Summertime Gifts

Summer break brings a smile to most school-age children, but for us moms, it can elicit a sigh or two. Sure, we enjoy our children. Sure, we want to spend more time with them. The total lack of structure, however, makes this—ahem—difficult. No wonder so many summer camps are filled to maximum capacity. Yes, I know, those camps are (and I quote) “educational.” Educational or not, I feel those camps are a gift for us parents, so we can have some form of structure. Please, give me a schedule, a plan, some type of order—anything.

My children are teenagers now, but when they were younger, I found the summer slowdown an ideal way to get to know them more. I believe we are all born with unique talents as a gift from God, and one of my favorite responsibilities as a mom is to discover those talents in my children. I’d set us up on the back patio with some chalk, bubbles and a garden hose, and soon their preferences became evident.

My daughter loved to try new things and didn’t mind getting messy or wet. She’d spend hours on extra-large sidewalk drawings evidencing the colorful world in her imagination.

When my son tried something new, he usually preferred to do it over and over until he figured out how it worked. We once had an extra-large bubble-wand-thingy and he spent the entire afternoon figuring out how long the bubbles took to pop.

The toughest thing to juggle then was figuring out how to get my house chores done, too.

This summer, we are juggling my son’s part-time job, my daughter’s two volunteer gigs, and my own part-time job. When my daughter and her friend offered their services to clean my house, of course my answer was a resounding “yes!” This is a new way to get house chores done, I’ve learned.

Two and a half hours later, my daughter and her friend presented me with the sparkling list checked off and finished to perfection. Their organization, energy, competitiveness and joy shone through the wiping, mopping and scrubbing. I discovered more of my daughter’s talents again, along with those of her friend. I noticed their passion for life, their work ethic and their willingness to help. My summertime sigh was converted a summertime smile. What a gift.



How do you set up a sense of structure for your summer? And what are the gifts and talents you’ve discovered in your children?

Slowdown and Slurpees

Ahhh. The first week of June and summer is not only on the calendar for this month, but on my mind. There’s something about switching to June that reminds me to Slow. Down. Whatever happened to the “lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer?”

I scheduled them.

No more lazy, hazy or crazy allowed. All it takes is a slight touch on a phone and voila! Life is booked. Overbooked, in fact.

When I was a kid, summer meant slowing down. Only then could I enjoy playing with an old chunk of white chalk and draw a masterpiece on the sidewalk, then use the hose to wash it away. I’d enjoy time with a bunch of neighborhood friends where we’d play freeze tag at the parking lot down the street where more neighborhood kids would join in. We’d walk around to the back driveway and grab our bikes to take a ride around the block. We’d play hairdresser and try new styles on each other. We’d ask our moms for some balloons and fill them with water for a short-lived balloon toss game. Then maybe we’d go to the 7-11 down the street for a Cola Slurpee and get brain freeze while drinking it on the walk home. The only way to thoroughly savor a Slurpee to the last drop is to drink it slowly. There’s no slurping a Slurpee.

Today, summer means figuring out the schedule for my teenagers, husband and myself. Driving to and back from appointments, work, volunteer gigs. It’s a good season, though, and I plan to watch for 25 mph speed signs and slow down enough to enjoy the ride. Just like a Cola Slurpee.

How do you plan to slow down this summer?

Lunch with God--part 2

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about having a lunch date with God. The idea evolved when I planned to spend alone time with Him after attending the Living Proof Live event with Beth Moore in Hershey, PA. Lunch with God was experienced at the one and only Hotel Hershey. We went to one of the hotel’s casual restaurants, The Harvest. You can read about that decision in my previous post.



Seated at a wooden table near a large picture window, I watched the cotton-white clouds float over a stunning blue sky. A large tree in the field behind the building was just sprouting its leafy buds and a sea of greens in the far background finished off the picturesque view. Beautiful.

Lauren, with her smiling eyes, introduced herself as our waitress and told us she’d be serving us today. She described the daily specials as she poured icy cold water from a large pewter pitcher, which she left on the table for refills. I drank some, and it washed down the lingering chocolate taste in my mouth from my pre-lunch appetizer. Lauren said she’d be back with our bread and butter. Ahhh, the food of life. My stomach rumbled at the thought of indulging in the bread basket instead of skipping it as usual. The Harvest was already proving itself worthy.

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Lauren was back in a moment and placed the steaming basket on the table, enticing with the scent of yeast and all things bread. It was accompanied by a dish of softened butter piped onto the plate in the shape of a heart. Love on a plate. I unwrapped the maroon napkin to discover four different types of bread, and I started with the multigrain roll, which I lavishly smeared with the love-butter. Crunchy, nutty, warm, decadent.

So far, so good. Chocolate, icy cold water and warm bread. God knows what I like.

Looking over the menu, I decided to order something I usually don’t choose. A burger. This wasn’t just any old hamburger, though. The menu promised juicy 100% Angus beef, prepared to my liking (medium well), with toppings of my choice. Buttery grilled onions and mushrooms, of course. Oh, and lettuce and a slice of tomato to top it off. A side salad of crisp greens served with tarragon vinaigrette finished off the meal. I told Lauren my order. She poured more water.

I enjoyed the next bread indulgence while waiting. This time I had a slice of spicy moist pumpkin bread with a crusty, sugary coating. Yum.

My next hunk of bread turned out to be like a mini scone, buttery and slightly sweet with a hint of cinnamon and vanilla. It melted in my mouth.

“God,” I said, “I appreciate the metaphor now about Jesus being the BREAD of life. That’s a good one!”

“Glad you like it!”

Soon my meal arrived in its artistic deliciousness.

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The burger was served piping hot, its beefy perfection resting on a slightly toasted sesame roll, with caramelized onions and grilled mushrooms on top, just as I requested. I cut it in half, took a bite, and savored. The meat was simple, fresh, and insanely satisfying.

And the salad? Crunchy freshness on a plate. Sometime I think salads taste better just because someone else made them. This one was probably made by one of God’s angels. Did you ever have tarragon vinaigrette? Such a unique combination of flavor for the crisp greens. I had the last hunk of bread from the basket with the salad, this time a savory roll with peppercorns and other spices I enjoyed and hadn’t tasted before. It was an exquisite complement to the salad.

I was full after eating half the burger, and saved the rest for later. I asked for a to-go box. Lauren even packed me more bread with softened butter to take with me. Nothing better.

Sporting a mean sweet tooth, I surprised myself when I didn’t order dessert. I was truly full, satisfied, loved. Lauren returned with the check.

It totaled $18.13. What a bargain, just what I love.

Beth Moore spoke about food during the conference. God really does give us food to enjoy. I not only enjoyed it, but experienced it.

Have you ever experienced a meal?

Lunch with God--part 1

I attended a Beth Moore Living Proof Live event in Hershey last weekend. It was a time of life-changing bible teaching along with extraordinary worship by Travis Cottrell. These events are held all over the country, but this time it was extra fun being in Hershey, the land of all things chocolate. Chocolate and God, what more could I want?

I spent not only one day, but a bonus afternoon and evening on my own in town. Alone. It took a little while to get used to the idea. I’ve always attended these types of events in a group setting but this time I was flying solo.

The event ended on Saturday afternoon, and it was time for a lunch date. With God.

Hmm, where would God take me?

None other than the Hotel Hershey, of course.

I secretly wondered if I’d find an extra $20 floating around, just for fun. I figured God was paying for lunch, right? Spotting the signs for the hotel entrance, I turned left into the driveway. Perfectly manicured trees surrounded by precision-lined tulips in bright colors served as royal subjects for the magnificent hotel at the top of the hill. I parked my car and a light breeze accompanied my walk up the steep sidewalk towards the entrance of the grand lobby. Giddy with excitement, I practically skipped to the concierge desk to request a lunch reservation for two—ahem—one. One human reservation. Indulgence awaited. Looking around, it was evident to me that God knows how to have a lunch date in style.

I made our reservation for 30 minutes later, which gave us time to browse the picturesque fountain lobby and first-floor shops.

This was near the window of the first gift shop we passed:

“God, you have a great sense of humor to go along with that sense of style.”

“I know, Lisa. I know.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. You know everything, don’t You?”

God and I then stopped in the coffee shop—an unspoken assumption. He arranged for today’s flavor of the day: chocolate. We found a little table in the café and sipped, enjoying the coffee and company.

It was time for lunch so we headed through the lobby to the back of the hotel. We had to walk out of the building down a path to another building where the restaurant was located. Once we opened the back door of the hotel, my eyes feasted on a sea of tulips in pinks, purples and yellows. It was gorgeous and I couldn’t stop staring. Stunning both individually and in bunches.

“Yup, I made the tulips for you to enjoy, Lisa. Pretty, huh? Just like you.”

We entered the brick building of the restaurant. The Harvest Restaurant.

“Nice name, God. Your idea?”

“Yes, I’m sure it was. You are part of my harvest, Lisa.”

In front of the hostess’ podium was a table with a large bowl full of miniature chocolates. Like a little child, I grinned, grabbed a handful, and immediately unwrapped one to enjoy.

The hostess asked my name for the reservation. Pausing so I could finish chewing my chocolate, I gave her my name and mentioned I was enjoying my pre-lunch appetizer. She smiled warmly, and handed a menu to the waitress who brought me—ahem, us—to our table for lunch.

“Guess you don’t need a menu, God.”

He smiled.

“Will you please stand by the window so I can take a picture?”

God posed for me. Can you see Him?

I looked over the menu. Oooh, I couldn’t wait. What to order? In my next blog, we’ll talk about the food. Yum.

Where would God take you for your lunch date?

Focus on the Fence

I was watching a high school tennis match the other day and thought I’d snap a photo of the action going on behind the fence. There were powerful serves, spinning returns and flying lobs only to be slammed just slightly over the net. It reminded me of the sweaty fun I used to have playing the sport in high school. Instead of focusing on the tennis game, however, my camera’s automatic setting gave me this photo instead.

What? Focused on the fence, not on the fun?

It’s how I pray more than I care to admit. Instead of looking at what God can do, I find myself focusing on the fence, the worries, the things that hem me in.

One of my favorite verses of all times is Psalm 46:11 Be still and know that I am God. I love the variety of meanings embedded in this verse. Sometimes I dwell on the last word—God—and am humbled that He really is in control. Other times, though, I think more about the beginning of the verse—Being Still—because it reminds me to adjust my focus and watch what God is doing.

As the mom of a high school junior, my activities this year include all-things-college. College visits, college research, college scholarship information, college financial aid, college standardized tests, oh, and college admissions application deadlines. No, I am not personally doing all the work (that’s my son’s job) but I find that I try to do all the worrying. I figure I can help God out in taking care of my son. Yikes.

At a recent college visit, we were hustling up the steps of the hundred-year-old building to attend the information session on the second floor. As I rounded the corner to head upstairs, I failed to see the small ledge in front of me. My toes caught the ledge and—Slam! Instantly I landed onto both my knees. Fortunately, I didn’t hit my head on the hardwood railing in front of me, and I was basically unharmed. My knees hurt, though. I shook it off, got up, and continued up the flight of stairs.

Later that evening, it became clear to me that God put me right where He needed me. I was worrying about all the college information, and instead, I needed to be on my knees. My fence-focus went away when I instead focused on what God is doing. It was a good reminder that God has it all (even my kids) under His control, and I can simply enjoy every lob, serve and spinning return I see on the other side of the fence.

Do you focus on the fences, too?

Weighing In

Donating blood. Sounds simple, right? Wrong.

I participated in a blood drive recently. It had been so long since I donated blood, I forgot about all the details involved. All for a few bagsful of blood. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the work done by the medical staff to make sure my blood is safe, but the extent of their efforts humbled me. It reminded me my blood could be life-threatening if they didn’t process it correctly. I prefer to think of my blood as life-giving.

First, there were clinical steps. Blood pressure, check. Finger stick test for something-or-other, check. Temperature. Check. Whew, thankfully I’m passing the test so far.

Next came the many pages of questions regarding my health. The bored technician rattled them off, one at a time, in his monotone rant, until eventually they all sounded the same.

“Do you have, or have you ever had, sickle-cell anemia?”

“No.”

“Do you have, or have you ever had, cancer?”

“No.”

To keep myself alert, I started to say a silent prayer with each “No.” It helped.

By the time he got to the bottom of the fourth page, the technician stated (in the same monotone manner),“Have you ever been pregnant?” I automatically said “No,” following my pattern of answers so far. He hesitated, and then asked again, figuring I probably had children, after which I said “Yes.” I guess he was listening to my answers after all.

“Have you ever had malaria?”

“No.”

“Have you been out of the country in the past six months?”

“No.”

And then came the worst question of all.

“What do you weigh?”

Gulp.

I hesitated, thought for a minute, subtracted five pounds and gave him my number. I already felt I was being judged, but this kicked it up a notch. A huge notch. I found myself wondering the reason for the question. The others questions made more sense to me, since they have something to do with the quality of my blood. But my weight? Does what I weigh affect the value of my blood? Am I too fat to qualify as a life-giver?

The medical questions were finally finished and I moved to the next station, where I did what I came to do: donate blood.

After donating, I headed to the snack table. Okay, I’ll admit, this is my favorite part. It feels like a little window of pampering, being told to sit and eat a snack. The blood drive was held in a local high school, and as a result the volunteer staff included several high school students. Two teenage girls assisted me by offering snacks and drinks before they went back to their own conversation.

“Did you give blood yet?” one said to the other.

“No, they won’t take me. I want to just tell them I weigh 115 so I can donate. It’s only five pounds.”

So this was why I was asked to give my weight. I needed to weigh in at least 115 to qualify as a donor. Nope, not a problem for me. I haven’t seen 115 pounds since elementary school. However, to hear this girl want to flub her numbers to donate gave me a new appreciation for those five pounds I “automatically” knocked off my weight for the records.

Many times, I let my weight interfere with feeling like a life-giver. When will I recognize I’m perfect just as I am? What a great lesson and reminder that God knew me before I was born, and I am “fearfully and wonderfully made.” His Word? Now that’s life-giving.

How about you? Do you ever wonder if you qualify to be a life-giver? Does your weight get in the way of how you feel about yourself?

Where's the Pool?

Do you ever have days like I do, when praying to God feels like talking to a wall? Days when I wonder if God even hears me, and my prayers seem to be going around in circles with no real destination? On those days I’m reminded of a recent time when I went to a high school event with my daughter and her friends.

The girls asked me to drive them to a swim meet to watch their other friend in the competition. I gladly obliged, and my daughter and I picked up her two girlfriends and headed to the nearby college campus where the event was being held.

I didn’t know exactly where the pool was located, but since the campus was small, I figured it would be easy to find. At the entrance of the campus driveway, I pulled the car over near a directory and map, leaving three chatting, giggling teens in the back seat. I scanned the map but couldn’t find anything labeled “gymnasium.” There was a blue blob labeled “retaining pond” but I didn’t think a swim meet could be held there.

When I got back in the car, the girls agreed we would simply drive around the campus and hopefully find the pool on our own. We figured it couldn’t be far. After a few minutes, one of my daughter’s friends said the scenery was starting to look familiar to her. She had been on the campus several years earlier and remembered there were plenty of sculptures and statues on the property. We had just passed a sculpture she recognized. “Keep going,” she said, “I’m pretty sure there are more buildings at the end of this road.”

We wound up another path and soon I saw a bench to the side of the road with a woman sitting on it. I pulled up slowly, lowered the window, and asked loudly, “Do you know where the pool is located?”

No response.

She was a statue.

I braced myself for the explosion of laughter from the back seat.

Yes, we finally found the building where the swim meet was held. It was fun, but nothing like talking to a statue. Unlike that lady on the bench, God is real, is listening, and can always give me directions.

Who's Watching?

I was driving a familiar road, heading to work after my Weight Watchers’ meeting with only a few minutes to spare. The day was sunny and cloudless, perfect for productivity.

I stopped at the red light on Main Street, and headed to the next light a couple blocks ahead. The light turned green and I hit the gas again. Less than a minute and a half-block later, the shrill of a police siren intruded my otherwise uneventful drive. I looked in my rearview mirror to discover the noise was coming from the cop car behind me. Directly behind me.

I pulled over, silently praying he’d pass by to chase after a criminal or two. Watching in the rearview mirror, I saw that he pulled over behind me. Ugh. Lights flashed blue and red, disco-style, to make sure the whole world knew I was stopped by a cop.

“Guess I’ll be late for work,” I thought to myself.

I watched him in my side mirror as he stepped out of the cruiser, as starched as he was short, and ambled towards my car. His dark hair and eyes accentuated his baby-smooth complexion. I wondered if he could even grow a beard. To my left, drivers passed slowly as they gawked, desperate to catch a glimpse of what a real criminal looks like.

The officer approached my window. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

God, I’m old.

“What happened, sir?” I asked. “Did I go through a light?”

Breathe in. Breathe out. Stay calm.

“No, ma’am. I clocked you at 41 in a 25 zone.”

“Oh.”

“May I have your license and registration, please?”

“They’re in my purse, which is in the trunk. I’m on my way to work,” I said.
His eyes widened as he stepped back ever-so-slightly, calculating my demeanor.

I didn’t move.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Okay with you if I get out and open my trunk for my purse?” I asked.

He took a couple more steps back and nodded. I got out of my car and opened the hatch.

Seriously, there are no drug deals going down here.

I grabbed my purse and carried it back to the drivers’ seat as he watched. Opening my wallet, I pulled out my drivers’ license and grabbed my registration from the glove box. I handed both to the officer.

“It’ll be a few minutes while I do the paperwork, ma’am.”

I wished he’d stop calling me ma’am.

And I sat. And sat. And waited.

The disco lights continued to flash to the beat of their obnoxious dance.

How long does it take to do this paperwork?

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes.

Fidgety, I looked in my rearview mirror to see if he was awake back there. I was tempted to pull out my phone and take a photo of the view from the mirror, framing this little guy with big lights taking care of paperwork. I didn’t want to get in any more trouble, though.

Fifteen minutes.

“God, is it possible he could just give me a warning?” I mentally pleaded.

Five more minutes and he got out of his disco cruiser. Marching up to my drivers’ window again, he handed me a ticket.

“Please drive more slowly, ma’am.”

After he walked back to the cop car, he turned off the lights. Finally. I flicked my left turn signal and pulled out into traffic. Slowly.

Is that how I see God? Always behind me, ready to pull out and give me a ticket for something I’ve done wrong? At times, I behave as if God is more of a cop than my friend. Speeding through prayers doesn’t work, either. Believe me, I’ve tried. When I do take a few minutes, though, to simply be with God, the rest of the day seems to go much more smoothly. That’s a ticket worth writing.

It's "Go" Time!

The following blog post from three years ago came across my way and was a much-needed message in my life right now. I am struggling with trusting God again, and while I know there's a deep-seated faith within me, it's a little hard to find. Why? Well, there are new things going on around here which require trusting God. My children are getting older and we're looking at colleges, my husband's health seems stable and I need to move forward in this new normal, my own habits of stress eating and "doing" instead of healthy eating and "being" are creeping back. But I know in my head, and somewhere in my heart, that God is in charge. I can jump again into His presence, and while it feels like free falling, it can be a place of peace. I can still remember those five seconds of falling...they were freeing. Let me know: is this message just for me or also for some others out there? I'd love to hear about it.
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Back in the early eighties, there was a parachuting fad, and I dove in. Or shall I say: I dove out…of the plane. The end of the story? I landed on the ground with more of a thud than anticipated, but safely nonetheless. The jump itself was triggered with the single command: “Go!”

The one-day-crash-training-course had a single purpose: to help us know what to do when all other systems failed. We each were provided two parachutes. One of the parachutes was strapped to our backs, and was subsequently attached to the plane with a static line. The line released the chute as we left the plane. The most critical piece of equipment was the second parachute, referred to as our “reserve” chutes. These were strapped to the front of our abdomen. This chute was to be deployed if the first chute failed. We were repeatedly taught “Pull, then throw!” “Pull, then throw!” “Pull, then throw!” We were taught to pull that reserve chute out of the pack if necessary, and then throw it away from ourselves as hard as we could so we would not get caught up in the ropes as it opened.

We were also taught the techniques for landing. If we looked straight ahead and not down at the ground as we were landing, we were safer and less prone to broken bones from putting hands and legs out to stop the fall. Again, this was a method taught through repetition: “Jump, then roll!” “Jump, then roll!” “Jump, then roll!” We continued this mantra as we jumped off the five-foot platforms to practice our moves.

The plane ride was next. Packed in like sardines, straddling the bench, we were to exit the plane one at a time. The first person went. All I saw was the blur of her helmet, so I figured she went down, hoping the parachute opened to accompany her. I still remember my racing heart; beads of sweat on my forehead; a lack of ability to swallow. The open door of the airplane seemed to grow larger with each moment. Gulp. My turn. I stood up. “Ready?” the instructor said. A brief nod. With a slap of his palm against my left shoulder, it was “Go” time. I jumped out and dove into nothingness.

Free falling was incredible. Those five thrilling seconds of weightlessness were worth the work. A strong tug, then I was pulled upward, and thankfully I knew my chute was up. I didn’t need to use the reserve chute. I don’t know if I would’ve remembered “Pull, then throw” at that point either. I continued to float down to the ground. It was an unusual feeling, but also peaceful.

I was thinking about that moment of “Go” time recently. The times before and after the actual jump were fantastic, but “Go” time was that pivot-point where I could have said “No!” Why was it so frightening to jump after all that training? Because I still felt unsure of what would happen. Because, at “Go” time, I felt out of control—the most. This is my new definition of faith—saying “Go” when everything in me wants to say “No!.” Trusting God requires that I trust Him with everything, the training time, the equipment, and even the “Go” time.

The only reason I can say “yes” at “Go” time in my faith is because of what I know about God. I know He loves me and always gives me a safe place to land. No adventure can beat that type of fall. Falling into faith is an exciting, but peaceful, adventure.

Praying Like A Mantis

I’ve seen a few praying mantis recently, and am always shocked to notice the rather large bug camouflaged on the holly bush in front of our house. It’s their large size which intrigues me, but then when I look more closely, I’m fascinated by those front legs giving them their name. They remind me to be in that position of prayer more often for myself.

Reading up a little on the fascinating creatures, I learned that the praying mantis’ front legs are in the folded position to give them a chance to snag their prey quickly. More gruesome is the fact that those legs are equipped with spikes to help grab their prey and pin it in place. Nice bug, huh? Sitting in a praying position in order to get some food. Sounds like a good approach to prayer. Sitting and waiting patiently, maybe then I can snag some food for my soul. A sense of peace. Pinned. A reminder of God’s power. Pinned. A feeling of God’s love. Pinned.

I have been a little down recently, mostly because I’m in another stage of “letting go” as a mom because my son is discussing his future, including college options. I’m excited for him, big-time, but my heart will miss having him around. The discouragement drove me to pray a little more patiently these last few weeks. I’m back to being a little more still. Sometimes I’m crying, sometimes I’m peaceful, but in being still I’m getting back into the groove of sensing God’s presence.

The other day I found a note, written in my own handwriting, tucked away in the pocket of my Kindle cover. It was a verse I used as a reminder against discouragement. Joshua 1:9 “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Further back in the same pocket, I found a second note written to me in my daughter’s handwriting from a year ago. At the bottom of her note, was written a Bible verse. The same one.

Like the praying mantis, I’m going to pin that message and eat it up.

Any messages you've received lately?

True Confessions

It was almost 40 years ago, in the middle of the summer, and I was hanging with my friends at the Sev. We took turns going into the store for a snack, gum or a cherry Slurpee. Sometimes we got one of the older kids to get us a pack of Pall Mall lights. I stayed in the background, a spectator.

It was my turn for teen initiation.

“Hey Lis, you’d never do anything wrong, would ya? A goody two-shoes, that’s what you are.”

Looking down, I grunted, “No, I’m not.”

I didn’t like being predictable.

“I bet you wouldn’t steal anything, ever.”

“Maybe I would.” My heart sank.

“Oh yeah, then go ahead and steal a candy bar. Now.”

No going back.

With shaky knees and clammy skin, I tried to steady my breath as I pulled hard to open the front door and walked into the 7-11’s brightly lit foyer. Avoiding eye contact with the dark-haired cashier, I could tell she noticed me but turned back to her task of placing the doughy pretzels onto the oven warmer rack. I headed to the right and stopped in the middle of the candy aisle. There were so many options. The colorful rows stared back as I tried to decide quickly, needing to avoid my freak-out about to happen.

My analytical mind kicked in. I searched for something small. My eyes widened when I spotted the Chunky bar. With nuts. I palmed the silver jewel and shoved it into the right pocket of my jeans. Exhaling, I walked out.

I faced my friends’ wide-eyed stares.

“Welll?”

“Got it.” And I pulled the candy bar from my pocket. Anticipating high-fives and the ultimate compliment, “cool,” I waited. Nothing. I slowly unwrapped the candy and took a thick, chocolaty bite to seal the deal. Still nothing.

After a long, quiet moment, one of them reported, “You’re gonna have to say that in confession, y’know.”

Quickly I responded. “I know.”

This scene flashed through my mind the other day as I approached my car after getting a 20-oz. from the Wawa. I poured the steaming coffee, found a friend in the store and chatted with her while adding my cream and sugar. I capped the coffee and since she was already finished with her purchases, we easily walked out together. I gasped. My coffee was still in my hand.
I immediately returned to the store and paid the young cashier, explaining my mistake. Laughing, he said it was not a problem; it happens all the time. Yes, I’m thankful for forgiveness. But I still can’t eat a Chunky bar with nuts to this day.

First Day Cookies

The first day of school can be exciting for the kids, but we moms have our own roller coaster ride of emotions to handle.

In my world, this was the first day of a new stage of first days. My baby is now a high school freshman and my older child a junior. Why, then, did it feel like the first day I sent both of them to the elementary school?

Way back when, I started a “first day” tradition of baking cookies to greet my children when they came home. The cookies and milk were the perfect accompaniment to their stories about their teachers, new friends and classroom expectations. I think I started it more for me than them, not to eat the cookies but to savor the joy of hearing those stories. Okay, maybe to have a cookie or two. A dozen years later, we still shared the after-school cookie moment yesterday. This time, their stories reflected their personalities and wisdom. It’s not just about the nice teacher or what it takes to get the grade, but also the environment in the classroom, their personal goals, and mostly their motivation to thrive in the new year.

This year, though, after they gave me their updates and headed to their rooms to start homework, I cried. I hadn’t done that since my baby went to first grade. Back then, the tears were the first of many which I changed to prayers. In that place, where I needed to trust that my kids are okay, is where I learned to trust God.

I cried for the times in the near future when I know I won’t be there in their college dorm with a dish full of cookies and ears ready to listen to those first day stories in person. (Yes, that would be weird.)

I cried with the recognition that I have to let go even more to allow my children the experience of growing up.

I cried about the speed with which these years have flown by. I know, I know, everyone says time goes by quickly, but high school crept up before I felt ready.

And I prayed again. Remembering God got me through all those elementary years, I am confident God will help me through these high school years, too.
Philippians 4:6-8
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Thank you, God, for the promise of your peace, especially now that my babies are in high school.

Vacation Surprises

One of my favorite benefits of vacationing in a hotel is the opportunity to use the guest laundry room. Yes, I enjoy catching up on some wash before I get home. I know, I know, vacation is for relaxing. Getting laundry done relaxes me. If there’s a chance to throw a load in during my time away, I see it as a great way to get a head-start on my chores back at home. It’s a good day when it’s just me, my coffee and the Zen-like pulsing of the washers and dryers to start the morning. The sounds of productivity and the reward of clean, fresh-smelling laundry make me smile.

There were some added surprises in a recent laundry experience. Instead of my preferred solitude, another woman was in the laundry room using one of the dryers. We nodded, acknowledged each other’s presence in the polite way strangers do, and tended to our own machines. As I loaded my wash, though, I couldn’t help but notice as she opened her dryer door, looked inside, closed it again, and then stood there as it ran, while holding the door closed with her hand. She then repeated this process every few minutes.

I simply couldn’t resist and had to ask. “Something wrong with the dryer?”

“No, ma’am,” she drawled, “except that the sneakers sometimes fly outta these things, y’know?”

Puzzled, I watched the spinning sneakers for a few seconds to process her comment. I thought that maybe since I was from Pennsylvania we had different laundry customs. Perhaps flying sneakers are as southern as grits.

“After the rain last night, I decided to throw our sneakers in here,” she continued, “but the door won’t stay shut. The sneakers keep flying out and I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

All I could visualize was a perfectly enjoyable vacation being knocked upside-the-head by being, well, knocked-upside-the-head by a flying sneaker. Vacations can be full of surprises, and so can laundry rooms.

I thought about getting myself some grits. Sometimes a change in routine is a good thing.

Noise Noise Noise

I’m sitting here by the open window on an incredibly gorgeous day in June. I picked today to get some writing done, with perfect 70 degree weather and a slight breeze to accompany me. An unwelcome companion, however, is the street worker who decided to tackle repairs in the road in front of my house. Seriously? Today of all days? The sound of the street cutting machine grinds its teeth into my brain while slicing a cut into the road out front. It won’t stop. For hours. I think to myself, just shut it out and pretend it’s only white noise in the background. I continue with my day’s work, and over time I’m less aware (consciously at least) of the grinding roar of the motor. My subconscious mind, however, remains tuned in to the high volume of the gears. Suddenly, the machine stops. I feel my body melt into my wooden chair. The quiet, thick and welcoming, drapes me like a soft blanket. I want to stay still as long as possible to soak in the nurturing peace I didn’t realize was missing. What did the noise prevent me from hearing, I wonder? My thoughts. They run a mile a minute in haphazard fashion on a normal day but the grating background noise kicked my thoughts into hyper overdrive. Finally, the silence, like a lasso, gave me something to grasp so that I could reel my thoughts back into marching band precision.

A busy wife and mom of teenagers, I run on hyper overdrive on a regular basis. Drop the kids off somewhere, run errands, go to work, get groceries, make dinner, set up the doctors’ appointments, manage the calendar, check in on my parents, pay the bills, oh, and pick the kids up. It’s no wonder when someone asks “What do you do?” I assume the deer-in-headlights expression because I don’t know where to start.

One of my favorite bible verses is Psalm 46:10 “Be still, and know that I am God.” Ahhh. Now we’re talking. This is the type of ‘stillness’ I’m looking for. Only with pockets of quiet can I bring sanity and order into my life and mind. I need to force myself to maintain the discipline of being quiet, even if for a few minutes, on a daily basis so I can hold on to the peace I desire. Then, I am a better wife, better mom, better friend and overall better version of myself.

The Ultimate Book Signing

Writing is hard work. Writing a book is even harder. Getting a book published harder yet. But the ultimate challenge? Book signings. Whether a first or fifteenth book, the author is vulnerable. A book signing is one of those events where people are needed more than technology. Live people. I enjoyed attending a number of signings these past few years, and each one was a fun adventure in excitement and hope.

What if Jesus had a book signing? His book would be the Bible, which covers all the nonfiction genres. The Big Book contains biography, autobiography, memoir, letters, history, inspiration, and travel, all in one. With a shiny Cross pen in hand, Jesus would smile his big, welcoming smile to indicate he was ready to greet his readers. We’d each bring our books to the table, get the famed autograph and during our conversation we’d enjoy personal attention from the Big Guy. Of course, there would be light snacks and coffee, since I’m of the belief there will be coffee in heaven. The cake would probably be angel food but hopefully there will be chocolate too. Alongside the table would be business cards with one word--“God”--with no phone number or website needed. Of course, there would also be bookmarks to give away.

I’d walk up to the Big Author, shaking in my shoes, with my favorite Bible in hand, the NIV version. “Hi, Jesus!” I’d say, “Address your note to Lisa, please.”

“Of course! By the way, I know your name already,” He’d say.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Sooo, Jesus, why did you write this book anyway?”

“To tell you how much I love you. And Lisa, how about you. Are you a writer too?”

“Umm, yes. At least that’s what I keep trying to tell myself.”

“Yes, you’re a writer, because I made you that way. Keep on writing, Lisa. And remember I’m always here to help you.”

To all my fellow writers, keep on writing. And I will, too.

Thoughts are Bugging Me

A quick glance through Google shows we have anywhere between 20,000 and 70,000 thoughts per day. Whether 20,000 or 70,000, it’s a lot. What are all these thoughts and what do we do with them? Among these thousands of thoughts there are some which are damaging. Small, unobtrusive, like termites. These pests feed on wood, the structural form causing a home to stand. When this wood is damaged, a home could eventually be unlivable. But termites seem so simple and innocent by themselves don’t they? It’s a lot like the home of my inner self. The running commentary starts again. Nobody likes you. You’re not smart enough. You’re not skinny enough. You’re hungry again? But you just ate something. You’re not valuable. You’re not loved. Nobody notices. When these safe-sounding, simple thoughts are allowed to randomly crawl across my heart and mind, my insides become structurally damaged. I’m affected physically, emotionally and spiritually. Other thoughts flit about, harmlessly. Like household spiders, they cause me to notice and sometimes even to react. I usually prefer to avoid spiders, but they are safe in that they can be dealt with, one at a time. It could be a random Is it time to pay the bills again or I wonder if the guy on the elliptical cleaned off the machine or I better get the car inspected soon or What’s on TV tonight. Any of these thoughts could fester and grow, but they could also be swept away like the spider that got in the house. They are a nuisance at times but can be handled and dismissed quickly. I’m reminded to filter all my thoughts, the termite-type and the spider-type alike, through the lens of God’s Word, the Bible. I’m told what to think about “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, think about such things…” and I’m told how God thinks about things “My ways are higher than your ways and my thoughts are higher than your thoughts…” This is the reassurance I need when my own thoughts run the gamut of the insect world. Thank God for exterminators.

Two-Word Prayer

I continue my journey of faith and food by acknowledging, for today at least, that God wants to shape me both physically and spiritually. I search the bible for new meaning; new insights; new ways to get a tangible sense of God’s presence to help me manage my food choices.

Help, God!

The quickest prayer that came to my mind was this simple two-word prayer. But I realized that it has a tiny comma in between the words: Help, comma, God…which implies my request for help with a pause in between. That comma is the moment of stopping where I change from what I asked (“help”) and who I asked it from (“God”!) My tendency, though, is to slip through this request in a different way, without the comma. It then becomes “Help God!” and here I go again, taking on the task of thinking that I can actually help my heavenly Father do what He needs to do in my life. If I stop the control issues and pause at that comma, it makes all the difference.

Romans 8:25-26
“But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.”

The Romans scripture speaks of waiting for what we do not have in a patient way. Not just waiting, but waiting patiently. This comma between the words Help and God can be my visual reminder to wait patiently. Then I can move on to the next words of wisdom and rest in the assurance that the Spirit does, in fact, help me in my weakness.

Finches: part 2

My finch feeder has six perches. Many times I’ll see five of those perches occupied with the tiny beauties, but rarely all six. Even with the empty spots, the finches will perform their flying gymnastics, waiting impatiently for a turn at the feeder, while those on the perches nibble, then look around, then nibble again. Sometime there’s a battle for a particular perch, even with another empty spot available. One bird will swoop in and knock another one off its feeding spot…how rude! I wouldn’t like to be interrupted in the middle of a meal, would you? I often want to shout: “Hey! There’s another spot on the other side! There’s plenty of food for everyone. There’s even more food in the big bag for you when the feeder is empty!”

I behave like those finches. Even with plenty of love and grace available to me, I approach God with feeble prayer requests, looking for one tiny piece of nyjer seed at a time. Hey God, would You please watch over our family today? While You’re at it, do You think You could help my parents too? How about my neighbors, or maybe my husband, and all those other people at the cancer center? What about me…do You have energy left for me, too, God? And do You still love me for asking all this?

God probably feels like I do with those little finches. I imagine He wants to say: “Eat away! Ask away! I have all that…and more for you, Lisa!” Like the finches, I eat from God’s stores of abundance by putting my face right in there; pulling out those treats personally. I, too, find myself peeking around from my perch in prayer, as if I’m watching for someone to knock me off my spot to tell me it’s not my turn to ask God for anything anymore. And God probably wants to say “Hey! There’s another spot and plenty of room and food for everyone! I have more than you can imagine!”

Like the finches, I need to feed on one little piece at a time, since that’s what it takes to understand God’s love. I approach God cautiously, watching out for the other finches who I think might get my portion of God’s love. Sometimes I even change perches, thinking the love tastes different from another angle. But when I remember God probably wants to take His entire bag of nyjer seed and dump it all over me, I can realize more clearly the truth in my soul: with God, there’s always more, if only I ask.

This morning, all six perches at the feeder were filled for a few moments, yet there’s still plenty of finch food left. How about that?

Finches

It had been an extra-tough year. My husband’s cancer diagnosis last spring blasted our family into a whirlwind of doctor’s appointments, medical questions, fear, more medical questions, financial questions, more fear, more doctor’s appointments, and oh yes, more questions. Today, we experience our daily lives at an awkward pace; switching out the old pace and perspective on life for this new normal. Joe’s health continues to stabilize, but my writing needed some resuscitation. I needed to find myself again and ask some basic questions: who am I, what do I think about, what I need. I needed to thrive, not just survive; and in the middle of it all I still needed God.

Fortunately, God never left. He is still here. I just forgot. I also forgot some of my habits which seem insignificant but are the source of refueling for my soul. Habits like prayer and journaling, not just several days a week, but every day. My spirit longed for the simple things again: for time with myself, time with friends, time for baking. Last week, I remembered another joy I’ve missed: replenishing my finch feeder.

The shepherd’s hook out back had been empty for months, and last week I finally put up a finch feeder again. The next day, my eyes clouded with tears when I saw that the finches returned. They simply wanted their share; their portion; one tiny piece of nyjer seed at a time, and that's when I remembered. It's not the big doses of God that matter; it's the regular little portions that I will always crave. And receive, if only I ask.

The finches are back and so am I.

Empathy in Extreme

Many of you may have read about the recently publicized personal trainer named Drew who is on a journey of taking six months to eat an unrestricted diet in order to gain weight and experience the emotional and physical cravings of being overweight and addicted to sugary and fatty foods. He started in May 2011 and after six months, will then utilize his food and fitness plan to lose the weight during the following six months. Haven't heard about it yet? You can check it out at his website www.fit2fat2fit.com.

In my own journey of weight loss with its ups and downs, physically, emotionally and spiritually, the reason I share my ideas is to give hope in the area of weight loss. Why can I do this? Because I've been there. Drew is taking the courageous step to walk in the shoes of those of us who struggle with food addiction, at least for a little while. I find it interesting to note, however, that in his description he says he is "addicted" to fitness. Is this yet another area of addiction, which needs to be put in its proper place? Such a tough balance.

I can't wait until we can simply feast in heaven and not worry about our physical bodies along with all its addictions, both positive and negative. Being free of the bondage of addiction is the ultimate desire, but in the meantime, we all need a way to learn to manage them. Through it all, I stand by my motto: God is there---always.

I am fascinated and inspired by Drew's example of empathy to the extreme levels. How about you?

Be Still and Know that I am God

I know that The Oprah Winfrey Show has finished its final season on the air, however, I recently discovered Oprah herself is continuing her appearances on television with a new level of meaning. She is hosting a series called "Lifeclass" with the premise that she discusses various aspects of having a better life.

In a recent episode, she talked about one of my favorite (and most challenging!) topics: believing in yourself. She spoke of an inner voice to which we need to listen in order to get a sense of our personal purpose in this world. She quoted one of my favorite verses in the psalms "Be still and know that I am God." This stillness, she suggests, is defined as obtaining the sense of inner quiet so that we can get in touch with ourselves.

What I love about the verse is that I see it as having four meanings, depending on the focus word. For starters, the common focus on the word "STILL" in "Be STILL and know that I am God" suggests a calmness created so that we can quiet ourselves enough to be able to sense a presence of God in our lives. It's oh so important, and is probably the one blessed thing we can choose to do for ourselves for a more focused life. But the verse has more intonations: with a focus on the word "KNOW", I am reminded that while I am working at the discipline of being calm, I can KNOW that my Creator is God, and am strengthened in my faith as a result. The next focus is on the word "I". Boy this one straightens me out like a schoolgirl when I realize I am once again trying to take control of things only God can do. "Be still and know that I am God" reminds me that God is God; it's a simple fact. I am reassured when I can depend on Him and Him alone. And the final focus on the word "God" reads like this: "Be still and know that I am GOD." I can hear the music playing; harps and trumpets and drums, all in harmonious sound, humbling me to my core when I recognize I am talking about the Big Guy here. Do I hear an "Amen?"

Putting My Face On

I love makeup and I love scripture.

My kids and I have a daily practice of “putting on our armor” as suggested in the book of Ephesians to help us prepare for our day. We put on our “belt of truth” while practicing to clip on our belt buckles, and the “breastplate of righteousness” while patting our chests, and tie up the shoes on our “feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.” We then strap on our “helmets of salvation” and the “shield of faith” (left arm bent upwards in a protective gesture) and thank God for the “sword of the spirit, which is the Word of God.” I sensed a mother’s calling to instill tangible ways to apply biblical principles for my children to see the connection between God’s way of working in our world and our need to be safe and protected each day.

Personally, I enjoy makeup as my way to prepare for my day, both physically, mentally and spiritually. When I wash my face with special cleansers and apply the moisturizing lotions, it’s my version of buckling up my belt of truth. Without cosmetics, the truth of how my skin looks is evident! I’ll properly apply foundation and concealer to cover up my flaws and appear “righteous” like that breastplate I’m wearing, and give me that sense of peace I need from the gospel. Next, a smooth stroke of the brush, and I apply blush to my cheeks giving me a look of being more alive because of my helmet of salvation. My eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara give me that extra touch of color which can radiate from the faith I carry in my precious shield, and the lipstick enhances my mouth which is ready to speak the treasured Word of God, which is the sword of the spirit.

I think God likes makeup too!

Spinning on the Exercise Wheel

I was headed out bright and early for a 5:45 (yes, in the morning!) spin class when I saw a note left by my precious daughter the night before: “Have fun, mommy!” In case you haven’t tried spinning yet, it is simply a form of working out on an exercise bike with a twist: the instructor guides you with his/her suggestions as you adjust the intensity and speed of your bike riding during the workout to follow the pace of the blaring music to move you along. Is it fun? I choke when I try to use the word “fun” and “exercise” in the same sentence. I could not honestly say “Ok!” to my daughter’s suggestion, but I made a mental note to try.

Quick history: I am a successful weight loss story, having lost over 100 pounds for a full-body and life transformation. My anchor: prayer. Seriously. You can learn more about that in my talks and upcoming book, but for now, I want to discuss exercise specifically. You thought I’d say my anchor on this weight loss journey would be exercise, didn’t you? It’s not. I exercise only because I have to exercise. Sometimes, I have fun with it, maybe, but I don’t mind missing out on fun because I fully believe in the health requirements related to the discipline of exercise. As for my workout routine, I am a serious at-home exerciser. The less time I use traveling to a gym, or planning to get together with someone else, or any other form of coordination equates to more time to do the exercise itself and get it over with. Nice attitude, huh? Nice or not, this attitude keeps me going, and I get the chance to experience better health as a result.

With all that said, you realize by now that the spin classes are a stretch for me. Every once in a while, I have a crazy notion to kick up my exercise challenge to see what else I can do. And so I tried spinning for the first time last year…and I blogged about it too…you can refer to it on this blog (check it out here). Today's spin class, however, was just another crazy notion and I decided on a fluke to take up my friend’s suggestion to try out her class.

Kudos to Kris, my friend and spin instructor, who took me on a journey like never before. It was her suggestions that kept me going for the full hour at that insane time in the morning, when she said things like: “This mountain is yours: you can take it!”, or “Don’t let the bike control you; you control the bike!” and, my favorite, “Recovery makes you strong!” (yes, I was looking forward to the end of the workout, also known as “recovery”!)

The bottom line, I finished the class---intense and all. The intensity was apparent with the dripping sweat I wore as my trophy for a job well done. Even more rewarding was the smile I wore when I realized that some parts of this particular workout were fun after all. Taking the time to challenge my mind, body and spirit in a way that required such focus that I forgot about all my troubles: not only is it fun, but a gift.

There are other ways to boost up your intensity, and particularly if you are an at-home exerciser like I am, you might want to go all-out with the famous P90X system. No, I haven’t tried it…yet…but my courage might increase enough to say it’s worth a shot. I like the fact that the beachbody.com products seem to deliver what they promise: an intense workout that gives intense results. I appreciate that they tell me it’s intense; they tell me it will take time; they tell me it will require consistency for some period of time. There’s also an Insanity workout program; don’t you just love the name of that one? It’s great that these systems include food suggestions to go along with the programs. If you’re ready to check it out, here are the links:
For the P90X, click here!
For the Insanity workout, click here!

As for me, I’m taking things one day at a time; one exercise at a time. You may be more courageous than I. Go for it! For now, I’m headed to the showers.

Hallway of Hope

I mentioned in my recent post that we are faced with a new "normal" in our family: my husband has cancer. It's a slow-growing, rare form of cancer with no real cure, however there is a chemo cocktail in clinical trial form which promises to manage, and possibly even minimize some of the tumors in his body.

Daunting, I know. However, after tons of research, multiple consultations with doctors and cancer center department specialists, we are cautiously optimistic. We don't have many choices, actually. And so we need to be confident with our decision. Or do we?

My confidence comes from my faith. Confidence is not from the medical decision itself; it's in the fact that I know God is there, all the time, no matter what. I have been focused on a phrase in Phillipians 4 about God's peace. It's God's peace, which is so great I cannot understand it, that guards my heart and mind. Not my peace. Heck, I cannot create a sense of peace about any of these issues. Instead, I simply hold on to hope with a new start each day.

Two full months lapsed between the time of his diagnosis and his first day of treatment. Two months of waiting. With hope. Two months of planning. With hope. Two months of getting ready to get started in his fight with cancer. With hope.

My husband was examined; blood was drawn; papers were processed, and the first step of his actual treatment was prepared, which was in the form of a shot. He was escorted to the hallway where his medicine would be administered chair-side, in a special chair reserved for him. When I walked to the entrance of that hallway, I gasped. There were at least a dozen other patients sitting there, lining both sides of the hallway, receiving their medication, too. All shapes, sizes and ages of people. The unspoken common theme: we were all dealing with cancer. Funny how we all become the same, then. I now call that place the Hallway of Hope. And together we all continue to fight this thing called cancer. With hope.

Emotional Flood

"How do you handle an emotional flood?"

This question was posed by one of my favorite links--the Women of Faith website (www.womenoffaith.com)--and touched my heart. This year has been a year of tremendous emotional flooding, but I am here in the middle, still swimming, treadwater style, with energy to spare because of the fact that I can remember God is there to hold me up every time.

In January my husband went to the hospital--again--for stomach pain radiating to his back. Long story short: we have been dealing with the language of ulcers and stomach acids for a couple years and know when there's something amiss causing his level of pain requiring hospital intervention. That January hospital stay resulted in an ulcer diagnosis with follow-up treatment and medication. Things were quiet for a couple of months. The end of March then resulted in similar symptoms and back to the hospital he went. "Here we go again", I thought. After a week of testing, probing, poking, questioning, prodding and more testing, we were blindsided by the new result which was not an typical stomach ulcer this time---it was cancer.

Yikes, the 'c' word. This new reality resulted in a new level of puzzle-solving; the cancer diagnosis explained all the unexplainable issues and symptoms over the past several years. The cancer is a slow-growing type which was finally discovered and now it's time to tackle the thing.

Emotional flood? You betcha. In the middle of it all, I still have my faith, though. There's a song with the lyrics "On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand..." Those lyrics have reminded me, almost daily, that I have a place to stand in the middle of this treadwater status. A rock can appear under my flailing legs and help me to stay still and stay safe. What I also realize now is a new twist to the sinking sand metaphor (the second part of those lyrics). If I am on sinking sand, like I feel these days, only by staying still can I get help. If I flail and work and fight to get out, I will only sink deeper. Staying still, and being on that rock, makes the emotional flood or the sinking sand be minimized into a simple setting of my current life, not the definition of it.

I am grateful for Christ, my rock.

On that rock, and that rock alone, can I stand to move forward in the middle of crisis mode and continue with healthy eating, weight loss goals, and self-care. I am committed to continue on this Gain Faith, Lose Weight journey in a stronger way and refuse to give in to the 'oh well, it's not important' attitude about watching my own food issues in this emotional floodwater. Hey, it's the emotional eating that got me to being more than 100 pounds overweight, and it's the lack of emotional eating that will keep me healthy and fit. I need that rock of Christ to stand so that I can simply eat for sustenance and enjoyment, not emotional-stuffing. He comes through every time I stay still and look up.