may be in this life. And, I want to trust God - not to do what I want but to do what He Wills.
"' For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" Jeremiah 29:11
"'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the Lord." Isaiah 55:8
A born cruise-director. If I could just be put in charge of the clipboard with the master list of activities, snapping my fingers and pointing to where and when things were going to happen, answering questions for those who weren't listening, and readjusting my sun visor as I demonstrated the exit route after having done the giant slide at the back of the boat, I would have fulfilled one of my life's desires.
An insta-conductor. I have never been able to play an instrument; can barely carry a tune; have no idea what those little notes on the steps mean. But, if I could be that guy in the tux, waving the stick with everyone poised and looking at me to know what happens next, I could die a happy woman.
A wanna-be wedding planner. The absolute delirium I would feel in getting to be the person who knew when everything was to arrive, who was to be where at what time, the time-keeper, the delivery-checker, the go-to woman in the headset would be enough to float me right on up to heaven with a smile on my face.
So, you can imagine the fall out when, upon putting the Lord on in baptism, I learned that He wanted to be the cruise-director, the conductor, and the wedding planner - all in one. I handled it well for a time. I was gracious enough to let God think He was in control from November of my 6th grade year until the following September. Then, we began having problems. I had agreed to let God be the prayer-answerer, as long as He stuck to the prayers I had asked for. You know, did what I said. But, from my 7th grade year on, I realized that I had a rogue -God on my hands. He wasn't always where I needed Him to be. And, He certainly wasn't answering my prayers like I had wanted Him to. This incensed me to no end. I had plans! I had dreams! I had things to do! I knew where everything was and when it was to take place! Obviously, he hadn't noticed the clip board, the stick-thing, or the headset. He, clearly, did not recognize that I was the one in charge; the one making things happen.
I sat at a homecoming football game a few years out of college watching the young ladies be driven around the track, sitting high on the back of a very expensive car, being escorted to their place on the field, all of them waiting to hear their name being called as that year's homecoming queen. As each girl was introduced, the announcer gave a run-down of the things that she had participated in at school and church, and he listed out loud for all to hear her goals and dreams for the future. Each girl's goals had to do with whatever career path she wanted to take: "Barbara Sue wants to attend Texas Tech University and major in Veterinary Science." Her dreams had to do with her family life: "Barbara Sue wants to be married with three kids by the time she is 34." I sat in the stands, wearing black and red to support the team I was going for, freezing cold from an early-October cold front that had moved in, shaking my head, completed jaded. I had been one of those high school girls with goals and dream, too. None of the things on my list of goals and dreams had manifested themselves. My ability to make things happen had failed. And, God had been boycotting my prayer requests for some time, by then.
I asked for a set of Oneida 18/10 stainless flatware from a department store for Christmas about three years ago. I had been using the cheap, plastic-handled, college-y kind for all of my adult life. I was holding out on real flatware in hopes that whatever fiance ended up next to me and I would register for some at Macy's so our friends would have something to buy us for our wedding showers. I am embarrassed to admit all of the things that I "held out on" while waiting for the life I had dreamed up to start taking shape. The problem was, my real life had already begun taking shape. I just hadn't had a thing to do with the shaping of it, and it didn't look anything like I had dreamed it would. I had sucummbed to God's Will, by then. Gave in to it. Admitted defeat. Waved a white flag and surrendered to it. And, so on Christmas morning, there in bright-colored wrapping, tied up with a bow, an outward sign of the acceptance of how my life had shifted from what I wanted to what God had prepared.
My mom teaches middle schoolers. God help her. She teaches three classes of regular English and one class of fancy English. Her coworker teaches three classes of fancy English and one class of regular English. To me, it seems like it would make more sense and be less work for one teacher to teach all of the regular English and the other teacher to teach all of the fancy English. I made noise as such to my mother who assured me that, although she had similar thoughts, she trusted the schedule-makers because they knew all the rules, they had years of experience in creating schedules, and they had the big picture in mind. She recognized that just because it didn't make sense to her (or her know-it-all, cruise director, insta-conductor, wedding planner wanna-be daughter), it didn't mean that it didn't make sense at all. Her classes were a detail in the school's big picture. And, she trusted the person with the big picture.
Oh, that I would be able to apply such a concept to my life!
I finished reading a book this past week that spoke on, among other things, trusting God. Not trusting God to do this or that for us. Just trusting God. And, I was convicted by the idea that trusting God to do something for us is to have expectations. Trusting God to do what He Wills is to have faith.
Clipboards, stick-things, and headsets are a part of me. I am who I am. But, I want to make sure that I have a free hand to take hold of what God has for me, whatever it may be in this life. And, I want to trust God - not to do what I want but to do what He Wills.
"' For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" Jeremiah 29:11
"'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the Lord." Isaiah 55:8
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Crystal Clear
I just want to be clear on something.
If I could, I would bottle every positive comment made, compliment expressed, smile given in reference to these blog postings so that I could actually drink them. I am that prideful. After I've posted a new blog, I check it regularly for the next several days to see if someone has commented on something I have said. I was surprised, pleasantly surprised, when someone I didn't know read the blog and commented about how it had uplifted her for the day. I relished the idea that something I said had done that for her. I am that prideful. I have known, for a long time, that God granted me the gift of writing. He blessed with the ability to string words together in such a way that you would read it and enjoy it and probably want to hear more. He did all the work, but I want all the credit. I am that prideful. Sometimes, I reread my words over and over out loud and to myself because I am so please with how they sounded and how perfectly they captured exactly what I was trying to say. And, I forget about God and His gift-giving, all together. I am that prideful.
I am that prideful.
And, I am that insecure.
For all of my life, I have sought the affirmation of others. I have tap danced my feet to oblivion just to hear the applause. I have joked and flung sarcasm just to hear the roar of laughter. I have lied and pretended to create a better story. I took what others said about me and my life and my appearance and my worth and my personality and my writing and have used it as the very food needed to keep on living. I have been on a self-worth high thanks to the smile or accolade from someone else. I have groveled in the self-worth pit of mud and muck thanks to a jeer or rejection from someone else. I have ridden the roller coaster. I have surfed the ebb and flow. I have trekked the valley and scaled the peak.
And, it has gotten me nothing.
So, I just want to be completely clear on this:
I am a fraud. I am useless. I am wrong most of the time. I cannot do what I say I can do. I did not do what I said I did. I will not do what I said I would. I am afraid of more things than I could ever list. I am weak. I am puny. I am slime. I am scum. I am wretched. I am gross. I am stupid. I am unlovable. I should not be trusted. I am a liar. I am a cheat. I am crooked. I am terrible with money. I do not deserve anything that I have been given. I should be put to death. I should be thrown out. I should be cast aside. I should never have been given a second chance. I am completely unworthy.
So, if you happen to see ANYTHING other than the things I have just listed, please recognize that you have seen a miracle that ONLY the Lord God can do, through His Spirit. It is by His Grace and through His mighty hand that I am anything other than what I have listed above.
I just want to be completely clear on this.
"But, by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace to me was not without affect. No, I worked harder than all of them - yet, not I, but the grace of God that was with me." I Corinthians 15:10
If I could, I would bottle every positive comment made, compliment expressed, smile given in reference to these blog postings so that I could actually drink them. I am that prideful. After I've posted a new blog, I check it regularly for the next several days to see if someone has commented on something I have said. I was surprised, pleasantly surprised, when someone I didn't know read the blog and commented about how it had uplifted her for the day. I relished the idea that something I said had done that for her. I am that prideful. I have known, for a long time, that God granted me the gift of writing. He blessed with the ability to string words together in such a way that you would read it and enjoy it and probably want to hear more. He did all the work, but I want all the credit. I am that prideful. Sometimes, I reread my words over and over out loud and to myself because I am so please with how they sounded and how perfectly they captured exactly what I was trying to say. And, I forget about God and His gift-giving, all together. I am that prideful.
I am that prideful.
And, I am that insecure.
For all of my life, I have sought the affirmation of others. I have tap danced my feet to oblivion just to hear the applause. I have joked and flung sarcasm just to hear the roar of laughter. I have lied and pretended to create a better story. I took what others said about me and my life and my appearance and my worth and my personality and my writing and have used it as the very food needed to keep on living. I have been on a self-worth high thanks to the smile or accolade from someone else. I have groveled in the self-worth pit of mud and muck thanks to a jeer or rejection from someone else. I have ridden the roller coaster. I have surfed the ebb and flow. I have trekked the valley and scaled the peak.
And, it has gotten me nothing.
So, I just want to be completely clear on this:
I am a fraud. I am useless. I am wrong most of the time. I cannot do what I say I can do. I did not do what I said I did. I will not do what I said I would. I am afraid of more things than I could ever list. I am weak. I am puny. I am slime. I am scum. I am wretched. I am gross. I am stupid. I am unlovable. I should not be trusted. I am a liar. I am a cheat. I am crooked. I am terrible with money. I do not deserve anything that I have been given. I should be put to death. I should be thrown out. I should be cast aside. I should never have been given a second chance. I am completely unworthy.
So, if you happen to see ANYTHING other than the things I have just listed, please recognize that you have seen a miracle that ONLY the Lord God can do, through His Spirit. It is by His Grace and through His mighty hand that I am anything other than what I have listed above.
I just want to be completely clear on this.
"But, by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace to me was not without affect. No, I worked harder than all of them - yet, not I, but the grace of God that was with me." I Corinthians 15:10
Sunday, February 21, 2010
The Juggler
He told me to shut up and stand still.
I tend to like the stories more about Him comforting and loving His children, and I promise I don't question His love for me. I just thought He would be less.... cut throat when He spoke. I had hoped He would be calm and quieting and maybe just whisper a breezy revelation into my ear. But, no. Not for me. It was more of a close-up shout that blew my hair up, away from my face, and caused me to close my eyes to avoid eyeball windburn. I could have smelled what He had had for dinner. His voice, although raised, was still loving, but it had the "And don't talk back to me, young lady!" timber to it; the kind you don't question. And, so, I didn't question it. I just nodded my head in reverence, slumped my shoulders, and turned to do what I knew I had to do.
My brother can juggle. He taught himself in college. He started with little bean bags and worked his way up to fruit from the produce section of the supermarket. Then, my mother "helped" him work his way back down to things that were already purchased and not necessarily edible, for safety and sanitary reasons. And, I always thought I wanted to learn to juggle. My brother looked so cool doing it. But then, my life started needing to be juggled and it stopped looking so cool. And, I kind of wished it was just my brother who knew how to keep things in the air long enough to toss something else up, and I wished it were just bean bags or even fruit from the produce section of the supermarket and not my own life that was being tossed up.
Asking for God's direction is not for the faint of heart. Seriously. If you're going to ask, the next important thing to be ready to do is what He says. I get stalled in that second step sometimes. I ask, and then keep asking until He changes His mind and tells me what I want to hear. He hasn't ever changed His mind... so, it would make more sense to listen to Him the first time, wouldn't it? I know. I know.
So, somewhere between throwing something else in the air and catching another something as it was falling, God let me know that what He expected me to do was to shut up and stand still. He had probably been telling me to do this for some time, but I was too busy asking Him over and over again what He wanted me to do to hear His answer. I was dumbfounded. Stand still? Then, everything would fall.
But, then, I could put my arms down and stop juggling.
The wreckage was massive. The destruction awesome. Most of the things I had been juggling were totaled. My heart was broken. My life a mess. It has taken me years to sift through and clean up the pile of people, attitudes, thoughts, lies, feelings, situations, consequences, theologies, and ideas that I had been juggling for so long.
But, it has been in the clean-up that I realize that God knows what He's doing. A teeny, tiny part of His master plan revealed and understood by another teeny, tiny part.
Most of the things that I had been juggling shattered into a million pieces. And, when I dug down deep enough to find the shattered pieces, they weren't worth saving. I pointed to the shattered mess and yelled at God, "Look at what you made me do! How could you?" But, even as I yelled at God, I knew that I was the benefactor in the situation. He helped sweep up the last of the pieces and with a breath of redeeming love, He blew the dirt away to reveal a clean, unblemished spot where I could see His reflection.
Some things were broken but salvageable. Big pieces of relationships and ideas were recognizable. Finding all the pieces proved to be the hard part. But, I knew, at once, that I was to search the entire area to find those that were missing. I presented the pieces to God and asked Him to put back together something that I had caused to break, and without hesitation, He took the pieces from me and began to glue them back together with His Spirit, giving the glue time enough to dry and those of us involved time enough to heal. Reconstruction, although altered, is almost always stronger.
And, there were some things, more things than I realized, that were not phased, in the least, during the tumble. I saw these things as the solid, cornerstones on which to begin rebuilding my life. Promises and truths from His Word that stood the test of trial and tribulations. People who knew me better than I knew myself, who saw the fall coming, who committed to being there when it was time to move on. Parts of me that turned out stronger than I thought, more resilient than expected, steadier than what was shown before.
Years have passed. Time has healed wounds. Love has replaced fear. Priorities have changed.
God has remained the same through it all. Whispering breezy revelations to those who will listen, yelling for those who won't. Always ready to breath redeeming love into an empty vessel and reconstruct salvageable broken-ness.
Juggling occupies the hands. God occupies the heart.
The easiest way to stop juggling is to stand still and shut up.
I tend to like the stories more about Him comforting and loving His children, and I promise I don't question His love for me. I just thought He would be less.... cut throat when He spoke. I had hoped He would be calm and quieting and maybe just whisper a breezy revelation into my ear. But, no. Not for me. It was more of a close-up shout that blew my hair up, away from my face, and caused me to close my eyes to avoid eyeball windburn. I could have smelled what He had had for dinner. His voice, although raised, was still loving, but it had the "And don't talk back to me, young lady!" timber to it; the kind you don't question. And, so, I didn't question it. I just nodded my head in reverence, slumped my shoulders, and turned to do what I knew I had to do.
My brother can juggle. He taught himself in college. He started with little bean bags and worked his way up to fruit from the produce section of the supermarket. Then, my mother "helped" him work his way back down to things that were already purchased and not necessarily edible, for safety and sanitary reasons. And, I always thought I wanted to learn to juggle. My brother looked so cool doing it. But then, my life started needing to be juggled and it stopped looking so cool. And, I kind of wished it was just my brother who knew how to keep things in the air long enough to toss something else up, and I wished it were just bean bags or even fruit from the produce section of the supermarket and not my own life that was being tossed up.
Asking for God's direction is not for the faint of heart. Seriously. If you're going to ask, the next important thing to be ready to do is what He says. I get stalled in that second step sometimes. I ask, and then keep asking until He changes His mind and tells me what I want to hear. He hasn't ever changed His mind... so, it would make more sense to listen to Him the first time, wouldn't it? I know. I know.
So, somewhere between throwing something else in the air and catching another something as it was falling, God let me know that what He expected me to do was to shut up and stand still. He had probably been telling me to do this for some time, but I was too busy asking Him over and over again what He wanted me to do to hear His answer. I was dumbfounded. Stand still? Then, everything would fall.
But, then, I could put my arms down and stop juggling.
The wreckage was massive. The destruction awesome. Most of the things I had been juggling were totaled. My heart was broken. My life a mess. It has taken me years to sift through and clean up the pile of people, attitudes, thoughts, lies, feelings, situations, consequences, theologies, and ideas that I had been juggling for so long.
But, it has been in the clean-up that I realize that God knows what He's doing. A teeny, tiny part of His master plan revealed and understood by another teeny, tiny part.
Most of the things that I had been juggling shattered into a million pieces. And, when I dug down deep enough to find the shattered pieces, they weren't worth saving. I pointed to the shattered mess and yelled at God, "Look at what you made me do! How could you?" But, even as I yelled at God, I knew that I was the benefactor in the situation. He helped sweep up the last of the pieces and with a breath of redeeming love, He blew the dirt away to reveal a clean, unblemished spot where I could see His reflection.
Some things were broken but salvageable. Big pieces of relationships and ideas were recognizable. Finding all the pieces proved to be the hard part. But, I knew, at once, that I was to search the entire area to find those that were missing. I presented the pieces to God and asked Him to put back together something that I had caused to break, and without hesitation, He took the pieces from me and began to glue them back together with His Spirit, giving the glue time enough to dry and those of us involved time enough to heal. Reconstruction, although altered, is almost always stronger.
And, there were some things, more things than I realized, that were not phased, in the least, during the tumble. I saw these things as the solid, cornerstones on which to begin rebuilding my life. Promises and truths from His Word that stood the test of trial and tribulations. People who knew me better than I knew myself, who saw the fall coming, who committed to being there when it was time to move on. Parts of me that turned out stronger than I thought, more resilient than expected, steadier than what was shown before.
Years have passed. Time has healed wounds. Love has replaced fear. Priorities have changed.
God has remained the same through it all. Whispering breezy revelations to those who will listen, yelling for those who won't. Always ready to breath redeeming love into an empty vessel and reconstruct salvageable broken-ness.
Juggling occupies the hands. God occupies the heart.
The easiest way to stop juggling is to stand still and shut up.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
What Really Matters
My dad was the dunker. He and I had practiced out of the water several times, he telling me what he would say and when to grab my nose. So, when the time came, we executed the task with superb precision. I had gotten a little emotional when he asked me if I believed that Jesus was the Son of God and that He had come and died to take away my sins. At the time, I was embarrassed by the tears. Now, I am embarrassed that I was embarrassed - there never being a more appropriate time to be emotional. I came up out of the waters of baptism on that fine Wednesday evening to a line of proud huggers, mostly my parents' friends, and the promise of a robe and a crown and a soul-to-soul reunion with Jesus someday
I spent the next fifteen years trying to be good - not cussing, not drinking, not smoking, not having sex, not worshiping using instruments, not accidentally swallowing the wrong kind of bread during communion. You know, being good. Not sinning. There were a hosts of things listed in the Bible that I knew I shouldn't do. And, there were a host of things preached from every pulpit of every church I ever attended that also equalled sin that I was expected to abstain from. And, for whatever reason, I understood that if I wanted to be loved, saved, and accepted into heaven, I was to follow these laws; the ones from the Bible and the ones from the pulpit.
I was terrible at it. I was always finding myself in the middle of some kind of sin. And, then, I would think of one of those lesser-known sins (gossip, lying, gluttony) and really sink. And, since I couldn't seem to keep myself out of sin, I knew that I couldn't really be saved, loved, and accepted into heaven. I was only "in" for as long as I could be good, and I wasn't very good at being good. I was pretty sure I had been placed on probationary status there in the Book of Life and that at any minute, my sins would show up, God would roll his eyes, and thump me out of line but always allowing me to try again to earn my spot back. He was a gracious God, after all.
I do not know where I got the jilted and twisted idea that my actions, good works, and faith got me from point A to point B, and then God's grace took over, getting me from point B to the pearly gates of heaven and that robe and crown I was promised. And, I cannot pinpoint the day when Christ's sacrifice for me became real I cannot remember when I stopped thinking God's grace was the grout between the tiles of my righteousness and understood His righteousness was all there was. But, by the grace of God, I did come to understand. He was all I had. He was all there was.
Luke's telling of the Parable of the Lost Son resonates with me; more so these days than ever before. I had always pictured that lost son demanding his inheritance and then hustling himself right down to the local bar to blow it all. Luke 15:13 says he "... squandered his wealth in wild living..." That phrase gave way to my imagining all sorts of terrible sins that the Lost Son threw his money away on.
But, in truth, all of us suffer in wild living and money squandering without the saving Grace that Jesus brought us. No matter how good I am or how little I sin, I am nothing without Jesus and God's grace and mercy. Even in my best days of strong faith, good works, and letter of the law following, it amounts to nothing without Jesus. it's all pig slop without Him; every bit of it.
"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him..." Luke 15:22a
I have been promised a robe and a crown. And some sweet day, I'll sing up there, wearing my robe and crown, the song of victory. Not because I have been so good. But, because He is.
I spent the next fifteen years trying to be good - not cussing, not drinking, not smoking, not having sex, not worshiping using instruments, not accidentally swallowing the wrong kind of bread during communion. You know, being good. Not sinning. There were a hosts of things listed in the Bible that I knew I shouldn't do. And, there were a host of things preached from every pulpit of every church I ever attended that also equalled sin that I was expected to abstain from. And, for whatever reason, I understood that if I wanted to be loved, saved, and accepted into heaven, I was to follow these laws; the ones from the Bible and the ones from the pulpit.
I was terrible at it. I was always finding myself in the middle of some kind of sin. And, then, I would think of one of those lesser-known sins (gossip, lying, gluttony) and really sink. And, since I couldn't seem to keep myself out of sin, I knew that I couldn't really be saved, loved, and accepted into heaven. I was only "in" for as long as I could be good, and I wasn't very good at being good. I was pretty sure I had been placed on probationary status there in the Book of Life and that at any minute, my sins would show up, God would roll his eyes, and thump me out of line but always allowing me to try again to earn my spot back. He was a gracious God, after all.
I do not know where I got the jilted and twisted idea that my actions, good works, and faith got me from point A to point B, and then God's grace took over, getting me from point B to the pearly gates of heaven and that robe and crown I was promised. And, I cannot pinpoint the day when Christ's sacrifice for me became real I cannot remember when I stopped thinking God's grace was the grout between the tiles of my righteousness and understood His righteousness was all there was. But, by the grace of God, I did come to understand. He was all I had. He was all there was.
Luke's telling of the Parable of the Lost Son resonates with me; more so these days than ever before. I had always pictured that lost son demanding his inheritance and then hustling himself right down to the local bar to blow it all. Luke 15:13 says he "... squandered his wealth in wild living..." That phrase gave way to my imagining all sorts of terrible sins that the Lost Son threw his money away on.
But, in truth, all of us suffer in wild living and money squandering without the saving Grace that Jesus brought us. No matter how good I am or how little I sin, I am nothing without Jesus and God's grace and mercy. Even in my best days of strong faith, good works, and letter of the law following, it amounts to nothing without Jesus. it's all pig slop without Him; every bit of it.
"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him..." Luke 15:22a
I have been promised a robe and a crown. And some sweet day, I'll sing up there, wearing my robe and crown, the song of victory. Not because I have been so good. But, because He is.
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