Prayer Puzzles

The 75% off sale at Barnes and Noble got me. It sucked me into the possibility of buying gifts for considerably less than I could buy them anywhere else. And so I bought. Books. Bud vases. Games. Puzzles. Mugs. Cups. And more.

I’m planning to keep most of the gifts for special occasions: birthdays, beginning of the school year,anniversaries, Christmas, etc. I’ve even updated my “Gifts Purchased But Not Yet Given” spreadsheet so that I won’t forget what I have to give.

But I’ve already given away one of the gifts and prepared another for the giving. My friend Ke is the recipient of both of these gifts because they are butterfly themed and butterflies mean a lot to her. They are a symbol of transformation and hope for what it is to come.

The first gift was a cup. She lit up when I gave it to her. She asked me to place it where she could see it and declared that she was going to use it.

The second gift is a puzzle. My aunt, mom, and I began putting it together last Tuesday night, and my mom and I finished it Sunday morning at 2:10am. My mom declares I wouldn't let her go to bed, but I think she willingly stayed. Puzzles can suck you in! I literally slept, ate, and worked on the puzzle all day Saturday. Nothing else. And with each piece of the puzzle, I prayed for Ke so that when the puzzle was complete it was full of both beauty and prayer. Now, we only must glue it before presenting it to Ke.

I’ve heard of a wide variety of prayers groups. Of quilting groups, crocheting and knitting groups, blanket-making groups, and others. Yet I’ve never heard of a puzzle group. But why not? Why not choose a specific puzzle for someone who needs prayer—something that holds meaning for the future recipient or something generic if the intended recipient is unknown? Why not gather together a group of persons to work together to create something beautiful—to fellowship together in community while forming a tangible prayer? What’s more? You don’t have to be crafty whatsoever to put together a puzzle. Puzzle making uses different skills than crafting—different parts of the brain—and so it could reach a different demographic of people.

I’m away in the mountains this week. I’m acting as chaperone and worship leader for a 3rd-6thgrade children’s camp. I can’t do anything more with the puzzle while I’m away, yet every time I close my eyes, I see the beautiful picture prayer that my aunt, mom, and I worked together to create—often giving each other a high-five when we finally placed a piece—and I smile…knowing that it was pieced together with prayer and love for a friend whose life has deeply blessed my soul.

Frames of Love and Light

A few months ago, I received a gift-card n the mail that made me cry. The attached note said something like this:

(We’re) returning one of the nicest gifts a friend (ever) gave us…There is no “should” attached to this gift—use it however you want, be it for something you need, something you want, or a way to nurture your love language of gift giving. Know that we are thankful for you!

I was so touched by this gift that I put it in a special place so that I wouldn’t be tempted to spend it on something frivolous.

Then I forgot about it...as I often do when I put things away for safe keeping.

While looking for post-it notes the other day, I came across the addressed envelope again. Having no recollection of what was in it, I opened it. I read the note inside. I cried. Again.

As I prepared to leave the house today, I packed two prints to be framed. Both prints are prints from local artists. One print is one I’ve had for well over a year and one print is one I’ve had for less than a week. The former is a celebration of a dear friend and mentor’s life and work. The latter is a celebration of my 36th birthday and my ever-expanding orange fish collection.

Both are now framed with frames purchased with the gift card mentioned above.

Both are now filled and surrounded by thanksgiving, love, and light.

Birthday Downpour

In ’99, I spent the night of my birthday in a downpour. Literally. I was dodging lightening in a storm, driving the camp golf cart from one cabin to another, tending to scared campers, making sure a cabin wasn’t burning down after being struck by lightning. It was wonderful! Seriously. An experience I will never forget.

Tonight, I spent a few hours of my birthday in another downpour. An under-the-sink downpour caused by a corroding garbage disposal. This downpour occurred toward the end of a wonderful birthday celebration that started yesterday.

Yesterday. When…
• Amelia showed up at the house wearing an orange dress and temporarily named me Aunt Orange. She knows that orange is my favorite color.
• Henry told me that I was going to love my birthday present because he made it for me. Sure enough, when I opened it, I found a beautiful plate that Henry painted specifically for me. He could have chosen to paint anything at Paint Your Own Pot, but he chose something for me…complete with an orange Christian fish in the middle. He knows that I collect orange fish and the collection started with Christian fish.
• Charlie and Jack wrote me very sweet notes.
• Amelia picked out and wrapped up an orange pen. It was her special gift to me.
• Dana and Finley gave me a new orange fish print.
• My mom made me a birthday cookie and a peach pie.
• Griffin asked to climb on me so I could throw him around. That’s become one of our special things.
• Amelia led the family in singing Happy Birthday as she sang into the microphone.
• Griffin taught Jack and Henry how to do magic tricks so they could perform a birthday magic show during birthday dessert.
• Jack, Henry, Griffin, Charlie, Amelia, Dana, and I competed in a Minute-to-Win-It competition. We each tried to put six ziti noodles on a piece of spaghetti—with our mouths only.
• Amelia yelled up the stairs, “Aunt Dee?! Do you want to see my underwear?” and then pulled up her nightgown to show me the orange underwear she had picked out for my birthday.

Then today…June Gail (my aunt), Mom, and I spent the morning shopping and getting great deals…then eating at Coffee and Crepes…then visiting Gretchen and the boys…then visiting Journey the Dog and finding that he’d left me a laundry bag as a birthday present…then coming home to eat the world’s best pork chops as prepared by my dad…then opening lovely gifts…then thanking everyone who wished me a happy birthday on Facebook…

I don’t think I need to say: It’s been a wonderful birthday.

And I am so extremely grateful for the downpour of love.

Images from Camp

Four teenagers walking down the road carrying buckets to gather water. The house we were working on had no running water. We were working in a neighborhood that is falling into disrepair as residents are getting older and the town is channeling money elsewhere.

An 82-year-old woman sweeping grass off of her sidewalk, allowing me to finish sweeping for her as she told me how grateful she was for our presence across the street. Talking with her inspired a sidewalk cleaning project that rallied our work crew and gave them a sense of purpose and accomplishment. The grass in front of the house at which we were working had completely covered the sidewalk. In fact, the soil had built up to the point that it was over a foot deep in front of the steps. When we left, the sidewalk was clean and plans had been made for the yard-keeper at the abandoned house two houses over was making plans to clear the sidewalk in front of that house as well.

A group of white teenagers gathering around a middle-aged African American woman, praying with and for her in an effort to release her from the hoarding tendencies that had almost gotten her house condemned and receiving a blessing from her because of the positive path they were choosing. This prayer occurred on Friday, just before we packed up and moved out, and it blessed everyone involved, including our homeowner’s husband who caught my eye and gave me a grateful thumbs-up and nod of affirmation.

The “body of Christ” being shared with each participant by a beautifully humble staff member who radiated peace and joy through her smile and intentional eye contact. Most persons didn’t look at her as she said, “The body of Christ broken for you,” yet she still saw each person and served them the “bread of life.” I imagined her saying a prayer for each person as he/she approached, and I realized that what was happening in front of me was a depiction of what often happens in ministry: we serve yet we are often not seen and sometimes we are even ignored; yet still, we serve, praying that love of Christ will shine through us. The whole experience moved me to tears.

Jesus. 12-years-old. At the temple. Fully alive. Fully himself. Finding his call. Going home. Growing up. Jesus went home to grow up.

Seeing the words “everyone’s welcome here, no one has to hide” projected onto the screen. Hearing the words being sung. Feeling tears streaming down my face as I realized that the words we were singing were words I want to believe but words that haven’t always been shown to me. Everyone is welcome at God’s table. Now it’s up to us, the church, to show it.

Straw Sharing Laughter

There’s a lot of heavy stuff happening these days and a lot of commentary being written about it all. After three nights/days with the kids after a week at youth camp, though, I’m too tired and unfocused to think about anything serious. And so…I will share a story from camp last week that still makes me laugh.

Wednesday night was senior night. Not being able to find where the rest of the seniors were celebrating, Rebecca took our two seniors to McDonalds. I asked them to bring me an iced mocha so that I could have coffee the next morning.

Because we both woke up late on Thursday, Rebecca and I ended up in the apartment alone. As I was preparing to leave, I opened the refrigerator to get my coffee. I asked Rebecca if they’d gotten me a straw. She said no. Then she said, “You can use my straw if you want to.”

Her used straw was in her used cup on the coffee table in front of the couch on which she had been sleeping.

I said, “Wow, Rebecca. Sharing a straw is a new level of friendship.”

She sang her response: “Sharing a straw is love.”

While she finished getting ready, I finished the song chorus that she’d started:

“Sharing a straw is love,
It’s a special symbol of,
Friendship from above,
Yes, sharing a straw is love.”

Choosing not to accept Rebecca’s straw offer, I walked to breakfast simply carrying my coffee…which was a really good thing because Rebecca and I spent the whole walk singing and laughing. Rebecca would make up a verse about the virtues of sharing a straw and I’d chime in with the chorus.

Neither of us remembers the verses. They were spontaneous, out of Rebecca’s crazy head. But we both remember the chorus, and we claim it as one of our most successful hits.

We made up other songs last week as well. We sang about stripes, ear lobes and parks, plastic baggies, camp, and more. And on Sunday, we sang about my nephew losing his pants and about red shoes stomping. Amelia and my nephews requested a Rebecca/Deanna performance.

Rebecca and I are dangerous together. She brings out the silly in me. I give permission for the silly in her to shine. We feed off of each other’s thoughts and we make each other laugh. Sometimes last week we both laughed so hard that our stomachs hurt, our eyes filled with tears, and the veins in our foreheads poked out.

And the laughter was good.

It was very, very good.

When is the last time you made up a silly song? Lived as if you were in a musical? Laughed so hard that you cried?

With everything that seems to be going wrong in this world, there are so many things going right…the simplest of which is not necessarily straw sharing, but laughter, friendship, and love.

Eventually Love Will Win

After getting beat up
the first time,
some think it’s stupid to get back in the ring.

After being knocked out
the second time,
and third,
and fourth,
most think it’s insane to keep fighting.

Some think it’s brave.

Call me
stupidly,
insanely,
brave.

It’s not time
to stop fighting for
Love.

I won’t
stop fighting for
Love.

Tag: You're It

Tag.
You’re it.
You are the one.

You are the one to speak a kind word,
Lend a calm ear,
Extend an open invitation of welcome and grace.

Tag.
You’re it.
You are the one.

You are the one who must look in,
Face every deep fear,
Overcome prejudice, guilt, and shame.

Tag.
You’re it.
You are the one.

You are the one chosen by God,
Marked by God’s love,
Imprinted with God’s beauty for all the world to see.

A Sunday Afternoon Pre-Camp Reflection

It’s amazing how quickly things change. One minute, I am fully engaged in the morning’s worship service; the next I am transported to a weekend in January that becomes the catalyst for one of the biggest, unexpected prunings of my life; the next I am sitting in a meeting preparing to chaperone youth camp.

Camp. I love camp. In fact, for the longest time, I held the secret desire to buy the land on which the camp that I love most in this world resides. I’d have had to have won the lottery or found someone independently wealthy to give the money in order to do this. But I wanted to donate a large sum of money to the organization that runs the camp and possibly have a needed building built and named after my family—not out of arrogance—but out of the true, deep love that I have for camp and the power that it has to impact lives.

I’m not going to that camp tomorrow. I was actually asked not to go to that camp this summer. But, I’m going to another camp. I was asked if I wanted to go to that one. I’ve never been. I’m not sure what to expect. But I’m excited for the opportunity. And I’m honored to have been asked to do something I love instead of being forced to walk away.

It’s amazing how quickly things change. One day, I am fully engaged in hopes and dreams for land and a future; the next the voice on the other end of the line questions call, work, and actions; the next I am sitting in my home-office surrounded by memories of a life now past, hoping for just $75 per month to give to my church and other ministries that love me just as I am.

Freedom

Freedom comes at a cost.
Releasing the yoke of slavery does not happen with
Ease. The struggle hurts. Thoughts of Egypt
Erupt in the fight to move forward. The smell of
Death intensifies as casualties fall. Much is sacrificed. More can be gained. But is it worth it?

Once upon a time there were persons not bound by guilt and shame.

May we not lose hope on the journey to live free, for it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.

When Everything Is Stripped Away

What used to be, what always
Made me tick, is being buried
Underground, dead, pruned for being
Needed no more. The cutting hurts. The
Outlook for the future is uncertain.
My hopes and dreams are being birthed anew,
Opening from darkness,
Reaching for new life, growing with
Expectancy for what is to come.