I was looking through an old journal yesterday and I was amazed at how so many things had changed...yet how so many had stayed the same. [I was also grieved that I've slacked off on my journalling and awed by some of the things that I've written that are very wise. But that's not the point of this entry--my final one of 2010 :-)].
One particular entry from October 13, 2008, illustrates perfectly this dichotomy of change and consistency. I'll post my original writing, unedited, in italics and then I'll write my current response in bold.
--i have a new goal in life: get my neighbor's dog to let me pet him. he's a little yippy dog that used to annoy me. all he would do is bark incessently and pee on my car tires. my dad has won his affection, however, and in learning the dog's story, i have changed my opinion of him. the dog, bullet, was severely abused by his previous owner who then left him in a parking lot to die. my neighbor found him and brought him home. knowing this, i have sympathy for the little guy and i understand why he is so afraid of everyone. and yet--if my dad can do it--then i can do it :-)! bullet will like me one day! and right now? he's already the backround on my phone. hehe.
Bullet Williams Deaton is laying on a towel on the couch beside me. Since returning home from Florida, I have been scratched by Bullet's long paws as my attention has been demanded, my hands and arms have been licked in affection, and my cheek has been kissed. I have played tug of war with Bullet and his favorite toy and I have played catch with Bullet's Build-A-Bear--both of which I gave him. I have spent countless dollars on dog treats and dog toys, not because I am still trying to win the dog's affection but because I have won it and he has won mine. Bullet makes me itch, sheds terribly, and stinks, but I love him. And he loves me. And watching his devotion to my dad is one of the cutest things I have ever seen. My dad is big man; Bullet is a little dog. Watching Bullet follow my dad around and hearing my dad talk to the little guy warms my heart and makes me want to follow Christ and be fiercely devoted to Christ just as Bullet is devoted to, loyal to, and in a state of constant love for my dad...
Two years later, I'm not trying to win Bullet's affection; I have it. That much has changed.
--i enjoyed my time with my family. they left to go back home today. it's always sad when my grandmother leaves because i never know if it will be the last time i see her. her sister fell over the weekend and was so confused that she stayed on her bathroom floor all night. luckily, her children arrived at her house to pick her up for the family reunion and found her there. i fear that something like that will happen to my grandmother, and the thoughts make me so sad. she said more than once this week that she was getting old and feeble--moving so much slower than she used to. it's as if her spirit is slowly dying as her friends and family are slowly dying. i pray for her safety and for a peaceful remainder of her life...however many more years that it is.
Two years later, I am still sad when I leave G-mama because I don't know what the future holds for her. As I told her goodbye today, the old familiar question of "Will this be the last" played in my mind, yet I looked her in the eye and made her laugh nonetheless, attempting to create a memory to hold on to forever. More than ever, G-mama seems old and feeble, frail and tired. I suppose that after 88 years of living, I'd be frail and tired, too. She's lived in the same house for 52 and a half years, and I've been visiting her there for 33 of those years. I have played many games; built many forts; had many laughs; opened many presents; eaten a lot of ham, green beans, rolls, cool-whip, snacks, and desserts; and had many allergic reactions (complete with running nose and weepy eyes) to something there...all with G-mama in the background, scurrying around to get food on the table and blankets on the bed. I don't know how many more years that will happen--if ever again--yet I will continue to pray for her safety and a peaceful remainder of her life...however long it is.
And so...as 2010 comes to a close and I sit on the couch beside Bullet and cry, I am reminded just how much life has changed...yet just how much it has stayed the same...
And I suppose that it will always be this way: a constant dichotomy of change and consistency...fueled by time...under-girded by hope...and infused by the deep, unwavering, unchanging yet ever deepening reality of Love.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
A Spiritual Moment
On our way down to Florida, my dad asked me about the most spiritual moment of my year. I mentioned a few times of leading worship and watching my panelists help at Carolina Girls. Upon further reflection, though, I think that this was my most spiritual moment of the year:
A couple of weeks ago, I had a full breakdown—you know, the kind where you’re not making much sense but you’re talking uncontrollably as tears fall from your eyes and down your face so hard that you cannot see straight and your nose is running and your face is red and puffy and you’re generally just all out of whack and the friend who is with you has absolutely no idea what to say or do and so she just listens and does her best to be a steady presence for you.
This breakdown was brought on by work—by the feeling that I don’t do a good job at my job—wondering if the time and effort that I put into the Facebook pages is worth it—if anyone reads the notes, if the statuses and questions make anyone think, if anything that I do is helping anyone grow spiritually—feeling like I am a bad WMU-er because I don’t do WMU things in traditional ways.
After about thirty minutes, when the tears subsided, I came to the conclusion that, regardless of known impact, I had to keep doing what I was doing—following God’s guidance to the best of my ability—trusting that something was happening even when I could not see…
In a parallel life, during the same moments of my breakdown, a dear, beautiful woman, was writing me an e-mail. This is what she said:
Hi Deanna,
I hope you had great fun with your nephews -- sounds like they really like their Aunt D. Now -- the real reason for this message.
As I reflect back over this year, I've seen you continue to grow in so many ways. Your writings almost always give me something to think about, laugh about and sometimes even cry over. Thank you for that. I don't always comment, but I hold things close to my heart. Thank you for allowing the Father to work in and through you.
I am so grateful that WMU found you or you found us -- I am even more grateful that we are friends and colleagues.
Merry Christmas to you and all your family.
I wish for you many Hope-filled moments!
Much love and appreciation…
I am speechless now like I was speechless then. In a time when I was looking for God, God was all around me. God was with me in the tears and God was with me in the steady presence of a friend and God was with me in the words that came from the heart of one of the women that I respect most in this world.
God, thank you for making yourself known to me…and God help me to be a steady presence and to speak words of hope and encouragement into the lives of those around me precisely in the moments that they need them most.
----------
What about you? What were the most spiritual moments of your year?
A couple of weeks ago, I had a full breakdown—you know, the kind where you’re not making much sense but you’re talking uncontrollably as tears fall from your eyes and down your face so hard that you cannot see straight and your nose is running and your face is red and puffy and you’re generally just all out of whack and the friend who is with you has absolutely no idea what to say or do and so she just listens and does her best to be a steady presence for you.
This breakdown was brought on by work—by the feeling that I don’t do a good job at my job—wondering if the time and effort that I put into the Facebook pages is worth it—if anyone reads the notes, if the statuses and questions make anyone think, if anything that I do is helping anyone grow spiritually—feeling like I am a bad WMU-er because I don’t do WMU things in traditional ways.
After about thirty minutes, when the tears subsided, I came to the conclusion that, regardless of known impact, I had to keep doing what I was doing—following God’s guidance to the best of my ability—trusting that something was happening even when I could not see…
In a parallel life, during the same moments of my breakdown, a dear, beautiful woman, was writing me an e-mail. This is what she said:
Hi Deanna,
I hope you had great fun with your nephews -- sounds like they really like their Aunt D. Now -- the real reason for this message.
As I reflect back over this year, I've seen you continue to grow in so many ways. Your writings almost always give me something to think about, laugh about and sometimes even cry over. Thank you for that. I don't always comment, but I hold things close to my heart. Thank you for allowing the Father to work in and through you.
I am so grateful that WMU found you or you found us -- I am even more grateful that we are friends and colleagues.
Merry Christmas to you and all your family.
I wish for you many Hope-filled moments!
Much love and appreciation…
I am speechless now like I was speechless then. In a time when I was looking for God, God was all around me. God was with me in the tears and God was with me in the steady presence of a friend and God was with me in the words that came from the heart of one of the women that I respect most in this world.
God, thank you for making yourself known to me…and God help me to be a steady presence and to speak words of hope and encouragement into the lives of those around me precisely in the moments that they need them most.
----------
What about you? What were the most spiritual moments of your year?
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Maybe Jesus Cried
So maybe it wasn’t a silent night (and)
maybe Mary screamed (and)
maybe the Wise Men didn’t find Jesus in a stable (and)
maybe Jesus cried (and)
maybe there wasn’t snow on the ground (and)
maybe it wasn’t even winter (and)
maybe the animals stank (and)
maybe meaning is more than a story (and)
maybe the story is more than “Merry Christmas” hanging over a
commercialized,
dumbified,
secularized,
polarized
modernized America that
maybe worships the imaginary, still-life manger scene
maybe more than the Man who lived to walk out of the hay.
maybe Mary screamed (and)
maybe the Wise Men didn’t find Jesus in a stable (and)
maybe Jesus cried (and)
maybe there wasn’t snow on the ground (and)
maybe it wasn’t even winter (and)
maybe the animals stank (and)
maybe meaning is more than a story (and)
maybe the story is more than “Merry Christmas” hanging over a
commercialized,
dumbified,
secularized,
polarized
modernized America that
maybe worships the imaginary, still-life manger scene
maybe more than the Man who lived to walk out of the hay.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The Present of Presence
One of my favorite children's books is "The Gift of Nothing," by Patrick McDonnell. As Marinne Saccardi summarizes on Amazon.com:
This story features characters from McDonnell's comic strip Mutts. Mooch (a cat) wants to give Earl (a dog) a gift, but he already has a bowl, a bed, and even a chewy toy. In fact, he [has] it ALL. In a flash of inspiration, Mooch decides to give him nothing, and sets out to find it. Though the kids say there is nothing to do, they always seem to be doing something. And even though Millie says there [is] nothing to buy, Mooch finds plenty in the stores. In the end, he wraps a big box with nothing in it and presents it to his friend. There's nothing here, says Earl. Nothing…but me and you, Mooch replies. And that's the point. The text is minimal and the small cartoon drawings are executed in black and white with touches of red and surrounded by plenty of white space. As Mooch ponders over his dilemma, he is engulfed by question marks. The picture of the two friends sitting wrapped paw-in-paw as they enjoy nothing and everything is charming. A fine vehicle for a one-on-one discussion of the meaning of friendship and gift-giving.
As Christmas approaches and gift-buying abounds, my hope for you is that you will remember the point of this book:
It's not the money spent on gifts that matters the most in life (although gifts ARE very important to some people because receiving gifts is how they most feel loved) rather it is the gifts of presence and intentionality that make the most impact on those around you. You can spend hundreds of dollars on a nice gift for someone but have the gift mean little to person receiving it because the gift is distant and cold. On the contrary, you can spend just a few dollars on a gift that will mean the world to the receiver because the gift has significance to him/her and/or your relationship to him/her.
One of the nicest gifts I have ever received was a collage of words and magazine pictures that described me and the gift giver's impression of how I impacted the world. The gift cost little, but the meaning was deep. A gift that I give my grandmother each year is the gift of cards and stamps because writing her friends and family members is very important to her. I also go to Florida to see her. The gift may not seem like much, but to her it is very special.
So this Christmas, regardless of the amount of money that you do or do not have to spend, I challenge you to give the present of presence and to know that your presence in people's lives is a free, rich blessing--especially to the elders in your life. You might not have worldly riches to give--or the person to whom you're giving may seem to already have everything you can think of to give--yet you still have SOMETHING...and that something is the sometimes "nothing" of "me and you."
This story features characters from McDonnell's comic strip Mutts. Mooch (a cat) wants to give Earl (a dog) a gift, but he already has a bowl, a bed, and even a chewy toy. In fact, he [has] it ALL. In a flash of inspiration, Mooch decides to give him nothing, and sets out to find it. Though the kids say there is nothing to do, they always seem to be doing something. And even though Millie says there [is] nothing to buy, Mooch finds plenty in the stores. In the end, he wraps a big box with nothing in it and presents it to his friend. There's nothing here, says Earl. Nothing…but me and you, Mooch replies. And that's the point. The text is minimal and the small cartoon drawings are executed in black and white with touches of red and surrounded by plenty of white space. As Mooch ponders over his dilemma, he is engulfed by question marks. The picture of the two friends sitting wrapped paw-in-paw as they enjoy nothing and everything is charming. A fine vehicle for a one-on-one discussion of the meaning of friendship and gift-giving.
As Christmas approaches and gift-buying abounds, my hope for you is that you will remember the point of this book:
It's not the money spent on gifts that matters the most in life (although gifts ARE very important to some people because receiving gifts is how they most feel loved) rather it is the gifts of presence and intentionality that make the most impact on those around you. You can spend hundreds of dollars on a nice gift for someone but have the gift mean little to person receiving it because the gift is distant and cold. On the contrary, you can spend just a few dollars on a gift that will mean the world to the receiver because the gift has significance to him/her and/or your relationship to him/her.
One of the nicest gifts I have ever received was a collage of words and magazine pictures that described me and the gift giver's impression of how I impacted the world. The gift cost little, but the meaning was deep. A gift that I give my grandmother each year is the gift of cards and stamps because writing her friends and family members is very important to her. I also go to Florida to see her. The gift may not seem like much, but to her it is very special.
So this Christmas, regardless of the amount of money that you do or do not have to spend, I challenge you to give the present of presence and to know that your presence in people's lives is a free, rich blessing--especially to the elders in your life. You might not have worldly riches to give--or the person to whom you're giving may seem to already have everything you can think of to give--yet you still have SOMETHING...and that something is the sometimes "nothing" of "me and you."
Jesus Calling...Back To A Devotional Life
If I'm honest, then I must admit that I don't always do well with my "devotional life." I have plenty of devotion books and I've written/edited a few devotion books for others to use, yet I have struggled to have a daily devotion ever since college. I've gone through periods when I've been very diligent with my reading, praying, and writing...and then I've gone through of not.
While I have long moved past the guilt of not having a daily devotion--which is what drove me to do a daily devotion in high school and college--I have recently felt a deep longing to make an intentional effort to return to the daily devotion. While I spend all day, every day, talking to God and making efforts to be silent and listen to God, I yearn to know God more and to sense more of how God's spirit is working in my life, this ministry, and beyond.
A few weeks ago, I asked a good friend of mine if she'd be willing to read and discuss a devotion book with me. She said she would. We selected a devotion book called, "Jesus Calling," by Sarah Young. The devotions in this book are written from Jesus' point of view, and they come from Young's personal devotion times of listening to God with pen in hand. The devotions are meant to be read slowly, preferably in a quiet place...and they're so short that they can easily be read multiple times in order to let God's spirit speak.
It's odd how the Spirit speaks, too--how one sentence or phrase jumps out at me while another sentence or phrase jumpt out at my friend--or how we can each receive completely different meanings from the text even though we've heard the exact same words. But the Spirit is speaking and I have been blessed and challenged as I've been on this journey back into a devotional life that will take me deeper into Christ.
Here are a few of the sentences that have spoken to me:
When your focus is broad enough to include me in your thoughts, you feel safe and complete. When your perception narrows so that problems or details fill your consciousness, you feel empty and incomplete. Learn to look steadily at Me in all your moments and all your circumstances. Though the world is unstable and in flux, you can experience continuity through your uninterrupted awareness of my Presence.
Your needs and my riches are a perfect fit. I never meant for you to be self-sufficient.
Be willing to go out on a limb with me. If that is where I am leading you, then it is the safest place to be...If your primary focus is on me, you can walk along perilous paths without being afraid. Eventually, you will learn to relax and enjoy the adventure of our journey together.
I, the Creator of the universe, have deigned to co-create with you. Do not try to hurry this process...Hurry is not in my nature.
As you focus your mind and heart on me, you are being transformed: re-created into the one I designed you to be.
Rest in me, my child, forgetting about the worries of the world. Focus on me--Emmanuel--and let my living presence envelop you in Peace.
I am speaking in the depths of your being. Be still, so that you can hear my voice. I speak in the language of Love; My words fill you with Life and Peace, Joy and Hope.
What about you? Do you struggle to have an active devotional life, or is your devotional life a lifeline to your spiritual health? If the latter, what devotion book(s) do you use? If the former, what do you find to be your greatest struggle?
While I have long moved past the guilt of not having a daily devotion--which is what drove me to do a daily devotion in high school and college--I have recently felt a deep longing to make an intentional effort to return to the daily devotion. While I spend all day, every day, talking to God and making efforts to be silent and listen to God, I yearn to know God more and to sense more of how God's spirit is working in my life, this ministry, and beyond.
A few weeks ago, I asked a good friend of mine if she'd be willing to read and discuss a devotion book with me. She said she would. We selected a devotion book called, "Jesus Calling," by Sarah Young. The devotions in this book are written from Jesus' point of view, and they come from Young's personal devotion times of listening to God with pen in hand. The devotions are meant to be read slowly, preferably in a quiet place...and they're so short that they can easily be read multiple times in order to let God's spirit speak.
It's odd how the Spirit speaks, too--how one sentence or phrase jumps out at me while another sentence or phrase jumpt out at my friend--or how we can each receive completely different meanings from the text even though we've heard the exact same words. But the Spirit is speaking and I have been blessed and challenged as I've been on this journey back into a devotional life that will take me deeper into Christ.
Here are a few of the sentences that have spoken to me:
When your focus is broad enough to include me in your thoughts, you feel safe and complete. When your perception narrows so that problems or details fill your consciousness, you feel empty and incomplete. Learn to look steadily at Me in all your moments and all your circumstances. Though the world is unstable and in flux, you can experience continuity through your uninterrupted awareness of my Presence.
Your needs and my riches are a perfect fit. I never meant for you to be self-sufficient.
Be willing to go out on a limb with me. If that is where I am leading you, then it is the safest place to be...If your primary focus is on me, you can walk along perilous paths without being afraid. Eventually, you will learn to relax and enjoy the adventure of our journey together.
I, the Creator of the universe, have deigned to co-create with you. Do not try to hurry this process...Hurry is not in my nature.
As you focus your mind and heart on me, you are being transformed: re-created into the one I designed you to be.
Rest in me, my child, forgetting about the worries of the world. Focus on me--Emmanuel--and let my living presence envelop you in Peace.
I am speaking in the depths of your being. Be still, so that you can hear my voice. I speak in the language of Love; My words fill you with Life and Peace, Joy and Hope.
What about you? Do you struggle to have an active devotional life, or is your devotional life a lifeline to your spiritual health? If the latter, what devotion book(s) do you use? If the former, what do you find to be your greatest struggle?
Monday, December 13, 2010
The Fullness of God--Part Two
To look into the face of a newborn baby is to catch a glimpse of Creator God. It is to see a new life, a blank slate, and to hope for wonderful things to come.
I know that I did this when I looked into the face of my nephew for the very first time. After I got over my fear of breaking him when I held him, all I could do was look at him and pray for his life to be a blessing. I imagined him in school. I wondered if he would be popular and if the kids would like him. I imagined him in college and I wondered if he was going to become a teacher, a preacher, a lawyer, a musician, an engineer, a top business executive, an athlete, or the president. I held him close to my heart and sang sweet prayers of love over his life. Eight years later, he is one of the smartest kids I know and he is learning to play the piano. Yet so many questions are still left to answer. The possibilities of his life are still endless. And no matter what, I will always love him just as I do now and when he was born.
If I feel like that about my nephew, how much more did Mary feel for Jesus? As the shepherds spoke the truth of God’s announcement to her and the others who were near—that on that night a Savior who was Messiah and Master was born in stable in Bethlehem—Mary listened to their words and held them in her heart. She likely dreamed the possibilities of her son’s life and let her mind wonder about all the things he would say, do, and become. But never could she have imagined the full impact of his life.
Nor could the shepherds have imagined that the glory they beheld in Bethlehem would reach the whole world. After recognizing that God fulfills God’s promises and that God had come to earth in human form, the shepherds were left with no other option than to believe that the baby they were looking at was going to grow into someone truly special. But how could they have known that he would become a king whose throne of exaltation would be a cross and whose crown would be a crown of thorns? How could they have known that his kingdom would be the hearts of humankind and that his forgiveness would break the bonds of sin? How could they have known that his love would shatter the laws of cleanliness that had, for too long, kept them from formally worshiping God? They couldn’t have known! Yet they knew that they had beheld something spectacular, and so they left the stable that night praising and worshiping God for all that they had seen and heard.
Just like the shepherds, we may only catch a glimpse of Jesus, yet once we’ve seen him we know that our lives have been changed—we know that we have seen someone whose life and love offer us unending possibilities of grace. We may not know how things are going to turn out in the end—how the economic order will be made over to express the values of God, how the relationship between nations will be lifted above the law of the jungle into some redeeming expression of the law of love, how poverty will be eradicated, how pain and suffering will be lessened, how we will make it through our grief—but through Christ we can know that God’s love is unending and that his possibilities are greater than anything we have ever imagined.
The fullness of God is revealed in the unending possibilities of God’s love.
I know that I did this when I looked into the face of my nephew for the very first time. After I got over my fear of breaking him when I held him, all I could do was look at him and pray for his life to be a blessing. I imagined him in school. I wondered if he would be popular and if the kids would like him. I imagined him in college and I wondered if he was going to become a teacher, a preacher, a lawyer, a musician, an engineer, a top business executive, an athlete, or the president. I held him close to my heart and sang sweet prayers of love over his life. Eight years later, he is one of the smartest kids I know and he is learning to play the piano. Yet so many questions are still left to answer. The possibilities of his life are still endless. And no matter what, I will always love him just as I do now and when he was born.
If I feel like that about my nephew, how much more did Mary feel for Jesus? As the shepherds spoke the truth of God’s announcement to her and the others who were near—that on that night a Savior who was Messiah and Master was born in stable in Bethlehem—Mary listened to their words and held them in her heart. She likely dreamed the possibilities of her son’s life and let her mind wonder about all the things he would say, do, and become. But never could she have imagined the full impact of his life.
Nor could the shepherds have imagined that the glory they beheld in Bethlehem would reach the whole world. After recognizing that God fulfills God’s promises and that God had come to earth in human form, the shepherds were left with no other option than to believe that the baby they were looking at was going to grow into someone truly special. But how could they have known that he would become a king whose throne of exaltation would be a cross and whose crown would be a crown of thorns? How could they have known that his kingdom would be the hearts of humankind and that his forgiveness would break the bonds of sin? How could they have known that his love would shatter the laws of cleanliness that had, for too long, kept them from formally worshiping God? They couldn’t have known! Yet they knew that they had beheld something spectacular, and so they left the stable that night praising and worshiping God for all that they had seen and heard.
Just like the shepherds, we may only catch a glimpse of Jesus, yet once we’ve seen him we know that our lives have been changed—we know that we have seen someone whose life and love offer us unending possibilities of grace. We may not know how things are going to turn out in the end—how the economic order will be made over to express the values of God, how the relationship between nations will be lifted above the law of the jungle into some redeeming expression of the law of love, how poverty will be eradicated, how pain and suffering will be lessened, how we will make it through our grief—but through Christ we can know that God’s love is unending and that his possibilities are greater than anything we have ever imagined.
The fullness of God is revealed in the unending possibilities of God’s love.
The Fullness of God--Part One
God could have chosen to remain a distant God—a God high in the sky, looking down on his creation from above. Or God could have chosen to reveal himself in sheer terror and awe. Yet God chose to come near to human life in the form of a baby within the context of a human family. God drew near to humanity in a crude shelter in Bethlehem because life and love were there—because there was enough room for God to enter.
I heard a story once about a farmer who refused to believe that God would have chosen to come to earth in human form. I’ll call this farmer Steve. On Christmas Eve, however, while Steve’s family was at church, he began to believe. Here’s what happened: Christmas Eve that year was a cold, snowy night, so Steve had a fire burning in the living room as he lay in his recliner and watched TV. Suddenly, Steve heard a loud thud on the window. He tried to ignore the thud, but he couldn’t ignore it when he heard it again—and again—and again. Finally, he got up to see what was going on and he immediately noticed a couple of birds flying into his window. Feeling sorry for the birds—realizing that they only wanted to find a bit of warmth—Steve decided to try to direct them to his barn for the night. So Steve bundled up and got a flashlight and went out into the cold. He opened the barn doors and began waving his arms in an effort to guide the birds inside. Instead, the birds just kept flying into the window. Frustrated and cold, Steve thought to himself, “If only I were a bird. If only I could help them understand that the barn will provide them safety and warmth. If only I were a bird….” At the moment, Steve fell onto his knees and wept. At that moment, Steve understood: that’s why Jesus had come to earth. Jesus came in human form so that he could guide us—so that we would understand that it is him that we need to follow—so that we would understand that it is him that will guide us to safety and warmth.
And so Jesus did come. Jesus Christ, God’s son, came to earth in the form of a tiny baby that one Bethlehem night. An entrance as common as the dawn of a new day—out of his mother’s womb and into her arms—Jesus’ birth was nothing miraculous, and yet it was everything miraculous in the world. A king had been born into a simple family in a simple place. His birth was not heralded with trumpets or greeted by the important leaders of the land. Instead, his birth was celebrated with farm animals and greeted by shepherds—socially despised and economically deprived workers who were thought to be outside of religious respectability. Yet it was in those humble surroundings with those humble people that God chose to be born.
In a stable, there are no barriers. In a stable, all the poor, insignificant, unclean, forgotten people of the world can gather around the manger and dare to believe that the Babe who lies there belongs to them. God belongs to us just as we belong to God! God exists with us not in some strange, distant place but in the every day aspects of our lives. God is found in the familiar blessings of friendship and affection and in the daily beauty of patience and devotion. God is found in the dirty diapers and stuffy noses, in the crying baby at night when Mommy and Daddy just want to sleep, in the necessity of work, in the eyes of an ailing loved one. God is found in the humble surroundings of every day life. Do you see God in your life? Can you grasp how amazing it is to have a God who understands the joys and sorrows of life because he has been here in human form? Can you fathom that God has invited you, no matter how insignificant you feel, to visit him at the manger and beyond?
The fullness of God is revealed in God’s being born into this world in humble surroundings.
I heard a story once about a farmer who refused to believe that God would have chosen to come to earth in human form. I’ll call this farmer Steve. On Christmas Eve, however, while Steve’s family was at church, he began to believe. Here’s what happened: Christmas Eve that year was a cold, snowy night, so Steve had a fire burning in the living room as he lay in his recliner and watched TV. Suddenly, Steve heard a loud thud on the window. He tried to ignore the thud, but he couldn’t ignore it when he heard it again—and again—and again. Finally, he got up to see what was going on and he immediately noticed a couple of birds flying into his window. Feeling sorry for the birds—realizing that they only wanted to find a bit of warmth—Steve decided to try to direct them to his barn for the night. So Steve bundled up and got a flashlight and went out into the cold. He opened the barn doors and began waving his arms in an effort to guide the birds inside. Instead, the birds just kept flying into the window. Frustrated and cold, Steve thought to himself, “If only I were a bird. If only I could help them understand that the barn will provide them safety and warmth. If only I were a bird….” At the moment, Steve fell onto his knees and wept. At that moment, Steve understood: that’s why Jesus had come to earth. Jesus came in human form so that he could guide us—so that we would understand that it is him that we need to follow—so that we would understand that it is him that will guide us to safety and warmth.
And so Jesus did come. Jesus Christ, God’s son, came to earth in the form of a tiny baby that one Bethlehem night. An entrance as common as the dawn of a new day—out of his mother’s womb and into her arms—Jesus’ birth was nothing miraculous, and yet it was everything miraculous in the world. A king had been born into a simple family in a simple place. His birth was not heralded with trumpets or greeted by the important leaders of the land. Instead, his birth was celebrated with farm animals and greeted by shepherds—socially despised and economically deprived workers who were thought to be outside of religious respectability. Yet it was in those humble surroundings with those humble people that God chose to be born.
In a stable, there are no barriers. In a stable, all the poor, insignificant, unclean, forgotten people of the world can gather around the manger and dare to believe that the Babe who lies there belongs to them. God belongs to us just as we belong to God! God exists with us not in some strange, distant place but in the every day aspects of our lives. God is found in the familiar blessings of friendship and affection and in the daily beauty of patience and devotion. God is found in the dirty diapers and stuffy noses, in the crying baby at night when Mommy and Daddy just want to sleep, in the necessity of work, in the eyes of an ailing loved one. God is found in the humble surroundings of every day life. Do you see God in your life? Can you grasp how amazing it is to have a God who understands the joys and sorrows of life because he has been here in human form? Can you fathom that God has invited you, no matter how insignificant you feel, to visit him at the manger and beyond?
The fullness of God is revealed in God’s being born into this world in humble surroundings.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
In the Connection of The Dots
"Your awareness of my presence falters and flickers; as a result, your life experience feels fragmented. When your focus is broad enough to include me in your thoughts, you feel safe and complete. When your perception narrows so that problems or details fill your consciousness, you feel empty and incomplete. Learn to look steadily at me in all your moments and all your circumstances. Though the world is unstable and in flux, you can experience continuity through your uninterrupted awareness of my presence." --Sarah Young
As I read this today, an image formed in my mind:
I think sometimes we think of our lives in dots. We mark an event with one dot, the next major event with another dot, the next with another, etc. and then when we think back on our lives or project forward with our thoughts, we see only the dots of major events. While it is true that life occurs during those dots, it must be remembered that so much more of life occurs during the connections. It's like a game of connect the dots. The dots alone don't look like much. But when you add the lines of connection between, the picture becomes perfectly clear.
I imagine that God, through Time, creates with us the line of connection between. And I imagine that the journey from one dot to the next is the place where God in God's richness most fully dwells. The line may be straight. Or it may be jagged. Or it may be crooked. Or it may be swirly. There are endless possibilities in how connections can be made--in what we can create with God--and, really, I think that's the beauty and joy that we get to experience in life.
I fear that too often, however, we reduce our lives to "dots"--to definite points--to right and wrong--to good and bad--and we create for ourselves situations that limit us in fear rather than open us to possibility. I fear that too often we limit God to the dots, too--to the right job, to the right partner, to the right mission trip, to the right opportunity--and cause ourselves to believe that if we make a wrong decision--or choose the wrong dot--then God will not be there. And that burdens me so deeply...because that's not the God that I know and love.
The God that I know and love is the God who is with us at all times, at all places of our journey, influencing all decisions, creating opportunities for growth and redemption at all times, and nurturing God's spirit of steady love in all things. The God that I know and love--the God who desires that I be aware of his uninterrupted presence--does not harshly stand with a clipboard and wait for me to choose THE one right dot, rather he helps me draw the line that will take me to where I need to go and then continues to be with me when I get there.
I don't know how all of the dots of my life will fit together or what picture they will make in the end. But I do know this: I will seek to make my daily focus broad enough to include God in all my moments and circumstances and I will do my best not to limit my life or our God to the dots of major life events. I don't want to be fragmented, empty, or incomplete. And I believe that seeing God in the big picture of life--in the lines that connect the dots--WILL allow me to feel whole, safe, and complete.
I hope that you can believe the same.
As I read this today, an image formed in my mind:
I think sometimes we think of our lives in dots. We mark an event with one dot, the next major event with another dot, the next with another, etc. and then when we think back on our lives or project forward with our thoughts, we see only the dots of major events. While it is true that life occurs during those dots, it must be remembered that so much more of life occurs during the connections. It's like a game of connect the dots. The dots alone don't look like much. But when you add the lines of connection between, the picture becomes perfectly clear.
I imagine that God, through Time, creates with us the line of connection between. And I imagine that the journey from one dot to the next is the place where God in God's richness most fully dwells. The line may be straight. Or it may be jagged. Or it may be crooked. Or it may be swirly. There are endless possibilities in how connections can be made--in what we can create with God--and, really, I think that's the beauty and joy that we get to experience in life.
I fear that too often, however, we reduce our lives to "dots"--to definite points--to right and wrong--to good and bad--and we create for ourselves situations that limit us in fear rather than open us to possibility. I fear that too often we limit God to the dots, too--to the right job, to the right partner, to the right mission trip, to the right opportunity--and cause ourselves to believe that if we make a wrong decision--or choose the wrong dot--then God will not be there. And that burdens me so deeply...because that's not the God that I know and love.
The God that I know and love is the God who is with us at all times, at all places of our journey, influencing all decisions, creating opportunities for growth and redemption at all times, and nurturing God's spirit of steady love in all things. The God that I know and love--the God who desires that I be aware of his uninterrupted presence--does not harshly stand with a clipboard and wait for me to choose THE one right dot, rather he helps me draw the line that will take me to where I need to go and then continues to be with me when I get there.
I don't know how all of the dots of my life will fit together or what picture they will make in the end. But I do know this: I will seek to make my daily focus broad enough to include God in all my moments and circumstances and I will do my best not to limit my life or our God to the dots of major life events. I don't want to be fragmented, empty, or incomplete. And I believe that seeing God in the big picture of life--in the lines that connect the dots--WILL allow me to feel whole, safe, and complete.
I hope that you can believe the same.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Surprise Church Sign Friendship
As I was searching for what to post on the SHINE page this week, I came across an excellent small group activity centered around the surprises that God allows to be part of our lives. (http://www.mymissionfulfilled.com/article.asp?id=2333)
Since reading the activity, I, myself, have been thinking about the surprises in my life and finding myself amazed at just how many awesome people have become part of my life...totally by surprise!
One of those people is the friend who inspired me to write out my detailed list of things that I am thankful for (that I posted on Facebook on Thanksgiving Day). We met on camp staff one summer, mentioned that we should have lunch together sometime, and then proceeded to have lunch together almost every week for two school years. The time that we spent together talking each week was sacred time...and she has become a cherished friend.
Even though distance has separated us and forced us to stop having lunch each week, we still have a special bond that holds us together:
Every time one of us sees a church sign that is especially unique (powerful, quarky, funny, full of terrible theology, etc.), we text the other what we have seen. We usually end up laughing or gasping together, exhanging a brief update on our lives, and then going about our daily or nightly activities.
I am thankful for this bond and friendship.
What about you? Are there people in your life who have taken you by surprise? And what unique bond/activities do you have with them? I have to wonder if anything is more unique than exchanging church sign sitings! :-)
Since reading the activity, I, myself, have been thinking about the surprises in my life and finding myself amazed at just how many awesome people have become part of my life...totally by surprise!
One of those people is the friend who inspired me to write out my detailed list of things that I am thankful for (that I posted on Facebook on Thanksgiving Day). We met on camp staff one summer, mentioned that we should have lunch together sometime, and then proceeded to have lunch together almost every week for two school years. The time that we spent together talking each week was sacred time...and she has become a cherished friend.
Even though distance has separated us and forced us to stop having lunch each week, we still have a special bond that holds us together:
Every time one of us sees a church sign that is especially unique (powerful, quarky, funny, full of terrible theology, etc.), we text the other what we have seen. We usually end up laughing or gasping together, exhanging a brief update on our lives, and then going about our daily or nightly activities.
I am thankful for this bond and friendship.
What about you? Are there people in your life who have taken you by surprise? And what unique bond/activities do you have with them? I have to wonder if anything is more unique than exchanging church sign sitings! :-)
Monday, November 22, 2010
To Mourn and To Dance
Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to do what I love to do the most in the ministry: plan and lead worship on a retreat. This was my second year helping with this retreat. I was with a youth group from GA, at a camp in TN, and we all stayed together in a lovely mountain cabin that was perfect for forming community and experiencing God's creation. This year's retreat focused on discipleship, and as part of the weekend's discussions we talked about the very difficult reality that discipleship isn't always easy--that it's often met with impossible questions, agonizing struggles, ugly grief, and helpless feelings.
For me, one of the most powerful moments of the weekend was when Hannah, the youth minister, made a connection that I had missed.
On Saturday night, we, as a group, took intentional steps to walk into the painful pool of grief. We spoke our grief (for ourselves and the world) just as God spoke creation into being, realizing that words are powerful and that being heard is a huge part of healing. We laughed. We cried. We sat in a place that we usually run away from. And we trusted that God was there, doing a work that none of us could do or explain.
Afterwards, we had smores together at a bonfire. I enjoyed sitting by the fire, handing out graham crackers, marshmallows, and entire bars of chocolate...and then standing by the fire watching marshmallows do that thing that they do when they burn. As I stood by the fire, underneath the beautiful moon, I watched a dance party unfold on the porch. The kids were having so much fun together, laughing and being kids...and then they all crashed together and watched a movie until time to sleep.
On Sunday morning, as we celebrated Christ the King Sunday (the culimation of the Christian Church year), we read together Ecclesiastes 3. And then Hannah said it:
"This weekend, we have wept together and laughed together; mourned together and danced together."
This weekend, with seamless transitions from worship to play, tears to laughter, activity to sleep, we learned what it meant to be disciples of Christ who live within the community of love that Christ desires to create. We learned that there IS a time for everything and that we ARE blessed even when it feels like we are at the end of our rope.
I cannot think of a better way to spend a weekend than that...and today I feel so very blessed.
For me, one of the most powerful moments of the weekend was when Hannah, the youth minister, made a connection that I had missed.
On Saturday night, we, as a group, took intentional steps to walk into the painful pool of grief. We spoke our grief (for ourselves and the world) just as God spoke creation into being, realizing that words are powerful and that being heard is a huge part of healing. We laughed. We cried. We sat in a place that we usually run away from. And we trusted that God was there, doing a work that none of us could do or explain.
Afterwards, we had smores together at a bonfire. I enjoyed sitting by the fire, handing out graham crackers, marshmallows, and entire bars of chocolate...and then standing by the fire watching marshmallows do that thing that they do when they burn. As I stood by the fire, underneath the beautiful moon, I watched a dance party unfold on the porch. The kids were having so much fun together, laughing and being kids...and then they all crashed together and watched a movie until time to sleep.
On Sunday morning, as we celebrated Christ the King Sunday (the culimation of the Christian Church year), we read together Ecclesiastes 3. And then Hannah said it:
"This weekend, we have wept together and laughed together; mourned together and danced together."
This weekend, with seamless transitions from worship to play, tears to laughter, activity to sleep, we learned what it meant to be disciples of Christ who live within the community of love that Christ desires to create. We learned that there IS a time for everything and that we ARE blessed even when it feels like we are at the end of our rope.
I cannot think of a better way to spend a weekend than that...and today I feel so very blessed.
Always
I recently received an e-mail said: "Say Thank You to the Baptist Women Who Have Touched Your Life."
So...Thank you, Mandy, Christina, Ruby, Mom, Laura, Anna, Lindsay, Rebecca, SC WMU Staff, WMU NC Staff, Antioch Baptist Church choir members, Camp Mundo Vista friends, FBC Erwin women and youth, SC Acteens Leaders, and anyone else who might be reading this note. Chances are good that if you're reading this, then you have touched my life in some way.
And...thank you, Kay...
Four years ago last Thursday, I was at your memorial service, singing "There's a Stirring," remembering your life and celebrating the impact that you made on countless people. I was but one of many.
I remember the first time we met--how my dad pushed for me to meet you, this woman in ministry that would be good to talk to--but how I put off the meeting for far too long. I remember meeting you at your church, crawling into your extremely messy car, going to eat Mexican food, and you getting huevos rancheros--which I thought looked disgusting!
I remember how encouraging you were--how affirming. How you listened so intently and remained a non-anxious presence even in the midst of chaos.
I remember your smile--and your laughter. I remember your beautiful voice. I remember how you supported those of us you loved and gave unselfishly to enrich our lives.
I wish you'd told us you were sick--that your heart was too large and that you needed help cooking and cleaning and doing the daily tasks of survival. But I guess that wasn't you--asking for help--or intruding on anyone else's life. And I guess it WAS you to have an enlarged heart.
You rescued me once when my car broke down. You took me to Wal-mart (that you hated) and drove me all the way home. You accepted me for me and gave me and my band a place to lead worship on the second Sunday of every month. You came to our 30-hour-famine lock-in and supported us with your money and time. You showed me that ministers can be human and that we don't have to have it all together. You taught me to sit in silence, hands open in prayer, and to see God as Creator of Love and Light and Time...
In fact, that's what you were doing the last time I saw you--sitting with your hands open, receiving God's spirit as the band sang--a look of peace covering your face...and then you walked down the aisle to go home...and we never saw you again because your enlarged heart stopped beating that night.
You changed my life, Kay, and for as long as I'm alive, your memory and legacy live on.
Thank you.
Thank you for being you...and for encouraging me to be.
And, Kay, I never told you this, but: I love you.
Always.
So...Thank you, Mandy, Christina, Ruby, Mom, Laura, Anna, Lindsay, Rebecca, SC WMU Staff, WMU NC Staff, Antioch Baptist Church choir members, Camp Mundo Vista friends, FBC Erwin women and youth, SC Acteens Leaders, and anyone else who might be reading this note. Chances are good that if you're reading this, then you have touched my life in some way.
And...thank you, Kay...
Four years ago last Thursday, I was at your memorial service, singing "There's a Stirring," remembering your life and celebrating the impact that you made on countless people. I was but one of many.
I remember the first time we met--how my dad pushed for me to meet you, this woman in ministry that would be good to talk to--but how I put off the meeting for far too long. I remember meeting you at your church, crawling into your extremely messy car, going to eat Mexican food, and you getting huevos rancheros--which I thought looked disgusting!
I remember how encouraging you were--how affirming. How you listened so intently and remained a non-anxious presence even in the midst of chaos.
I remember your smile--and your laughter. I remember your beautiful voice. I remember how you supported those of us you loved and gave unselfishly to enrich our lives.
I wish you'd told us you were sick--that your heart was too large and that you needed help cooking and cleaning and doing the daily tasks of survival. But I guess that wasn't you--asking for help--or intruding on anyone else's life. And I guess it WAS you to have an enlarged heart.
You rescued me once when my car broke down. You took me to Wal-mart (that you hated) and drove me all the way home. You accepted me for me and gave me and my band a place to lead worship on the second Sunday of every month. You came to our 30-hour-famine lock-in and supported us with your money and time. You showed me that ministers can be human and that we don't have to have it all together. You taught me to sit in silence, hands open in prayer, and to see God as Creator of Love and Light and Time...
In fact, that's what you were doing the last time I saw you--sitting with your hands open, receiving God's spirit as the band sang--a look of peace covering your face...and then you walked down the aisle to go home...and we never saw you again because your enlarged heart stopped beating that night.
You changed my life, Kay, and for as long as I'm alive, your memory and legacy live on.
Thank you.
Thank you for being you...and for encouraging me to be.
And, Kay, I never told you this, but: I love you.
Always.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
My Favorite Poem
I was not a fan of English class until my junior year of high school...and even then it was less about the subject matter than it was about an awesome teacher.
Even so, a day of my sophomore English class will always be vivid in my mind. Because I was bored, I found myself flipping through my text book. As I flipped, I stumbled upon a poem that captivated me and has remained in the back of my mind ever since. I even copied it into my own book of poems--the place where I keep the stuff that I've written--so I have a permanent record of my 10th grade handwriting as it recorded the poem that would stick with me and influence my writing for the rest of my life--a poem that we didn't even study in class!
And what is this poem? It is called Colours and it is by Yevgeny Yevtushenko:
When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea,
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's slipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and that the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
What about you? What's your favorite poem and what's your story behind it? Please share! I'm in a poetic mood!
Even so, a day of my sophomore English class will always be vivid in my mind. Because I was bored, I found myself flipping through my text book. As I flipped, I stumbled upon a poem that captivated me and has remained in the back of my mind ever since. I even copied it into my own book of poems--the place where I keep the stuff that I've written--so I have a permanent record of my 10th grade handwriting as it recorded the poem that would stick with me and influence my writing for the rest of my life--a poem that we didn't even study in class!
And what is this poem? It is called Colours and it is by Yevgeny Yevtushenko:
When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea,
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's slipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and that the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
What about you? What's your favorite poem and what's your story behind it? Please share! I'm in a poetic mood!
A Weird Thing I Do
I suppose we all have weird things that we like to do. Right?
Well mine is this:
I like to explore church buildings.
Whenever I visit a church for any reason--worship, Sunday School, conference, guest, family reunion, site visit for work, potential employer--I love to walk around the church and look at what's on the walls and see what's in the rooms and imagine everything that goes on inside the walls...and ponder if the space is being properly utilized or if it could be used better and think of all of the ministry possibilities the church holds. I also like to go into the sanctuary and breathe it in--embrace the holy silence and stand amazed at the fact that I am standing in a designated house of worship.
Weird, huh?
What about you?
What is a weird thing that you like to do?
Well mine is this:
I like to explore church buildings.
Whenever I visit a church for any reason--worship, Sunday School, conference, guest, family reunion, site visit for work, potential employer--I love to walk around the church and look at what's on the walls and see what's in the rooms and imagine everything that goes on inside the walls...and ponder if the space is being properly utilized or if it could be used better and think of all of the ministry possibilities the church holds. I also like to go into the sanctuary and breathe it in--embrace the holy silence and stand amazed at the fact that I am standing in a designated house of worship.
Weird, huh?
What about you?
What is a weird thing that you like to do?
Friday, November 5, 2010
An Ironically Beautiful Fiasco
Before I left for Carolina Girls last week, I received this message from a friend:
"hey, i just wanted to say that i'm praying for you and for this weekend--i believe it's going to be amazing :) i think God does something beautiful with the moments that we realize we have no control over whatsoever. i've seen it happen way too many times to not believe it..."
I also posted a status that said:
"Always hoped that a kid would not fall off the stage or pass out during a performance. Now she hopes for safe travels and, well, still no passing out!"
On Saturday night, both of these statuses collided as I was the one who almost passed out.
In the midst of what can only be described as a behind the scenes fiasco, I, who was the lead person in remaining calm and resolving the fiasco, almost passed out. I went from figuring out worship order and set-up to sitting on steps eating cookies and crackers and drinking as many liquids as I could while calling for people to come and speak with me without giving away that I felt as horrible as I did. All the while, girls and their leaders were walking past me going to the bathroom, and I was mustering as much strength as I could to speak and act like everything was perfectly normal.
The service went fine that night. We had beautiful testimonies, messages, scripture, and communion, and we gave over $800 toward missions. After the service, I was able to help perform a four song concert, lead a simple prayer time, and make it back to the hotel and get to bed without ever officially passing out. Everyone did what he/she was supposed to do and the girls and their leaders never knew that behind the scenes everything almost fell apart.
As I reflect upon this experience, I am humbled and amazed to have been surrounded by such wonderful people whose individual desires to be present with and serve God overflowed into their abilities to lead worship that night and create the space for God to speak.
I'm not sure what the girls and their leaders received from that night. I haven't heard anyone say that THAT service made an impact on them more than anything else over the weekend. I have no idea what the eternal significance of the night was. But I do know this:
God really does do something beautiful with the moments that we realize we have no control.
Thanks to a lack of food, drink, and sleep, my body shut down and I lost any control that I thought I might have had over the night. Yet God nudged and moved and worked through the people around me and showed me very clearly just how amazing is the Body of Christ. And, honestly, I can't think of anything much more beautiful than that.
"hey, i just wanted to say that i'm praying for you and for this weekend--i believe it's going to be amazing :) i think God does something beautiful with the moments that we realize we have no control over whatsoever. i've seen it happen way too many times to not believe it..."
I also posted a status that said:
"Always hoped that a kid would not fall off the stage or pass out during a performance. Now she hopes for safe travels and, well, still no passing out!"
On Saturday night, both of these statuses collided as I was the one who almost passed out.
In the midst of what can only be described as a behind the scenes fiasco, I, who was the lead person in remaining calm and resolving the fiasco, almost passed out. I went from figuring out worship order and set-up to sitting on steps eating cookies and crackers and drinking as many liquids as I could while calling for people to come and speak with me without giving away that I felt as horrible as I did. All the while, girls and their leaders were walking past me going to the bathroom, and I was mustering as much strength as I could to speak and act like everything was perfectly normal.
The service went fine that night. We had beautiful testimonies, messages, scripture, and communion, and we gave over $800 toward missions. After the service, I was able to help perform a four song concert, lead a simple prayer time, and make it back to the hotel and get to bed without ever officially passing out. Everyone did what he/she was supposed to do and the girls and their leaders never knew that behind the scenes everything almost fell apart.
As I reflect upon this experience, I am humbled and amazed to have been surrounded by such wonderful people whose individual desires to be present with and serve God overflowed into their abilities to lead worship that night and create the space for God to speak.
I'm not sure what the girls and their leaders received from that night. I haven't heard anyone say that THAT service made an impact on them more than anything else over the weekend. I have no idea what the eternal significance of the night was. But I do know this:
God really does do something beautiful with the moments that we realize we have no control.
Thanks to a lack of food, drink, and sleep, my body shut down and I lost any control that I thought I might have had over the night. Yet God nudged and moved and worked through the people around me and showed me very clearly just how amazing is the Body of Christ. And, honestly, I can't think of anything much more beautiful than that.
Sabbath Days Needed
If we are to love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength
And love our neighbor as ourselves,
Then we must take care of ourselves
Emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and physically.
Failure to do so in any way--
Especially the latter--
Makes it next to impossible to fully love.
And so:
Days off and
Sabbaths are needed
And should be embraced.
Are you embracing yours?
And love our neighbor as ourselves,
Then we must take care of ourselves
Emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and physically.
Failure to do so in any way--
Especially the latter--
Makes it next to impossible to fully love.
And so:
Days off and
Sabbaths are needed
And should be embraced.
Are you embracing yours?
A Reflection Before CG
My desk is cluttered with so many papers that you cannot see its brown surface.
My office is full of dirty dishes from bringing my lunch and eating here every day this week.
My to-do list is still overflowing with tasks that must be done before I leave tomorrow.
My conference on the Five Love Languages is not yet planned.
And I have not selected the video clips that we will play in the general sessions.
Yet...the weekend will be here tomorrow and over 350 girls and their leaders will gather in Wilmington for a weekend packed with activity, fun, missions, and Love.
I had to go to Walmart this morning to get some medicine. My generic Prilosec wasn't working, so I bought the real stuff...and while I was there, I took my blood pressure. It was high.
I imagine that both of these medical ailments are due to stress, and I hate that...because I really do try to be non-anxious. Yet as much as that is my desire, I have let stress get the best of me in this planning...at least inwardly...and the stress is taking its toll...once again.
Boss is teaching a class on stress management tomorrow night. A good friend of mine recently wrote about the importance of slowing down and breathing. Maybe I should go to Boss' class and then take a few moments to breathe :-).
I know the weekend will be fine. I know that I've done everything I can do. Truth be told, I'm really not that worried or concerned because I know that neither will do anything...
And yet...my brow is furrowed. And everything is scattered. And my feet stink because I've worn these brown work shoes so much. And I need to pack. And wash dishes. And get my conference finished...
But the most important I can do--that we can all do--is pray and trust that God will take even our scattered messes and turn them into something more beautiful than we can imagine.
So I think that's what I'll do. Will you join me?
My office is full of dirty dishes from bringing my lunch and eating here every day this week.
My to-do list is still overflowing with tasks that must be done before I leave tomorrow.
My conference on the Five Love Languages is not yet planned.
And I have not selected the video clips that we will play in the general sessions.
Yet...the weekend will be here tomorrow and over 350 girls and their leaders will gather in Wilmington for a weekend packed with activity, fun, missions, and Love.
I had to go to Walmart this morning to get some medicine. My generic Prilosec wasn't working, so I bought the real stuff...and while I was there, I took my blood pressure. It was high.
I imagine that both of these medical ailments are due to stress, and I hate that...because I really do try to be non-anxious. Yet as much as that is my desire, I have let stress get the best of me in this planning...at least inwardly...and the stress is taking its toll...once again.
Boss is teaching a class on stress management tomorrow night. A good friend of mine recently wrote about the importance of slowing down and breathing. Maybe I should go to Boss' class and then take a few moments to breathe :-).
I know the weekend will be fine. I know that I've done everything I can do. Truth be told, I'm really not that worried or concerned because I know that neither will do anything...
And yet...my brow is furrowed. And everything is scattered. And my feet stink because I've worn these brown work shoes so much. And I need to pack. And wash dishes. And get my conference finished...
But the most important I can do--that we can all do--is pray and trust that God will take even our scattered messes and turn them into something more beautiful than we can imagine.
So I think that's what I'll do. Will you join me?
There's A Stirring
One of my favorite songs is "There's A Stirring" by Caedmon's Call. I love that the song can be so simple yet so rich at the same time...and the words resonate with me. I wrote this poem based on the song about ten years ago. And for some reason, it's come to mind today.
There’s a stirring deep within me
a terrifying yet exhilarating numbness and weariness that drain my strength and bring me to my knees
Could it be my time has come when I’ll see my gracious Savior face to face
in a new place, in a new time, in a new ministry
When all is done. Is that His voice I am hearing, “Come away
from what you’ve held dear for so long
My precious one.”
my chosen one
Is He calling me? Is He
really
Calling me? I will rise up
rise up?
And bow down
in complete submission, humility, and surrender
And lay my crown
the symbol of all that I’ve worked to create, of all that I’ve overcome and experienced, of all the ways in which I’ve grown and all of the things that I’ve learned and all of the ways that I’ve loved, of all that I hold dear, of the status and importance that I’ve gained in the eyes of so many and the comfort that lies within
At His wounded feet
that stand ready to move me forward into glory greater than I’ve ever known.
There’s a stirring deep within me
a terrifying yet exhilarating numbness and weariness that drain my strength and bring me to my knees
Could it be my time has come when I’ll see my gracious Savior face to face
in a new place, in a new time, in a new ministry
When all is done. Is that His voice I am hearing, “Come away
from what you’ve held dear for so long
My precious one.”
my chosen one
Is He calling me? Is He
really
Calling me? I will rise up
rise up?
And bow down
in complete submission, humility, and surrender
And lay my crown
the symbol of all that I’ve worked to create, of all that I’ve overcome and experienced, of all the ways in which I’ve grown and all of the things that I’ve learned and all of the ways that I’ve loved, of all that I hold dear, of the status and importance that I’ve gained in the eyes of so many and the comfort that lies within
At His wounded feet
that stand ready to move me forward into glory greater than I’ve ever known.
I Am A Body
A few days ago, my friend Mandy needed a proof-reader so I got the privilege of reading her writing. Because her words reflect something that I've been thinking about as I've considered how we love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength, I want to share them here. There is no way I could express these thoughts better:
There is this tension knot in my shoulder that is my constant companion. For years it has been reliable and predictable. As my schedule becomes chaotic, as unexpected stress creeps up, as I butt up against all the things that are frustratingly out of my control, the knot radiates its pain and beckons me to pay attention to this body I am.
A lack of taking care of this body is nothing new. I’ve ignored doctors' advice to exercise and be more mindful of what I eat. Most recently, while pregnant with my youngest son, I continued to push my body even as my blood pressure spiked and the doctor demanded rest. And really, I knew better. I knew that this was the only chance at a body that I got; I knew my genetic disposition; I knew, I knew, I knew.
Something has finally shifted within me, however, and I am learning to connect my life as a body with my life as a spirit.
While in California for a conference, I participated in a worship service that introduced me to the spiritual practice of movement. Cynthia Winton-Henry (one of the founders of InterPlay) stood up to lead worship and simply radiated a combination of peace and power. She led us to use our bodies in worship by taking a deep breath and letting it out with an audible sigh. She also encouraged us to run our hands over our skin to remind us that we are indeed a body. We swayed and stomped as we sang songs and we even let our hands dance. It was all very California and it did bring out the skeptic in me. But beyond my discomfort at trying something new (and a little silly), it was as if something snapped into place within me.
In these months following my introduction to movement as spiritual practice, I find myself changed. For the first time, I see how connected mind, sprit, and body are. I notice when I’ve been rushing around, physically pushing my limits, and I know that to take ten minutes to breathe, center, or pray with my body will ground me once again. Even as I use the weight equipment at the gym I can feel my spirit growing stronger just as my body grows stronger.
This all may seem funny but I dare you to try it. I dare you to take ten minutes of your busy day to sit in silence; to play beautiful music and let your body sway; to breathe deeply and let it out with a sigh; or to learn a new body prayer. You might be surprised at what happens.
There is this tension knot in my shoulder that is my constant companion. For years it has been reliable and predictable. As my schedule becomes chaotic, as unexpected stress creeps up, as I butt up against all the things that are frustratingly out of my control, the knot radiates its pain and beckons me to pay attention to this body I am.
A lack of taking care of this body is nothing new. I’ve ignored doctors' advice to exercise and be more mindful of what I eat. Most recently, while pregnant with my youngest son, I continued to push my body even as my blood pressure spiked and the doctor demanded rest. And really, I knew better. I knew that this was the only chance at a body that I got; I knew my genetic disposition; I knew, I knew, I knew.
Something has finally shifted within me, however, and I am learning to connect my life as a body with my life as a spirit.
While in California for a conference, I participated in a worship service that introduced me to the spiritual practice of movement. Cynthia Winton-Henry (one of the founders of InterPlay) stood up to lead worship and simply radiated a combination of peace and power. She led us to use our bodies in worship by taking a deep breath and letting it out with an audible sigh. She also encouraged us to run our hands over our skin to remind us that we are indeed a body. We swayed and stomped as we sang songs and we even let our hands dance. It was all very California and it did bring out the skeptic in me. But beyond my discomfort at trying something new (and a little silly), it was as if something snapped into place within me.
In these months following my introduction to movement as spiritual practice, I find myself changed. For the first time, I see how connected mind, sprit, and body are. I notice when I’ve been rushing around, physically pushing my limits, and I know that to take ten minutes to breathe, center, or pray with my body will ground me once again. Even as I use the weight equipment at the gym I can feel my spirit growing stronger just as my body grows stronger.
This all may seem funny but I dare you to try it. I dare you to take ten minutes of your busy day to sit in silence; to play beautiful music and let your body sway; to breathe deeply and let it out with a sigh; or to learn a new body prayer. You might be surprised at what happens.
A Body Prayer
A friend was telling me about a body prayer last night, and I thought that what she said was beautiful. So here is my feeble attempt to describe it in such a way that whoever reads this post will be able to pray the prayer. The movements are simple, but the impact is profound.
Raise your hands above your head, palms up, as if you are singing praise to God.
In so doing, you are opening yourself to receive God's forgiveness and love, regardless of the choices have made in life. You are standing with the knowledge that you are God's beloved, even in the midst of whatever struggles you may be facing. You are making a gesture toward letting go of past guilt, shame, and ickiness so that you can make room for grace, compassion, and joy.
Now, place your hands upon your heart.
In so doing, you are cherishing the fact that what you have just done is good. You are saying, “Let it be so.”
Finally, lower your hands until they are hanging naturally by your side, palms still out.
In so doing, you are solidifying that you have let go of all that hinders you and are ready to live a life filled with appreciation and warmth for the privilege of your journey and for God's faithfulness, love, and fidelity through it all.
Raise your hands above your head, palms up, as if you are singing praise to God.
In so doing, you are opening yourself to receive God's forgiveness and love, regardless of the choices have made in life. You are standing with the knowledge that you are God's beloved, even in the midst of whatever struggles you may be facing. You are making a gesture toward letting go of past guilt, shame, and ickiness so that you can make room for grace, compassion, and joy.
Now, place your hands upon your heart.
In so doing, you are cherishing the fact that what you have just done is good. You are saying, “Let it be so.”
Finally, lower your hands until they are hanging naturally by your side, palms still out.
In so doing, you are solidifying that you have let go of all that hinders you and are ready to live a life filled with appreciation and warmth for the privilege of your journey and for God's faithfulness, love, and fidelity through it all.
Monday, October 18, 2010
God Is (Not) Great
My local Books-A-Million has the largest selection of sale Books on CD that I've ever seen. Realizing how much I was going to be traveling with my job, I bought around 20 audio books a few months ago--fiction, non-fiction, Christian, non-Christian...whatever looked interesting. Ever since I started "reading" (with my ears) on a regular basis, I've tried to read a variety of books so that I'll be aware of the thoughts/ideas of larger society and be able to have intelligent conversations with friends and strangers :-).
As a result of this buying frenzy and desire to have a wide repertoire of book knowledge, I ended up with two books that have deeply challenged my faith. One book was Bart Ehrman's, "God's Problem: The Problem of Suffering," and the other book is Christopher Hitchens' "God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything." I'm currently listening to the latter...and it's had me off balance for the past couple of weeks. I don't suggest either of these books for the faint of heart, but if you want to know what intelligent, well-spoken, well-studied athiests are saying about God and religion, then give them a try. You can even borrow them from me.
Like I was saying, "God Is Not Great," has thrown me a bit off-balance. Yet, I came to a conclusion on Thursday morning:
We all need something to believe in and chase after. We all need a cause to rally behind and a purpose for which to live our lives. Whether those needs are met through following a religion or through spending a life arguing against religion, they are, and must be, met in some way, with something. And, as ridiculous as Christianity and all over religious systems sound when broken down like they are in this book--and as logical as it seems that it's all just made up to help enforce morality and give us something beyond ourselves to hope for--I choose God. I choose the message of Jesus Christ. I choose the parts of our narrative that demonstrate openness, grace, and love, and I choose to believe that God is a God of time and creation and that belief in God and God's goodness compels me to live a higher call.
For as much as religion has done to damage people, it has also done much to help people and provided a basically good moral foundation that has woven its way through life. Even the firm non-believer has been blessed by love. And if I believe that God IS love, then I must trust that it is precisely because of God that the non-believer has felt that which he/she processes not to believe.
In talking about my capacity to love and keep in touch with people--even those who have hurt me--one of my friends came to the conclusion that I come from a long line of commitment. And then she looked at me and said this--a statement that I will likely never forget--"You would be committed to God even if you weren't sure there was a God." And, well, I think she's right.
I don't understand pain and suffering. I'm not proud of the Crusades and genocide and countless murders and persecution that have been exacted in the name of Christ. I am not proud that so much of Christianity is about what we cannot do rather than what we can; what we should stand against rather than what we should stand for; how we should define ourselves as "other" and "better" rather than as "part of" and equals in God's image; how we are often led to do "good" out of guilt rather than genuine desire to help bring this world to redemption. But I AM proud of following a Christ who showed that each person is a person of dignity and worth and that, through belief in his story, there do not have to be major separations of Greek, Jew, Gentile, male, or female but that we can all live and love and walk this life's journey together.
So while this book has been extremely challenging, and while I'm sure it will continue to be so as I finish hearing what Hitchens has to say, I have a strange peace and certainty this morning that I choose God...
I choose Love.
As a result of this buying frenzy and desire to have a wide repertoire of book knowledge, I ended up with two books that have deeply challenged my faith. One book was Bart Ehrman's, "God's Problem: The Problem of Suffering," and the other book is Christopher Hitchens' "God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything." I'm currently listening to the latter...and it's had me off balance for the past couple of weeks. I don't suggest either of these books for the faint of heart, but if you want to know what intelligent, well-spoken, well-studied athiests are saying about God and religion, then give them a try. You can even borrow them from me.
Like I was saying, "God Is Not Great," has thrown me a bit off-balance. Yet, I came to a conclusion on Thursday morning:
We all need something to believe in and chase after. We all need a cause to rally behind and a purpose for which to live our lives. Whether those needs are met through following a religion or through spending a life arguing against religion, they are, and must be, met in some way, with something. And, as ridiculous as Christianity and all over religious systems sound when broken down like they are in this book--and as logical as it seems that it's all just made up to help enforce morality and give us something beyond ourselves to hope for--I choose God. I choose the message of Jesus Christ. I choose the parts of our narrative that demonstrate openness, grace, and love, and I choose to believe that God is a God of time and creation and that belief in God and God's goodness compels me to live a higher call.
For as much as religion has done to damage people, it has also done much to help people and provided a basically good moral foundation that has woven its way through life. Even the firm non-believer has been blessed by love. And if I believe that God IS love, then I must trust that it is precisely because of God that the non-believer has felt that which he/she processes not to believe.
In talking about my capacity to love and keep in touch with people--even those who have hurt me--one of my friends came to the conclusion that I come from a long line of commitment. And then she looked at me and said this--a statement that I will likely never forget--"You would be committed to God even if you weren't sure there was a God." And, well, I think she's right.
I don't understand pain and suffering. I'm not proud of the Crusades and genocide and countless murders and persecution that have been exacted in the name of Christ. I am not proud that so much of Christianity is about what we cannot do rather than what we can; what we should stand against rather than what we should stand for; how we should define ourselves as "other" and "better" rather than as "part of" and equals in God's image; how we are often led to do "good" out of guilt rather than genuine desire to help bring this world to redemption. But I AM proud of following a Christ who showed that each person is a person of dignity and worth and that, through belief in his story, there do not have to be major separations of Greek, Jew, Gentile, male, or female but that we can all live and love and walk this life's journey together.
So while this book has been extremely challenging, and while I'm sure it will continue to be so as I finish hearing what Hitchens has to say, I have a strange peace and certainty this morning that I choose God...
I choose Love.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Let Me Carry The Weight of The World With You
One of my longest standing theological questions is how prayer works. I've read numerous texts on prayer, had countless conversations about prayer, spent many hours in prayer, had quite a few revelations in regard to prayer...and still...my mind always seems to get wrapped up in the same question: how does prayer work?
While I had come to a somewhat steady peace in regard to "how prayer works" in my own personal life--in the relationship that is built between God and me as I spend time talking with and listening to God as the days and times go by--I hadn't come anywhere close to a steady peace in regard to "how prayer works" for other people. When I earnestly pray for something in someone else's life, does it influence what happens in his/her life? Do my prayers change God's mind and influence God's decisions? If so, does the person with the best, most persistent prayers "win"? And what does that mean for God's unchanging, sovereign nature? If not, what's the point of praying for other people and situations beyond my contol? If God already knows what's going to happen and has pre-ordained it to be so, then am I not just a puppet living out God's script? And so my mind confuses me...and yet I still pray...
As I wrote a few weeks ago, one of the things that I know that I did right in my life was to begin counseling in 2007. Through my time with my counselor, I learned the importance of finding my voice--of giving words to my thoughts and feelings and thus allowing someone beyond myself to help carry the grief, hurt, heartache, joy, celebration, and whatever other emotion I felt. Somehow, realizing that there was one person who unconditionally loved me, cared for me, supported me, and cheered for me allowed me to see all of the other people who were and always had been doing the same. It changed my perspective and opened my eyes to begin to see and feel everything good around me--even when life, on the surface, appeared to me the exact same...
Last Tuesday, I began encouraging a friend who has always stuffed things inside to begin letting them out. As she began the process, she commented on how nice it felt. In my mind, I imagined her hidden words/emotions flowing out as light slowly began to flow in...
Last Thursday, after asking our staff for prayer requests, Boss opened our staff meeting with a variation of this prayer (I can't remember her exact words but the idea has been stuck in my mind ever since): Dear God, Thank you for the privilege that we have of coming to you in prayer and for the time that we've had to share our requests and know that in so sharing we are allowing others to help carry our burdens...
So maybe that's it. Maybe that's how intercessory prayer "works." Maybe by praying for one another, we are helping each other carry life's grief, hurt, heartache, joy, and celebration. Maybe we are helping hidden words and emotions flow out so that light can flow in. Maybe we are reminding one another that none of is alone and in so doing changing perspective and opening eyes to begin to see and feel everything good around us--everything that comes from God. Maybe it doesn't change the circumstance but changes us in the circumstance and provides companionship and support for those for whom we are praying until the circumstance that they are in changes for itself.
So how does prayer work? I don't know exactly. And I don't know that I ever will. But I feel like I am one step closer to coming to a steady peace...and I am grateful for the simple prayer that collided with a few other simple truths (maybe prayers in and of themselves?) that pushed me forward in my faith.
While I had come to a somewhat steady peace in regard to "how prayer works" in my own personal life--in the relationship that is built between God and me as I spend time talking with and listening to God as the days and times go by--I hadn't come anywhere close to a steady peace in regard to "how prayer works" for other people. When I earnestly pray for something in someone else's life, does it influence what happens in his/her life? Do my prayers change God's mind and influence God's decisions? If so, does the person with the best, most persistent prayers "win"? And what does that mean for God's unchanging, sovereign nature? If not, what's the point of praying for other people and situations beyond my contol? If God already knows what's going to happen and has pre-ordained it to be so, then am I not just a puppet living out God's script? And so my mind confuses me...and yet I still pray...
As I wrote a few weeks ago, one of the things that I know that I did right in my life was to begin counseling in 2007. Through my time with my counselor, I learned the importance of finding my voice--of giving words to my thoughts and feelings and thus allowing someone beyond myself to help carry the grief, hurt, heartache, joy, celebration, and whatever other emotion I felt. Somehow, realizing that there was one person who unconditionally loved me, cared for me, supported me, and cheered for me allowed me to see all of the other people who were and always had been doing the same. It changed my perspective and opened my eyes to begin to see and feel everything good around me--even when life, on the surface, appeared to me the exact same...
Last Tuesday, I began encouraging a friend who has always stuffed things inside to begin letting them out. As she began the process, she commented on how nice it felt. In my mind, I imagined her hidden words/emotions flowing out as light slowly began to flow in...
Last Thursday, after asking our staff for prayer requests, Boss opened our staff meeting with a variation of this prayer (I can't remember her exact words but the idea has been stuck in my mind ever since): Dear God, Thank you for the privilege that we have of coming to you in prayer and for the time that we've had to share our requests and know that in so sharing we are allowing others to help carry our burdens...
So maybe that's it. Maybe that's how intercessory prayer "works." Maybe by praying for one another, we are helping each other carry life's grief, hurt, heartache, joy, and celebration. Maybe we are helping hidden words and emotions flow out so that light can flow in. Maybe we are reminding one another that none of is alone and in so doing changing perspective and opening eyes to begin to see and feel everything good around us--everything that comes from God. Maybe it doesn't change the circumstance but changes us in the circumstance and provides companionship and support for those for whom we are praying until the circumstance that they are in changes for itself.
So how does prayer work? I don't know exactly. And I don't know that I ever will. But I feel like I am one step closer to coming to a steady peace...and I am grateful for the simple prayer that collided with a few other simple truths (maybe prayers in and of themselves?) that pushed me forward in my faith.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
How Are You Doing?
Seeing as to how this is an actual response to the question "How are you doing?," I must wonder how many other people feel the same way as the girl who wrote this response.
person one: how are you doing?
person two: not too great, but i'm drudging forth.
honestly, sometimes i want to quit
i feel like it's all pointless and i wonder what the heck i'm doing
in my job...my life...and this faith.
today is one of those days.
so...that's how i'm doing.
What about you? Do you ever feel this way...even though you almost always say, "I'm fine"?
person one: how are you doing?
person two: not too great, but i'm drudging forth.
honestly, sometimes i want to quit
i feel like it's all pointless and i wonder what the heck i'm doing
in my job...my life...and this faith.
today is one of those days.
so...that's how i'm doing.
What about you? Do you ever feel this way...even though you almost always say, "I'm fine"?
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Importance of a Name
Many of you know that I bowl in a league on Thursday nights--that I joined the league the very first Thursday night I was in Columbia and have been an active part of it ever since. Over the course of a year--yes, I've been here for one year next week--I've met some neat people--people very different than those who live in the mostly Caucasian, Christian circles in which I work. Three of those people are on one team, and their names are Tony, Pat, and Sam.
Tony and Pat are married. They drive almost an hour each week to bowl. Tony only has use of one arm, yet he is very good and very happy and very encouraging. Pat almost always has her blue-tooth in her ear, wears many different hair styles, and simply saunters up to the lane to release the ball. Sam is a short, chubby, bald guy with a lovely smile, sweet spirit, funny little strike dance, and strong smell of yummy cologne!
We bowled Tony, Pat, and Sam's team last week. [Their fourth person this year is Lizzy, but I'm still getting to know her. Last year their fourth person was Joe the super serious, stylin' bowler who owned over 30 bowling balls.] I've spoken with Tony and Sam on many occasions because they are both very outgoing and jovial. I've spoken with Pat, too, but she is quieter and harder to get to know. So it really surprised me last week when Pat was the one who came to my name's rescue.
Every time Sam addressed me last week--to say good job or almost or you'll get it next name--he called me Dana or Dina or Dena--names close to mine but not exactly my name. And every time he did it, Pat popped up and emphatically declared, "It's DeANNA, Sam. DeANNA." I bet this happened at least 5 times.
I had no idea that Pat knew my name, much less that she felt so strongly that Sam get it right! But she did!
So when I saw Sam last night, I said, "Hey Sam!" He looked at me, grinned, and said, "Hey DeANNA!" I grinned back.
Names are important, I suppose. They identify us and become representative of who we are. I don't know the exact meaning of my name; I'm sure I could look it up. But I know that I like my name and that I am Deanna (Dee for short) and that I can't imagine being anyone else. I suppose, again, that I would change my name if God so directed--like Abram/Abraham and Sarai/Sarah and Jacob/Israel and Saul/Paul--but for now I'm content with being DeANNA and with Pat being the cheerleader and defender of my name.
May Deanna be known for love, grace, openness, and joyful peace...
Amen.
Tony and Pat are married. They drive almost an hour each week to bowl. Tony only has use of one arm, yet he is very good and very happy and very encouraging. Pat almost always has her blue-tooth in her ear, wears many different hair styles, and simply saunters up to the lane to release the ball. Sam is a short, chubby, bald guy with a lovely smile, sweet spirit, funny little strike dance, and strong smell of yummy cologne!
We bowled Tony, Pat, and Sam's team last week. [Their fourth person this year is Lizzy, but I'm still getting to know her. Last year their fourth person was Joe the super serious, stylin' bowler who owned over 30 bowling balls.] I've spoken with Tony and Sam on many occasions because they are both very outgoing and jovial. I've spoken with Pat, too, but she is quieter and harder to get to know. So it really surprised me last week when Pat was the one who came to my name's rescue.
Every time Sam addressed me last week--to say good job or almost or you'll get it next name--he called me Dana or Dina or Dena--names close to mine but not exactly my name. And every time he did it, Pat popped up and emphatically declared, "It's DeANNA, Sam. DeANNA." I bet this happened at least 5 times.
I had no idea that Pat knew my name, much less that she felt so strongly that Sam get it right! But she did!
So when I saw Sam last night, I said, "Hey Sam!" He looked at me, grinned, and said, "Hey DeANNA!" I grinned back.
Names are important, I suppose. They identify us and become representative of who we are. I don't know the exact meaning of my name; I'm sure I could look it up. But I know that I like my name and that I am Deanna (Dee for short) and that I can't imagine being anyone else. I suppose, again, that I would change my name if God so directed--like Abram/Abraham and Sarai/Sarah and Jacob/Israel and Saul/Paul--but for now I'm content with being DeANNA and with Pat being the cheerleader and defender of my name.
May Deanna be known for love, grace, openness, and joyful peace...
Amen.
This Moved Me
(written on Monday, September 27, 2010)
I'm sitting outside on the porch, overlooking the inlet, listening to the crickets chirp, feeling a cool breeze blow through the screen.
I'm away from the office this week for our annual WMU Field Staff planning retreat. This first day was filled with meetings. The next days will be the same. Hopefully the nights will be filled with rest. Because I am tired.
As I sat down to write this note tonight, I thought I knew what I was going to post. But in looking up information for the Acteens page, I stumbled upon a writing that moved me to tears.
I must admit that sometimes I get discouraged in my work--sometimes I feel overwhelmed. Yet tonight I found these words from Fannie Exile Heck that I believe will help me continue to charter the course. Maybe they will do the same for you:
Changes will come;
new faces take the place of old;
new and broader plans succeed those of today;
but our beloved Union is safe in our Master’s care.
See to it, only, that you listen to His voice and follow where Christ leads.
Be gentle in your personal lives, faithful and shining.
Be joyful, knowing His purposes are good, not evil, to His Children.
Be prayerful in your planning.
Be patient and persistent in your fulfillment.
Endeavor to see the needs of the world from God’s standpoint.
Plan not for the year, but for the years.
Think long thoughts.
Strive for the conversion of those around you as faithfully as for the heathen.
Train the children for world-wide service.
Lead the young women gently into places of joyous responsibility.
Bring all your powers into the best service of the best King.
Thus shall your work abide and be abundantly blessed of God to your own joy and the joy of the world.
In the belief that you will continue to adorn the doctrine of service, I bid you, dear friends, Farewell.
Fannie E. S. Heck, 1915
I'm sitting outside on the porch, overlooking the inlet, listening to the crickets chirp, feeling a cool breeze blow through the screen.
I'm away from the office this week for our annual WMU Field Staff planning retreat. This first day was filled with meetings. The next days will be the same. Hopefully the nights will be filled with rest. Because I am tired.
As I sat down to write this note tonight, I thought I knew what I was going to post. But in looking up information for the Acteens page, I stumbled upon a writing that moved me to tears.
I must admit that sometimes I get discouraged in my work--sometimes I feel overwhelmed. Yet tonight I found these words from Fannie Exile Heck that I believe will help me continue to charter the course. Maybe they will do the same for you:
Changes will come;
new faces take the place of old;
new and broader plans succeed those of today;
but our beloved Union is safe in our Master’s care.
See to it, only, that you listen to His voice and follow where Christ leads.
Be gentle in your personal lives, faithful and shining.
Be joyful, knowing His purposes are good, not evil, to His Children.
Be prayerful in your planning.
Be patient and persistent in your fulfillment.
Endeavor to see the needs of the world from God’s standpoint.
Plan not for the year, but for the years.
Think long thoughts.
Strive for the conversion of those around you as faithfully as for the heathen.
Train the children for world-wide service.
Lead the young women gently into places of joyous responsibility.
Bring all your powers into the best service of the best King.
Thus shall your work abide and be abundantly blessed of God to your own joy and the joy of the world.
In the belief that you will continue to adorn the doctrine of service, I bid you, dear friends, Farewell.
Fannie E. S. Heck, 1915
Friday, September 24, 2010
What If I Told You
*The following is an excerpt of an e-mail that I wrote about one of the songs that I sang last weekend at the Women's Get-Away. This is the song that I referred to in Monday's note when I said that I had just finished practicing one of my more difficult songs.*
As for "What If I Told You?"...
One day at work, a colleague of mine asked how I was doing and then went about her business--the normal exchange--a simple level of communication that we all use.
On that particular day, I was having a terrible day. I had alot on my mind and heart, yet I knew that if I mentioned even a bit of it, then I would be met with the opposite of safety...even though this colleague was a well-known "Christian."
And so I started the song. I wish I could remember where I wrote it, but I can't. It was either at the church I was working at or my house. Or maybe it was my classroom. Or maybe it was all three. I don't know. I just remember trembling as I wrote it....and crying...and being nervous about mentioning all of those "unmentionables" in one song. I remember wondering if people would know my struggles if I put them in the song...and being petrified that they would...and believing that they would judge me and hate me...and all of those terrible things.
And yet...I wrote the song anyway...and each time I've sung it--which has been less than a handful of times--I've felt like I was laying my soul bare for the world to see...and yet...I knew--I know--that I was really just reflecting everyone's soul in some way...and that is hard...and difficult...and sad...to realize the commonality of the human struggle but the fear that we each carry as we muddle through each day--to know that we are all broken and that we all struggle and that there needs to be less shame and more grace and forgiveness yet the shame keeps us silent and allows fear of judgment to lock us in the judgmental prison of self...
Anyway...here are the words. I will record it one day...I just need to find the time, the money, and the studio...
"What If I Told You"
by D. Deaton
You ask me how I’m feeling
But you do really want to know
I wonder what you’d think
If I let my feelings show
You look into my eyes
But never at what’s inside
I wonder what you’d think
If you knew all that I hide
What if I told you I’m a sinner
And just yesterday
I drank till I blacked out on my black couch
So I could take the hurt away
And when I woke up to my family
The kids were crying, my husband not home
What is this thing I call life, oh I hate my life
I need help, but I’ve nowhere to turn
You ask me how I’m feeling
But you don’t seem to want to know
I’ve known you for years now
But I can’t let my feelings show
You look into my eyes
But I can’t let you see inside
‘Cause you’d cringe, you’d preach, you’d shudder
If you knew all that I hide
What if I told you that I’m angry,
I’m a liar, a gossip, a cheat
I steal from my company, look at pornography
I’m a glutton, I’m full of greed
I’m a criminal, an adulterer
I’m divorced, I’ve aborted a child
I don’t walk the straight path, I feel all alone
I’m depressed, I question and doubt
I just need for you to love me with the love that you profess
I just need for you to show me a piece of God’s tenderness
You ask me how I’m feeling
And I want to let you know
My heart is screaming out here
I need to let my feelings show
You look into my eyes
But will you look at what’s inside
Will you climb the wall around me
So I no longer have to hide
As for "What If I Told You?"...
One day at work, a colleague of mine asked how I was doing and then went about her business--the normal exchange--a simple level of communication that we all use.
On that particular day, I was having a terrible day. I had alot on my mind and heart, yet I knew that if I mentioned even a bit of it, then I would be met with the opposite of safety...even though this colleague was a well-known "Christian."
And so I started the song. I wish I could remember where I wrote it, but I can't. It was either at the church I was working at or my house. Or maybe it was my classroom. Or maybe it was all three. I don't know. I just remember trembling as I wrote it....and crying...and being nervous about mentioning all of those "unmentionables" in one song. I remember wondering if people would know my struggles if I put them in the song...and being petrified that they would...and believing that they would judge me and hate me...and all of those terrible things.
And yet...I wrote the song anyway...and each time I've sung it--which has been less than a handful of times--I've felt like I was laying my soul bare for the world to see...and yet...I knew--I know--that I was really just reflecting everyone's soul in some way...and that is hard...and difficult...and sad...to realize the commonality of the human struggle but the fear that we each carry as we muddle through each day--to know that we are all broken and that we all struggle and that there needs to be less shame and more grace and forgiveness yet the shame keeps us silent and allows fear of judgment to lock us in the judgmental prison of self...
Anyway...here are the words. I will record it one day...I just need to find the time, the money, and the studio...
"What If I Told You"
by D. Deaton
You ask me how I’m feeling
But you do really want to know
I wonder what you’d think
If I let my feelings show
You look into my eyes
But never at what’s inside
I wonder what you’d think
If you knew all that I hide
What if I told you I’m a sinner
And just yesterday
I drank till I blacked out on my black couch
So I could take the hurt away
And when I woke up to my family
The kids were crying, my husband not home
What is this thing I call life, oh I hate my life
I need help, but I’ve nowhere to turn
You ask me how I’m feeling
But you don’t seem to want to know
I’ve known you for years now
But I can’t let my feelings show
You look into my eyes
But I can’t let you see inside
‘Cause you’d cringe, you’d preach, you’d shudder
If you knew all that I hide
What if I told you that I’m angry,
I’m a liar, a gossip, a cheat
I steal from my company, look at pornography
I’m a glutton, I’m full of greed
I’m a criminal, an adulterer
I’m divorced, I’ve aborted a child
I don’t walk the straight path, I feel all alone
I’m depressed, I question and doubt
I just need for you to love me with the love that you profess
I just need for you to show me a piece of God’s tenderness
You ask me how I’m feeling
And I want to let you know
My heart is screaming out here
I need to let my feelings show
You look into my eyes
But will you look at what’s inside
Will you climb the wall around me
So I no longer have to hide
Monday, September 20, 2010
Three Pain, Two Kiss
Every once in awhile, I feel God's presence so powerfully that it hurts...yet sometimes the Spirit's presence is as gentle as a kiss.
On Friday afternoon, as I was preparing for my part in a Women's Getaway (sponsored by SC WMU), I was taken off guard by the tears that poured down my face and the painful goose bumps that covered my body as my heart, soul, and mind registered that I was not alone in the multi-purpose building at Camp La Vida. I had just finished singing one of my more difficult songs when I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotion that I know only as God. I sensed the realness of the pain and hardship that so many people--including me--carry around, and in that moment I believe that God and I were weeping together...though I cannot, for the life of me, discern anything that God was "saying"...except "Yes. Sing this song. Someone needs to hear it."
During the first break on Friday night, I was greeted by a participant who wanted to know if I knew sign language. As she spoke to me, using broken sign language and finger spelling, I knew that she was mentally and physically challenged, and I wondered if the weekend of sitting and listening--which are both challenging to her--would still be a good weekend for her. Yet she was not concerned about that. She simply wanted to know if maybe she could teach me sign language sometime because I had led a song that used some sign language and she thought it would be neat to help me learn more. After we finished talking, we both went to the snack station to get a drink. She bought two drinks--one for her and a friend--but she needed my help making change. She said, "Can you help me make change? I don't know how to do it." I helped her...and then promptly went back to my room and sobbed, knowing that I had, at the last minute, decided to sing the song with sign language, realizing that that one small, spur of the moment decision had made a huge impact on its observer, and recognizing that I didn't know anymore sign language and that I didn't know how I was supposed to effectively lead her...or all of the other many people groups or person's with disabilities or needs that I so often take for granted.
And then on Saturday, as the missionary spoke, I found myself taken off guard again by the feelings of utter inadequacy and humility that I felt as I was reminded of just how small I am, just how limited my view of God and God's work is, and just how much I am not immune to the message of my own music (or I suppose I should say the music that God sings through me). When I next opened my mouth, I was so overcome by the reality of God's call on all believers' lives--including mine--and God's love for all of God's creation--even me--that I openly wept as I tried to come to terms with the fact that God had called me to SC WMU and that even when I do not feel as if I am doing anything good to further the Kingdom of God's love, I must keep going and trying and hoping and believing...
Yet as I stood and talked with one of many women who poured out words of affirmation, blessing, and support of my ministry, my dear friend Gail gently and graciously came up behind me, touched my shoulder, kissed me on my right cheek, and quietly walked away. And the weekend before, after the Friday night worship service in Erwin, my dear friend Lisa embraced me, gave me a kiss on my right cheek, held my shoulders in her hands, looked me with tears in her eyes, then quietly walked away. It was as if each of them were saying, "Thank you." It was as if God were saying to me, "These women love you because you love them--because you love me--and you allowed me to speak to them through you today. I love you, too, Deanna. And I love that you love me and desire to share my message of love and redemption with this world."
Thank you for speaking, God...and thank you for being in both the pain and the kiss.
On Friday afternoon, as I was preparing for my part in a Women's Getaway (sponsored by SC WMU), I was taken off guard by the tears that poured down my face and the painful goose bumps that covered my body as my heart, soul, and mind registered that I was not alone in the multi-purpose building at Camp La Vida. I had just finished singing one of my more difficult songs when I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotion that I know only as God. I sensed the realness of the pain and hardship that so many people--including me--carry around, and in that moment I believe that God and I were weeping together...though I cannot, for the life of me, discern anything that God was "saying"...except "Yes. Sing this song. Someone needs to hear it."
During the first break on Friday night, I was greeted by a participant who wanted to know if I knew sign language. As she spoke to me, using broken sign language and finger spelling, I knew that she was mentally and physically challenged, and I wondered if the weekend of sitting and listening--which are both challenging to her--would still be a good weekend for her. Yet she was not concerned about that. She simply wanted to know if maybe she could teach me sign language sometime because I had led a song that used some sign language and she thought it would be neat to help me learn more. After we finished talking, we both went to the snack station to get a drink. She bought two drinks--one for her and a friend--but she needed my help making change. She said, "Can you help me make change? I don't know how to do it." I helped her...and then promptly went back to my room and sobbed, knowing that I had, at the last minute, decided to sing the song with sign language, realizing that that one small, spur of the moment decision had made a huge impact on its observer, and recognizing that I didn't know anymore sign language and that I didn't know how I was supposed to effectively lead her...or all of the other many people groups or person's with disabilities or needs that I so often take for granted.
And then on Saturday, as the missionary spoke, I found myself taken off guard again by the feelings of utter inadequacy and humility that I felt as I was reminded of just how small I am, just how limited my view of God and God's work is, and just how much I am not immune to the message of my own music (or I suppose I should say the music that God sings through me). When I next opened my mouth, I was so overcome by the reality of God's call on all believers' lives--including mine--and God's love for all of God's creation--even me--that I openly wept as I tried to come to terms with the fact that God had called me to SC WMU and that even when I do not feel as if I am doing anything good to further the Kingdom of God's love, I must keep going and trying and hoping and believing...
Yet as I stood and talked with one of many women who poured out words of affirmation, blessing, and support of my ministry, my dear friend Gail gently and graciously came up behind me, touched my shoulder, kissed me on my right cheek, and quietly walked away. And the weekend before, after the Friday night worship service in Erwin, my dear friend Lisa embraced me, gave me a kiss on my right cheek, held my shoulders in her hands, looked me with tears in her eyes, then quietly walked away. It was as if each of them were saying, "Thank you." It was as if God were saying to me, "These women love you because you love them--because you love me--and you allowed me to speak to them through you today. I love you, too, Deanna. And I love that you love me and desire to share my message of love and redemption with this world."
Thank you for speaking, God...and thank you for being in both the pain and the kiss.
Writing of Lament and Intention
Sometimes,
I wish that I just had hours and hours to write.
That words would flow onto the page without hestitation or judgment of error.
That thoughts would emerge from my mind and become reality for the world to see:
not because of need for attention or belief that my thinking is in any way
new or fresh or revolutionary or inspiring,
but because of need for relationship--
because of this deeply rooted need to share my life's journey with others and to both remind and be reminded that none of us is alone--
because of this this need to laugh and cry and struggle and rejoice with people--
because of this this need to proclaim that, somehow,
despite all logic and human comprehension,
prayers ARE answered,
God IS alive and working,
and life IS worth living.
Yet...time eludes me and stitled thoughts are joined by backspace and delete
and I'm left with this writing of lament and intention instead.
I wish that I just had hours and hours to write.
That words would flow onto the page without hestitation or judgment of error.
That thoughts would emerge from my mind and become reality for the world to see:
not because of need for attention or belief that my thinking is in any way
new or fresh or revolutionary or inspiring,
but because of need for relationship--
because of this deeply rooted need to share my life's journey with others and to both remind and be reminded that none of us is alone--
because of this this need to laugh and cry and struggle and rejoice with people--
because of this this need to proclaim that, somehow,
despite all logic and human comprehension,
prayers ARE answered,
God IS alive and working,
and life IS worth living.
Yet...time eludes me and stitled thoughts are joined by backspace and delete
and I'm left with this writing of lament and intention instead.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Enumpive
I have a qwerty keyboard. I do. I'm just three times faster with my old school numbers/quick text than I am with qwerty--not to mention that I can write messages without looking at what I'm doing when I use the quick text feature. The problem comes when I don't proofread what I send before sending it and I've either typed something wrong or that quick text doesn't recognize and, as a result, something doesn't make sense or comes out wrong. For instance, "Are you dating someone?" comes out "Are you eating someone?" if I don't fix it :-).
Well...last night, very quickly, I tried to post "Favorite things about the [rented] town car so far..." Only, I typed something wrong and posted "ENUMPIVE things about the town car so far..." and didn't check it before I posted. IMMEDIATELY, I received a rush of messages from confused friends and family members across both North and South Carolina. I was amazed at how quickly curiousity settled upon my Facebook wall. I had people thinking I'd used a scholarly vocabulary word, looking it up in the dictionary, and having cross state conversations with people they hitherto had never conversed.
My sister provided me with the best response, though...one I laughed so hard at that I cried! :-)
Here it is, folks--"A Few of My Enumpive Things"--sung to the tune of "A Few of My Favorite Things" from the Sound of Music.
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Happy young Acteens and warm woolen mittens
Fancy new Birkenstocks tied up with strings
These are a few of my enumpive things
New Lincoln Town Cars and crisp apple streudels
Quick text and Stanley and butter with noodles
Road trips that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my enumpive things
When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my enumpive things
And then I don't feel so bad
Dee in new dresses and big piles of cashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Cute orange fishes that dive into springs
These are a few of my enumpive things
When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my enumpive things
And then I don't feel so bad...
PS. Maybe we should push to make "enumpive" a real word. It's kind of fun to say. My friend Chris has already properly formatted it for dictionary use. And it certainly now has meaning amongst my small group of friends :-).
PPS. I feel ridiculous driving the town car. It's fancy and nice, but I'm thinking it's not one of my enumpive cars. I'm glad I get to return it on Monday!
Well...last night, very quickly, I tried to post "Favorite things about the [rented] town car so far..." Only, I typed something wrong and posted "ENUMPIVE things about the town car so far..." and didn't check it before I posted. IMMEDIATELY, I received a rush of messages from confused friends and family members across both North and South Carolina. I was amazed at how quickly curiousity settled upon my Facebook wall. I had people thinking I'd used a scholarly vocabulary word, looking it up in the dictionary, and having cross state conversations with people they hitherto had never conversed.
My sister provided me with the best response, though...one I laughed so hard at that I cried! :-)
Here it is, folks--"A Few of My Enumpive Things"--sung to the tune of "A Few of My Favorite Things" from the Sound of Music.
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Happy young Acteens and warm woolen mittens
Fancy new Birkenstocks tied up with strings
These are a few of my enumpive things
New Lincoln Town Cars and crisp apple streudels
Quick text and Stanley and butter with noodles
Road trips that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my enumpive things
When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my enumpive things
And then I don't feel so bad
Dee in new dresses and big piles of cashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Cute orange fishes that dive into springs
These are a few of my enumpive things
When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my enumpive things
And then I don't feel so bad...
PS. Maybe we should push to make "enumpive" a real word. It's kind of fun to say. My friend Chris has already properly formatted it for dictionary use. And it certainly now has meaning amongst my small group of friends :-).
PPS. I feel ridiculous driving the town car. It's fancy and nice, but I'm thinking it's not one of my enumpive cars. I'm glad I get to return it on Monday!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Reflection on The Lord's Prayer
I had the opportunity to lead a retreat on Friday night and Saturday. Friday night was a worship service; Saturday was the teaching portion of the retreat. Day-retreats have a very different feel than weekend retreats, so though things went well (I think), I was EXHAUSTED by the time it was over.
The theme of the weekend was "Give Us This Day," and the content of the weekend was centered on The Lord's Prayer. While I led the music at a children's camp centered on The Lord's Prayer a couple of weeks ago, this experience was completely different in that I studied the Lord's Prayer for days in preparation for the event. As such, The Lord's Prayer remains on the forefront of my mind and heart; therefore, I wanted to share some of what I learned in this note:
While Jesus is usually portrayed as answering questions with a question or parable, Jesus directly answers his disciples' request to teach them to pray by teaching them to pray (in the Lukan account). The prayer that he models for them is very simple and symmetrical, easy to remember, and powerful in content.
There is a beginning (Our Father, in heaven--which, itself, is an awesome contradiction--approachable and loving God of compassion who is parent to all of us...yet fully other) and an ending (For yours is the Kingdom and the power and the glory forever--a doxology of praise which was added by the church for use in worship)...and two sets of three petitions in between.
The first set of petitions is about God--a countercultural notion--to BEGIN with God:
1) Hallowed (honored, revered, set apart, constantly recognized for what it is) be your Name (your character of justice and love)
2) Your Kingdom (of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control, mercy, and grace) come (here and now, not just in the future)
3) Your will be done (your will of which I am praying to be a part) on earth as it is in heaven (where Love exists untainted)
The second set of petitions is about us--not singular ME but plural US--and it covers our most basic human needs:
1) Give us this day our daily bread (Creator God, Father, take care of us in the present--all of us--not just some)
2) Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us (Jesus God, Redeemer, help us to forgive all wrongs of the past)
3) Save us and deliver us from the times of trial (Spirit God, Sustainer, guide us through all future struggles)
The simplicity of this prayer, which, in so many ways, is a summation of the entire gospel message, is so beautifully complex that I am amazed.
You?
Thursday, September 9, 2010
What Is Hallowed Anyway?
To know that God IS
(that God exists),
To know what kind of God, God is
(holy, just, love),
To be constantly aware of God
(fully aware of God's presence in all times and all places
rather than acutely aware of God's presence in some times and places but
completely unaware in others),
and to be constantly obedient to God
(in both thought and action):
This is reverence and
This is what we pray for when we pray
"Hallowed be thy name."
Let God be given the reverence that God's nature and character deserve.
And may your lives show God's holiness, justice, and love to all who surround you.
--paraphrased from the work of theologian William Barclay.
(that God exists),
To know what kind of God, God is
(holy, just, love),
To be constantly aware of God
(fully aware of God's presence in all times and all places
rather than acutely aware of God's presence in some times and places but
completely unaware in others),
and to be constantly obedient to God
(in both thought and action):
This is reverence and
This is what we pray for when we pray
"Hallowed be thy name."
Let God be given the reverence that God's nature and character deserve.
And may your lives show God's holiness, justice, and love to all who surround you.
--paraphrased from the work of theologian William Barclay.
Kay, Jenny, and Two Things Right
Another thing you may be interested in knowing about me is that I am a people pleaser. I like to do the "right" thing and have the approval of those around me--especially on actions and issues that I feel strongly about. While this people pleasing tendency has resulted in many good things--high quality work, open doors of opportunity, the chance to meet many wonderful people--it has also resulted in many bad things--fear, shame, unwarranted stress, high blood pressure, and the constant worry that I will do something "wrong."
I'm sure there are other times when this has happened, but I can think of two specific times that I went against others' approval and logic and did what I felt was best...and it was...I have absolutely no doubt.
The first time was when I went to a friend's dad's funeral during a major winter storm. The weather was horrible. The roads were in terrible shape. Making the two and a half hour drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to be there. So a dear friend and I went. When we arrived, we were the only people there to support our friend. A few residents of the nursing home where her father had lived were there, but no one else made the trip. We sat with her on the family pew so that she wouldn't be alone, and we rode with her in the family car to the graveside service. We stood beside her in the freezing rain and watched as they lowered her father's casket into the ground, and then we followed her home so that she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.
Of all of the things that I've done in my life, making the trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.
The second time was when I decided to go to counseling. Despite outside sentiment that going to counseling showed a major weakness in my faith and relationship with God; despite the fact that my going would be looked down upon by many church-goers; and despite the fact that I was surrounded by loving friends and family, I went. Over the last three and a half years, I attended 115 counseling sessions with an Episcopal priest who showed me the unconditional love and grace of God. Week in and week out, she listened to my jumbled up thoughts and feelings on life, death, vocation, call, love, hate, grief, and God and helped me see myself and the God that I adored in life-altering ways. A steady safe place, my counselor allowed God to work through her and our therapeutic relationship to change me.
Of all of the things that I've done in my life, taking that step toward asking for help is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.
My friend whose father's funeral I attended died a sudden death due to an enlarged heart; I was privileged to be part of her funeral in 2006. And my counselor with whom I had taken steps toward becoming whole told me last Friday that she was leaving her counseling office to return to full-time parish ministry.
Kay is in heaven with her father now. Jenny is returning to her home in the church to follow the call that God has placed in her life. And I am here in my office, feeling both happy and sad, writing this note, hoping that it will please those who read it, and knowing that I have done at least two things "right" in my life.
I am humbled and grateful today.
I'm sure there are other times when this has happened, but I can think of two specific times that I went against others' approval and logic and did what I felt was best...and it was...I have absolutely no doubt.
The first time was when I went to a friend's dad's funeral during a major winter storm. The weather was horrible. The roads were in terrible shape. Making the two and a half hour drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to be there. So a dear friend and I went. When we arrived, we were the only people there to support our friend. A few residents of the nursing home where her father had lived were there, but no one else made the trip. We sat with her on the family pew so that she wouldn't be alone, and we rode with her in the family car to the graveside service. We stood beside her in the freezing rain and watched as they lowered her father's casket into the ground, and then we followed her home so that she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.
Of all of the things that I've done in my life, making the trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.
The second time was when I decided to go to counseling. Despite outside sentiment that going to counseling showed a major weakness in my faith and relationship with God; despite the fact that my going would be looked down upon by many church-goers; and despite the fact that I was surrounded by loving friends and family, I went. Over the last three and a half years, I attended 115 counseling sessions with an Episcopal priest who showed me the unconditional love and grace of God. Week in and week out, she listened to my jumbled up thoughts and feelings on life, death, vocation, call, love, hate, grief, and God and helped me see myself and the God that I adored in life-altering ways. A steady safe place, my counselor allowed God to work through her and our therapeutic relationship to change me.
Of all of the things that I've done in my life, taking that step toward asking for help is one of the things that I know that I've done "right"--despite initial signs of outward disapproval.
My friend whose father's funeral I attended died a sudden death due to an enlarged heart; I was privileged to be part of her funeral in 2006. And my counselor with whom I had taken steps toward becoming whole told me last Friday that she was leaving her counseling office to return to full-time parish ministry.
Kay is in heaven with her father now. Jenny is returning to her home in the church to follow the call that God has placed in her life. And I am here in my office, feeling both happy and sad, writing this note, hoping that it will please those who read it, and knowing that I have done at least two things "right" in my life.
I am humbled and grateful today.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
What Of The First?
So,
in the end,
life becomes
a question of death?
In the end,
is dying what really matters?
Do twilight redemption and healing
overshadow brokenness and hurt
and is it really that easy
to overlook a lifetime of pain?
The last will be first and
the first will be last.
The worker hired at the end of the day
will receive the same wages as the one hired
when the day began.
The prodigal child will be
welcomed home.
But what of the first?
What of the good one who stayed?
What of the hours endured in the heat of the sun,
trying to do the right thing while
living in the midst of heartache?
What of that life of memories
left playing in the dark,
wondering aimless through grief
as celebration tramples its soul?
And what of life
if all that really matters
in the end
is death and dying?
in the end,
life becomes
a question of death?
In the end,
is dying what really matters?
Do twilight redemption and healing
overshadow brokenness and hurt
and is it really that easy
to overlook a lifetime of pain?
The last will be first and
the first will be last.
The worker hired at the end of the day
will receive the same wages as the one hired
when the day began.
The prodigal child will be
welcomed home.
But what of the first?
What of the good one who stayed?
What of the hours endured in the heat of the sun,
trying to do the right thing while
living in the midst of heartache?
What of that life of memories
left playing in the dark,
wondering aimless through grief
as celebration tramples its soul?
And what of life
if all that really matters
in the end
is death and dying?
A Favorite Teacher Reflection
My junior year of high school was a hard year. I switched towns, churches, schools, groups of friends, marching bands, class possibilities--everything.
As difficult as it was, though, my junior year of high school is the one that I'll always remember in a positive light because of Mrs. Royal, my junior English teacher.
I've always been better at math than language arts, yet Mrs. Royal taught me to appreciate literature. She also taught me good grammar...and she encouraged me to write. Had it not been for writing, then my junior year of transition would have been much more difficult than it already was.
Mrs. Royal encouraged me to write poetry and prose and she even allowed me to compose a song for one of my class projects. She told me that I was a good writer--that I had a gift of expressing myself with words--so because of her, I gained confidence in my words and began a form of expression that has carried me through both joys and sorrows.
Writing, for me, is a way that I hear God and share God.
What about you? Who is/was your favorite teacher? And what is/was the main lesson he/she taught you?
What's more...have you thanked that teacher for the impact that he/she has made on your life?
I thank Mrs. Royal every time I see her...and I thank God for allowing our paths to cross, too.
As difficult as it was, though, my junior year of high school is the one that I'll always remember in a positive light because of Mrs. Royal, my junior English teacher.
I've always been better at math than language arts, yet Mrs. Royal taught me to appreciate literature. She also taught me good grammar...and she encouraged me to write. Had it not been for writing, then my junior year of transition would have been much more difficult than it already was.
Mrs. Royal encouraged me to write poetry and prose and she even allowed me to compose a song for one of my class projects. She told me that I was a good writer--that I had a gift of expressing myself with words--so because of her, I gained confidence in my words and began a form of expression that has carried me through both joys and sorrows.
Writing, for me, is a way that I hear God and share God.
What about you? Who is/was your favorite teacher? And what is/was the main lesson he/she taught you?
What's more...have you thanked that teacher for the impact that he/she has made on your life?
I thank Mrs. Royal every time I see her...and I thank God for allowing our paths to cross, too.
A Public School Reflection
One thing you need to know about me: I support the public schools.
In fact, I'll be so bold as to say that there is nowhere in America that has more potential to meet a diverse population of children and youth for Christ than the public school system. To be a Christian teacher in the public schools, though met with the mandate of not "preaching" Christ in explicitly "Christian" language, is, to me, to be on the front lines of the mission field. A public school teacher comes into regular contact with students of all races, ethnicities, cultures, religions, socio-economic levels, and levels of family support. During those 180 days of contact, teachers have the unparalleled opportunity to be Love to their students--to embrace them, support them, show them discipline and grace, and give them the tools that they need to become the best individuals and team players that they can be. In my estimation, teachers are the hands and feet of Christ--those who, day in and day out, feed the hungry, provide water for the thirsty, welcome the outcast, clothe the naked, take care of the sick, and visit those in prison (see Matthew 25).
The process of making the decision to leave the public schools for "full-time vocational ministry" was agonizing for me, yet as much as I support the public schools and the teachers who work there, I know that my life has always been leading me in a different direction--even if it is one that I sometimes still fight against. To this day, I sometimes miss my classroom--my students, their parents, my colleagues, the programs, the equipment with which I stocked the classrooms, the educational videos and websites that I practically had memorized--and I often dream about the two schools where I spent the most time.
I think of one of my favorite students, J, who, during my first year of teaching appeared as the voice of God. As I taught a rhythm stick lesson to my kindergarten classes, I wondered what I was doing and what impact I could possibly be making on the world. Very simply, I prayed, "God, show me why I'm here." At the begining of my next class period, J walked in, gave me a hug, grinned at me, and said, "Who, who, who gave you that necklace? Your huzzzzzband?" In my mind, he had just said, "I am why you are here, Miss Deaton." For the next seven years, I loved J with everything I had. I checked up on him, tutored him, laughed with him, cried for him, and did everything I could to make sure he had a chance to make it in this world. I don't know where he is now--time and distance have separated us--but I pray that he remembers his elementary music teacher and knows that she loved him and believed in him--unconditionally.
So teachers: thank you. Thank you for what you have done and/or are doing to impact this world with God's love. The way I see it, there are few jobs more worthwhile than teaching--even when the hours are long, the paperwork endless, the testing/assessments/legalities overwhelming, the colleague and parent relationships stressful, and the immediate returns not seen. You are making a lasting impact on entire generations of students, and I believe that you will be remembered in eternity for your selfless acts of love and grace. I respect you immensely. And I love you.
And non-teachers: consider becoming involved with the public schools. Pray for your local schools, their students and teachers, and be open to ways that you can be involved. Volunteer. Read. Tutor. Cut paper. Chaperone. Adopt a teacher. Provide her/him with supplies that slashed budgets eliminate. Save box tops for education and Campbell's soup labels. Provide food for students who will go home without food for the night or weekend. Provide shoes and clothes for students whose parents cannot--or will not--provide for them. Host a teacher appreciation event for a local school. Attend local school plays and concerts. The possibilities are endless. Please, just consider something.
Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' (excerpt from Matthew 25)
In fact, I'll be so bold as to say that there is nowhere in America that has more potential to meet a diverse population of children and youth for Christ than the public school system. To be a Christian teacher in the public schools, though met with the mandate of not "preaching" Christ in explicitly "Christian" language, is, to me, to be on the front lines of the mission field. A public school teacher comes into regular contact with students of all races, ethnicities, cultures, religions, socio-economic levels, and levels of family support. During those 180 days of contact, teachers have the unparalleled opportunity to be Love to their students--to embrace them, support them, show them discipline and grace, and give them the tools that they need to become the best individuals and team players that they can be. In my estimation, teachers are the hands and feet of Christ--those who, day in and day out, feed the hungry, provide water for the thirsty, welcome the outcast, clothe the naked, take care of the sick, and visit those in prison (see Matthew 25).
The process of making the decision to leave the public schools for "full-time vocational ministry" was agonizing for me, yet as much as I support the public schools and the teachers who work there, I know that my life has always been leading me in a different direction--even if it is one that I sometimes still fight against. To this day, I sometimes miss my classroom--my students, their parents, my colleagues, the programs, the equipment with which I stocked the classrooms, the educational videos and websites that I practically had memorized--and I often dream about the two schools where I spent the most time.
I think of one of my favorite students, J, who, during my first year of teaching appeared as the voice of God. As I taught a rhythm stick lesson to my kindergarten classes, I wondered what I was doing and what impact I could possibly be making on the world. Very simply, I prayed, "God, show me why I'm here." At the begining of my next class period, J walked in, gave me a hug, grinned at me, and said, "Who, who, who gave you that necklace? Your huzzzzzband?" In my mind, he had just said, "I am why you are here, Miss Deaton." For the next seven years, I loved J with everything I had. I checked up on him, tutored him, laughed with him, cried for him, and did everything I could to make sure he had a chance to make it in this world. I don't know where he is now--time and distance have separated us--but I pray that he remembers his elementary music teacher and knows that she loved him and believed in him--unconditionally.
So teachers: thank you. Thank you for what you have done and/or are doing to impact this world with God's love. The way I see it, there are few jobs more worthwhile than teaching--even when the hours are long, the paperwork endless, the testing/assessments/legalities overwhelming, the colleague and parent relationships stressful, and the immediate returns not seen. You are making a lasting impact on entire generations of students, and I believe that you will be remembered in eternity for your selfless acts of love and grace. I respect you immensely. And I love you.
And non-teachers: consider becoming involved with the public schools. Pray for your local schools, their students and teachers, and be open to ways that you can be involved. Volunteer. Read. Tutor. Cut paper. Chaperone. Adopt a teacher. Provide her/him with supplies that slashed budgets eliminate. Save box tops for education and Campbell's soup labels. Provide food for students who will go home without food for the night or weekend. Provide shoes and clothes for students whose parents cannot--or will not--provide for them. Host a teacher appreciation event for a local school. Attend local school plays and concerts. The possibilities are endless. Please, just consider something.
Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' (excerpt from Matthew 25)
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Bumblebee
I'm posting two versions of a poem that I originally wrote when I was teaching.
Version One: As the music teacher, I often got dumped upon and treated as less than equal by some classroom teachers and administrators. On this particular day, someone made their lack of communication my emergency--and it wasn't the first, or last, time they'd done it.
Bumblebee
10/05/04
We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!
But how hard is it,
Is it that hard?
To communicate,
share,
discuss,
or explain,
Expectations,
needs,
wants,
desires,
and to ask for help
In advance
not on demand,
not making lack of communication
an urgent problem?
We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!
I guess we should just rename ourselves
Bumblebees.
Version Two: Because I, myself, find myself overly busy right now, this poem came to mind as I thought about what to post for work today. What should have been a quick post has ended up taking more time than planned because of the rewrite...but, hey...at least this one isn't angry and has a somewhat positive message :-).
We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!
But we should never forget
Never ever forget
To communicate, share, discuss, and explain,
Expectations, needs, wants, desires, Christ
And to ask for help when we need it,
In advance,
Not on demand, and
Not making lack of communicationan or planning an urgent problem
for those around us.
We're busy.
Life is busy.
Everything is busy.
Busy, busy, busy!
Maybe we should just rename ourselves
Bumblebees?
Writer's Block--Version Two
I want to write.
Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry:
In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart, mind, and soul.
When I feel this overwhelmed--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the chaos inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.
Some days are too disjointed to make sense.
Life and theology and passion and to-do lists doesn't always fit together.
So maybe there are times when words don't either.
Maybe this is writer's block.
Or maybe it's a call to silence.
Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry:
In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart, mind, and soul.
When I feel this overwhelmed--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the chaos inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.
Some days are too disjointed to make sense.
Life and theology and passion and to-do lists doesn't always fit together.
So maybe there are times when words don't either.
Maybe this is writer's block.
Or maybe it's a call to silence.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Writer's Block
I've wanted to write all day.
Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry.
In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart and soul.
When I feel my heart breaking--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the ones breaking inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.
Some things are too painful to make sense.
Life doesn't always fit.
So maybe there are times when words don't fit either.
Maybe this is writer's block.
Not like I'm writing now--in prose--but in poetry.
In short phrases and descriptive language and words to reflect the scattered thoughts that are in my heart and soul.
When I feel my heart breaking--for whatever reason--I want to write in little pieces that reflect the ones breaking inside me, not in eloquent sentences that tie everything together with perfect ease and sense.
Some things are too painful to make sense.
Life doesn't always fit.
So maybe there are times when words don't fit either.
Maybe this is writer's block.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
like a lake
so much hurt and preservation
like a tendril round my soul
so much painful information
no clear way on how to hold it
when everything in me is tightening
curling in around this ache
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake
wide open like a lake
standing at this waters edge
looking in at God's own heart
I've no idea where to begin
to swallow up the way things are
everything in me is drawing in
closing in around this pain
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake
wide open like a lake
bring the wind and bring the thunder
bring the rain till I am tried
when it's over bring me stillness
let my face reflect the sky
and all the grace and all the wonder
of a peace that I can't fake
wide open like a lake
everything in me is tightening
curling in around this ache
I am fighting to stay open
I am fighting to stay open
open open oh wide open
open like a lake
--sara groves
...
when my sister and her family came to visit a few weeks ago, we had a picnic by the lake. as we were finishing up a lovely lunch, my sister's eyes got really big and she said, "run! rain's coming!"
and sure enough, before we could gather up the kids and the picnic supplies, we were momentarily covered with rain.
a perfectly clear day turned into a small but quick storm in the blink of an eye.
sometimes my days are like that, too.
a perfectly good day, filled with accomplishments and a pleasant, open mood, can see a storm roll in before i can gather up my emotions and run to shelter. i suddenly find myself drenched in tears and shut down to either sadness or anger.
today it's sadness. i'm looking grief in the eyes and feeling the sting of change. i am standing in the storm waiting for it to pass. and i know that it will. and then i can clean up the mess and once again look out into the openness of the lake.
like a tendril round my soul
so much painful information
no clear way on how to hold it
when everything in me is tightening
curling in around this ache
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake
wide open like a lake
standing at this waters edge
looking in at God's own heart
I've no idea where to begin
to swallow up the way things are
everything in me is drawing in
closing in around this pain
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake
wide open like a lake
bring the wind and bring the thunder
bring the rain till I am tried
when it's over bring me stillness
let my face reflect the sky
and all the grace and all the wonder
of a peace that I can't fake
wide open like a lake
everything in me is tightening
curling in around this ache
I am fighting to stay open
I am fighting to stay open
open open oh wide open
open like a lake
--sara groves
...
when my sister and her family came to visit a few weeks ago, we had a picnic by the lake. as we were finishing up a lovely lunch, my sister's eyes got really big and she said, "run! rain's coming!"
and sure enough, before we could gather up the kids and the picnic supplies, we were momentarily covered with rain.
a perfectly clear day turned into a small but quick storm in the blink of an eye.
sometimes my days are like that, too.
a perfectly good day, filled with accomplishments and a pleasant, open mood, can see a storm roll in before i can gather up my emotions and run to shelter. i suddenly find myself drenched in tears and shut down to either sadness or anger.
today it's sadness. i'm looking grief in the eyes and feeling the sting of change. i am standing in the storm waiting for it to pass. and i know that it will. and then i can clean up the mess and once again look out into the openness of the lake.
Monday, August 30, 2010
A Bowling Reflection
On somewhat of a whim, I joined a bowling team the very first week that I moved to Columbia. I’m glad that I did…because bowling has provided me with many hours of fun and allowed me to get to know some really neat people.
A few months ago, my team—Mel, Laurie (Boss), Bob, and me—bowled in the SC State bowling tournament. During that tournament, we realized that if we could substitute a fourth girl for Bob, then we could enter some women’s events and probably do fairly well. We did. And we bowled in the Azalea Tournament this past Saturday. We’re still waiting for the final results, but when we left on Saturday we were in decent standing…despite my poor, poor performance during the team competition.
While bowling IS fun, it also cuts to the core of my insecurities. I do not like to disappoint people or let them down. I do not like to fail. I do not like to look stupid. I do not like to worry about what other people think about me. And I do not like to feel as if my worth is dependent upon my performance.
During the team competition on Saturday, we were partnered with the top two female bowlers—literally—in the tournament. The other two women on their team were in the top ten. While I struggled to mark, they rolled strike after strike after strike. While I couldn’t get the pins to fall, they made them come crashing down. While my handicap was high, they didn’t have a handicap. While my ball kept going toward the gutter, their balls never came close.
Contrary to some bowlers who know that they’re good, they were extremely nice and encouraging, and I am thankful for that. But bowling against them and being surrounded by the fast pace of the morning and realizing that I was the weakest link in a strong team left me feeling horrible. The morning hooked all of my insecurities and all I wanted to do was disappear and cry.
But then I asked for help from Coach Bob the Bowler. And then we moved to the other end of the bowling alley for doubles and singles. There weren’t as many people, the pace wasn’t as fast, and we weren’t bowling against good-enough-to-be-pros. My body relaxed and my mind focused and I came up with a plan for Boss and myself: Bowl our average or higher. And we did. With the help of our coach, we bowled extremely well during doubles…and as we did, I felt the hooks of the morning slowly loosening their grasp.
I didn’t feel like I was disappointing Boss or letting her down. I didn’t feel like I was failing anymore. I didn’t feel like I looked stupid. I didn’t feel like everyone was wondering why I was there. And, most importantly, I didn’t feel like my worth was dependent upon my performance.
You see, I had friends and family members sending me texts of encouragement, telling me that they believed in and loved me no matter what—to have fun and enjoy the experience because that’s what it’s all about. And I had a team who never once acted disappointed in me or seemed as if they wanted to replace me with someone new. They were glad that I was there with them, cheering for them, bowling with them, spending time with them, and, every once in awhile, making them laugh.
That is grace, my friends. That is love. That is truth. And that is God working in tangible ways to release us and break us free from the fears and oppression of this world.
A few months ago, my team—Mel, Laurie (Boss), Bob, and me—bowled in the SC State bowling tournament. During that tournament, we realized that if we could substitute a fourth girl for Bob, then we could enter some women’s events and probably do fairly well. We did. And we bowled in the Azalea Tournament this past Saturday. We’re still waiting for the final results, but when we left on Saturday we were in decent standing…despite my poor, poor performance during the team competition.
While bowling IS fun, it also cuts to the core of my insecurities. I do not like to disappoint people or let them down. I do not like to fail. I do not like to look stupid. I do not like to worry about what other people think about me. And I do not like to feel as if my worth is dependent upon my performance.
During the team competition on Saturday, we were partnered with the top two female bowlers—literally—in the tournament. The other two women on their team were in the top ten. While I struggled to mark, they rolled strike after strike after strike. While I couldn’t get the pins to fall, they made them come crashing down. While my handicap was high, they didn’t have a handicap. While my ball kept going toward the gutter, their balls never came close.
Contrary to some bowlers who know that they’re good, they were extremely nice and encouraging, and I am thankful for that. But bowling against them and being surrounded by the fast pace of the morning and realizing that I was the weakest link in a strong team left me feeling horrible. The morning hooked all of my insecurities and all I wanted to do was disappear and cry.
But then I asked for help from Coach Bob the Bowler. And then we moved to the other end of the bowling alley for doubles and singles. There weren’t as many people, the pace wasn’t as fast, and we weren’t bowling against good-enough-to-be-pros. My body relaxed and my mind focused and I came up with a plan for Boss and myself: Bowl our average or higher. And we did. With the help of our coach, we bowled extremely well during doubles…and as we did, I felt the hooks of the morning slowly loosening their grasp.
I didn’t feel like I was disappointing Boss or letting her down. I didn’t feel like I was failing anymore. I didn’t feel like I looked stupid. I didn’t feel like everyone was wondering why I was there. And, most importantly, I didn’t feel like my worth was dependent upon my performance.
You see, I had friends and family members sending me texts of encouragement, telling me that they believed in and loved me no matter what—to have fun and enjoy the experience because that’s what it’s all about. And I had a team who never once acted disappointed in me or seemed as if they wanted to replace me with someone new. They were glad that I was there with them, cheering for them, bowling with them, spending time with them, and, every once in awhile, making them laugh.
That is grace, my friends. That is love. That is truth. And that is God working in tangible ways to release us and break us free from the fears and oppression of this world.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Life Verse
Have you ever considered memorizing a passage of scripture or a positive quote and using it as your "life verse"--to guide you through difficult situations and fill you with the reminder of love?
If not, then you should. There's even a passage from the Bible at the bottom of this message for you to consider.
If so, what is your life verse?
It's amazing how having positive words in your mind and heart can help dispel the bad stuff of life. It doesn't take the bad stuff away, but it sure does help you know that you're going to make it through, and it challenges you to live out love when it's hard.
--------
Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Colossians 3:12-15
If not, then you should. There's even a passage from the Bible at the bottom of this message for you to consider.
If so, what is your life verse?
It's amazing how having positive words in your mind and heart can help dispel the bad stuff of life. It doesn't take the bad stuff away, but it sure does help you know that you're going to make it through, and it challenges you to live out love when it's hard.
--------
Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Colossians 3:12-15
A Jamaican Reflection
We've been back from Jamaica for almost two weeks now, but only today have I had a moment to intentionally reflect on my experience there. And here's what's odd: as much as I like to think, connect, and write, I don't know what to say about my trip except that it was really lovely.
Traveling with my coworkers and spending time with them away from the hustle and bustle of normal life...eating with them, talking with them, laughing with them, being silly with them, worshipping with them, enjoying God's beautiful creation together with them...
Not having to a cell phone signal that worked for text messaging or internet surfing and being cut off from the hustle and bustle of normal life (though the surprise of not having it after making arrangements with the phone company threw me off at first)...
Taking in new landscapes and flowers and trees and foods and culture that was slower, less intense, and more relaxed than the hustle and bustle of normal life...
Being treated with honor and respect and appreciation for simply being me and being welcomed with open arms, literally, by women whom I'd never seen and probably will never see again and being challenged to continue forward in my faith and ministry and to give birth to the passions that God has lain on my heart...
Reflecting at the beach. Climbing the falls. Seeing the disparity between the tourist-y areas of Jamaica and the villages that are being transformed by the love and hope of Christ that is demonstrated by mission teams year in and year out. Realizing just how blessed I am to live in a country with good roads and clean water and laws against litter and fairly safe drivers and employment opportunities not dependent on tourism and organization but grieving the fact that I live in a country that is so dependent on the hustle and bustle of life...
It was all lovely.
It was all painfully and beautifully lovely...
Monday, August 23, 2010
What God Doesn't See In You
Plant these thoughts in your mind:
God doesn't see you as unnecessary.
God doesn't see you as too young (or old) to do God's work.
God doesn't see you as having limited capabilities.
Now read read 1 Samuel 16:1-13 and notice how God didn't think David unnecessary even when his family did; how God didn't think David was too young to do God's work even when his family did; and how God didn't think David had limited capabilities even when his family did.
If you don't have a Bible near you, go to www.biblegateway.com and look up the passage.
Remember: God sees the real you--all of you--who you are today and who you will be tomorrow. God gets you. God understands you. God loves you. And God has chosen YOU to share the good news of God's love and redemption with this world.
**notes taken from a sermon by Dr. Tommy Pillow.
God doesn't see you as unnecessary.
God doesn't see you as too young (or old) to do God's work.
God doesn't see you as having limited capabilities.
Now read read 1 Samuel 16:1-13 and notice how God didn't think David unnecessary even when his family did; how God didn't think David was too young to do God's work even when his family did; and how God didn't think David had limited capabilities even when his family did.
If you don't have a Bible near you, go to www.biblegateway.com and look up the passage.
Remember: God sees the real you--all of you--who you are today and who you will be tomorrow. God gets you. God understands you. God loves you. And God has chosen YOU to share the good news of God's love and redemption with this world.
**notes taken from a sermon by Dr. Tommy Pillow.
Help Me Love Me
Sometimes we say, write, or do things that illicit responses that we aren't expecting. That happened to me more than once yesterday.
A simple quote--that I heard in the sermon at the church I was visiting--and a couple of conversations reminded me just how many people are hurting and struggling--even those people that we'd never expect--I dare say especially those people we'd never expect.
Twelve years ago, during my college days, while sitting outside at a campground in Cherokee, NC, where I was doing student summer missions, I cried out a prayer that I still pray today.
Maybe this is a prayer that you pray, too?
Me
7/30/98
I open your word and I read about you
And how you love us, Lord
But then I turn the page and I read about me
And how what I am is wrong
So sometimes I don't understand
What I'm supposed to believe
Is your grace all sufficient, Lord
Is it really okay to be me?
I go to church and praise your name
I want to see your face
But then they tell me I can't serve you, Lord
My sin is far to great
So sometimes I don't understand
What I'm supposed to believe
Is your grace all sufficient, Lord
Is it really okay to be me?
Oh I want to be me
And I want to be free
From this hammer that beats me to the ground
But I just don't know
How to let the hammer go
When I feel that nothing I do is right
When I feel that I am not alright
As I pray to you, I try to feel your arms
Wrapped around my soul
But I can't feel them, Lord
Are you really there—
Do you really care for me?
Cause sometimes I don't understand
What I'm supposed to believe
Is your grace all sufficient, Lord
Is it really okay to be me?
Do you love me?
Yes you love me.
Help me love me.
http://www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton
(there are two roughly recorded versions on the page--one picked and one strummed)
A simple quote--that I heard in the sermon at the church I was visiting--and a couple of conversations reminded me just how many people are hurting and struggling--even those people that we'd never expect--I dare say especially those people we'd never expect.
Twelve years ago, during my college days, while sitting outside at a campground in Cherokee, NC, where I was doing student summer missions, I cried out a prayer that I still pray today.
Maybe this is a prayer that you pray, too?
Me
7/30/98
I open your word and I read about you
And how you love us, Lord
But then I turn the page and I read about me
And how what I am is wrong
So sometimes I don't understand
What I'm supposed to believe
Is your grace all sufficient, Lord
Is it really okay to be me?
I go to church and praise your name
I want to see your face
But then they tell me I can't serve you, Lord
My sin is far to great
So sometimes I don't understand
What I'm supposed to believe
Is your grace all sufficient, Lord
Is it really okay to be me?
Oh I want to be me
And I want to be free
From this hammer that beats me to the ground
But I just don't know
How to let the hammer go
When I feel that nothing I do is right
When I feel that I am not alright
As I pray to you, I try to feel your arms
Wrapped around my soul
But I can't feel them, Lord
Are you really there—
Do you really care for me?
Cause sometimes I don't understand
What I'm supposed to believe
Is your grace all sufficient, Lord
Is it really okay to be me?
Do you love me?
Yes you love me.
Help me love me.
http://www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton
(there are two roughly recorded versions on the page--one picked and one strummed)
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