Puzzle Peace

Last July, after finishing a puzzle for a friend, I wrote: I’ve heard of a wide variety of prayer groups. Of quilting groups, crocheting and knitting groups, blanket-making groups, and others. Yet I’ve never heard of a puzzle group. But why not? Why not choose a specific puzzle for someone who needs prayer—something that holds meaning for the future recipient or something generic if the intended recipient is unknown—and pray for that person with every piece placed? Little did I know that nine months later, I would present a puzzle to someone who indeed needed prayer…and that that puzzle would be a life-affirming reminder of God’s ever-steady presence and love.

Thanks to Barnes and Nobles’ after Christmas sale, my mom and I had a brand new puzzle to work on during our many snow days at the beginning of the year. As we began to work on the puzzle and I realized what we were putting together, I decided for whom we were working and shifted my puzzle making thoughts not only to properly sorting the pieces for puzzle putting together ease but also to praying for my friend.

After many hours of work (and prayer), the most elaborate puzzle-piece organization of our lives, and many celebratory high-fives, my mom and I finished the puzzle and attempted to glue it together—four times. After the fourth glue attempt, we threw up our hands in glue surrender and moved the puzzle out of the family room to a place where it would not be damaged. There it sat for almost three months…until last week.

Each night last week, I fell asleep to the prayer, “God help me remember to take the puzzle to work tomorrow.” Each morning, I’d get half way to school and realize that the puzzle was still at home. On Friday morning, as I got into my car, I thought, “Lunch. Owe money. Will owe more money today. Wallet. I don’t have my wallet,” so I went back into the house to get my wallet. Then I thought, “Puzzle. I should get the puzzle.” So I got the puzzle. [Yes. I think in incomplete sentences in the morning :-).]

I modge-podged the puzzle in B’s room between two of my classes. I let it dry. I left the puzzle for my friend at the end of lunch and then I went to teach Kindergarten. Along with the puzzle, I left a note: “You are important. And your work is too. Love, Dee. PS: My mom and I put this puzzle together for you. I prayed for you with each piece I placed.”

As my Kindergarteners danced, I answered a phone call of thanks. With much noise-filtering concentration and the hope that my students wouldn’t hurt themselves in their last hour before Spring Break, I heard my friend share how the puzzle had reached her at just the right time—at the end of a very difficult week—in a moment when life and work needed to be affirmed through what she took as a reminder of God’s sovereignty and control. I listened in amazement…and I smiled…

Yesterday at church, my pastor said that God’s grace and peace are alive and working and that God’s spirit is moving, always moving, toward hope and redemption…

The puzzle creator could have never made the puzzle. Barnes and Noble could have not placed it on clearance. My mom could have decided not to buy it. She could have chosen another puzzle to complete over the snow days or she could have not chosen not to do one at all. The puzzle could have taken the puzzle glue on our first four attempts at permanently piecing it together. I could have seen my friend using modge-podge before last week and I could have had the idea to sneakily borrow it from her so that I could glue her puzzle long before last week. God could have more directly answered my night-time prayers every morning last week and I could have given my friend that puzzle on another day at another time and I have no doubt that she would have loved it.

But instead, every piece of this story’s puzzle—pun intended—came together at just the right moment and transformed individual events from meaningful to life-changing.

Is this God’s working and moving toward grace, peace, hope, and redemption or what?!

And to think…God chooses us to be part.

I Don't Know About You, But I Think We Should Show Them

My pastor said something on Sunday that made me think of an image of Jesus that I hadn’t considered in a long time:

Jesus, on the cross—beaten, bloody, and bruised;
Me, kneeling beneath the cross—looking into Jesus’ eyes.
Jesus, on the cross—beckoning me to join him;
Me, climbing up the cross—looking into the eyes of love.
Jesus, on the cross—arms open wide;
Me, embracing Jesus—his broken body folding into mine.

I wrote a song inspired by this image when I was in college. I opened my computer today to see if I’d typed up the song, but I hadn’t. In the process of looking, though, I found another song that I hadn’t considered in a long time. I wrote this song after being introduced not to moving images of Jesus’ compassion but to sad images of a wounded child. Little did I know that that introduction to childhood trauma would be only the first of countless stories that would come to break my heart over the years.

I updated that song today…and the poem that follows means more now than ever.

No child should have to:
know all she knows,
see all she sees,
hurt all she hurts,
be all she is.

No child should have to:
face life alone,
doubt her next meal will come,
feel she’s not good enough,
believe who is she is, is wrong.

No child should have to:
joke to hide all the pain inside,
think she's weak if she cries,
fear the touch of another’s hand,
hear words that wound and damn.

But so many do.

Just look into eyes: shame.
Just listen to voices: humiliation.
Just look at shoulders: heartache.

If only they knew and believed in who they are.

If only they knew they are loved as they are:
Beautifully broken, resilient children of God,
Created and able to grow by the creativity of God,
Redeemed and made new by the grace of God…

Being Human Is Hard

The next time I volunteer to sing a solo, ask me if I can sing it without having an emotional breakdown. Okay?

I woke up yesterday morning feeling sick. Not head cold sick. Not stomach sick. But back quivering, I’m-going-to-be-vulnerable-and-lay-my-life-on-the-line-for-people-to-examine-it sick.

And rightfully so.

I sang one of the most emotional and guarded songs in my repertoire yesterday. And I sang it twice. (The words are at the bottom of this post.)

The first time I sang I was fine. But the second time…well…I got choked up at the end of my singing and found myself in tears after the song was over.

And these weren’t quiet, little tears. They were loud, big tears…only I was sitting in church during a prayer, so I couldn’t really be loud…so my face turned bright red and my veins popped out and I pressed my fingers into my eyelids to hold in the tears…which I’ve never really understood because it really doesn’t work…but I did it anyway because I didn’t know what else to do.

Then my mom gave me a tissue and Patrick said amen and I somehow managed to stop crying…but I started again when a friend hugged me after church…and then I came home so emotionally spent that I had absolutely no trouble falling asleep for my Sunday afternoon nap.

“And what were those tears for?” you might ask.

Broken relationships.
Loss.
Betrayal.
The difficult realities of being human because, as I said yesterday, “Being human is hard.”

Yet being human is exactly what we are...and being human is exactly what Jesus was when he was handed over to be tried, convicted, and punished for crimes he did not commit.

So Jesus understands this being human.
And Jesus cried.
So it must be okay for me to cry, too.

Although… the next time I volunteer to sing a solo, ask me if I can sing it without bursting into tears and having an emotional breakdown. Okay?

Thanks.


--------

You came into my life and you 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 have win, but a path we have to walk
Just like the father of the son, who waited with open arms
To embrace the hurt, he embraced the hurt

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

Broken Human Reality

I ate shrimp on Monday
and I didn't die
and this is a big deal because I have avoiding shellfish for years
because I've been standing in solidarity with my grandmother who is allergic to shellfish
and I've been living in the anxiety instilled in me by a friend who also has become allergic to
both shellfish and mushrooms...

A little over two years ago, I began having panic attacks when I ate.
At the time, I didn't know what was happening.
All I knew was that I was afraid to eat for fear that my throat would close up and I couldn't be able to breathe.
After a month of living with this fear and cutting out about half of the foods I ate because so many were attached to that feeling of
tongue swelling, throat closing, chest hurting, head floating, skin sweating, and lungs gasping,
I went to the doctor.
I was convinced that I, like my friend, had suddenly become allergic to shellfish, mushrooms, and most of the rest of the food in the world.

After sitting with the doctor and sobbing for ten minutes,
I was relieved when she kindly looked at me and said,
"1) Let's change your acid reflux medicine because sometimes reflux can cause things to feel weird in your throat.
2) I'm not sure that you're actually allergic to any foods, but let's do a food allergy test to make sure.
3) We need to adjust your anxiety medication. I think it's stopped working! It sounds like you've been having panic attacks and those are horrible. So until the new meds get into your system, I'm going to give you something to take when you start to feel like this again. It should act immediately to calm you down."

I've not yet had to take that emergency medicine.
I hope that I never will.
Just being able to name what was happening as panic attacks--
being able to speak it out loud and have someone carry the weight with me--
has helped me be able to talk myself through them when they start to happen:
whether it be while eating alone, eating in crowds of people, eating with individuals for the first time,
walking through large crowds of people, walking through the mall alone, singing or playing an instrument with a group, or any other time I've ever felt those feelings of getting ready to die.

Looking back, I realize that I've had panic attacks
(some minor, some more severe)
for over half of my life.

Am I proud of this fact? No.
Is it difficult to admit that I'm on medication for anxiety--that when I don't have medication in my system my brain chemicals flow out of control, irrational fear and worry seize my mind, and depression begins to creep into my soul? Yes.
Is this embarrassing for a recovering, people-pleasing perfectionist who places her faith in a God she believes not to be a God of worry and fear? Absolutely.

And yet.
This is my broken, human reality.
And I'm okay.

Actually,
I'm more than okay:
I am created in God's image,
and I was deemed good, though far from complete,
and I am chosen and dearly loved,
and so are you, my friend--
so are you.

Tornado Pedicure

My sister and her daughter came to visit on Saturday. After playing with stuffed animals, watching some shows, eating supper, and having dessert—specially prepared by Amelia—Amelia was ready for bath-time with Nana. And so into the bathroom they went. As I sat on the couch and worked on lesson plans, I heard Amelia giggling with joy from the bathtub. When I went back to check on her, she was sitting in the tub with a bubble beard. She was so happy, and everyone in the house was happy for her.

Then the alarms went off.

The first warning came on my sister’s phone. “We’re under a tornado warning,” she said. Then my mom and dad’s phones sounded sirens and my phone started vibrating off the couch. “We need to get into the closet right now!” my sister said. “Get out of the bathtub, Amelia. We need to get into the closet.”

A few minutes later, admittedly not moving as quickly as I should with a tornado warning, I made my way into the closet, computer and charger in tow. Following behind me were my dad and a very scared Bullet.

So there we were: Mom, Dad, Dana, Amelia, Bullet, and me crammed inside my mom’s closet…and Amelia had on nothing but a white towel and a huge grin.

Even though Dad and Bullet left the closet after only a few minutes, the rest of us stayed inside until the tornado warning was over—which was at least thirty minutes. Dad kept us informed of the weather with his emergency radio. Dana sent e-mails from her phone. I worked on my lesson plans. Nana trimmed and painted Amelia’s nails—pink and purple…which ended up matching her pajamas perfectly—and Amelia just kept grinning.

Toward the end of our time in the closet, Amelia said, “Nana, you are very good at doing nails. You should do this for money.” Mom said, “But not in the closet!” Amelia giggled and said, “No!!! Of course not. At a salon or something.”

Then we reentered the rest of the house with a memory that none of us will forget.

At Least Until The Bell Rings

This morning, I had a student tell me about her dreams from last night. She dreamed that one monster was under her bed and that another was in the closet—both were big, black, and scary—with red, slanted eyes and sharp fangs for teeth. The monsters kept trying to eat her brother. Then her brother told me about his bad dream. He dreamed that his dad died.

I've seen Monsters Inc. It's actually one of my favorite movies. But somehow, I'd forgotten that kids still think that there are monsters in their closets and under their beds. Actually, I think I’d come to believe that modern American kids have outgrown being afraid of monsters because of Monsters Inc.’s ending and because of the fact that I’ve had numerous kids tell me that they laugh at scary movies.

So when I heard my students talking about their bad dreams and fear of monsters this morning, my heart broke. I wanted to scoop them into my arms and hug them and tell them that the monsters in their heads and under their beds aren’t real and that they don’t have to be afraid.

But I couldn’t do that.
The bell rang.
And they had to go to classes that I didn’t teach today.
And then they had to go home…thankfully to parents who are a steady presence in their lives and will, indeed, tell them that they are okay.

But what about the others? What about the students who don’t have steady parents to scoop them into their arms and tell them they are safe? What about the students who don’t have stable parents to help them know what is real and what is make-believe and what is in the grey in between?

Such were the questions on my mind when I began preparing the morning announcements, and such was the reason that the thought of the day was this:

Don't worry, little one,
You have nothing to fear.
Just take my hand and hold on tight
And know that I am here.

When your dreams at night get creepy,
When your thoughts scare you out of sleep,
Just take my hand and hold on tight
And know your heart I'll keep.

I love you seems so simple
Yet more passionate words seem few
So take my hand and hold on tight
And feel my love for you.

Don't worry, little one,
You have nothing to fear.
Just take my hand and hold on tight
And know that I am here.

I don’t know if anyone heard the thought of the day or not.
But I know I had to read it.
Because I know that all of us,
No matter how young or old,
rich or poor,
strong or weak,
quiet or loud,
Need to hear the words
“Don’t worry, little one,
You have nothing to fear.
Just take my hand and hold on tight
And know that I am here...”

On The Bradford Pear

Bradford Pear trees are blossoming in the world.
They’re beautiful.
But they stink.
Boy do they stink.
And I find this fact sad: that
Flowers so beautiful can smell so bad.
But I guess this is true about a lot of things:
So many things look appealing but,
Through and through,
They are not.

I hope, and
I pray, that
I will not be limited or deceived by outward beauty but
See and embrace people and things as they really are…
Even if they stink.

Something Is Wrong Here

I have two athletic training friends. Both are named Amy. One Amy lives and works in the NC mountains. The other Amy lives and works in Missouri. On Saturday morning, I received the following message from Missouri:

I’m at a wrestling tournament and there’s a little boy that just knocked his knee on the floor and it scared him and now his dad is in the hallway fussing at him and told him he cried like a girl and it was embarrassing. He keeps telling him he’s shameful and that he has better things to do than waste his time on him crying. If only he know how long that kid is going to remember those words . I don’t know who has made society think it’s not okay for boys and men to cry and show emotion. It’s a God-given emotion and sometimes just has to happen. These are little boys. They are wrestling for fun right now…

Later that day, I went to one of my nephew’s basketball games and watched as one of the coaches from the opposing team acted as if the boys were playing professional ball. He argued with the referees, directed mean comments at my nephew’s coach, got angry when his son messed up, and was very unhappy when his team lost. His son acted the same way—getting overly mad at himself when things didn’t go his way…

A few weeks ago, a friend shared a story about finding herself surrounded by a fight at her daughter’s basketball game. One parent commented on another parent’s language so another parent decided to physically attack…

I don’t know about you, but something is wrong here.

I’m not exactly sure how to rectify what’s gone wrong.

Society has changed too much to go back to the days of neighborhood ball on hand-painted goals.

But I do know that something needs to change and that
All the little boys who are knocked down and scared,
Being fussed at by dads holding unrealistic expectations, and that
All the little boys who are stifling their tears,
Being poisoned by shame that will plague them for life, and that
All the grown men who are yelling in anger,
Trying to make their sons into the image they will never be, and that
All the grown women who are shouting in frustration,
Hurling harsh words meant to cut others down, are
Loved, they are loved, they are worthy to be
Loved, and it is up to you and
up to me to somehow tell them so.

God. Help us. Please.
Amen.

Just Walk Beside Me

My parents and I went to Cracker Barrel for dinner tonight.

As we walked to our table, I noticed that the host was talking but I had no idea what he was saying. When I rounded the table to get to my seat, I heard “pork chops” and “specials” and “we’re asking everyone to be reminded of our chicken and dumplings” but none of it made sense to me.

Once we were seated and began waiting for our food, my parents and I began to notice just how enthusiastic the host was about his job. My dad watched him waving his arms and speaking excitedly to the woman behind me who wasn’t paying him any attention. My mom and I watched him escort five parties of people to their tables, happily talking the entire way. The thing is: just like he did with us, the host walked in front of the guests, aiming his voice forward, so that no one but the people already seated could hear anything he was saying. But he didn’t care. He was completely oblivious to the fact that his talent for and happiness with his job was causing him to over-function and do his job ineffectively.

…

Many years ago, when we were in college, my best friend and I came to an impasse in our friendship. My ability to love and care for my friends was causing me to over-function and be an ineffective friend.

During this impasse, I went on a mountain retreat with my campus ministry group; my best friend went as well. I remember the retreat well because we found ourselves staying in a rustic mountain cabin with no electricity…and the cabin was surrounded by absolute mountain beauty—including a mountain stream.

On Saturday afternoon, as we sat on a rock overlooking the stream, my best friend and I talked out our differences and moved forward from our impasse. Sometime later, I wrote:

On a rock in the woods up in the mountains sit two children of God
They look below them and see peaceful waters flowing over the rocks and down the hill.
The astronaut [my best friend] cried, “Please don’t walk in front of me,”
The zookeeper [me] cried, “Please not behind,”
“Won’t you just walk beside me and be my friend so that together we’ll sink or swim?”

….

Loving God of heaven and earth,
We praise your holy name.
We pray for your love and peace to live through us on earth,
Just as love and peace exist untainted in your eternity.
We pray that we will know the difference between wants and needs and that our needs will be met.
We pray that your Spirit will guide us to know where and how to share our abundance.
Forgive us, God, when we mess up:
When we walk ahead,
When we walk behind,
When we say too much,
When we don’t say enough,
Forgive us, God we pray,
And give us compassion to forgive ourselves and to have the courage to forgive those who have hurt us.
Keep our minds and hearts pure, and help and protect us as we seek to live lives of unity and grace that honor you.
For you are God and we are not, and all praise, glory, and worship belong to you,
Forever and ever and always,
Let it be so.
Please let it be so.
Amen.

I Take My Stand With Anna

I try to avoid writing about controversial subjects, but I’m going to write about one tonight: The movie Frozen. While I wrote a little about the movie exactly one month ago tonight, I didn’t really delve into anything divisive. Tonight, though, I’m going to make a somewhat bold statement:

I’m not a huge fan of Frozen.

More specifically, I’m not a huge fan of Frozen’s power-ballad, “Let It Go.” I think it happens too early in the movie, before Elsa’s character has developed, and I think it’s entirely too big for the moment.

Even more specifically, I’m not a fan of how much press Idina Menzel has gotten for singing the song or how many people have decided to make it their karaoke favorite.

I like Idina Menzel. Don’t get me wrong. I liked her in Rent and I liked her in Wicked and I have no major objection to either of those soundtracks. In fact, I think that the power-ballads are perfectly placed and I support their karaoke singing.

But not “Let It Go” from Frozen.

It really bothers me.

In my estimation, “Let It Go” isn’t what Frozen is about. And Elsa’s character isn’t the one who should warrant the attention.

It’s Kristen Bell’s character, Anna, who makes the movie what it is. It’s her character who is faithful. It’s her character who never gives up on her sister—even when her sister pushes her away. It’s her character who believes in something more. It’s her character who is fun-loving, full of life, daring, and brave. It’s her character who is steady yet consistent in growth. It’s her character who experiences and feels the full gamut of emotions. It’s her character who sacrifices herself for love.

Yet she doesn’t sing the power ballad.

And so she is overlooked…

I know that the first will be last and that the last will be first. I know that we are to live and serve and act humbly and selflessly. I know that we shouldn’t desire to sing the power ballad but to be content with our place in the choir.

But sometimes it’s nice to be validated in stubborn love.

And sometimes it’s nice to acknowledge that the little guy really can make a huge impact.

So tonight, dear friends, I take my stand with Anna.

I want to build a snowman.

And I want to sacrifice myself for love...