A Celebration of Life

Today is B’s birthday. At midnight, I wished her Happy Birthday on her FB wall. This morning at 9:30, I left my house to drive to hers. We spent the day together—running errands with the kids, hanging and rearranging art work, drinking coffee, eating birthday food, exchanging Christmas gifts, celebrating life.

I’ve exchanged Christmas presents with B and remembered her birthday every year since I’ve known her; she has remembered mine as well. But our gift exchanges, remembrances, and celebrations of life haven’t been exclusive to Christmas and birthdays. B and I communicate frequently, hang out when we can, and buy each other gifts every time we see something that reminds us of the other. It’s actually a minor miracle that I was able to wait until today to give B her Christmas present. I bought it for her sometime this past spring!

Today was also another of my friends’ birthdays. When I saw her birthday notification on my FB page, I wrote Happy Birthday on her wall. I like Mrs. Georgianna. We’ve known each other for many years. I went to her house as part of progressive dinners in high school. We used to have tiny handwriting competitions with one another.

Over the years, though, Mrs. Georgianna and I have remained in contact only distantly. This reality is no fault of either of ours. Mutual respect still exists. Distance has just happened over the years. I’m remembering her birthday today because FB suggested that I do so, yet I wouldn’t have known that today was her birthday had it not been for FB’s announcement. I may remember Mrs. Georgianna’s birthday in the future because I’m writing about it now, because I’ve formed a connection with it, but unless something changes, which it could, our lives still won’t be intimately connected throughout the year…

One of my biggest blessings of 2012 was the 2012 Advent and Christmas Seasons. For the first time in many years, because I wasn’t so busy doing the work of or studying ministry, I was able to step back, relax, and truly live with a spirit of openness in the waiting and celebration. I’ve written about a couple of things I’ve pondered in previous weeks—realizing that Jesus had grandparents and an aunt, accepting the fact that Jesus’ birth-night was both a non-silent and silent night—but I need to write about one more thing for this season’s revelations to be complete:

It seems to me that Christmas has become the universal Facebook announcement of Jesus’ birthday.

For some people, the reminder isn’t necessary. Some people have an ongoing, intimate relationship with Jesus so his birthday isn’t something they can forget—like I can’t forget B’s. Other people have a distant relationship with Jesus—they may have once been close to him but found that the friendship has drifted apart—so the reminder makes them pause and remember—like happened with me today with Mrs. Georgianna. Still other people don’t have much of a relationship with Jesus at all—they may have heard his name, been introduced to him at some point in their lives, but not ever have formed anything more than a distant connection with him—like happens to me sometimes when a name pops up on FB that I’m not very familiar with—so the reminder is just that—a reminder—a simple thought of good wishes.

For some people, Christmas is a simple thought of good wishes. The season comes, it goes, and it ends. For other people, Christmas is a time for pausing and remembering. The season comes, Jesus’ birthday is remembered, the remembrance reignites thoughts and feelings, it lingers for awhile, but unless something changes then it gets lost in the busyness of life. But for other people, Christmas is a focused day of remembering Jesus’ birth—of what Jesus’ life meant—of the hope, peace, joy, and love that came to earth and still lives today. For those people, Christmas may be a universal season of celebration but it is also an individual spirit that is chosen every day…a reality that does not die…a promise that is not forgotten when the decorations come down.

Birthdays are important because they celebrate life. But to truly celebrate life, day-in and day-out relationships must be nurtured.

I’m thankful for this birthday that I was able to spend with B, but I’m more thankful for the friendship that causes me to keep an eye out for Chinese and Japanese art and that causes B to keep an eye out for orange fish for me. I’m thankful that we’re so far in debt to one another that we’ve given up on keeping a tab. But most of all, I’m thankful that I actively get to celebrate life with B…and Mrs. Georgianna…and my family…and my friends…and you…because of the life that was born in Jesus and continues to live today.

Need for Speed

My grandmother owns a 1988 Crown Victoria.

Most of the time, the car sleeps in G-mama’s carport.

Occasionally, it is woken up so that it doesn’t fall into a slumber from which it cannot be revived.

Even more occasionally, it is taken for a checkup, fill-up, or spin around the neighborhood.

Today, after knocking down countless telephone poles, running into buildings, crashing into cars, and getting stopped by the police twice, I decided to transfer my “Need for Speed” from the sheik Porsche on the Play Station 3 to the boat-like Ford in the driveway.

My cousin Stephen and I pimped our ride all the way to the gas station where we spent a whopping $2 to fill the tires with air.

Reaching speeds of almost 35 mile per hour, the 1988 Crown Vic provided Stephen and me with a shaky ride through the streets of G-mama’s well-established neighborhood.

Stephen applauded my bravery and unwavering faith in our classic ride, yet he wasn’t ready to test the car’s strength and stamina and take it to the car wash.

Just before my aunt and grandmother became concerned about our whereabouts, Stephen and I navigated the car back into its bed and let it return to sleep.

Call me crazy, but I never doubted that the Crown Vic would get us home safely. The Porsche, though? I’ll be lucky to make it 10 seconds without crashing into a barrier. I guess it’s a good thing that my need for speed is satisfied with a real life adventure of 35 miles per hour.

Jesus, The Four Boys, and A Girl

Last night, after I carefully navigated the minefield of my bedroom in order to make it to my bed, I felt an overwhelming amount of love for the three bombs sleeping on my floor (and the other two kids sleeping in the house as well).

It’s no secret that I adore my nephews and niece, but I’ve come to love them even more this Advent as I’ve allowed my mind to wander to Jesus’ childhood—to his first steps, his unadulterated joy, his being the life of the party, his being the center of adoration, his having grandparents and aunts/uncles, his being a normal kid like these kids I love.

Somehow, in Jesus’ birth and growth becoming more real, the lives of the five children in my life have become more special.

If I believe that each of us is created in God’s image—which I do—and that Jesus was fully human and fully divine—which I believe he was—then I cannot deny the similarities between Jesus as a child and these children that I love.

Jesus was not an untouchable, fragile, docile baby frozen in a silent manger scene and then moved to the temple as a 12-year-old pawn.

Jesus was real.

He could have been my nephew in another time and another place.

Jesus sang and danced and played and laughed and cried and melted down when he was tired or hungry and had a bed time and probably thought it was funny to make armpit noises.

Do these things make my Prince of Peace any less divine?

No.

They just make him more real, and they make his spirit more easily seen in the eyes of my four boys and a girl.

There is so much life to be lived.

The merry music making, present opening, food eating, game playing, and joke telling of my family’s Christmas celebration has reminded me this much.

Jesus came to live it.

He wants us to live it to.

With deep, deep love.

And careful avoidance of the minefields having a sleeping over on our bedroom floors.

Don't Let Anyone Tell You Who You Aren't

I’m not very good with the DVR. Sometime last week, in the middle of my fight with flu, I accidently told the DVR to record the whole series of The Mentalist instead of just the one episode I was trying to watch. I watch The Mentalist because of my dad. He was watching it one night and I got hooked. This tends to happen to me when watching TV.

At the beginning of this week, during my dad’s fight with a sinus infection, my mom told us that we needed to clean off some of our episodes of The Mentalist because they were was filling up recording space. Being the good daughter that I am, I have since spent every possible moment watching The Mentalist in an effort to clean off the DVR, even if it’s meant sitting beside a coughing, hacking dad.

Last night, as I was fitting in one final episode of The Mentalist before going to bed, a minor character said some really mean things to Jane, the mentalist. I like Jane. He’s highly intelligent and quirky and he always drinks hot tea. So when that man said something mean to him, it made me mad. In my anger toward a minor character on a fictional TV show, I posted the statement:

“Don’t let anyone tell you who you aren’t.”

I was talking to Jane, on a recording of a TV show from 2009, but I knew the non-fictional, real-life truth in the statement as I was writing it. I also know the truth of its opposite when the teller is speaking from fear or ignorance: “Don’t let anyone tell you who you are.”

When I woke up this morning, I found a short conversation between two very unlikely people on my wall. They had both responded to my statement to Jane, and then Dr. Colby, my college English professor, told Christina, one of my dearest friends from divinity school, that she looked fully alive in her profile picture. Christina simply said thanks.

What Dr. Colby doesn’t know is that Christina is fully alive—that her current profile picture, while demonstrating happiness and life, isn’t the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Christina is full of deep joy and a giving, hospitable spirit that has reminded me many times to breathe and to remember that I am exactly who God created me to be.

What Christina doesn’t know is that Dr. Colby made a huge impact on my life in college. While it’s true that I made my only B in Dr. Colby’s English class and that I couldn’t, for the life of me, write a thesis statement to her liking :-), it’s also true that the many hours we spent together because of my writing difficulties built a mutual respect that has stood the course of time. I suppose that in an ideal world I would have sailed through that English class, made an A, and graduated with a 4.0. But, in the real world, struggling through Dr. Colby’s class, having a crisis of belief in myself and my ability to write (a crisis lasted for well over a year), having a mentor to walk the course with me and teach me, and emerging from the crisis with my own voice, means way more than a perfect GPA. It's not like anyone walks around asking about my college GPA anyway! Through the ears of my perfectionist, people pleasing, self critical, self damning college self, I heard Dr. Colby telling me that I couldn’t write—that I was not a writer. But she wasn’t telling me that. She was trying help me be the best writer and self that I could be.

I am blessed to have parents with whom to watch TV and share these days of life. I am blessed with their DVR and sofa and electricity that allow me to see the world through different characters’ eyes. I am blessed to have friends like Christina and Dr. Colby—friends who believe in and support me not for who I’m not or should be but for who I am. And if you are reading this then I am blessed to have you, too. I am blessed that you care to read words from a girl with a blemished writing past and that you have given your time to my thoughts.

Don’t let anyone tell you who you’re not, friends. And don’t let anyone tell you who you are unless they are affirming what you know to be true in your spirit…that you are a loved and cherished person of worth and value, created in God’s image, redeemed by God’s grace, gifted by God’s spirit, freed by Christ’s forgiveness, and held in God’s love even when you do not know it is there. God’s love is there, my friends. It is there. Actually, it is here. It's what Christmas is all about. And it can never, ever be erased.

Together In This Thing Called Humanity

Original Monday Plan:
• Counseling/Spiritual direction in North Raleigh.
• Lunch in North Raleigh with a friend I hadn’t seen in a year.
• Finish sending out Christmas letters at a coffee shop in Raleigh.
• Dinner in Clayton with a friend I hadn’t seen in five years.

Actual Monday Events:
• My niece’s pre-school performance of The Nutcracker in Raleigh.
• Lunch in North Raleigh with a friend I hadn’t seen in a year.
• Play with my niece and nephew in Raleigh.
• Drive my mom home to Lillington.
• Rush to the Post Office in Lillington before it closes.
• Dinner in Clayton with a friend I hadn’t seen in five years.

As you can see, my Monday didn’t turn out as originally planned; however, it has been a wonderful day—especially after a week of being sick. I’m pretty tired after being out all day, but my extraverted self is happy after lots of human interaction both with family and with friends I hadn’t seen in way too long but that felt just like yesterday being around.

My introverted self is also happy after a few minutes of reflection…the most meaningful of which occurred at the preschool Nutcracker…which…I know is an odd time for introverted reflection but it happened.

While waiting for the show to begin, I looked up and saw Elizabeth Gardner. She, like the other parents in the room, was there to see her child. She may be a weatherwoman who had just come from the television station, but she’s also a real person—a mom who beams at her children when they perform, an onlooker who smiles when she sees something cute, a partner who helps with household chores, a white collar worker who has to pick out her clothes, a family member who gets to buy Christmas presents—a real person—but one that people are often either too star struck to talk to or too star struck to remember that they don’t actually know or vice versa and therefore immediately assume they know her. [I almost called Elizabeth by name and started talking to her like a long lost friend. But. Well. I’m not. Just a weather fan and former teacher who met the weatherperson once at school.]

I quickly realized that I’m glad that I’m not famous…and that I must always remember—with stars and bums and rich people and poor—that we’re all in this thing called humanity together.

Jesus…thank you for coming to live with preschool nutcracker dancers, weatherwomen, and in-between-ministry-ministers alike. Thank you, too, for calling us friend. Amen.

Was It Or Wasn't It A Silent Night (Part Two)

Yes.
It was a silent night.
Yes.
It was not a silent night.
Or at least that’s what I think these days.
And here’s what changed my mind:
The memory of a college fire drill.

It was my junior year at Meredith.
I was sick, much like I am now.
I had Vicks vapor-rubbed my chest and taken some NyQuil.
I was very asleep when the fire alarm went off.
I stumbled out of the building with the help of a friend.
I sat down on a little wall and swayed back and forth,
Trying not to fall onto the ground.
It was foggy outside.
The fog against the street light created that unique foggy orange light look.
It was silent.
It was ringingly silent.
It was middle-of-the-night-silent that comes when you’re jolted awake or
You’re sick or
You just can’t sleep.
There was noise.
Yet it was silent.
It was a silent night.
It was not a silent night.
And I’m thinking that’s how things were the night that Jesus was born.

As my friend Amy said in response to my note on Monday:

I like Amy Grant's spin on the song..."I need a silent night, a holy night, to hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise. I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here--to end this crazy day with a silent night." I imagine it was super hectic for Mary, and loud, with all the doors Joseph was knocking on and all the grumpy people who were irritated that 2 kids would have the nerve to interrupt their sleep to ask for a place to have a baby. Shuffling feet, doors slamming, Mary's cries, Joseph's pleas, cows mooing, sheep baahing, horses nickering, the scraping of stone as Joseph cleans out the only thing in the stable he could find to prepare for a baby. Mary screams, a new born baby cries, and then. Then. There is that one silent moment as Joseph wipes Mary's brow and Mary smiles down at her sweet sleeping baby through silent glistening tears. And I think that that moment is what the silent night is about—the moment when we realize that while the world is busy slamming doors and being rude we miss out on the mercy that is meek and mild and the truth that is as pure as this child. That night, redemption was knocking on the doors of Bethlehem (and our hearts) but they couldn't drown out the noise (or chose not too) long enough to hear the heartbeat of the Savior. So maybe every now and then, a silent night is a good thing.

Or as my friend Jaime said:

I have always loved the song Silent Night and always (even as a child) pictured it as a scene from AFTER Christ was born. And, as a mom who has cuddled and coo'd and watched two precious newborns sleep peacefully in my arms (and am eagerly awaiting this one), I think Mary DID probably have those moments of peaceful, silent euphoria with her sleeping or nursing baby that night.

God…thank you for both/and rather than either/or. Amen.

Was It Or Wasn't It A Silent Night?

A few years ago, I reached my breaking point with still life, snowy nativity scenes and other unrealistic views of Jesus’ birth and the Christmas season. It was then that I began to refuse to sing “Silent Night” because I didn’t agree with the lyrics and that I penned the following poem:

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.

It was also at that point that I began to sing “Labor of Love” by Andrew Peterson because I did agree with his words:

It was not a silent night
There was blood on the ground
You could hear a woman cry
In the alleyways that night
On the streets of David's town

And the stable was not clean
And the cobblestones were cold
And little Mary full of grace
With the tears upon her face
Had no mother's hand to hold

It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
With every beat of her beautiful heart
It was a labor of love

Noble Joseph at her side
Callused hands and weary eyes
There were no midwives to be found
In the streets of David's town
In the middle of the night

So he held her and he prayed
Shafts of moonlight on his face
But the baby in her womb
He was the maker of the moon
He was the Author of the faith
That could make the mountains move

It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
With every beat of her beautiful heart
It was a labor of love

And little Mary full of grace
With the tears upon her face
It was a labor of love

What do you think? Silent night or not? What Christmas songs can’t you sing because you don’t agree with or like them and what Christmas displays, demonstrations, and/or beliefs really don’t sit well with you? Share your thoughts…but please share respectfully.

…to be continued…
…on Thursday…

Yet Through It All

This hasn’t been my best week.

I got plowed into by a large man on Monday night and heard a large crash at the house.

My printer ran out of color ink on Tuesday and made my Christmas letters look sub-par.

Yesterday, after choosing to stay on four lane highways that I thought would be safer and better lit than two lane back roads, I ran into some boxes in the middle of a very dark Hwy 421 N and pulled off my right fender, a portion of the right bumper, busted a headlight, disconnected some wires, and punctured an obvious hole in my windshield wiper fluid container.

Today, I woke up with a very bad headache after having difficult dreams all night.

I told my parents that I was trying really hard not to be discouraged, but I must admit that the trying is very hard.

Yet through it all:

I was able to keep that large man from experiencing major injuries by breaking his fall and I was able to help my parents clean out their closet after it crashed…even if my dad was sitting in a chair giving orders because of his sore body and busted knee.

I got to have lunch with a dear friend earlier that Monday. Spending time with her always brings a lot of laughter and helps me keep life in perspective.

I was still able to send out over 30 Christmas letters on Tuesday and people actually wanted to read them.

I had the privilege of cleaning my friend Flora’s house yesterday. She just turned 83 years old and is a joy to be around. After calling in reinforcements to help with cleaning and companionship, I was able to get one bathroom and the kitchen super clean…and it feels good to see something move from dirty to clean.

I was moved to a tearful grin by a Facebook book post that a friend dedicated to me.

I was able to drive my car home after the boxes busted it up. I have no idea what was in the boxes, but whatever it was hurt GiGi pretty badly. I wasn’t hurt. The car can be repaired. Being home last night allowed me to watch one of my shows with my mom. My dad is letting me borrow his car today so that I can still go on the trip that I was planning—albeit one day delayed. I get to see one of my favorite kids debut on stage tonight and I get to hang out with one of my closest friends tomorrow and help her prepare for a move.

I was able to eat a lunch paid for by my dad, drink some water, make some coffee in the Keurig, and take some medicine for the headache that seems to be subsiding, and I was able to complete a devotional writing for my church’s Advent devotional. I was able to study Zephaniah a bit and find encouragement in the prophet’s words.

So.

This hasn’t been my best week. Yet. I have so much for which to be thankful.

For friends, family, traveling mercies, food, medicine, and the ability to share life with others through time and writing…Thank you, God. Thank you. Amen.

The Trust Fall Stance

Well…our month of thankfulness is officially over. But I don’t want to stop being thankful. So I won’t. Since I only have one official thankful question left to answer, I’ll address that first in this post:

What are some things you appreciate about God? I appreciate that God is Creator. And creative. I appreciate that God is love. Steady and patient. And I appreciate that God works in and through time even though God is eternity.

Now I’ll continue to say that I’m thankful for the ability to read. And to write. And for the many people who have shared their thoughts, lives, and stories through their writing throughout the years. I’m thankful for Brennan Manning and his devotional book Reflections for Ragamuffins. I’m thankful that he is transparent in this faith and that he so often speaks of the grace of God. I’m thankful for an Advent Devotional that I received many years ago. It was a free resource; a mass produced paper back devotional that I picked up at some church I was visiting. This booklet, “The Lord Is Near,” was compiled from the works of Henri Nouwen…another writer whose life and works I’m very thankful for. In fact, a couple of years ago, I gave my dad one Henri Nouwen book per month for an entire year. The collection is downstairs. My dad was very thankful for the gift.

He was also very thankful for my presence tonight, and I was very grateful for my camp training in trust falls. As my mom, dad, and I were walking to the chapel for a Christmas concert at Campbell, my dad tripped and fell. When he rounded the corner of the building, he didn’t see the reflection pool and one of his feet fell into the water. [The pool wasn't lit.] That knocked him off balance and he began stumbling. I looked back to see what was happening and realized he was getting ready to fall. I stepped toward him, got in trust fall position, and did my best to catch him so that he could get his balance and not fall. While I didn’t stop the fall completely, I stopped him from landing on his hands, face, and head, so he only scraped his knee where he hit the ground and nose where his glasses pressed against his face as he pressed against me. I didn’t fall. My trust fall stance kept me from that. I am very thankful. My dad is too.

I’m also very thankful that my mom wasn’t in her closet when it fell tonight. That’s right, friends. Just as my closet fell a few weeks ago, my mom’s closet fell tonight. I thought I’d heard her flip on the light switch in the closet a few minutes earlier, so when I heard the huge crash I bolted off the couch, where I was sitting with my injured dad, and ran to the closet yelling, “Mom! Mom!” I looked in the closet and saw a huge pile of stuff that was high enough to have crushed a human body. When I didn’t hear her respond, I almost started digging, but then I heard her say, “What? What’s happened?” from behind me where she was sitting in her computer chair. Though realizing that her closet had fallen wasn’t a fun realization, it was better than the alternative which was that dad had fallen again.

So…at the end of this 3rd day of December, three days after the month of thankfulness has ended, I will be a thankfulness overachiever and declare that I am very grateful for being trained in trust falls (although I don’t think they were meant to be used in real life, just in trust building games!), being in the right place at the right time, being able to break my dad’s fall, and being reminded just how much I love my parents and how grateful I am that they are in my life.

Good and gracious God, you know how much clutter fills my mind and heart these days. Help me to pay attention to your presence in my life. Help me to look for and find opportunities this Advent to become more aware of how you touch my life each day. May I become evermore a sign of your love and light in this world. Amen. (--prayer by Henri Nouwen)

Sushi and Sardines

I met a homeless man named Lawrence tonight. We crossed paths at a crosswalk outside of Sushi Blues in Raleigh. I had just celebrated my friend Angela’s birthday (two days late). I gave her two of the members of the Hallmark Angel band. If you’ve never seen Hallmark’s Holiday bands, then you should. They’re actually really cool.

Anyway, Lawrence told me I looked cold, which I was. Then we started talking. His wife had recently died of lung cancer. He had fallen in love with her as an older adult and then chosen to stay by her side until the end of her life. He said it was really hard to watch her die. And that it was hard to give up his place after he used all of his money for her funeral.

I asked Lawrence if he had a place to sleep. I knew we weren’t near a shelter. He said that he’d tried to go to the shelter but that the other men there could get kind of crazy, so he preferred to stay on his own. He said he had a blanket and couple of places he liked to lie down for the night. He was wearing a toboggan and sweater and sturdy coat, boots, and jeans. I told him I was glad that he was dressed warmer than me.

I felt completely safe with Lawrence.

I asked him if he needed any food. He said he always appreciated food. I told him to walk with me to my car, that I had a bag for him. I gave him a homeless bag (the reusable shopping bag kind) and told him it had in it a roll of toilet paper, a roll of paper towels, some hygiene products, and some things to eat. I told him I hoped he could find something in the bag that he liked. He said he would.

Then he hugged me and said, “God bless you.” I hugged him back and said, “God bless you, too.” And I smiled…because he had a faint hint of cologne on him .

We talked for a few more minutes. He told me to keep the oil and fluids checked in my car and that it should keep going for a long time, even if it was hard to keep clean. “White and black cars are hard to keep clean,” he said. I assured him that I’d keep the oil and fluids checked and that it was okay that it didn’t stay clean. I don’t care so much about the outside of my car as long as the inside doesn’t get too dirty.

After we said our goodbyes, Lawrence took his bag to some nearby stairs. He unpacked it to see what was inside and I heard a little exclamation of excitement as he pulled out the sardines and canned meats. He looked at me, held up a can, and smiled. I gave him a thumbs up and drove away thinking that maybe I should try canned sardines sometimes. A lot of people seem to like them.

On nights like tonight when I didn’t listen to my mother and dress warmly yet know that I have a warm car to take me to a warm house where I can sit with two parents who love me while working on a computer that has been good to me and then go upstairs to take a hot shower that I don’t really need and then snuggle into a cute little bed that has held my dreams for many, many years, I can’t help but be overly grateful that even without a job and even while carrying a lot of heartache and grief I still have the ability to eat sushi with lifelong friends and give sardines to a man named Lawrence who, also, was created in God’s image.

God. Thank is you is not enough. But. Thank you. And God? Please bless Lawrence and keep him safe and warm tonight and throughout the winter and beyond. Amen.

---------

What is one thing about your college for which you are grateful? If you haven't yet been to college, then what is or was it about your school? I’m thankful that Meredith College provided me with a super education that prepared me for teaching and introduced me to professors who care enough to friend me on Facebook and friends with whom I can eat sushi while sharing memories from 17+ years of life together.

What is one thing about the 80+ year old persons in your life for which you are grateful? I’m grateful for their stories and wisdom and resilience to live through so many decades of rapid change. [This question came after a two hour conversation with a woman with whom I used to go to church. As of yesterday, I have begun cleaning her house…only…I didn’t get to cleaning because we talked for my whole visit hours instead! She was once an officer in the military. I find that fascinating.]

What is one company/business whose products, services, and/or values you are thankful? I am thankful for the US Postal Service, UPS, and FedEx. I know sometimes that they receive a bad rap, but when I stop and think about what they do—how quickly they move products around the world—I’m amazed…and grateful. Not to mention that this year’s USPS Christmas Stamps are really pretty!

When I Opened My Mail

I got a card in the mail last week but I didn’t open it. I added it to my pile of mail to go through later, thinking that I’d need a few minutes to read the enclosed holiday letter. I had no idea that I’d actually need a few minutes to pull myself together after bursting into tears.

The card said:

“Returning one of the nicest gifts a friend gave us during one of the hardest times we’ve had, and also one of the times we are most thankful for. There is no ‘should’ attached to this gift. Use [this gift card] however you want, be it for something you need, something you want, or a way to nurture your love language of gift giving. Know that we are thankful for you.”

Yesterday afternoon, sitting on the couch in my pajamas, doing little more than experiencing a day-long television marathon with my parents, I received one of the most meaningful gifts of my life. The gift card was very nice. I will use it and am grateful. But the words. The thoughts. The tangible expression of lasting friendship. The confirmation that my life and actions once made a difference in someone else’s life during a hard time. Those are the things that washed over me and pulled out speechless tears along the way.

The ironic thing? I have no recollection of sending the gift that my friend wrote about. I guess we really don’t know the difference our lives make when we simply seek to live them as outpourings of God’s love, hope, and grace…

And now to answer my questions of thankfulness:

What is one Thanksgiving leftover for which you are grateful? Field peas! I’m a big fan of field peas.

What is one game (board, card, dice, sport, computer, or logic) you really enjoy playing? I like word games: Scrabble, Boggle, Banagrams, Nab-It, etc. I also enjoy playing Mahjonng on the computer when I remember it exists.

What is one piece/type of furniture you are very grateful exists? I’ve thought about this a lot and I’m going to say the sofa. I suppose most recently I’ve been thankful for my sofa at the Lake Apartment and our sofa downstairs. I used my Lake Apartment sofa to sit on, eat on, and sleep on. It was pretty old but it had a really nice dip in the middle that was great for sleeping—not to mention the sofa’s position allowed me to overlook the lake. Our sofa downstairs currently looks pretty rough thanks to a big man, a little dog, and some kids; however, it’s really soft, fluffy, and comfortable—especially when I pop the button to make it recline!

What are some kitchen gadgets you are thankful exist? Upon pondering this question, I realize that the word “gadget” is difficult to define. The kitchen things I’m most thankful for seem to be either appliances (though small appliances) or cooking utensils. However, I really like using the egg slicer when we have boiled eggs, the melon ball scooper even though I don’t like melon, and the grippy thing you can use to open jars and bottles. I think the first two are fun and the last one is just practical .

Dear God,
For friendships that endure the tests of time,
For gifts that encourage us when we’re down.
For food and games that we enjoy,
For furniture and gadgets that remind us just how blessed we are.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Amen.

A Minor Thanksgiving Day Miracle

I know this sounds silly, but a minor miracle occurred during lunch today: I was able to taste my food. Not for the whole meal. But for just one moment. I could taste my food. And it was really good! As quickly as I could without muddling the flavors, I took one bite each of everything on my plate: turkey, rice/gravy, dressing, field peas, and carrots. I imagine that I looked kind of silly eating one bite of everything on my plate as quickly as I could. But no joke, after I’d tasted one bite of everything, my ability to taste went away again and I finished the meal with only a general idea of the taste of what I was eating—salty or sweet. It’s as if that one moment happened just for me.

We’re having our official Thanksgiving Meal on Saturday when the house will be full of kids and the table full of different foods. Maybe the congestion that has stolen both my taste buds and sense of smell will be completely cleared out by then. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll still be living in a smell-less, taste-less funk. Regardless, one thing I’ve learned this Thanksgiving season is that nothing is too small to be grateful for—especially not the senses of smell and taste. I don’t know that I’ll ever take them for granted again.

What is one thing you've experienced that you wouldn't trade for the world? Seeing my nephew fly into the world and my niece simply arrive.

What is one smell that always brings you comfort? The smell outside just after it begins to rain. I think it may actually be the smell of the pavement, but whatever it is, it always makes me smile.

What is one thing you appreciate about Thanksgiving Day? The relaxed pace and time set aside for rest. Our more action-filled celebration occurs on another day. And on this particular Thanksgiving Day, I appreciate the hope of getting well and being able taste and smell again.

Dear God, your creativity and attention to detail never cease to amaze me. For giving us five senses with which to live and enjoy life, thank you. For giving us food to eat and the ability to share with those in need, thank you. For being a God in whom our hope never fails, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Amen.

Aunt Dee Loves Handbells

I’ve been playing handbells since I was in grade school. I played in college, womaning the lower octaves with my best friend Angela. I played at church when I worked on staff at FBC Erwin. We all bought tie dyed gloves and went to handbell festivals. And I’m playing again this Christmas at Erwin. I received the distress call on Friday and swept in to play the tiny bells on Sunday. I am so happy to be playing bells again! It’s actually a bit silly how something so simple can bring me such joy.

It’s because I was playing bells yesterday that I had the realization that Jesus had grandparents and an aunt. The pastor mentioned this little fact in his sermon and I was so struck by the thought that I pondered it for the rest of the day.

Can you imagine being Jesus’ grandparent or aunt or uncle? Can you imagine being the one who got to spoil him and then send him home?! Can you imagine the pure, unconditional love that you’d have felt picking him up, swinging him around, playing the prototype to Candyland, sitting down with him for tea, laughing at his crazy messed up little boy hair cut?!

I must admit that I had let my amazement of Jesus having an aunt fade a little in my mind as I started with a new counselor this morning and discussed Bible study with a friend early this afternoon. But as I stood in my sister’s kitchen late this afternoon, a hyper seven year old hanging onto my arms, laughing, looking into my eyes and calling me “Aunt Dee,” the thought reemerged and a deep rush of emotion swept over me and I thought to myself, “Oh to have been Jesus’ aunt…yet still…there is no joy great than this.” Not even playing handbells.

----------------

And now…to answer the latest thankful questions:

What is the name of the furry creature for whom you are very grateful? [Yes. You can list more than one. Yes. You can be thankful for pets from your past and present :-)]. Bullet is the current furry creature in my life. He’s sitting right beside me as I write this. He’ll go home to his porch a little later. The other furry creatures I currently love are Percy and Millie, both of whom I’ve spoken to and given dog treats at the door tonight.

What TV show(s), past and present, are you glad that persons had the creativity and ability to produce? Why? I’m not sure what led me to ask this question! Since I’m watching “All Star Family Cook-Off” on the Food Network while I answer this question, I’ll say the “All Star Family Cook-Off” :-). Seriously, I enjoy cooking show battles like this, “Chopped,” and “Iron Chef.” They have opened my eyes to a culinary world that I didn’t know existed and provided my mom and me with many hours of family entertainment…and shared amusement from Chef Alex Guarnaschelli.

What para-churches, non-profit organizations, and ministries are you super glad exist? Brace yourselves, everyone. This is a shocker: WMU. Seriously. I’m glad that WMU exists for missions education, for empowering women and children (and men, too), for hosting summer camps, for supporting missionaries, and for reaching people through ministries such as Project Help. And…I don’t even work for them anymore!

What is one thing commonly taken for granted that you are actually very thankful for? Being able to breathe through both nostrils!

Gracious and Giving God,
For the pets who bring unconditional love and comfort to our lives;
For the entertainment that brings us laughter, education, and thought;
For the organizations and ministries that reach the world about which we’re passionate;
And for the simple things in life that we so often take for granted…music and family not being the least of these:
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Amen.

Let's Think About Being Grateful Instead

I wish that I could be a like the birds who are outside playing in the rain. They look like they’re having such a good time splashing in puddles and talking with one another, though I imagine they may be a little cold. But alas, I’m a sick human inside her warm house, dry, groggy, splashing nowhere but the shower when I can do nothing else to breathe.

This week, I count not having a job as a blessing. I’m able to stay home and be sick without worrying about the work that I’m missing. I’m able to put all of my time and energy into fighting bad germs and trusting the good guys to triumph. It’s weeks like this when I’m even more amazed than normal by the human body. God’s design for our bodies is so detailed and intricate that it literally makes my head hurt—kind of like it hurts when I think about infinity.

So let’s not think about infinity or the human body. I don’t need another part of my human body to hurt. Let’s think about being grateful instead.

For what one article of clothing are you extremely grateful? I’ve thought about this question a lot, debated many different articles of clothing, imagined life without various articles of clothing, and come to my conclusion: I’m extremely grateful for comfortable, sturdy, supportive shoes (even if they aren’t necessarily pretty.) When my feet are stifled—when they’re crammed into uncomfortable, impractical shoes, then they don’t feel free. And when my feet don’t feel free, the rest of me doesn’t either. “How beautiful are the feet of those who share the good news.”

What is one job/profession you are extremely thankful exists but that you are equally thankful you are not called to do? [Today, if you cross their paths, say thanks to persons who have been called to this job/profession.] My gut answer to this question is almost always a job/profession in the medical field—surgeon, dental hygienist, nurse, etc. But I’ve also recently been very grateful for sanitation workers. While I’m not thrilled with the amount of trash that I and other Americans produce, and while I know that high trash production and disposal leads to a form of human exploitation, I’m very thankful for workers who do the dirty work of taking trash away.

What is one personal hygiene or grooming item for which you are especially thankful? I’ve enjoyed reading everyone’s answers to this question. As with all of the questions, really, it’s neat to see what different people think and value…and who is bold enough to say the things that other people just won’t say. That being said, I’m going to be somewhat bold here, embarrass myself a little, and say that I’m especially thankful for feminine hygiene products. Again, I’ve thought a lot about the answer to this question, and, well, I’m really glad that I don’t have to go sleep in a tent, sit on bales of hay, not go to work or school, or do any of the other things that women of the past and women of other countries today must do each month.

We are so blessed with luxuries in America…clothing to choose from, job opportunities that are vast, personal hygiene and grooming items that are so common that we often don’t think twice about them. But today, as I use soft tissues and suck on cough drops, sit in lounge clothes inside a warm house, have the choice not to be outside with the birds, splashing in the cold water, though I still think it would be fun, I thank God for all of the luxuries that surround me…not the least of which is the cozy bed that I’m about to burrow into for a nice sick-on-a-rainy-day nap.

Loving God. Accept our thanks today for all of the good things in our lives. Soft pants, jeans, sweatshirts, hoodies, jackets, underwear, soft fleece socks, baseball pants, tweezers, hairbrushes, hairspray, razors, mascara, dental floss, deodorant, toothbrushes, doctors, trash collectors, pastors, teachers, morticians, school bus drivers, and more. Help us to see things and people as gifts to be cherished and help us to live with a grateful spirit for all that we’ve been given. Amen.

What It Is You Think I Should

“Is it just me or does this lyric not make any sense?” she said. “‘I told him I am the flower, you are the seed. We walked in the garden, we planted a tree.’ Unless I’m mistaken, there has to be some kind of crazy cross pollination going on there if that’s going to make any sense!”

Such was the conversation heard in room 223 of the Springhill Suites in Asheville yesterday morning. It was complete with dramatic singing and acting as my college friends Rachel and Angela and I attempted to answer Sunday’s question: “What is one song for which you are particularly thankful?” One simple question turned into a lengthy discussion that spanned everything from poignant hymns to guilty pleasures. The song “All I Want To Do Is Make Love To You” was a guilty pleasure. It’s one of those songs that’s somewhat ridiculous in plot but very fun to sing loudly!

Another song we stumbled upon was the song “Not Ready To Make Nice” by the Dixie Chicks. I didn’t really know the song until I pulled it up on You Tube, yet I found myself understanding the lyrics—though I must admit that they are very strong. I appreciate the honesty of the words and the fact that the raw emotions of pain and hurt aren’t just magically resolved. I found myself in the middle of someone else’s journey…just as I find myself in the middle of mine.

One particular lyric has been stuck in my mind since yesterday. It very simply says, “[I] can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should.” I find this line so powerful—so true—and such a vivid statement of the battle between living for self (through Christ) and others (of the world).

So often, I think, we know what’s best for ourselves. We know our boundaries and limitations. We know where God is leading. Yet outside pressure and expectation leads us to second guess ourselves and feel as if we are not “right” or “good enough” or doing our best. Granted, sometimes we do get stuck in a place where we need outside help. God knows that I’d be in a big mess without outside help! But sometimes, I think, we know what we need to do. We know what we can and cannot handle. We know the grace we are capable of extending. Yet the fear of disappointing others or being talked about in a negative way pushes us beyond what’s safe…and the result, I think, too often leads to hurt.

If I’m honest, then I must admit that I’m struggling to be at peace “in the waiting.” I, Deanna, am okay not knowing where I’m going (though it is somewhat unsettling), yet I feel like I’m doing something wrong by not actively seeking new employment opportunities. Why do I feel this way? Because of what I think the world thinks I should be doing. The world says it’s not okay for a 35-year-old college graduate to be unemployed. The world says it’s not okay for a Masters Degree graduate to not be contributing to a retirement account because she has no income to contribute. The world says it’s not okay for a grown child to live at home. And yet. Here I am. Living at home. With two degrees. No job. No clear direction. And doing a pretty poor job of waiting…not because I’m incapable of waiting—I am—and I'm okay with it--but because I feel like I’m being looked down upon for not immediately finding a new job. The thing is? I don’t just want a job. I want a calling. And I believe that God is calling…

Oh God. Help me to live as you would have me live and not how I perceive the world demanding that I live. Help me to find the joy in what surrounds me now because I know that joy—and grace—and healing—abound. Amen.

And now…to answer my thankful questions of the past couple of days:

What is one thing about Fridays for which you are particularly thankful? That Fridays are the days when my grandmother gets her hair done, and I know that the guaranteed human interaction is something that makes her happy.

What vacation destination are you particularly thankful exists? Asheville, NC (and pretty much any town in the mountains).

What is one song for which you are particularly thankful? “Growing Young” by Rich Mullins. Since before discovering that this song was written as a take on the story of the prodigal son, I have loved it. The lyrics speak to me—especially, “I’ve been broken now and I’ve been saved. I’ve learned to cry and I’ve learned how to pray. And I’m learning even I can be changed”—and the concept of growing young in the Kingdom of God as we grow old in this world is beautiful to me.

Who are the Veterans in your family for which you are grateful? Granddaddy Deaton (Dan Deaton, Sr.), G-Daddy (Virgil Kidd), Uncle Paul (Paul Johnson), and Dad (Dan Deaton, Jr.). I also have other extended family members who have served through the years…and I am grateful for their sacrifice and service.

Today's Journey To The Thrift Store

If we’d have had a video camera at our house today, then we may have filmed the winning clip for America’s Funniest Home Videos. The clip would have gone like this (in fast speed to make it through extra time):

Dad getting a back massage chair cushion out of the closet to give away. Dad beginning to doubt his decision to give the cushion away so hooking it up to try it. Dad declaring, “I don’t know. We’d better keep this.” Dad debating, “I don’t know. I don’t know if we need to keep it or not.” Dad putting the back massage cushion in the car to give away.

Mom choosing a random game to give away because that’s how dad chooses his items—just whatever strikes his fancy at the moment.

Dad searching the garage for things that strike his fancy. Dad finding an ice cream machine and a green Stanley cooler and putting them in the car to give away.

Mom going to the car and seeing the ice cream machine in the car and saying, “Danny. I don’t know why you keep trying to give away this ice cream machine. I think it could be a really good machine for us if we’d just use it.”

Dee going to the car and seeing the Stanley cooler and saying, “Hmm. We might should keep that cooler. I used it toward the end of my time in SC and it’s a good little cooler…Dad, I think I’m going to keep the cooler. But we can get rid of this lunchbox.”

Dee putting the lunch box in the car and returning the cooler to its original spot in the garage while Mom returns the ice cream maker to its spot and replaces it with a baby chair and steam cleaning machine. All the while, Dad is waiting simply to pull his car into the garage so that he can close the garage door.

By this point, it may be obvious that it’s hard for the Deatons to get rid of things: there could be a time in the future when the items could be used! But, we did manage to take a car load of items to the thrift store today…including the back massage cushion …

Now…for my thoughts of thankfulness since Monday:

Who is an American hero, past or present, living or dead, famous or not famous, for whose life or story you are particularly thankful? Harriet Tubman. When I was teaching, I loved to teach about Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad. I am inspired by her life and courage, and I like her nickname, “The Moses of Her People.” I like how she guided persons to freedom.

What is one thing about Wednesdays for which you are thankful? It’s the middle of the work week and often where the light begins to show at the end of the tunnel.

What is one thing about Thursdays for which you are thankful? Currently, I’m thankful for the memories of Thursday being bowling night for the past three years. I really enjoyed my time at AMF Park Lanes in Cayce, and who knows: maybe I’ll join a bowling league in NC sometime in the future. Fish and Burb certainly would rather be used than just sit in their bag with stinky shoes!

The Thankful Thing

November began and a whole bunch of people started being thankful. Since I didn’t want to miss the thankful train, I decided to be thankful, too.

Starting this past Saturday, I began asking “thankful” questions on my Facebook status. My plan is to continue asking “thankful” questions throughout the month of November, hopefully exploring some of the often unnamed things for which we are grateful.

I got this idea from the book, “God Speaks Your Love Language: How To Feel and Reflect God’s Love.” In one of the chapters in this book (or sections of a chapter—I can’t remember which because I listened it), Gary Chapman gives ideas for more deeply experiencing God through the individual love languages. When it comes to gifts, he suggests taking the time to specifically thank God for everything—down to the chair on which you’re sitting and the computer on which you are reading. When we begin to see the things around us as gifts—no matter how small those things are—then we begin to see the world through grateful eyes.

And so…November will be a month during which I attempt to ask questions that will guide us to think about the things for which we’re grateful, things both great and small, and I hope you’ll participate in this attempt…not just because being thankful is the cool thing to do but because I think it will be good for our souls.

Now, to voice my answers to the past few days’ questions:

1) What is one thing about Saturdays for which you are grateful? The opportunity to sleep late (when I’m not up to go to one of my kids’ sports games!).

2) What is one thing about your church, or a church in your area, for which you are especially thankful? Stained glass windows.

3) What is one thing about Mondays for which you are thankful? Currently…being able to watch Dancing With The Stars.

God…I really am thankful…and not just in November. Amen.

Irrational Love

I must confess that I’m not the world’s greatest quiet timer. For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard about the importance of a daily quiet time and I believe that it’s true. Yet still, I struggle. I pray throughout the day everyday—and especially at night as I’m winding down to sleep. I listen for God in silence. I pay attention to where God is especially present in the people, places, and events around me—particularly the music and stories that I hear. Being in tune with and living out the characteristics of the Divine is the single most important purpose of my life. Yet. I’m not the world’s greatest quiet timer, even though I am currently in a season during which I’m reading a devotional book each night.

Last night, as I was reading the October 31st entry from Reflections for Ragamuffins by Brennan Manning, I found myself hearing the exact message I needed to hear. Here’s what it said:

You cannot apply human logic or justice to Yahweh. Human logic is based on human experience and human nature. Yahweh does not conform to this kind of order. If Israel is unfaithful, God remains faithful. This Being of Revelation remains faithful against all logic and all limits of justice because He Is and is unchanging. It is only this note of love that clarifies the happy irrationality of God’s conduct and his persistence. Love tends to be a bit irrational. It pursues despite infidelity; it blossoms into envy, jealousy, anger—frantic anger, which betrays keep interest. The notion of love not only gives a fuller notion of divine nature, but by blossoming into other notions of passion, wrath, and eagerness, it widens our notion of God. The more complex and emotional the image of God becomes in the Bible, the bigger he grows and, paradoxically, the more we approach the mystery of his indefinability.

Psalm 53:2 says, “God looks down from heaven on the sons (and daughters) of men to see if there are any who understand, any who seek God.”

I hope that when God looks at me God sees someone who seeks to understand the Divine—who seeks to understand the depth of God’s faithfulness, patience, persistence, forgiveness, unchanging grace, and steady love…because sometimes I want to give up…sometimes I want to throw in the towel and give up on humanity…but then I think of the irrationality of God’s love, take a deep, life-giving breath, and go forward in the paradox and mystery that is Love…that is for us ragamuffins of faith.

What Do You Want Me To Do For You?

What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked him.

The blind man said, “Rabbi, I want to see.”

“Go,” said Jesus, “your faith has healed you.” Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road.

The pastor at the church I attended yesterday asked the question: “If Jesus were to ask you, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ what would you say?”

Immediately, without a moment’s hesitation, I thought, “Hug me.”

As the pastor continued with his sermon, complete with thoughts that included,

It's never too late to be what you might have been...
Pay attention. Let us do something beautiful for God...
Let us love with a love that heals and restores and makes whole…

I felt tears forming in my eyes. God often speaks to me through tears.

And when he asked again, “If Jesus were to ask you, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ what would you say?” Without thinking, I thought, “Hug me. I want you to hug me.”

And so it is.

I recently read a book that hypothesizes that our relationship with God is influenced by our primary love languages (which, for me, is words of affirmation and physical touch)…and considering that I am drawn to worship that is heavy in deep, rich words and liturgy, that God often speaks to me through tears, and that out of everything I could ask Jesus to do for me, a hug is my overwhelming answer…I believe that this hypothesis is true.

What about you? If Jesus were to ask you what he could do for you, then what would you answer? And does your answer fall in line with your love language? Please share.

Let Your God Love You

My clothes are back in my closet but the rest of the exiled stuff is still scattered on my floor.

My fifth and final load of belongings from SC is in the house but it is nowhere close to being settled.

My new computer battery has been ordered and my NC license has been secured.

My slightly wrecked car is no longer injured and is getting new tires, an alignment, and an oil change tomorrow.

I forgot how to play one of my songs in front of 300 teenagers yesterday but managed to work the mess-up into my talk.

My nephew has pneumonia but we still had a lovely time playing with his sister today.

I’m going to my favorite place in the world tomorrow and to visit my grandmother next week.

But I am tired. I am so very tired.

And a friend who recently betrayed me and cut me off is pressing heavily on my heart and mind today.


As I sat down to write today’s note, not knowing what I was going to write, I looked at the bulletin board above my desk—one thing that IS in decent shape—and saw the poem that I was meant to post. I didn’t write it. At the moment I can’t even remember where I found it. In a book somewhere. I can tell that much by the page number and font. But I want to share it with you now…because I have a feeling I’m not the only one who needs to hear it.

Be silent,
Be still.
Alone.
Empty
Before your God.
Say nothing.
Ask nothing.
Be silent.
Be still.
Let your God
Look upon you.
That is all.
God knows
And understands.
God loves you with
An enormous love.
Wanting only to
Look upon you
With Love.
Quiet
Still.
Be.

Let your God—
Love you.

I think I’ll go do that now. Will you join me?

When The Closet Comes Crashing Down

My parents and I were watching TV last Sunday night when we heard a huge crash upstairs. Upon walking up to see what had fallen, I found my closet in complete disarray. After working for a week to get my things settled after moving back from South Carolina, I found myself staring at my work lying in shambles—everything I’d done in my closet undone thanks to a shelf falling out of the wall. I guess after sixteen years of holding stuff, the shelf got tired.

As my mom and I slowly began to go through the mess the next day, I found myself remembering a November day in 2006 when I was staring at a similar mess—only the shelf in the closet hadn’t collapsed—my friend Kay had simply been too sick to put her belongings away…and from what I saw, Kay had been sick for a long time.

Kay was a teacher’s assistant in a special needs classroom, a music minister at a local church, a cat owner, and a dear friend to many. Based off of the condition of her apartment when she died, Kay gave everything she had to the world and then came home and collapsed. Domestic chores were evidently the least of Kay’s concerns. Why deplete energy on self when it could be spent on others?

The stuff from my closet is sitting on my floor, waiting to go either back into the closet, to a different part of the house, or to a local thrift shop. The stuff from Kay’s closet was all discarded because the condition of her belongings was too bad to give away. To this day, the smell of Lysol reminds me of the hours spent sorting through Kay’s closet, wishing that she’d not been too selfless to ask for help while she was still alive.

There were periods of Kay’s life when she was unemployed. There were times in her life when the next step in ministry was unclear—times in her life when the ministry had hurt her. But in those moments, Kay kept going. She kept believing. She kept giving. And she kept trusting that good would come…because she believed that God is good.

I don’t know if Kay cleaned during those times—if, in the midst of uncertainty, Kay tried to create order and certainty through watching what was once dirty become clean. But I know that that’s what I’m doing these days. And that my muscles are sore from washing windows. And that I’m not afraid to ask for help. And that Kay’s life and death continue to influence me in ways I never imagined…like in speaking to me through the closet…especially when the closet comes crashing down.

What Do You Think? Observations From The State Fair

You’re on your way to the fair, listening to the Christian radio station, when a political add comes on. The candidate ends his message with the statement, “I paid for this commercial with MY money that I earned from MY business that I started over 20 years ago.”

What do you think?

1) This is how it should be—politicians paying for their own adds—and people working for their own money and keeping it for themselves.

2) Good. I’m glad he paid for his own add. But if I understand the Christian story correctly, then nothing that we have is ours, but God’s. And what we do have should be freely offered back to God in thanksgiving and sacrifice, for meeting our basic needs and for meeting the needs of others—especially the poor and widowed. This candidate sounds a bit too proud of HIS resources—especially to be on the Christian radio station.

You’re at the fair and you observe that everyone wearing one political party’s stickers is Caucasian American while persons wearing the other political party’s stickers represent a more culturally diverse portion of America, though the majority is African American.

What do you think?

1) This makes perfect sense.

2) There is something majorly wrong with this picture.

Still at the fair, you’re standing by a political party’s booth waiting for the rest of your family to catch up with you. You have your two young children with you. You’re wearing the political party’s main sticker when someone wearing the opposing political party’s stickers walks by and pretends to shoot you through your sticker—which happens to be near your heart. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t laugh. He just air shoots and keeps on going.

What do you think?

1) That man was joking with me, silly jokester.

2) That man just pretended to shoot me because I was wearing a sticker he didn’t like. He didn’t know me from anyone, yet he pretended to shoot me in front of my children because I hold a differing opinion.

3) That man really doesn’t like my sticker or what my sticker stands for. His shooting motion had nothing to do with me but with my sticker.

4) That man was reaching out to gesture agreement through the “you got it right” point when he realized our stickers were different, so he folded his thumb and took down his hand and continued to walk.

You leave the fair glad that you went but sad for what you have seen.

What do you do?

1) Forget about it and move on. There’s nothing you can do anyway.

2) Weep and pray:

Almighty God, who has given us this good land for our heritage: We humbly beseech you that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of your favor and glad to do your will. Bless our land with honorable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance; and from every evil way. Defend our liberties and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought here out of many tribes and tongues. Fill with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to your law, we may show forth your praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in you to fail; all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (adapted from Book of Common Prayer, Prayer for Our Nation)

In The Presence of Enemies

I went to hear one of my friends preach yesterday. As always, her sermon was well put together and both challenged and encouraged me. The only problem was that I went to church unprepared and therefore could not follow along with the words of scripture. Because of this, and because I remembered the reference to the focal passage, I decided to read the passage in the style of Lectio Divina when I got home—slowly, openly, repeatedly, with the intention of hearing what God had to say through the words of scripture alone.

The passage is a familiar one. But yesterday, I heard God say some unfamiliar things…and I want to share those with you now...not from an academic, poetic analysis standpoint, but from the standpoint of being on a faith journey and seeking God's spirit along the way.
The words of scripture will be in regular print. My thoughts will be in italics.

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
• Even without a job, I really don’t lack anything. I have everything I need for today, and I believe that God will guide me to what I need for tomorrow.

2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name’s sake.
• These are action verbs here—makes me lie down, leads, refreshes, guides—and they’re all positive verbs that have a creative spirit—they all have something to do with goodness—with calm—with peace—with hope. God is a God who specializes in providing periods of restoration and silence. In this world that is saturated by media—that makes 15 televisions per restaurant, including televisions in bathrooms, the norm—God is guiding us to green pastures, quiet waters, and lit paths—because that is who God is.

4 Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
• We walk through so many deaths—not just the final death of the human body—but the death of hopes, dreams, relationships, churches, institutions, partnerships, jobs, careers, memories, counseling relationships, and more. Life is full of deaths and we all must walk through the valley of the shadow of death many times…yet…it’s just the shadow of death…and shadows cannot consume us…and valleys are always surrounded by peaks…peaks that we’re walking toward.

I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
• God is with me. Even now. Even in uncertainty. God is with me. God is with us! And God is bigger than fear.

your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
• The writer seems to be talking about the presence of the rod and staff here. It doesn’t sound like he’s talking about the use of them. Or maybe he is. I don’t know. But what if it’s just their presence—the knowledge that defense is there if he needs it—that comforts him? He used action verbs in verses 2-3— God made, led, refreshed, and guided—but here he doesn’t use an action verb. He simply states that the rod and staff—the possibility of defense and rescue—give him comfort. So it’s not super hero God, swooping down to rescue the writer from all harm, but it’s ever present, steady God, there to protect and guide when the writer gets himself into a really bad situation.

5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
• In the presence of my enemies. Not separate. Not away from. Not isolated from. Not cut off from. But in the presence of my enemies. You prepare a table—a place of fellowship, communion, hospitality—a place to gather and share life. You prepare a table in the presence of my enemies. With them. Alongside them. In the midst of them. Wow. Maybe my call to the middle isn’t so crazy after all.

You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
• I want my cup to overflow with your goodness and love, God.

6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.
• After walking through deaths and eating at the table with enemies, goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life. There’s the peak. There’s what’s through it. There’s the promise of what will always come—goodness and love—they are following me—surrounding me—being steady by my side—and they are the essence and hope of dwelling in the house of the Lord forever.

Thank you, God. Thank you. And not just for me. But for everyone who believes. Amen.

Brother- and Sisterhood of Weary Souls

“Hey, fiend.”
“Oops. I forgot the R.”
“Hey . I figured that much. I just laughed.”
“I needed that laugh, too.”
“How are you?”
“I’m exhausted.”

Such is the conversation that I have had with so many of my friends lately (minus the fiend part that I find really funny! ):

• New moms trying to adjust to motherhood while seeking to successfully juggle all of their other hats.
• Persons with established careers seeking new employment after losing their jobs.
• College students burning both ends of the wick in order to complete assignments, attend jobs, be good family members, and participate in extra-curricular activities.
• Ministers dealing with brokenness, disease, death, and depression while trying to stay in tune to God’s call for God’s people and be God’s prophetic voice.
• Families trying to get settled after major moves across the country.
• Young adults living in fear of being rejected were they to come out.
• Persons trying to keep up the façade of being okay when really they’ve been deeply hurt and betrayed and/or are carrying large amounts of grief.
• Husbands and wives struggling to hold their marriages together.
• Employees trying to live up to the constant demands of their employers.
• Bosses trying to keep their companies afloat.
• Senior adults adjusting to retirement.
• Young couples trying to hold to hope after years of infertility.
• Adult children taking care of aging parents while seeking to successfully juggle all of their other hats.

So many people are exhausted.

There are so many layers of exhaustion.

And I just don’t think that life is supposed to be this way.

Oh God of Rest and Giver of Peace, grant us rest and peace in the midst of this chaotic world. When the world says no, give us the courage to say yes to moments of self-care and silence that are crucial to our souls. You say to come to you when we are weak and heavy laden, so I come to you now, oh God, on behalf of the brother- and sisterhood of weary souls…of which I am part. Amen.

Power In A Name

I took a car load of stuff to Goodwill last Wednesday.

As I drove up to the drop off site, I was greeted by a weary Goodwill worker. She rolled out a large cart into which we loaded my stuff. I talked to her about what I was donating but she didn’t really make an effort to respond.

When we finished unloading the car, I said, smiling, “Have a good weekend…What’s your name anyway?”

She said her name but I didn’t understand her. “Vanessa?” I said.

She said her name again but I still didn’t understand her. “Tressa?” I said.

She said her name one more time and I finally got it. “Cresa! How do you spell that.”

“C-r-e-s-a. It’s short for Lacresa but it’s easier to just go by Cresa,” she said.

“Well, have a good weekend, Cresa,” I said.

Smiling, with a complete change of body language and attitude, she said, “You too. What’s your name?”

I told her my name and that I’d try to have a good weekend, that I’d be moving to NC and that it’d be busy. We talked a bit about where I was moving and what I’d be doing and the conversation was nice…but only after I’d asked Cresa her name.

There is power in a name.

There is power in looking someone in the eyes and asking her name.

There is power in looking someone in the eyes, speaking her name, and seeing her.

Oh God…help me to see people…and love people…and call them by name…like you have called me by name. Amen.

Mmmbye Bye

I called my grandmother today.

Every once in awhile, I like to call and say, “Hey G-mama!” and hear her say, “Well hey, honey!”

Then we talk for awhile—about what I’ve been doing or what I have coming up—about how she’s feeling and what she’s eaten—about how and what everyone else in the family is doing—etc.

Whenever she’s ready to get off the phone, sometimes after 5 minutes, sometimes after 45, G-mama begins wrapping up the conversation—you know the its-time-for-the-end-of-the-conversation-rhythm—and I prepare myself for what always brings me a smile. Our conversations always end the same way:

I say, “I love you, G-mama.”

She says, “I love you, too, honey. Mmmbye bye.”

And I smile and say, “Bye :-).”

It’s the "mmmbye bye," with a slightly higher pitched second bye, followed by a return to the original pitch before the word is finished, that gets me. It’s very sweet. Very unique. Very G-mama. And, in the midst of my packing/unpacking/moving exhaustion, I’m glad that I was able to hear it and smile today.

PS. I’ll be saying "mmmbye bye" to SC very early Saturday morning. I have some nephews to surprise at Tweetsie Railroad.

The Trophy File

Words are very powerful to me. Both good words and bad. Silence is very powerful to me, too. Yet I realize that silence is sometimes exactly what is needed.

Over the years, I have collected a “trophy file” of words that have wounded me in some way. I suppose that there is irony in calling it a trophy file; however, I do believe the words to be trophies—markers of the learning that has come through stupidity and mistakes, the healing that has come through time, and the redemption that has come only through the love of God.

I admit that I do think with my emotions. It’s how my brain is wired. The most important thing in the world to me is harmony in relationships—peace—connectedness—healthy closure—things between people being right--love--I love so deeply that it's ridiculous. I filter all information through this lens. Unless I stop and make myself do otherwise, I make all decisions through this lens. As such, I need people who are honest with me and who think differently than me to balance me out. I also need to be reminded that stepping back and letting time and silence take their course is sometimes the only thing that I can do. After all, relationships—no matter what kind—are always two sided.

Below are some of the words from my trophy file. You’ll notice the year I received the words and the current status of the friendship. You’ll see that while not every broken relationship has healed, many of them have—if not to the point of active friendship then to the point of peace on a spiritual level that I see in my dreams.

As I sit in Asheville with a friend today, a friend whose friendship began fifteen years ago and has weathered the course of time, I am grateful for the people in my life—past, present, and future—for the opportunity to know and to be known—even when it includes the stinging reality of hurt—and for the ability to love with God’s love—that is always willing to welcome someone home.

1999: “I don’t want to see you, talk to you, or hear from you ever again.”
Current Status: Friends on Facebook. Made peace a few years ago online. Friendship of mutual respect and concern for one another’s lives.

2004: “I will not endure any more from you.”
Current Status: Not in contact, though we did run into one another in 2010 and have a peaceful conversation.

2006: “I would ask you to respect, from now on, my request that you allow me to be the one to initiate contact with you, and that you do not e-mail, text, IM, call, or visit unless I do so first, without exception. Thank you in advance for not contacting me again.”
Current Status: Not in contact. At all. Five years and counting.

2007: “How can I not be angry with you, yet still have no desire to have a friendship with you? I have not figured out how to want to maintain a friendship with someone for whom I have no respect.”
Current Status: Not in contact, though ran into one another in 2011 and spoke awkwardly. Completely blocked from Facebook (as in I know she has a FB page, but to me she does not exist.)

2008: “I don't want you to contact me in any shape or form. I don't want our friendship to get any worse than it already is.”
Current Status: Very good friends. In real life and on Facebook. Made peace through time, honesty, and conversations in person and online.

2010: “You might believe in me, but I lost all respect for you a long time ago.”
Current Status: Friends on Facebook. The friendship is still rocky but it is one of ultimate care and support.

2012: “If you needed someone to trust, then you chose the right person. I love you.”
Current Status: No longer friends. Sudden cut off. No words. Less than 24 hours after normal conversation, completely blocked from Facebook and the ability to text or call. I received no explanation whatsoever.

2012: “You think with your emotions. To me, emotions cause irrational decisions and irrational logic because they change based on circumstance. If I don't trust your thinking, then I won't want your insight (which I've deemed unstable in my mind).
Current Status: Friends. In real life and on Facebook…even though the friendship challenges both of us.

God, thank you for granting us the messy beauty of relationship…and for sticking with us through thick and thin. I love you. You are steady and faithful, even when this world is not. Amen.

These Crying Eyes

As I write this note tonight, my eyes are crying quiet, steady tears. I just told my bowling team goodbye, and that goodbye signaled the true beginning to the end of my time in South Carolina. I’ve been saying goodbye for the past few weeks, gradually packing things up and letting things go, but the whole time I’ve known that I’d see my bowling team again tonight.

For almost every Thursday night of the past three years, I have bowled with Bob, Mel, and Laurie. Our team mom, Mary Ellen, has been with us most nights, cheering us on, and our team brother, Kevin, has been our faithful substitute when we could not bowl. We have had good nights and bad nights. Nights of laughing so hard that we could not speak. Nights of finishing early and nights of finishing late. Days in tournaments when our only goal was to bowl “average or above.” Days of wins and days of losses. Days of wearing out bowling shoes and wearing in new balls. Hours of watching bowling form and naming our opponents with appropriate names. And tonight, for the first and last time ever, we had a frame in which the whole team got a strike. I presented Coach Bob with an antique pewter bowling plaque after this moment occurred!

My eyes are tired. They are tired from two good days. Days where they have seen:

A surprised look on the McDonalds drive-thru worker’s face after I told him he smelled good.
A group of children enjoying a well-done children’s play that starred one of my dearest friends.
A sincere car appraiser whose goal was to make my post-fender-bender experience as pleasant as possible.
One of the best zoo visits of my life, during which the animals were super active and I ran into Christine the 77-year-old zoo volunteer with a cool British accent. Christine and I walked together for at least an hour and talked about the animals and life and how she lived in Africa for 12 years, writing for documentaries. She also worked for NPR for a few years. The brown bears swam, walked, jumped, pooped, peed, and sat up. The koala bears were awake and one of them was eating. The gorilla was splayed out for the world to see. And the siamongs were singing. It was all quite amazing.
A confused massage therapist’s face when I told her that my right butt cheek could make my left arm-pit numb.
Two beautiful friends for coffee.
One disorganized mess of finances become organized.
My counselor for the last time.
One amazing friend and her loving husband in a lovely park on her birthday.
The difference in the Moe’s dinner crowd between 5:15 and 6:00pm.
The rundown comfort and familiarity of AMF Park Lanes.
The final Thursday night journey home from the bowling alley, at the end of which I greet my beautiful lake.

I think I will put my happily sad, joyfully mourning, gratefully grieving eyes to bed now. The end of my time in South Carolina is drawing near, and the mixture of emotions coupled with the physical labor of moving is going to leave me needing all the rest I can get.

God, thank you for eyes to see, ears to hear, and a bed in which to rest. Help me, now, to rest. Amen.

Rule Breaker

Sometimes, I break the rules.

For instance, the instructions I received this weekend were to write, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

Instead, I wrote, “You are there.”

Both phrases are from Psalm 139.

But right now, at this time in my life, “You are there” are the words that speak most to me.

God is there. Through darkness. Through light. Through good times. Through bad. Through days of work. Through days of unemployment. Through days of struggle. Through days of plenty. Through days of friendship. Through days of betrayal. God is there.

And I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Even if I do break the rules.

Waiting With Open Arms

Today’s question of the day: If you could live the life of any Bible character for one week, then who would you choose? Do you have a particular week in mind?

My answer: The father in the story of the prodigal son…the week that the prodigal son comes home.

Other than Jesus himself, the father in this story is probably the most influential Bible character in my life. His love let his son go, realizing that he couldn’t keep him there, but never let him wander far from his heart or the hope of reconciliation and redemption. The father continued with his life. He took care of his responsibilities and remaining family yet looked down the road each day, praying for his son “to come to himself” and realize that he could come home. His father only wanted his son to come home. He only wanted to hold him in his arms and let him know that he was loved.

I want my love to be like the father’s. Steady. Hopeful. Believing. Forgiving. Unwavering. Always.

You came into my life and gave me a new song
We were very best of friends but then something went wrong
I compromised what’s right, didn’t always stand for Christ
And it hurts, life without you hurts

But without you I see what true love is meant to be
Not a game we’re meant to win, but a path we have to walk
Just like the Father of the son, waited with open arms
To embrace the hurt, he embraced the hurt

So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in anger, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and I bless your name
I give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust his hand, to take your hand
Because I can’t

If I’ve had a thousand friends, I’m lucky to have one
Whose light won’t fade away with the setting of the sun
But as the days come and go, we change as we grow
Though it hurts, growing apart hurts

But grasping to a string in the cold, dark, stale air
It won’t get you very far, it won’t get you anywhere
It’s crying out in the night and standing for what is right
That’ll heal the hurt, it’ll heal the hurt

So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in anger, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and I bless your name
I give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust his hand, to take your hand
Until I can

Energy Level Of A Slug

My mom said it would be a good title for a book. Since I’m not writing a book, I decided to make it the title for today’s note. Because it’s true. I have the energy level of a slug.

The past weeks’ whirlwind withstanding, being sick has sucked the life out of me. My body has lain down its emphatic statement, “Slow down. Rest. You’re pushing me too hard. I’m not a fan of the pace you’re making me keep.”

And so. I’ve slowed to the pace of a slug and I have a bit of whiplash.

I’ll recover soon. I’ve been faithfully taking my medicine and resting. I have a big pile of mess upstairs that I must unpack and figure out where to place. I have an apartment to move out of in South Carolina :-(. I have a lot of grief to work through. I have a retreat to plan. I have some massages to receive. I have a call to discern. I have a life to plan. I have a play to see. I have legs to shave. I have a dog to bathe. I have friends to see.

Like I said. I’ll recover soon. I hope. But for now, I have the energy level of a slug. I’m just glad that I’m not slimy and that I have hands and feet.

In The Stirring, There Is Love

I don’t understand God. Really. I don’t. And I guess that’s okay. I guess what matters is that I love God and am willing to trust in this Life-Force so much bigger than myself.

For awhile now, I’ve carried a sense of restlessness deep inside. It’s a feeling that’s difficult to describe but one that’s very real and powerful—a stirring of sorts—an anticipation—a loneliness that will not subside—a question of if there is something more—a yearning for peace that cannot be quenched.

A few weeks ago, I scratched out a simple prayer so that I could see it. “Help.” Songs and psalms and other words of scripture played through my head as I cried out to God that night, but the one word that kept coming back was help. Help me, God. Help me in my work. Help me in my friendships. Help me be a good family member. Help me share your love. Help me rest in what I have instead of longing for something more. Help me fall into a community where I can live and serve and find purpose. Help me be myself. Help me to feel your love surrounding me rather than this loneliness within. Help me, God. Help.

Little did I know that my prayer would be answered so quickly and that the answer would be for me to enter into a time of focused discernment—a time of sabbatical and rest.

I told someone the other day that I’m taking a leap of faith and hoping to land safely on the other side. It’s odd to be taking this leap—having no idea where it ill lead—to school, to church, to chaplaincy, to something I cannot imagine? It’s odd to think of structures, routines, and plans all coming undone so that my life is a blank slate. It’s odd not knowing where money will come from or how I’ll be able to buy people gifts :-). Yet. I’ve always wanted to fly. And I know that my friends and family will not let me go hungry and that I have people praying for me whose prayers will not let me down.

I don’t understand God. Really. I don’t. But I understand love. And I know that love surrounds me today.

Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.

It’s unspoken understanding that transcends the what,
What filling the silence only as nervous energy drawn by
Connection too deep for words.
Beauty lives where senses are heightened and
Awareness of creation is so real that it dances a waltz for the very first time.
What fades into the background as
Sweet fragrance takes center stage and
Presence becomes undeniable.

Capture the moment in picture—
Oils or pastels or watercolors feverishly transforming canvas
From barren white to radiant color.

Capture the moment in song—
Harps or keys or drums bursting forth from soft rustle
Creating vibrations so simple and powerful that they invoke passionate tears.

Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.

Humility envelopes any thought of pride:
There is Love much bigger than life and
Love’s Peace decorates the world today.

Standing in the Downpour

I doubt Michael W. Smith meant a literal downpour when he wrote the song, “One More Time,” but I certainly did find myself standing in a downpour on Saturday afternoon. A simple trip down the steps to get my book bag turned into my jumping into the lake in the rain after I felt a beckoning to float on its waters.

After standing in the rain under a tree for about 10 minutes, I said, “I’m going in.” Don’t worry. I wasn’t completely irresponsible. I went upstairs and got my earplugs and went to the gazebo and got my floatation devices, and then I jumped in.

The rain stopped and started, sometimes barely falling, sometimes falling so hard that it bounced high off of the lake. As I lay back and floated, knowing that I was safely held, I thought the words to Michael’s song:

There always seems to be a door that you can't open
There always seems to be a mountain you can't climb
But you keep on reaching
You just keep on reaching

When your destiny is out there in the distance
But the road ahead's a mine field in disguise
And you keep on moving You Just keep on moving
You will make it through this
Just give it time You gotta give it time

This is what you're made for
Standing in the downpour
Knowing that the sun will shine
Forget what lies behind you
Heaven walks beside you
You got to give it one more try
One more time
You just keep on reaching
You just keep on, you keep on moving

When the shadows fall on everything you're dreaming
When the promises turn out to be a lie
You just keep believing
You just keep believing
Oh, don't stop your dreaming
It's gonna be alright

As I continued to lay suspended on water, raindrops falling on my face, I sang to myself:

What can wash away my sins?
Nothing by the love of Jesus.
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the love of Jesus.
Oh precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow
No other fount I know
Nothing but the love of Jesus

As water covered my body and I felt the water surrounding me, holding me, I prayed:

Create in me a clean heart oh God
And renew a right spirit within me
Cast me not away from thy presence O Lord
And take not thy Holy Spirit from me
Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation
And renew a right spirit within me

And as I “stood” in the downpour in total surrender, I said:

Therefore, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, whatever is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

This is what I’m made for. Standing in the downpour. Knowing that the sun will shine. And the sun did shine. And I returned to the lake to watch it set last night. And I kept believing. And I’ll keep believing. And I’ll give it one more try. One more time. Again and again. Amen and Amen.