Accidental Car Door Ding

My car door opened too quickly the other day 

And accidentally hit the side of the truck beside me. 

 

Thankfully, it was a white work truck that already had a wrecked front

Because it left a little ding. 

 

A man was in the truck and 

He unhappily looked at me and made an exasperated gesture. 

 

The man had just come out of the gun store 

With a new gun. 

 

I felt uneasy as I walked away and 

Hoped the man wouldn’t be waiting for me when I returned. 

 

He was still there when I walked back to my car. 

I didn’t make eye contact. 

 

I cautiously pulled away, 

Afraid he might follow me. 

 

As I drove down the road, 

I looked in my rear view mirror. 

 

Two cars back, 

There he was. 

 

Fearing road rage or being attacked when I got out of the my car, 

I pondered my options. 

 

Thankfully I was going to be driving awhile. 

And i was going to be arriving near a fire station. 

 

About five minutes into the drive, though,

The man slowed down and suspiciously turned around. 

 

I felt relieved. 

But I also felt sad that I had to consider plans for what to do with a man’s misplaced anger. 

 

I don’t want to live in fear,

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t carry the fear of guns and violence qnd rage and untreated mental illness and school shootings in my bones. 

 

We have a lot of work to do, friends.

We shouldn’t have to be afraid of accidentally dinging someone’s car door. 

 

We shouldn’t have to be afraid at all. 

Cowering in Fear

Don’t let her fool you. 

Annie is not a sweet cat. 

By all outward appearances, she appears sweet. 

She’s pretty and fluffy and soft and plump.

She even has moments where she’s very loving and 

Requests attention.

But in her nature is an attack cat.

I think her early days as a single, street mom were all about survival 

And I don’t think that three years of being the queen of the household has taken that out of her. 

 

On Sunday morning, I heard a skirmish. 

I knew it was the cats. 

Then I heard a bang. 

I knew that one of them had knocked something down.

I fell back asleep. 

When I got up, I noticed that the laundry basket was lying on the floor in the bathroom.

I remembered the earlier noises

At the same moment that I noticed a tail sticking out from behind the bathroom door.

Sigma was hiding behind the bathroom door, 

Cowering in fear.

 

I put the pieces together. 

Annie had chased Sigma upstairs. 

Sigma had tried to climb the laundry basket to get away from his attacker. 

The laundry basket had fallen and scared both cats. 

Sigma hid behind the bathroom door while Annie nonchalantly went and sat at the top of the stairs, 

Taking her place of authority 

And viewing her queendom. 

 

Feeling more secure with me in the room,

Sigma came out from behind the door and explored the bathroom.

A few moments later, I picked him up and carried him past Annie

So that he could be free from Annie’s jail.

 

I think sometimes we assume that people are nice, or doing okay,

Because outward appearances show us as much.

But, like Annie, insides are scarred by wounds,

Or simply a nature,

We just don’t see…

Until they say explode,

Fall apart,

Say something mean,

Or attack,

Literally or figuratively,

And leave us wondering what just happened.

 

I don’t want to be someone who doubts the authenticity of everyone and everything I see,

But I also don’t want to be someone who forgets that people and situations aren’t always as they appear.

 

I want to be someone who sees people for all of who they are—

Even when it’s hard—

And who knows how to respond to what I see.  

 

Sometimes with a love that stays—

Like my love for Annie.

Sometimes with a love that walks away.

Sometimes with a love that reports to DSS or CPS.

Sometimes with a love that fights back.

Sometimes with a love that goes to therapy.

Sometimes with a love that prays.

Sometimes with a love that harbors the refugee.

Sometimes with a love that sets one free,

Like I did with Sigma.

Sometimes with a love that chooses to put disbelief aside

And allows uncomfortable reality to settle in and

Grief to begin.

Sometimes with a love that simply cries.

 

Oh God: Give us the wisdom and discernment to know and love others for all of who they are…even if there are parts unseen…especially if there are parts unseen. Amen.

The Illness of Our Age

 

I was recently talking with a friend whose teenage kid struggles with anxiety.

He has major social anxiety that affects his interaction with peers.

She said that he sometimes couldn’t go on a walk with her

Without being on high alert for bears.

I asked if she meant literal or figurative bears.

She said both.

Literal bears could cross their path,

But the figurative bears of peers could cross their path as well.

 

Shortly after talking with her,

I received a text from another friend whose teenage kid struggles with anxiety.

The kid, weary from her struggles, had reached the point where she wanted medical help.

She was afraid, however, that she wouldn’t know how to function

If the medication took away the anxiety that had become her norm.

I told my friend that I completely understood, and

I shared the letter that I had written to my anxiety a few months ago.

 

A few days after that,

I was talking with Amelia The Niece about The Boxcar Children books.

I like listening to The Boxcar Children books because they always end well.

They provide just enough mystery to keep me engaged 

But enough predictability not to cause me major stress. 

That conversation led us to talk about 

Just how much times have changed since the books were written.  

There is an innocence to the books that doesn’t exist today.

Today, we question everything and imagine the worst in everyone and every situation.

Today, we live in a culture of fear. 

 

As I recounted these conversations to Joe The Counselor,

I went from being glad that I could provide Joe with an updated metaphor for anxiety–

A bear instead of a tiger–

To being amused at just how riled up Amelia got when talking about how Henry, the oldest Boxcar child, should have scouted out his grandfather before taking his younger siblings to live in the woods where they might not have been able to find food and water–

To being filled with emotion when talking about someone else being afraid of the void that would be left if anxiety disappeared. 

In fact, I was so full of emotion that I started crying uncontrollably and had to stop talking for a moment.

All of the compassion that had been building in me overflowed and I wept.

 

I wept for all who struggle with debilitating anxiety–

I wept for all who must watch persons struggling with debilitating anxiety–

I wept for all who struggle with fear–

I wept for all who must watch persons struggling with fear–

I wept for helpless–

I wept for overwhelmed–

I wept for sad–

I wept for abused–

I 

Just

Sat

And 

Wept.

 

When I finally caught my breath,

Joe asked how I felt.

I said I felt a little better…

But the anxiety for anxiety was still a weight in my chest.

 

Oh God: Anxiety is the illness of our age. So many of us walk around tense, shoulders up, afraid of bears, yet afraid to live without what we know. But you offer peace. Help us to find that peace, somehow, in the midst of it all. Help us to find rest, strength, and courage. And help us to be grateful for the persons in our lives who provide nourishment, safety, and comfort along the way. Thank you for those people, God. And thank you for therapy and medicine and all the tools you have given us to face the world. Amen. 

On Death and Dying

I had a rough night last night. Out of nowhere, thoughts of death and dying descended upon my mind and heart and I couldn’t shake them.

It’s not so much that I’m worried about my own death and dying—other than not wanting to die alone and not wanting to leave behind a mess of stuff for unknown loved ones to sort through.

It’s that I worry about the death and dying of those I love. I think about the holes that will be left behind. I fear the silence. I worry about the gut punches that will land every time a memory appears. I think about going through stuff. I think about holidays. I think about traditions. And I am overwhelmed by sadness.

I don’t know when these thoughts began to appear and sit on my chest like bricks. It may have been when I did my unit of chaplaincy and death and dying became so very real to me. It may have been long before.

Regardless, on nights like last night, when the bricks are piled high, I’m thankful that I can look up and see the image of Jesus carrying a man who is exhausted, worn out, and left with nothing to give. I’m thankful to know that Jesus is holding me, letting me cry, hearing my fears, and reminding me to breathe.

Help us all to breathe today, God. Literally and figuratively. And for those taking their final breaths in these days, surround them with your light and love and be peace that passes understanding. Amen.

Dispelling Darkness

I remember being afraid that I’d be judged—that people would say that my relationship with God wasn’t strong enough—that I didn’t need counseling but that I needed to “get right with the Lord.”

I remember shaking when I first asked for help—feeling vulnerable—weak—sick. I remember crying.

I remember feeling lost as I walked into counseling for the first time. I remember having no idea what to say or do. I remember sitting on the couch and feeling very weird. I remember spewing a whole bunch of things that were in my heart and on my mind. And I remember crying again…to a total stranger…who would come to be God’s Love and Light when I needed it most.

I have been in counseling for twelve years now, and I have seen three different therapists. There have been months when I’ve not seen anyone. Life has kept me away. But for the most part, I have been in counseling at least once a month for all of those twelve years—sometimes in crisis, most of the time in the normal rhythms of the life of one who struggles with anxiety and works in the helping professions—all the while in a safe space of no pretense—a container of holding for every part of my life—pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral.

Counseling has helped me understand God more fully and deeply. It has expanded my understanding of the Creator, made me more amazed at the Redeemer, and caused me to be ever more aware of the presence of the Sustainer. Trinity God is alive, active, and well, and counseling has helped me see and understand that much…all the while helping me to see and understand myself.

And yet…there is still such a stigma about counseling. There is still the belief that Christians (or strong people in general) shouldn’t need counseling—that if our relationship with God (or our family or friends) is strong enough then we shouldn’t need outside help—that if we just “get right with the Lord” then all will be well.

Well, friends, I’m here to tell you: That stigma is a dark, damning lie.

God has not called us to go at life alone. Instead, God has given us the ability to know that there are times when we must ask for and seek human help. As a result, God has given us family, friends, colleagues, church family, pastors, teachers, doctors, counselors, and other professionals to provide us with the help that we need.

Dear friends: Depression and anxiety are illnesses. They are very often brain chemical imbalances that need to be treated, and the best treatment is talk therapy (and oftentimes the addition of medication). We have no shame in treating most physical illnesses; therefore, we must stop shaming the reality of mental illnesses that are crippling millions of children, teenagers, and adults, and we must stop punishing ourselves by pretending that everything is alright when it so clearly is not.

May we be a people of Love and Light; telling our stories and dispelling the darkness of fear, shame, and lies; offering hope and giving permission to seek help to those who need it; and mustering the courage to ask for help when we ourselves need it most.

Amen?

And amen.

It's Time To Start Writing Again

For the past few weeks, I’ve had the privilege of worshipping with someone whom I’ve considered a mentor for many years. Mrs. Kathy is not only an elementary music teacher but also the minister of music at a local church, and she is the music teacher and minister that I strive to be. I admire her talent, her spirit, her humility, her shoes, and her heart for God…so to have the opportunity to make music with and learn from her has been an absolute privilege.

Yesterday, on a very rare Sunday, Mrs. Kathy was out of town. She trusted me to lead worship for her, and I’m so glad that she did. Yesterday’s sermon really spoke to me. Yesterday’s sermon is why I’m writing this note today.

The pastor said, “There are some of you here today who need to stop something. There are others of you who need to start something. Whatever it is that you need to stop or start, you need to do it right now.”

Well, friends. I was the “some of you” that fit into both categories. I needed to stop making excuses and start writing again—not for fame or fortune—but for me—for you—for anyone who might read whatever it is that pours from the fingers of my heart.

For years, I wrote every Monday and Thursday. No matter where I was. No matter what I was doing. No matter if I had internet access or not. I wrote. It was a discipline. And it left me with page upon page of stories, memories, struggles, and joys that I otherwise would have forgotten. But then I started graduate school and my writing fell out of rhythm. And that was two years ago.

There is no good reason that I didn’t start writing again after I finished my degree. I’ve thought about it many times—more times than I care to admit. I’ve convinced myself of the merits of the discipline and supported others who have desired to write. I just haven’t made myself sit down and write…because…well…I haven’t felt like I’ve had anything to say.

About a year ago, I first heard a song called “Fear Is A Liar.” I cried. Fear is liar and it had—has—been lying to me for a long time. I’ve overcome some of fear’s lies, but other lies still hold me in their clutch—like the lie that I have nothing to say. Everyone has something to say. Everyone has a story. And everyone’s story connects to everyone else’s story in some way because we are all on this human journey together. And yet…fear lies.

It’s time for me to stop believing fear’s lies—at least about my writing…and about one more thing:

I love to lead worship. I am so grateful that Mrs. Kathy has seen this truth in me and given me an opportunity to play alongside her. I love to lead retreats. I love to help with camps. I love being “Deanna Deaton, Retreat and Worship Leader,” and I want to be that person again. She has been hiding for years. The fears of not being good enough—of being seen but misunderstood—of being rejected—of being told that I am inferior because I am a woman—have kept me from pursuing that which I love the most: Writing. Leading. Music. Personality type. Love languages. Worship. Spiritual Formation.

I don’t know what God is nudging you to stop or start, friends—although I imagine that there is something--but as for me, God is nudging me to release my grip on these damning fears once and for all. It’s time to stop believing the lies, friends. It’s time to start writing again—not for fame or fortune—but for me—for God—for you—for anyone who might read whatever pours from the fingers of our hearts.

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Fear Is a Liar by Zach Williams

When he told you you're not good enough
When he told you you're not right
When he told you you're not strong enough
To put up a good fight

When he told you you're not worthy
When he told you you're not loved
When he told you you're not beautiful
That you'll never be enough

When he told you were troubled
You'll forever be alone
When he told you you should run away
You'll never find a home
When he told you you were dirty
And you should be ashamed
When he told you you could be the one
That grace could never change

Fear, he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
'Cause fear he is a liar

Let Your fire fall and cast out all my fears
Let Your fire fall Your love is all I feel…

No Fear Worm

This is what I see every morning when I come down the stairs: Marcenivo holding a sign that says “No Fear” and a yellow worm shining bright in colorful, abstract forest.

The titles of these words, respectively, are “No Place For You Here” and “Worm Shining Bright In The Forest In The Night.”

The artists are, respectively, Fabio Napoleoni and Dr. Suess.

The print mediums are, respectively, paper and wooden puzzle.

The purchase places are Fascination St. Fine Art in Denver, Colorado, and Gallery of Fine Art in Wilmington, NC.

The pieces were framed, respectively, by Nick and Steve at Hobby Lobby in Sanford, NC, and by Deanna and Sandra at home with a frame ordered directly from the puzzle company, Liberty Puzzles.

Not much is the same about these pieces. And yet they both set the tone of my day:

Live with no fear, Deanna. There is no fear in love. And be a worm shining bright in the dark in the night. Even in the middle of the day.

May they set the tone of your day, too, friends. Let’s be fearless, glowing worms together!

Giving Voice To Fear

Well. Having no voice is turning out to be a interestingly frustrating experience. I lost my voice walking around Highland last Monday, but it didn’t come back while I walked around Highland today.

Two half days last week; an early incorporation of videos that I usually don’t teach with until much later; a guest speaker; no singing at all—even at choir practice or during Sunday morning worship; no extracurricular activities that would tempt me to use my voice; an entire day in bed reading on Saturday—with my eyes!; a vaporizer, essential oils, pain medication, anti-inflammatory medicine, cold medication, nasal spray, hot tea, cold tea, lemon, honey, cloves, and water later…I still don’t have a voice.

And I don’t mean that my voice sounds weak. I truly don’t have a voice unless I force out sound by pushing my diaphragm as hard as I can—and I know that this is not good for me.

This started as my normal cold two Friday nights ago—sore throat, runny nose, hopes for one clear nostril to sleep, eventually into a little cough. But it settled on my vocal chords last Monday and decided not to move. I haven’t been to the doctor. Laryngitis can normally last one to two weeks. But I fear that a trip to the doctor is in store if things don’t clear up soon.

If I’m honest, then I must admit losing my voice is one of my biggest fears. Truly losing it. Have a vocal cord rupture or paralyze. Having nodes or nodules. Having to have a scope inserted down my throat so that doctors can see what’s going on. I gag just thinking about it.

One of my music teacher colleagues showed us the procedure where doctors looked at her vocal cords. While it was sort of neat to see the vocal cord vibrate—and only one vibrated because the other was so enlarged—it made me a little sick watching the scope get to where the camera could see. My colleague had to go on vocal rest for an entire month. Not just teaching vocal rest. Everything vocal rest. Home. Church. Grocery store. The North Carolina Symphony. Everywhere. I remember it vividly. She wore a button that something like, “Please excuse me for not speaking. The doctors have me on vocal rest.” Vocal rest, folks, means any type of sound from the mouth—whispering included. Having to be wise about my words this week, I’ve imagined what it must have been like for my colleague…and what I’ve imagined has been awful.

So I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned that the same was going to happen with me. I hope it won’t. I hope that this is just a bought of laryngitis and that it will clear up in due time. I hope that this is a wake-up call that one of my biggest fears could come true if I don’t take better care of my voice. How many teachers actually do take care of their voices, though? I can’t think of many. My colleague does. She must. She knows the consequence.

I was supposed to sing at a revival last night. I played piano and horn instead. I am thankful for a mom who could go with me and save my musical butt. I’m supposed to lead my graduate school class in a song for our group presentation next week. What happens if I still can’t sing? I’m thankful that I found a singer in my group at revival last night; she was leading the praise songs. But still. That’s my job. My duty. I don’t want to let the group down. I don’t want to let my students down either. I have too much that I want to teach. Not long lectures. But questions. Guidelines. Suggestions. Encouragement. I had a kid tell me last week that students in her class were laughing at me when I made the morning announcements because I sound so ridiculous. I don’t want to sound ridiculous. I don’t want kids to laugh at me. But I can’t even use my voice to explain that laughing at people whose voice is different doesn’t show kindness or respect. I feel like I’d be wasting my words. And when you’re afraid that your vocal cords are dying, every word counts.

I am a teacher. I teach music. I am a music minister and worship leader. I lead music. I am a minister. I share words. I am an extravert. I thrive off of conversation. Yet all of that is stunted with no voice. And when I’m teaching my students about the four different ways they can use their voices, I can only actually properly demonstrate one.

Though it may not seem as such, I don’t write this to sound pitiful. I know that having no voice is such a minor thing compared to so many others. I know that woe-is-not-me. But I needed to confess a fear that I’ve been afraid to admit. I needed to cry these tears and pray this prayer that only confession and admission of fear can pray.

God, in this forced quiet, help me to listen more, to be more creative, to learn anew the power of words, and to find the voice that exists beyond inflamed vocal cords. I love you. And I’m really trying to not let fear and frustration spin out of control. Amen.

Fury

My first upside down roller-coaster was the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds. I was at Carowinds with my youth group from Tabor City Baptist City Church. That same day was the same day that I learned never to wear jeans shorts to an amusement part. Wet jeans from water rides. Walking around all day. Let’s just say that it’s not a good idea!

I revisited the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds on Saturday. I rode in the front car. The ride was a bit jerkier than the newer coasters, but it is still a fun ride. And I’m not so sure that I’d have had the courage to ride it again had I not been gently coerced onto the Fury 325 as soon as I arrived at the park.

For those of you who don’t know, the Fury 325 is the World’s tallest and fastest giga coaster. It is 325 feet high, has an 81 degree angle of descent, and travels approximately 95 mph. The track is quite intimidating as it towers over the rest of the park and the super-long line is quite daunting. Yet it was that super-long line that gave me the space to find the courage to actually ride.

Folks: I am not a young whipper-snapper anymore. I get dizzy if I spin around with my students just once and I get motion sick if I even think about reading while riding in a car or doing anything while riding on a boat. My bones are starting to ache and my family medical history is starting to become my medical history and, before Saturday, I genuinely wasn’t sure if I would be able to ride roller coasters anymore—and that was a very sad thought to me—because my nephews love roller coasters—and I do, too, truth be told.

So…when I got to Carowinds on Saturday and I saw the Fury 325, I immediately snapped a picture, sent it to my mom, and said, “I’m thinking about making Jack proud.” Jack is my oldest nephew who currently wants to be a roller coaster designer and operator. By the time my mom wrote me back and said that she hoped I wasn’t thinking about it too seriously, I was able to immediately respond, “I DID IT! IT WAS AWESOME!” Shortly after that, my sister-in-law wrote me and told me that Jack was super impressed. I felt as if all of my worldly goals had been accomplished in that moment!

Once I made it down that crazy steep drop and realized that I wasn’t going to die, I embraced my inner child, screamed super loud, and released my hands from the safety bars to pretend like I was flying. I did this on every ride that I rode and I rode every ride that I could ride and I would have ridden more had the park not closed. Needless to say, after overcoming what had become a really huge fear, I had a really great time at Carowinds.

Yesterday at church, Mister Pastor Patrick reiterated a point that I think we too often forget: It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. If we look at the story of God and God’s people, then we see God’s desire for this freedom: freedom from death, freedom from slavery, freedom from fear, freedom from anything that separates us from the love and goodness of God.

I suppose it may seem like a stretch to connect a fear of roller coasters to God. After all, roller coaster riding is a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure. And yet…the fear that I felt as I stood in line to ride the Fury 325 was so much bigger than a roller coaster. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of getting older—of losing my abilities to do things I love. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being able to breathe—of the anxiety and panic that come with the feeling of not being able to catch a good breath. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being good enough for my nephews—of disappointing them because I couldn’t do an activity that they hold dear to their hearts. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of looking stupid—of having heads turn toward me in sympathy should I get sick.

I spoke about these fears with the friends who were with me. And I wrote about these fears with my youth minister who wasn’t able to attend Carowinds that day. I asked her to pray for me—as stupid as that sounded—after all, I was going on a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure—and she did. And I felt those prayers. And I celebrated with my friends as I walked off that ride having overcome my fears.

It’s hard to know exactly what Jesus would do if he were around today, but part of me thinks that he’d have been in line to ride roller coasters with my friends and me, and part of me thinks that he’d really like them. I guess that’s why I found it so easy to imagine him with me and to hear him say, “It is for freedom that I have set you free, Deanna. Not to do ridiculously stupid things that will inevitably hurt you or others but to do things that will allow you to grow and trust and to have faith and believe and to allow you to live life to the fullest—in me—who has set you free. These fears that are binding you are bigger than this roller coaster—they are fears not of God—they are paralyzing you—but you can overcome them. Today. I am with you. Today. I will not forsake you. Today. Tomorrow. And in all the days to come.”

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free, friends.
And it is for overcoming damning fears that God cheers with Fury.

No More Fear

Fear is a powerful thing.
Sometimes it motivates.
Most of the time it paralyzes.
Sometimes we choose to face our fears.
Most of the time our fears unwantedly chase us.
Fear is real.
Fear is deep.
Fear is not logical.
Fear makes way too much sense.
Fear is a powerful thing.

God help us overcome the chains that bind—
The known, the unknown, the understood, the misunderstood,
The knowledgeable, the ignorant, the tangible, what we cannot see.
Help us live in the truth that
“There is no fear in love,
For perfect love drives out fear,”
Suddenly, gradually,
When we’re ready, when we’re not.

Fear is a powerful thing.
But not as powerful as Love.

Defining Moments: That Which We Cannot Control

I knew I was in trouble when I caught myself thinking, “I want to go to church tomorrow. I don’t want to miss the pastor’s sermon.”

Confession: Sometimes minister’s kids and/or ministers themselves—or at least this one—find themselves at church more out of obligation, expectation, or guilt than true desire. After working in full-time ministry in SC for a couple of years, I found myself somewhat burned out on church—or at least the Baptist church—and I was quietly determined to spend my Sundays elsewhere.

Then Patrick showed up. And more than once his words moved me to tears. And more than once I came home from church feeling as if God had spoken directly to me. And more than once I was curious to know what he would say next…until, all of a sudden, though I guess it wasn’t so sudden at all, I caught myself wanting to go to church—looking forward to it even—and I realized that my plan to jump Baptist ship had been sunk.

During Sunday’s sermon, Patrick presented the idea that fear comes from that which we cannot control. As such, the older we get and the more we realize just how much we are not in control, the more fear seems to paralyze us.

I’ve been thinking about that idea all week.
And I wanted to write it down tonight.
And I needed to further confess that while there is much that I fear in life,
I am learning to say,
Just as Mary once said,
“Here am I, the servant of the Lord;
let it be with me according to your word...”
Even if it means that I’m not in control.

Holy Cow Exploding Sunroof

Dee’s car
Gigi The White Ant
2000 Toyota Avalon
262,000+ miles
No sunroof

Dad’s car
The Highlander
2013 Toyota Avalon
22,000 miles
Sunroof

-----

January 2013
Caraway Retreat Center
Introduced to a new game: iAssociate
The weekend changed my life

June 2013
Mom’s 70th Birthday Party
Mom given a nice gift: mini iPad
Dee introduces mom to iAssociate

-----

July 2014

Remember that time you were driving 70mph down Interstate 95 and your sunroof exploded?

Friend: Holy cow! Are you guys okay?

Me: Yes. It sounded like an exploding gun! We looked at each other like, “What was that?!” The car was driving fine, so I didn’t think it was a tire. The windshield was in tact. The roof was in tact. But then I heard a wind sound from above, so I cracked the sunroof lid and saw glass shards. I said, “The sunroof exploded!” Then we heard little pieces of glass flying behind us. Mom said, “We should have taken your car!”

Friend: Holy cow!!!

Me: Yeh. I was just driving along. Mom and I were trying to think of a seven letter word associated with both “golf” and “green” that started with B. We later figured out it was bunker. Ha. We were playing iAssociate.

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So what does one do when one’s sunroof explodes?

Wonder no longer:
• Clean up the glass shards as soon as possible. If you are able to go home, then go home and use the shop-vac that you should have either in your garage or somewhere where you can easily access it. Every home should have a shop-vac. If you are on a long road trip, then heed your brother’s advice and find a gas station with a pay-as-you-go vacuum cleaner. Chip off and get rid of as many loose pieces of glass as you can. Be careful not to cut your hand. If you cut your hand, use your car’s first-aid kit to tend your wound.
• Park your car under a carport or in a garage if possible. If not, cover the gaping hole in your car’s head with a tarp or plastic table cloth in case of rain, tropical storm/hurricane, or climbing cat. Secure the cover in the doors of your vehicle.
• Do not contact the car dealership. Though this is becoming a growing problem, car companies are not treating this as an issue for recall or factory fix. Instead, contact your insurance company and file a glass claim.
• Be prepared to pay your deductible directly to your insurance company. Most companies will accept most major credit or debit cards. Then be grateful that you have insurance because the total price of sunroof replacement is at least $1000. Also be prepared with a mom or a psychic to answer your dad’s insurance company security questions in case your dad is in Armenia and has absolutely no idea that his sunroof has exploded and that he has filed a claim.
• Follow your insurance company’s procedures for glass replacement. For example: after fifty minutes on the phone, Matt from Michigan connected me with a lovely sunroof replacement shop in Jacksonville. He over-night shipped the glass piece to James from Jacksonville and James from Jacksonville replaced the sunroof in fifteen minutes. He said that he replaces 7-10 busted sunroofs per month. His coverage area is from Savannah, GA to Gainsville, FL. Both Matt from Michigan and James from Jacksonville were very friendly and lovely to work with. Hope that you are able to work such helpful people during your sunroof explosion emergency.

-----

The Highlander is officially out of the bunker, folks.

But holy cow.

I am now quite afraid of sunroofs and
glad that Gigi The White Ant does not have one and
more grateful than ever to have the
ability, opportunity, resources, support, and freedom to
fix what I know to be a first-world problem
in a society where there are ever increasing third-world needs.

Love Conquers...

Sometimes things just happen. Such was the case with the harmony part to one of my songs many years ago. To this day, one of my all-time favorite parts of any of my music is the second verse to the song, “Compromised The Truth.” Not only am I drawn to the words, but I’m also drawn to the harmonies that my best friend Angela created as she listened to the song for the first time. In fact, her harmonies were so strong that we decided to include one of the most vulnerable things I’ve ever written on our first CD…and the song was then only one month old.

I was reminded of this song and its harmonies during church yesterday. As my pastor courageously confessed his struggles against fear, he read this text from 1 John 4:18-19:

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because he first loved us.

I immediately began singing the second verse of “Compromised The Truth.”

Patrick went on to share his thoughts that maybe Jesus was afraid that night he served his last supper. Maybe Jesus experienced a deep amount of fear before going to the garden to pray for his friends only to have a friend betray him. Even so, Jesus lay down his life for his friends. Because, well, he loved us. And love conquers fear.

Love conquers fear.
Love overshadows mistakes.
Love extends forgiveness.
Love exudes grace.
And God is…love.

I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life.

I’ve allowed fear to paralyze me. I’ve allowed lies to deceive me. I’ve allowed temptation to sway me. I’ve allowed worry to consume my mind.

I’ve compromised the truth more times than I care to admit.

Yet love still holds me.
And beautiful surprises still emerge.
And life still happens.
Amen and amen.

------

Compromised The Truth
(www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton)


I taught her how to hide, to turn from the ones she loves
I taught her to enjoy the night and I taught her to fear the light
Oh I taught her how to run and I taught her how to lie
And I taught her how to cry, oh I taught her how to hide

Oh I should have, cause I could have told her differently
Oh I should have, cause I could have shown her differently, yeh
Oh I should have, cause I could have, but I didn’t, no I didn’t
Instead I compromised the truth for me

Well there is no fear in love cause perfect love drives out fear
And perfect love comes from Christ and not the other guy who tries to satisfy
The demands of this world and the needs of the flesh
And the guilt of the soul that keeps us from praying but keeps us saying

Oh I should have, cause I could have told her differently
Oh I should have, cause I could have shown her differently, yeh
Oh I should have, cause I could have, but I didn’t, no I didn’t
Instead I compromised the truth for me

I’m sorry that I compromised the truth
For me

In Solidarity With Love

Sitting on the couch, stinky white dog beside me, mismatched black socks warming my feet, brown shorts and black t-shirt demonstrating an outfit the fashion police would arrest, I must jot down the things that I learned or pondered during my first on-call at the hospital on Wednesday:

1) The residents and Spiritual Care staff at the hospital are wonderful. They willingly and graciously helped me through the daytime portion of my duty, patiently guiding and mentoring me through a vast field of ignorance. To see them using their gifts and passions to minister not only to patients and family members but also to me was a humbling and inspiring experience.

Each day when I worked for SC WMU, we’d pray for missionaries who had birthdays on that day. We’d call the International and North American Missionaries by name but we would lump the chaplains and volunteers together by category because there are so many chaplains and volunteers sharing Christ’s love. Yesterday, that prayer for chaplains and volunteers took on new meaning as I observed and experienced firsthand the peace-giving work of the chaplain. I’m going to try to start praying for the chaplains that I know by name every day, and I’m going to start with the wonderful people that I’m working with now.

2) It is super important to have at least one or two emergency contact numbers memorized! Thanks to the speed dial on my cell phone, I don’t know many telephone numbers at all. But. If I’m ever in a trauma situation where I can speak and the chaplain asks me if there is anyone that I want them to call for me then I need to know the number. You do, too. Contrary to popular opinion, the wallet, purse, and/or phone don’t always stay with you when you enter the Emergency Department.

3) Badge holders with retractable elastic come in very handy when the name tag includes cheat sheets of vital information. While emergency contact numbers should be memorized, all information in the world shouldn’t…especially when it can be easily accessed via said badge.

4) Although I’m not a fan of wearing them myself, I think that everyone should wear a name tag. Names are important. Being called by name is important. Looking someone in the eye and calling him/her by name instills a sense of dignity that too often gets lost. It also provides incentive not to act out or do anything that would shame a person’s name. I’m terrible with names. I want to get better at remembering them. In the meantime, I’ll start lobbying for embracing the name tag.

5) I don’t want to eat barbeque or a salad in the middle of the night. The idea of heavy dinner food and/or a salad in the wee hours of the morning feels wrong to me. Yet. I think it’s great that the hospital cafeteria serves these foods to those who otherwise wouldn’t get them because they are sleeping during the day so they can work at night.

6) It’s okay to cry. To weep actually.

[Selah]

7) Sometimes permission can set us free. I went into yesterday terrified of doing something wrong. My old script of needing to perfect—to please everyone—to do the “right” thing—had been screaming at me for two weeks, trying to convince me that I was going to fail with chaplaincy. After shadowing the residents and talking to my supervisor, however, I was able to soften that loud voice and remember what I know to be true: no one is perfect, I am my own worst enemy, and life is about much more than right or wrong. My supervisor told me that she trusted me—that I wouldn’t have been accepted into the program if she didn’t think I could do it. She encouraged me to trust my gut and to minister out of my gifts and abilities—because they are vast. The residents showed me that it’s okay to get turned around in the hospital, that I didn’t need to panic when I hear the pager go off, that it’s okay to touch people on the shoulder, that it’s okay to laugh, that it’s okay to ask questions, that it’s essential to remain hydrated. One resident told me that I had a naturally calming presence and a patient said the exact same thing at 2am.

[Selah]

For yesterday’s spiritual care office devotion, we read Psalm 46 and focused on verse 10: “Be still and know that I am God.” As we sat together in the holy and sacred silence that is God, I breathed in the breath of life that is the Spirit and prayed to represent the love and peace that are Christ.

I made it through my first on-call because those around me must have prayed the same thing.

[Selah]

I will rest now. I can barely keep my eyes open. The dog, my mismatched socks, and my lovely outfit are ready to rest, too…and fall asleep thanking God for the communion of saints and the prayers of a people standing in solidarity with Love.

What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

I stopped by the hospital to shadow the on-call chaplain today. While there, I filled out some paperwork that included pages of questions to which I answered “no.” Had the questionnaire read like this, however, then my answers would have all been “yes”:

• Has sensitivity to strong smells.
• Gets squeamish around blood and other bodily fluids.
• Has trouble reading maps.
• Gets lost easily.
• Has trouble memorizing acronyms and profession related language and jargon.
• Struggles with issues of death and dying, especially as they relate to children and/or impact friends and family members of the deceased.
• Feels deep sadness for senior adults whose bodies are withering away.
• Has boundary issues.
• Fears dying alone.

If you know me well, then you know that I often thank God for not calling me into the medical field. There is no part of me that has ever desired to be a doctor, nurse, physician’s assistant, office worker, or anything else in the medical field.

Yet…I find myself on the brink of beginning an internship at a hospital where I will be surrounded by all of the things that I fear the most.

I keep asking myself, “What have I gotten myself into?”

I started re-reading My Utmost For His Highest on January 1st. I read it while in college and recently had a quiet desire to revisit its pages.

On day one, I read, “But before we choose to follow God’s will, a crisis must develop in our lives…God brings us to the place where God asks us to be our utmost for him and we begin to debate. God then providentially produces a crisis where we have to decide—for or against. That moment becomes a great crossroads in our lives.”

On day two, I read, “‘He went out, not knowing where he was going (Hebrews 11:8).’ Have you ever ‘gone out’ in this way? If so, there is no logical answer possible when anyone asked you what you are doing…You don’t know what you are doing to do. The only thing you know is that God knows what God is doing.”

Thank you, Oswald Chambers, for writing those lines for me in 1935.

So…what have I gotten myself into? I’ve gotten myself into God.

And I’ve answered these questions with a resounding yes:

• Loves God.
• Loves People.
• Is ready and willing to do the work…even if it means jumping off a cliff into a sea of the unknown…medical field.

A Colourful Ego

A conversation with a friend yesterday brought to mind my favorite poem. Chances are good that I've posted it before or that I’ll post it again, but I want to post it today because of what I’ve learned over the past two days. This morning, we finished an 8 hour spiritual development workshop entitled, “Lead Like Jesus.” I must admit that I wasn’t excited about having to attend this workshop; however, I was wrong to discount the time before giving it a try. The material was actually very good--something that I could see myself leading one day. In fact, I asked the presenter how I could become a trained facilitator after today’s session was over and he gave me all the information that I need.

During the first part of the seminar yesterday afternoon, we examined the heart. The leader presented the concept that we let our EGO's get in the way of leading like Jesus. EGO stands for Edging God Out and the two things that most often edge out God are pride and fear. While sitting through that part of the seminar, I realized that I need to examine my pride, figure out the areas where I am prideful, and begin working on those areas. I know they exist, but pride is not an area that I tend to focus on when naming my demons.

But fear...most people who know me know that fear often paralyzes me. The workbook that we're using said that fear is "an insecure view of the future producing self-protection." Self protection makes one hide behind their position, withhold information in an effort to hold on to power, try to intimidate others, try to hoard control, and run from honest feedback. Fear and pride are said to separate a person from God, others, and self; lead to unhappiness through comparisons; and distort the truth into a false sense of security and self. The opposite of fear is confidence in God's love, resting assured in God's nature, goodness, purpose, plan, process and provision; being transparent; and proceeding in faith one step at a time.

While I do rest (or at least actively attempt to rest--that's an oxymoron, eh? :-)) in God's nature, love, goodness, process, and provision, and while I am fairly transparent with many people, I realized yesterday that I don't always rest in God's purpose and plan because I don't understand God's purpose and plan, where I fit in how it plays out, how free-will fits with any of it, or if "it" really exists. I don't understand God's interaction with this world, God's answering of prayers, God's allowance of deep suffering, and so many other things. So while I want to move forward in faith one step at a time, and while I'm learning that the process of journey is where life abides, I still often live in fear. Not in fear of dying. But in fear of failing. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of being alone. Fear of making the wrong decisions. Fear of being abandoned...even though I will scream until I'm blue in the face that we are never, ever alone. I truly believe that...I just have a hard time feeling it for myself.

So I suppose this poem resonates with me because of my deep, underlying fears...fears that have often turned to reality. I first read this poem in the tenth grade. It’s the only thing I remember from that year’s English class. Since that time—and even before—I have loved deeply more times that I can count but had to watch that love die as people have walked away.

I don't want to live in fear. I don't want to greet life with a skepticism that never really fades. I've just seen and felt too much unwarranted heartache to be able to ignore it and believe that life always ends up happily ever after. Maybe it does. Maybe heaven is the happily ever after. Then again, maybe my faith just isn't strong enough and my expectations are too high. I don't know. But I know that I'm going to keep fighting my fears and trying to embrace this life with the faith and joy and hope and peace and love that I know exist and that I know are God’s ultimate design for God’s beloved.

I hope you'll join me in doing the same.

-----------

Colours

When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's shipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.

--Yevgeny Yevtushenko

I Really Don't Want My Teeth To Fall Out

I woke myself up screaming last night.

I was dreaming that my teeth were falling out and that I couldn’t do anything to stop them.

I’ve had similar dreams before—of teeth falling out—but that doesn’t make the dream any easier.

It’s a horrible feeling to have your teeth fall out. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. You’re helpless. Out of control. Aware that these are permanent teeth that are permanently falling out. Understanding that this is really, really bad but being paralyzed from doing anything about it.

Last night, just after my teeth began to fall out—mouthfuls at a time—my mouth immediately changed shapes and my speech immediately shifted. I didn’t know how I would eat. Or sing. Or do anything important to me. I was falling apart. Literally.

Yet those closest to me just laughed. They laughed!

And I woke up screaming.

Teeth falling out dreams are evidently very common. In fact, I just stumbled upon an entire website devoted to interpreting the dreams (http://www.teethfallingoutdream.org/dream-about-teeth-falling-out/). The site says that, “Despite the negative associations that dreams about teeth falling out conjure, a complete interpretation of this common teeth dream also gives insight about positive meanings.” It then lists five keys to interpreting teeth dreams:

• Dreams about teeth falling indicate times of change and feeling of loss;
• Positive meanings: starting something new, period of growth and development;
• Negative meanings: insecurity, ambivalence, cost of inaction or compromising;
• Teeth falling out are dream symbols of costly compromise, lack of balance, insecurity;
• The intensity of the emotions in the dream are a reflection of tension felt in real life.

I’m guessing I woke up screaming because I’m a big stress ball this week—because my dream was reflecting my tension in real life. Being out of the office for a couple of weeks was wonderful, but it has left me disorganized and behind and completely unbalanced in life. I don’t know how to balance work with family with friends with church with Sabbath with passion with pleasure with transparency with boundary with wisdom with honesty with calling with self with expectation with longing with God with faith with calling with rest with life. I wrote about transitions on Monday. I am in transition. I have experienced some degree of loss. I am insecure and somewhat unable to act because I feel quite overwhelmed and extremely tired. And so…

I dream about my teeth falling out and I wake up screaming.

“Come to me all you who are burdened and are tired. Come to me and I will give you rest. Take my easy yoke, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble and mild. And you will find rest for your weary soul. Oh come to me.”

I’m coming, Jesus. With a mouth full of teeth and prayers for positive growth and development rather than the helplessness I felt in my dream last night, I’m coming…

The Fear of Endings (7.2.12)

When we moved to Bunnlevel in 1993, Miss Dog Deaton adopted us. She became extremely protective of my dad and sometimes even stood at the door to the church to try to keep people from going inside :-).

When we moved to Lillington a few years after that, Miss Dog moved with us, faithfully accompanying the man she loved. Miss Dog was a big dog. She looked a bit like a wolf, so as she got older her hips began to fail. Eventually, living for her was more painful than a quiet death, but my dad couldn’t bring himself to taking her to the vet for a final ride. My sister and I held Miss Dog as the vet put her to sleep. My dad stood at the door and wept.

After Miss Dog died, my dad didn’t get another dog because he didn't want to go through the pain of having to put another animal to sleep.

Yet…

Bullet has found him and brought him so much companionship and happiness. Just this afternoon, Bullet sat on the couch and groomed my dad’s hand out of love and comfort for at least thirty minutes. My dad fell asleep with his faithful borrowed companion by his side.

It's clear that my dad needs an animal to love and be loved by--even if that animal doesn't officially belong to him :-). Yet if he would have lived in his fear of the end, then he would have missed the joy of right now.

I have tendency to be like my dad—to fast forward life, circumstances, opportunities, relationships, and events to the end, thus stopping myself from living in the joy of right now.

I want to change that.

God help me not to live in fear of endings but the beauty of journeys. Amen.