Grace – The Grace That Shapes My Life

July 7, 2016

Finding Sanctuary

When I first started this blog the title was Losing Sanctuary. One of the definitions listed in the dictionary under “sanctuary”reads,

“A place where wildlife, especially those hunted for sport,
can take refuge and grow in safety from hunters”.

I have several sanctuaries. One is my home. I love my home, simply because it’s so homey. Another is my shower – that borders on TMI but I have some of my best conversations with God in there. Another is my car. My car is like my prayer closet. Your sanctuary might be a friend, or maybe your marriage. Your sanctuary might even be your children. It could be a place – like the ocean or the mountains – wherever you might run for renewal.

One of my favorite sanctuaries is where I first observed grace in real life. It was offered to me and many others like me. I was given immunity from who I really was; loved and well cared for despite my wobbly faith. I reveled in my first taste of grace and grew in its sweet balm, and I watched others do the same. We still wobbled now and then, but my sanctuary and its people would come alongside and lift us up, offering us the encouragement we needed to live in the righteousness already in us, based on who we carried with us – not the punishment we were entitled to. It was there that I learned to listen for the dove’s voice.

Much like wildlife, many of us came wounded to this sanctuary. We were battered and bruised, we were hunted by the world where some find sport in pointing a condemning finger at you, judging your actions, misunderstanding your motives, and laughing at your expense. It was there that we found safety. It was there that we were trusted. It was there that we were given life-giving safety and we watched grace being lived out. The caretaker of this sanctuary cared for us in ways we would never find again. It wasn’t perfection, but there was beauty, and grace, and new life here.

And then it happened. This strong sanctuary that I thought would withstand any strong wind was hit by a doozy – a storm bigger than I had ever experienced in my safe little world. Could the foundation of grace within us hold this sanctuary together? My naivety thought it would because I thought this sanctuary was immune to the divisiveness that can hide a coming storm.

The tricky part was that it was hard to recognize the storm at first. It came disguised in little droplets of rain that wouldn’t arose anyone’s suspicions. The caretaker moved on to care for another sanctuary and ours was soon wearing different shoes and caring for the sanctuary in foreign ways. A change was made here. A new sign there. Doors were locked that we were use to walking through. A nifty new emblem was designed to remind us that we were no longer who we were. Changes that, in of themselves might not rattle the windows. Soon an air of secrecy seeped in.

It’s hard to discern the line between different and messy. I’m really OK with different – I actually do pretty well with change. It’s good for you to change things up now and then. But before we knew it the winds howled and the shutters slammed against the sanctuary, and soon it seemed way beyond different. Waters soon began leaking into the safe walls of the sanctuary and began to flood it’s foundation.

What I’ve learned is that the best environment for great accomplishment is an environment of trust, safety, and authenticity. If you try to accomplish anything outside of that kind of environment, you will fail miserably and miss the authenticity of relationship that is needed to remember why you do what you do in the first place. Then you go from a sanctuary of grace to a sanctuary of law, rules and regulations.

How the heck did this happen? How could God allow this? I mean really….if sanctuary is where He is, how could He allow this to happen? I was certain that God had been the center of this sanctuary, so would He not protect my place of refuge and grace? Surely He would protect this sanctuary from this calamity, and come to our aid!

But He didn’t. He sat on His hands and allowed pain and suffering to refine us. Soon there were reactions, hurt feelings, then a spirit of mistrust fell over the sanctuary. Hearts were broken, including mine. Friends left the sanctuary to find a safer place, and I fought against the losses with all I had in me. Did I play any part in this hard? I wanted to fix it and seek justice, but a wise man once told me not to fight other people’s battles. So I withdrew and tried to continue to pursue the grace that I knew had to still be there…somewhere hidden beneath the floorboards. I became emotionally and spiritually stuck.

I ended up getting lost in what the sanctuary had been, and not what God might be doing to make it better. I focused on the place and it kept me from remembering who I was in Christ – who was actually in me. And I started to believe that if I were more spiritually diligent and devoted, then I’d feel OK about the sanctuary. I did and it didn’t help. I felt the flood waters rising. But God, as He always does, met me in my pain. He whispered to me that I would never find sanctuary in anything apart from Him. Big giant duh!

So I’m learning new and exciting things about grace and maneuvering through the hard. Here is what I’m learning in this sanctuary in the midst of the flood:

God is less interested in sanctuaries than He is in BEING your sanctuary.
I am the most important sanctuary I need to be focusing on because He lives within me.
God is not absent in our suffering.
There is great spiritual growth and maturity that comes from hardship and trials (BGD!).
My ability to deal with the hard has more to do with my relationship with God, than it does with the hardship.
I need to focus on what my responsibility is to those who live within this sanctuary to help them heal and grow through the hard (thanks CP).
If I am going to blog about grace, I had darn well better be willing to give it and be a part of it, and experience it in community here in this ever-changing sanctuary.
I am much better at writing about the truths I love so much than I am at living them.

How’s that for honesty? Yikes. A precious friend of this sanctuary said to me recently… “God must love [your sanctuary] SO much that He would allow it to go through this refining”. So I struggle to be brave in the midst of the hard. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t like it. I don’t understand it….but that’s OK. It’s not my job to understand. Once again God is teaching me about trusting Him. Dang I wish I’d get this trust thing right.

So the truth of the matter is that I really haven’t lost this sanctuary – Christ is in me. He is my sanctuary, and maybe I was making this one somewhat of an idol. I dunno. There’s a lot I don’t know. All I know is that I’m walking through the hard with the help of the One who sees all and knows all and is walking me through the pain step by step. So I’m finding new possibilities in this sanctuary. And maybe new sanctuaries.

Once again, the hard is cloaked in love and grace.

June 30, 2016

S.F.P.T.S.D.

I have this nasty habit. I tend to retreat when I’m overwhelmed by life. Whether it be from my husband, my friends, and even from God – I retreat into my little world and try to figure out myself how I’m going to survive whatever the latest hardship is. Mind you, I don’t do this often, or even consciously, but when I’m overwhelmed I tend to withdraw. But the fact of the matter is that by retreating I am saying that I doubt that God knows what is best for me, or that He sees my need, or that He has my back. And whether or not I do it on purpose, my withdrawl tells the real story. The bottom line is that I just am not that great at trusting God.

One of the biggest events that I put on at the church where I work is called Summerfest – our version of VBS. A few years back we had 600 kids coming to this three day event, with 400 volunteers, and it was the highlight of everyone’s summer. Everyone but me.

I was asked to be the Director of Summerfest twice in years past and I turned it down both times because I wanted to reduce the stress in my life. Well, the third year it was “assigned” to me and I was not a happy camper. This thing takes months to plan, and the stress can be overwhelming. Are you kidding?…you must be smokin’ crack!

The first steps of planning Summerfest begin with choosing a theme and picking a Bible verse to go with that theme. Then you have to find lead coordinators for various aspects of Summerfest next, followed by overseeing the planning of activities, and program content for the PK-K program, the Gr. 1-5 program, and the Middle School program. My predecessor (also the pastor’s wife who was like the pied piper of volunteers) could simply mention a need casually and she’d have people falling at her feet to help. Me, not so much.

After that there is the coordination of various meetings, constant email communications, and more meetings. In the midst of all that there is the planning of food for hundreds of volunteers, as well as the pulling together of buses and the pickup of over 60 kids from four different kids outreach programs in the city. Do you see why I might be a little anxious? In the midst of all of this I am supposed to be praying fervently for everyone and everything Summerfest. Oops….I may have fallen a bit short in that area with my eyes focused on my stress.

Then there’s the coordination of a jabillion documents and signage that we use with an endeavor like this, and just that makes my eyes roll back in my head. We even have a POD that we rent yearly that is packed full of Summerfest supplies that gives me anxiety every year it’s delivered. Finally, you have to enlist the help of about 300 volunteers to run activities, fill security roles, be group leaders, and feed people. That also involves writing and rewriting job descriptions over and over again. This is not my favorite time of year.

But in March for the past two years I’ve half-heartedly thrown myself into the planning of Summerfest – kicking and screaming the whole way. Not a great testimony of doing something to the glory of God, right? With dwindling numbers at my church in recent years, I made some program and format changes since it’s been harder and harder to find volunteers and our number of kids has also dropped. I began to stress and wonder if I was going to be able to pull this off. As if I am the driving force behind this whole schtick. Summerfest is God’s baby, so whose voice to you suppose I’m listening to? When I’m looking at the hardships more than God’s abilitiy to overcome them, you know I’ve taken my eyes off Jesus and they’re more on me and my abilities.

I braced myself for what I thought was going to be the worst Summerfest of all time. I was sure the new format would bomb. I thought I’d get plenty of complaints about changes that didn’t work. The lower number of kids would surely make things noticeably awkward. I wish I could say that I was a better example of trust.

By stressing and being anxious (leading to losing sleep and poor health) am I not really telling God that I don’t trust Him to handle my problems? When the hardships come – and they will – we sometimes think we’re justified in doing our own thing and relying on our own strength. We spend less time praying and more time trying to fix things. Then we’re overwhelmed and retreat from people and God, and hope that even in our disobedience that God will cut us some slack because He certainly knows how stressed we are. We go our own way, and the stress gets worse. We shut ourselves inside our refusal to allow God to handle the problem and go into fix-it mode. But despite our disobedience, if we stop for a moment and invite Him into the equation, God’s quiet voice whispers to us “be still….I’ve got this.”

The good news is that Summerfest 2016 is over. Praise Jesus! I’m exhausted and suffering from what I like to call S.F.P.T.S.D….Summerfest Post-Tramatic Stress Disorder. I need a glass of wine, a good massage and a week on a beach somewhere. But despite my best efforts to jump on the fix-it train….God, in His grace, has allowed me to seee His work despite myself, and He’s quietly waited for me to catch up with His plans.

All those things I thought would go wrong – not one of them happened. Instead I heard things like “this is the best Summerfest we’ve had in years”, and “I love the new format”, and “I like Summerfest with less kids – it’s less crowded.” Well I’ll be doggone. I wish my faith matched my words more often.

If I ever have to do this again (and that’s a big IF) I hope that I do a better job of keeping my eyes on Jesus more than myself. If I can do that, then hopefully I’ll be less stressed and more able to point others to Jesus. That way I’ll be a a better example of His faithfulness, and I feel like I’ll come out the other side with a stronger faith. This is lesson worth learning.

Pass me that glass of wine, would you?

April 30, 2016April 30, 2016

Spring planting

Here in No. California we’ve had crazy up-n-down weather patterns. When it’s supposed to be cold and rainy…it’s been crazy hot and breaking temperature records. When it’s supposed to be warm and balmy…it’s pouring down rain and blowing 50 mph winds. Like I said – crazy! It’s hard to plant or make plans for seeding a new lawn with such unpredictable weather.

I love green grass. If there is grass next to a sidewalk, I will choose to walk on the grass. The feel of it under my feet is divine, and a game of touch football on a lush lawn is nothing short of heaven. That’s why two years ago when our back lawn was infected with a fungus (I’m just gonna go ahead and say it….there was a fungus-amongus!) and it quickly spread down our sloping back lawn and touched everything in its path – I was devastated. Soon our entire lawn was dying, with a brown rolling wave of withering grass spreading across the entire backyard. We finally came to the difficult conclusion that we had to kill the whole dang thing in order to replant and grow it again. Don’t you hate it when that happens? When you have to purge the old in order to regrow and reinvent something new? Something better? There’s a spiritual message right there (II Cor. 5:17) but I’ll continue on.

I felt horribly guilty. Killing something I loved so much so that it could come back better. However, we quickly learned that this killing thing wasn’t going to be so easy. Fungus doesn’t go away without a fight. We had to resort to killing it over and over again for several months because that pesky fungus kept trying to hide amongst the remnants of the good grass attempting to sprout. Again, another spiritual message there, but all I can say is them fungi is sneaky lil’ boogers. Finally, just when we were ready to make plans to reseed the lawn, the California drought caused us to initiate water conservation measures. That meant no new lawn that spring / summer, and we went through the next year with dead grass and just dirt in our backyard.

At first we felt a bit proud of our barren wasteland. We had vowed our support for the cause, decided to be good sports about it, and made mud pies out of dirt – that right there was my literary making lemonade out of lemons attempt. So we set up horseshoes and baggo, and the Yorkies enjoyed a summer of rolling in the dirt and tracking it into the house. As our second spring rolled around, our hopes for green were once again dashed with the continued water restrictions (we really need water out here, and thank you, Jesus, that as I write this it’s raining buckets outside!) and so we muddled through a second full summer of dirt, horseshoes, baggo, mudpies and dusty Yorkies. We hardly went out onto our backyard patio because it was so depressing.

There’s always good that comes from the bad, and as a result of all this time it gave me time and inspiration to come up with a great new landscaping plan to divide our back lawn into two sections – one flat with green grass and the other a raised area with a more drought-tolerant landscape. So Salsa Guy and I began digging up dirt eight weeks ago, leveling the grass area so that we got rid of the slope that let the fungus travel willy nilly , to and fro, and began tilling the soil and getting rid of rocks before it was time to throw the seed out.

Grass seed is a bit like baby sea turtles. You saw them on the Bachelor in the Jamaican sand when Ben and Lauren helped the little guys make it from the beach out to the sea. Wait….what? You’re too spiritual to watch the Bachelor? Don’t judge me – remember this blog is about grace. Anyway, not all those cute little newborn baby turtles will make it out to their destiny in the ocean, and their journey is a difficult one. After they hatch, they’re very vulnerable and need to be protected. Some of them can be eaten by birds, some might be eaten by other sea predators. Not all that are deposited in the sand by their mother will grow successfully into the adult sea turtles they were designed to be.

And so it is with grass seed. We knew our seeds had a difficult journey ahead of them. Some of those little seeds would get trampled, or fall under little rocks where not enough sun or water would get to them and they’d never germinate. Spiritual lesson No. 2 (Luke 8:5-8). If the wind was blowing, some of the seeds might blow away. And even though we covered the seed with topper dirt, birds seemed to flock to our backyard to dine on our grass seeds al fresco, trying to thwart my dream for a green backyard once again. Air soft guns come in handy for battling this, by the way.

So three weeks ago, as I stood with seed in hand, my dreams of grass beneath my feet weighing in the balance, I began to turn the crank on the seed spreader that allowed the little seedlings to fly out onto the fertile ground. This is sounding more like a dramatic novel by the minute. I’m not ashamed to say I said a prayer for the perfect blend of sun, rain, air and accurate aim. I felt like a mother blade of grass…”grow little seedlings…. grow!”

And guess what? Grow they did! I’m happy to report that a week or so after our inaugural seeding, tons of little green heads began popping up across our backyard. You should have seen me – I was like a new mother! I would run out each morning to see how my little seedlings were doing. I would talk to them, encouraging them to lean into the light. I checked the sprinkler system constantly, afraid that my babies might get too much water and drown. I shot at birds with the accuracy of a marksman, and shoo’d the pups off my newborn lawn. I even asked my small group to pray for my lawn – I believe God cares about the little things.

So now here comes the spiritual application – if we’re talking in gardening terms (and Jesus often did), we all need a little opportunity for a “do over” along our journey, don’t you think? Perhaps getting rid of the old – some withering branches or infected lawn – or perhaps it might be the old way of doing things, and trying a new direction. Turning away and taking a new path. God is in the business of recreating us, trimming a little off here to allow for new growth, and even sometimes asking us to change a habit, or a way of thinking, perhaps a sin or even an attitude that is doing us harm. It’s called pruning (John 15:1-11). But the ultimate payoff is that we grow stronger….better than we were before. Isn’t that gracious of Him? He wants us to grow and be better than we were. Rebirth. Regrowth. Renewal. We don’t often find that in all other relationships, but a Father who loves his children will do that for their benefit.

So we’ve had a successful Spring of planting seeds. We now have a beautiful green lawn coming in thicker by the day, and Salsa guy and I enjoy just sitting on the patio, looking out over our green kingdom, and sipping special lemonade with our air soft guns in-hand. How are your seeds doing? Seeds of change? Seeds of friendship? Seeds of patience? Seeds of kindness? Seeds of grace for another human being? Seeds of grace for yourself? Be sure to care well for those newly planted seeds, because grace is lush and nothing short of heaven when it’s nourished.

April 25, 2015

Auntie Olive

I adored my Aunt Olive. She was the first person that I encountered as a child that when I was near her, I felt like I was at home. There was something in her spirit that was familiar to me, and I was drawn to her. We were alike, and the things that I valued, she valued. It felt so comfortable and safe to be with her. As a young girl I would suggest reasons to my parents why we should get together so that we could travel the 40 minutes to her home so that I could just be there and feel the warmth of her. Although I loved my older cousins and looked up to them, because I was the baby of the clan and they were busy finding their own way in the world, it was Auntie Olive who I longed to spend time with. She validated who I was.

Growing up, my wiring was so different than anyone else’s under our roof that I knew at a young age that I carried a different gene. Auntie Olive had that same gene. We had the same temperaments – although as a young girl I knew nothing about personality traits or God-given gifts. Auntie Olive’s gift was making people feel loved and welcome. Where I was told that the fun inside me was wrong and needed to be tamed, she nourished it and made me feel like I was blessed to love life. I like to say that love is in the details…and she knew how to go the extra mile in the little details of life to show her family that they were loved. From the extra time she took to hand-crumble the tuna for her tuna sandwiches, to the little notes she wrote, to her willingness to take me go-karting and to sleep under the stars of our outdoor fort, to the big smile and open outstretched arms when she greeted you at the door, to the smiley face that was part of her signature – she was the queen of showing love in the little details.

One of my favorite things about going to Auntie Olive’s house (besides the Nestle’s Quik that we never had in our house) was when you stayed the night there you would always find a “pillow present” under your pillow. Just a little token to say you’re welcome here and valued. It’s something that I’ve adopted now for guests that stay at my house. It’s just a thread of the fun gene that still shows up that reminds me of Auntie Olive.

And Christmas at her house was magical. People with that fun gene tend to decorate their homes to the max for holidays, and Auntie Olive was no exception. That’s probably why there are now ten Christmas boxes up in the rafters of my garage. From the music playing from the stereo, to the candles brightly lit, to the delicious appetizers (this is also where I got my love for onion dip and potato chips)….these are the memories that I cherish and miss the most about Christmas. Our home was bigger and considered nicer than hers, but I would have much prefered Christmas Eve at her house over mine because of how inviting it was. Don’t get me wrong – I loved my home and my family…but Auntie Olive wasn’t there to make me feel like being who I was created to be was OK.

And camping trips were turned into a party, where we would perform plays for our parents on huge boulders, and sing songs for their entertainment. And she made the best guacamole! Half the fun of a camping trip was waiting around for “happy hour” where the appetizers were brought out with our special lemonade and we would husk corn and recount the moments of the day by the water. Fourth of July meant hand-cranked homemade ice cream, and Thanksgiving meant the smell of delicious food she was preparing in the kitchen. I can still see her now with her frilly apron on and her beautiful smile. These were all favorite moments that are forever etched into my memory. Love was in the details.

And boy howdy did she have a sense of humor and a great giggle! During one of my over-night visits Aunt Olive and Uncle Rex served me pancakes at their little kitchen table the next morning. Since my uncle was from the Ozarks, sorghum was a staple in their home and so Auntie Olive slipped some sorghum into the syrup pitcher and laughed so hard when I tasted it for the first time. It was something akin to biting into a lemon for me. Ugh!

There is another profound way that Auntie Olive and I are alike. She was flawed and broken…just as I am. People with our gene, if not plugged in to the Holy Spirit think their wisdom needs to be shared with everyone around them. They tend to let words flow out of their mouths without the Holy Spirit’s filter. You get the picture? We can be annoying. But in the best way she knew how she pursued God. She pursued him by loving his people. She didn’t always get it right. She made mistakes. She was prejudiced and judgemental. She could be bossy and overbearing. Sounds a bit like me when I’m not plugged in to the source of grace. But the saving grace and good news is that there’s redemption to her story.

Because I watched and learned from both the good and the bad of her story, I made adjustments in my gene where I knew they needed to be made, and I capitalized on the stuff that blessed others – all because of her example to me. Often we learn more from our mentors and loved ones from their mistakes than we do from their successes. But that doesn’t make them any less valued or loved – it only makes them human. But because God offers me his unconditional love and grace, I offer and hold on to the same for her.

After I married and moved away from the area, I would send Auntie Olive cards to remind her how special she was to me That was the kind of thing she did for others. I’m glad I learned that from her. The last card I sent her was an Easter card in 2008 thanking her for the part she played in my life. Shortly after, my husband and I went away to celebrate our anniversary in Mendocino. I got the call from my brother on April 19th, our 27th Anniversary – Auntie Olive had died. She died while we rode horses on the beach and as I loped my horse across the sand and the bitter cold wind blew in my face, I let the tears come. I cried for what I had lost. One of the few people who made me most feel at home on this earth was gone. I missed her warmth and I wish I could have been there to say goodbye. To remind her what she meant to me, and to assure her that because she had put her trust in the one who put the fun gene within her, she was going to join the biggest and best party E.V.E.R. But I suspect she knew. And I suspect she knows I still have a mad crush on her.

Love is in the details. But don’t forget that grace also shows up with it. They go hand-in-hand. So party-on, Auntie Olive. But save some guacamole for me!

December 27, 2014January 22, 2015

Home For Christmas

My friend, Barbara, died on Christmas Eve.

Barbara and I weren’t close friends, but God used Barbara to challenge and stretch me. In fact, Barbara intimidated me up until a few years ago. She was different than me and that can be intimidating. She was older than I and reserved…I am not. She was highly educated….I am not. She was quiet…I am not. So I found myself falling prey to preconceived ideas about who she was and what she must have thought about me. Silly me.

About 3 years ago I realized that grace doesn’t work like that and if we both served the same creator, He wouldn’t want me avoiding friendships with people who are different than me. I was being just as judgmental as I incorrectly thought she was, and so I decided that I was going to break down my walls and pursue her as my friend. She was going to be my friend if it killed me!

I started innocently via email. In my line of work I have to email many folks who do ministry in my church, so when I would email Barbara about one of her many ministries like Divorce Care, or Stephen Ministries I started addressing her as “Babs”. I think it made her smile. I did ask her permission to do so and she said I was the only person she would allow to call her that, and certainly not in public. I felt honored. Walls came down.

Then 18 months ago Barbara was diagnosed with a horrible disease that imitates Parkinsons disease, although different. It’s an ugly result of the fall that manifests itself at first with imbalance, slurred speech, and then disables muscles and nerves and eventually rendered Barbara speechless and bedridden in the final months of her life. My fears about dying and disease told me that the investment I had made in Bab’s life wasn’t important enough to minister to her, but the voice that speaks to my inner heart told me that was unacceptable. So I began to visit Barbara as often as I could.

Don’t think me a saint…there are others who visited Barbara consistently who I watched and learned from. Cindy 1 went every Wednesday and ate lunch at Barbara’s table…supping on laughter and one-sided conversation for months and months. Sharing her heart and getting Barbara to laugh – one of the bodily functions that lasted almost to the end – Cindy was a constant encouragement to Barbara. Her prayer time with Barbara every Wednesday helped sustain her long days in bed.

Rachel, whose gentle spirit would be bedside with Barbara regularly, treating Barbara with such grace and respect with her reports of “life on the outside”- sharing what was going on with her children, showing her their latest projects, talking about what she was growing in her garden, praying with her, and asking Barbara questions and patiently waiting for her belabored answers.

And there were many others; caregivers who blessed her by caring for her every need, friends who cared for her plants and yard, and others who came to chat, and clergy who brought her communion and prayed with her. It wasn’t easy to come but they did come, faithfully, day by day to walk Barbara through the letting go of this world that held her captive and on the lonely passage into the lasting beauty of the next.

The best part of visiting with Barbara was the knowledge that she was mentally there and understanding everything that went on. You see, Barbara’s mind was intact to her final breath and so she was fully alive within and as sharp as a tack…something we tend to forget when someone is dying. In the early stages of her home care Barbara could raise her left arm with a thumbs up to signal the word “yes”. As her disease worsened she would communicate by squeezing with the one finger that still had movement for a “yes” answer.

Communication could be lengthy…having to spell out words one letter at a time. It could also be pretty funny. I once asked Barbara what breed of dog her dog Lady was and she spelled out “I”….”D”….”K”. I sat there talking out loud saying “I, D, K….what breed starts with Idk?”…until I realized she was telling me “I don’t know”. We laughed long and hard about that one.

Me…well I would read to Barbara. Something she and I did share was that we were both educators, and so I read Henri Nouwen’s book The Inner Voice of Love to her. It’s sub-title is A Journey through Anguish to Freedom which is exactly the place she lived in, tied to a bed, unable to speak her mind or share her heart. I decided not to sugar coat things, as this book talks about dying, and loneliness, and fears, with chapters entitled Bring Your Body Home, Stand Erect in Your Sorrow, Say Often “Lord Have Mercy”, Cling to the Promise, Live Patiently with the “Not Yet”, Acknowledge Your Powerlessness, and Let Others Help You Die. Sigh. Those were all places Barbara lived in each day. She was such a testimony to me in life, and even more in her death.

I got to play a tiny part in a little miracle shortly before her death, of which I am eternally grateful for. The second to the last time I visited Babs, about 2 weeks ago when I had finished praying with her, (and wiping my pitiful eyes and hers as well cuz praying about death usually results in lots of tears) on a whim I asked her if she wanted me to play Santa for her and buy her two adult sons a gift from her for Christmas. She squeezed my finger “YES!”. After some questions back and forth she communicated to me that she wanted it to be something they would remember her by with a spiritual theme.

Yikes! You can imagine the burden I felt! What could I find or buy that could sum up a mother’s love for her children and say her last goodbyes adequately? Then it hit me…one of our dear friends that preceded Barbara to Glory was a man named Frank James – a very talented actor and artist who had done ministry alongside Babs before he died. He also has an equally talented daughter who is also an artist and who puts beautiful words to paper with thoughts and prayers, so I asked her if she might write something…as if in Barbara’s words…to her sons that she could leave them with.

Time passed, and Frank’s daughter (also named Barbara) thought and thought, feeling the pressure of writing words for someone when not sure of their true feelings, and as the days ticked by I assumed that it wasn’t going to happen. So I purchased a beautiful stone plaque for each of them that listed all of God’s promises. Promises like God will love you…God will always respond….God will never leave you…God will forgive you…God will redeem you….God will comfort you….God will strengthen you….God will provide for you, etc. It seemed perfect, but still lacked the personal touch.

Then on Dec. 23rd I received an email with a draft of a letter that Barbara L. said she felt inspired to write on behalf of Barbara S…although she had no way of knowing if it expressed her heart. It’s theme was HOPE. I sent it to both Cindy 1 and Rachel asking for their input. Interestingly enough, Rachel responded that she had asked Barbara if there were one word she could think of that expressed how she felt in the days approaching Christmas, and Barbara spelled out the word H – O – P – E. Isn’t God good? Doesn’t grace abound?

I printed out the letter for each of her sons, wrapped the stone plaques, and headed over to Barbara’s. Because of the pain she has been in, Barbara’s last days were usually highly medicated and so as I walked in her caregiver told me that she was asleep. But when I walked over to her bed her eyes were wide open, looking heavenward, and she was alert. So I took her finger in my hand and was able to talk momentarily with her…and then had the privilege of reading the letter written on her behalf to her boys. Barbara cried tears of joy, as did I. After praying with her, I kissed her cheek, reminded her that she was precious to Jesus, and said goodbye…sensing this might be our last embrace.

She died the next day on Christmas Eve night. On the eve we celebrate our Savior’s birth Babs went home to a new birth herself. I don’t know if God was just waiting for Christmas to bring her home, or maybe He was waiting for the gift of that letter to put Bab’s mind and heart at ease for her boys. Who knows. Maybe it wasn’t as spiritual as that and it was just her time to go Home for Christmas. All I know is that Barbara’s life was grace-filled….as was her death.

Cindy 1 called me today to tell me Barbara had gone home, and then she shared with me the devotion from Sarah Young’s Jesus Calling devotional for Dec. 24th, the day Barbara died. Here is what it says:

I speak to you from the depths of eternity. Before the world was formed, I AM! You hear me in the depths of your being, where I have taken up residence….I am Christ in you, the hope of Glory, I, your Lord and Savior, am alive within you. Learn to tune in to My living presence by seeking me in silence.

As you celebrate the wonder of my birth in Bethlehem, celebrate also your rebirth into eternal life. This everlasting gift was the sole purpose of my entering your sin-stained world. Receive my gift with awe and humility….

Barbara is Home for Christmas and if that ain’t amazing grace….I don’t know what is.

November 12, 2014November 14, 2014

Borrowed breath

I woke up this morning with atrocious breath. I personally call it “mung mouth”. You know…when your mouth has been wide open for nearly 7 hours – unless you’re menopausal which means you’ve only slept for like 4 hours – and drool has been sliding down the side of your cheek which is like an invitation for all sorts of creatures and germs to “come on in”…make yourself at home in my mouth.

I think about breath and I am grateful each day I wake up and have been given its generous gift – even if it starts out mungish. Think about it. Another day of breath. God breathes his breath into me daily – kind of like a loan to me – borrowed from Him. And I’m dependent upon him for it. We tend to take it for granted – oh, I’ll wake up tomorrow as usual,…but tomorrow isn’t promised. It’s that same breath that he breathes into me that he breathed into Adam’s soul and gave him life.

I listened to a sermon recently where I heard that human beings are the only one that God breathed life into. Not dogs, not elephants, not zebras, not cats, not crocodiles and certainly not ostriches. I still don’t get why God created ostriches – that’s one of the first conversations I’m gonna have with God when I get to Glory. And we humans are the only ones that have a choice in how we respond to God’s gift of breath. It’s called free will. And we sometimes do a sucky job at responding to the gift.

We’ve sort of messed things up in terms of caring for this world but one day the earth is going to be restored to its original state. I believe that every living organism is anxiously waiting for it’s designer to return and restore them to the way they were meant to be. Rocks, trees, flowers, dirt. They praise him on a daily basis. They don’t have a choice – it’s in their DNA and nature to return their breath back and honor the one who gave it to them. It’s what they were created to do. All for praise. All to point back to their creator.

So if God’s breath gave Adam his soul and his breath gives me my soul, then it makes sense to me that it’s my responsibility to return that breath back to him to give him honor. It’s in this exchange that I think I’ve discovered true life and how to become fully human. It’s that place where my soul finds its ultimate purpose. Just like the rocks and the trees it makes sense that that’s where the most sophisticated of His creations belong – pointing others back to him. It’s why we were created – to praise him.

What does praise look like? I think it’s when your insides (your soul) are blessing the Lord. By being grateful. By being thankful for the breath that is within you – all that makes you YOU – be grateful and thankful and honor your creator. That’s when I’m most at home and most healthy.

For me, I think praise is giving your gifts back to him. Some folks put praise in a box and it has to look a certain way to be acceptable to them. I think you praise Him with all your abilities. Your painting. Your poetry. Your air guitar. Your lawn mowing. You certainly praise Him with your voice in song. Me…not so much. I’m more of a “joyful noise” kinda gal., but I praise him when I’m singing in the car. Or the shower. I praise Him when I laugh. I praise him when I cook. When I blog. I praise Him with my mouth when I speak to groups. I like to say “when God gives you a big mouth you use it for Him“. Praise is the way you “do life”.

When am I fully myself and fully human? When I’m praising Him. That’s when I feel the most at home. When I am using the borrowed breath of God to praise him. So what are you going to do with your borrowed breath? Try it. Go ahead – bless the Lord. Bless the Lord with your job. Bless the Lord with your vocabulary. Bless the Lord with your time. Bless the Lord by spending time with your kids. Bless the Lord with your finances. Bless the Lord by talking kinder. Bless the Lord by saying “no” to some of those things that dirty your heart and mind. Bless the Lord by saying “yes” to those things that will point others to their creator. Bless the Lord with the grace you offer others. This is why he made mankind. I can tell I have so much work to do to be a better Lord blesser.

When was the last time your soul went home? When your soul blessed the One who created it – who breathed life into it?

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name! Bless the Lord, O my soul!

Psalm 103:1-2

Did those words leap into your heart? If so…then you’re healthy. You’re home. Isn’t that just so like grace – being given the highest office we can hold in God’s economy when we’re the least deserving? That’s your assignment – go have fun with being a Lord blesser?

September 6, 2014September 10, 2014

The Pace of Grace

I have three friends named Cindy. Cindy One I’ve known for 28 years and is one of my dearest friends. She probably has the most dirt on me. Our kids were more like cousins, grew up together and were in each others weddings. Cindy Two I’ve known for 8 years and we’re family now since our kids recently got married. She’s become way more than just an “in law”….more like a sister. Cindy Three I met about 5 years ago in Bible Study and we just clicked. You know the type. There’s something familiar in them and you just enjoy one another. We love to hang out together in Youth Group, birthday lunch groups, and we generally support and encourage one another.

Cindy Three is a dynamo – a true “go getter”. She is always pushing herself, always gathering knowledge, sometimes too hard on herself, always pursuing being better, hard working, talented, always asking questions, and always inquisitive about everything. She is amazing! We once went to Disneyland together on a girls weekend and we would often misplace her. “Where’s Cindy?” was a common phrase used that weekend but we’d usually find her off ahead of us looking at the flowers, or the architecture…walking at marathon speed at least 20 paces in front of us….on a mission to take it all in, never all that interested in idle chit-chat or what ride we were heading to next, but rather enjoying the beauty around her and not satisfied to meander at our snails pace. Fully engaged and actively pursuing new ideas. Her husband Nick says she has two speeds…full speed and off.

I can be like that when it comes to living life. Out in front, paddling like crazy, making things happen, bringing people together, asking questions, pursuing grace….but truth be told it can wear me out. So why am I always functioning at warp speed? I think it’s because so much of my life was spent living for ME and now that grace is beginning to dawn and make sense to me I want to make up for lost time. I find myself way too busy sometimes – filling my days with ministry and relationship building and community and loving on those around me. My friends think I’m crazy – always organizing something or going someplace or caring for someone. But I’m at that place in life where there are probably a lot more days behind me than there are ahead of me, and I think what motivates that pace is that I don’t want to waste one more day on myself. Throw my love languages in there too (acts of service and gift giving) and you’ve got a perfect recipe for a burnt-out penniless Sista! But there’s been this still-small-voice in my head of late that is whispering that I need to slow down and learn how to find balance.

So after ducking the subject and trying to ignore the dove’s voice, God got creative and spoke to me at Cheesecake Factory last week when I had dinner with two dear friends that I taught school with a few years back. My friend Mags used a phrase that I haven’t been able to shake. “Going at the pace of grace“. It’s stuck with me more than the 5 lbs. from the Mocha Chocolate Cheesecake. It’s been digging under my skin and peeling open scabs that I’ve known are there but have ignored, all pertaining to why I push myself, my schedule, my life at the pace I do. I understand that nothing I do (works) earns me anything, so how do I manage grace and my pace in this tangible way? Not that all these other things I do don’t hold value, but if I’m running at break-neck speed I’ll most certainly miss the scenery. Or have a heart attack. Well, I think it starts with taking off your track shoes and taking time to be still.

In my search for more going at the pace of grace input, I found that Scotty Smith tweets on the subject of what grace looks like (He’s a Pastor, author, blogger and tweeter, but his credentials on his Facebook say “Husband, dad, friend, big sinner enjoying an even bigger grace, unlikely pastor, wanna-be-musician, writer-at-times, a guy with an odd sense of humor”). I like him already. He blogs daily prayers that are so real, and just like the old phrase “You might be a redneck if….”his tweets often start with “A sign you’re growing in grace:…..”. I just love it. Simple. Easy. Grace.

Here’s the tweet that hit me between the eyes:

“A sign you’re growing in grace:

People don’t experience you being as busy, hurried or restless.

You’re learning the pace of grace.”

Ouch. That’s the opposite of me. I’m always busy – I’m always hurrying to accomplish something – put on another event – bring more people together – write one more blog (this is actually very therapeutic and a form of worship for me, as God and I work through some things together) – and the stress that I put myself through causes me to be restless. Yikes. I think if I were living less busy and more in collaboration with God I would probably accomplish more and it wouldn’t be just about checking boxes off my TO DO list. I’d be letting God walk those 20 paces ahead of me, leading, and watching to see what He wants me to pursue. I have so much to learn still about this grace thing.

Hmmm….this is something I’m going to have to look into further. For now I know I need to slow the pace down a bit. For now I’m going to be a better student of learning to go at the pace of grace. And I give my three Cindy’s and my Youth Group (see my post dated 5/30/2014) permission to hold me accountable. Uh oh….I’m in trouble!