I wear two hearing aids. Seems like yesterday when I got my first one at the age of five. Suddenly, the refrigerator didn’t hum in the background anymore, it roared. Car engines became airplane engines. I even heard my mom call me from the other room. And the toilet flushing? I thought a tidal flood came through our little bathroom.
I didn’t know what I didn’t hear until I heard it.
It’s the same with God.
Really?
Could I actually hear something? Well, it’s God, so I imagine a choir of a gazillion angels or the clanging of a huge bell or perhaps the thunderous sound of a voice which shakes the ground I’m standing on. Or perhaps there’s no sound at all.
As a hearing aid wearer, the best way to “hear” things is to read them. I agree, God could help me to hear despite my hearing aids. But I’ve always lacked confidence in my ability to hear clearly, and reading the closed-captioning on the TV helps. My aids are much more high-tech than they used to be so I can skip the words on the TV most of the time, but hearing from God is still a tough concept. The Bible, however, is the ultimate in closed-captioning. Messages are written just for me.
Earlier this year, I experienced a spiritual rut when I was less sure than usual of God’s plans in my life (aren’t we all?) I found my prayers shifting to a passionless recitation of familiar words which were on my mind but not in my heart. I basically felt abandoned by God because, well, feeling ignored is a familiar “button” for me, and I wasn’t connecting with God in the busy schedule of my routine.
I attended the Beth Moore event in May of this year…solo. I was able to pick a seat from the general seating area by myself. Each of the chairs had a hand-written bible verse on an index card meant for the person occupying it.
My verse was Psalms 9:10:
“Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you.”
I looked up a definition of “forsaken.” It means abandoned.
I heard the message, loud and clear.
I’d love to hear your stories: how has God spoken to you through Scriptures?
Striving to increase my faith each day, a little at a time, and lose the things that weigh me down.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Thursday, August 28, 2014
First Day of School
The cool breeze suggested the beginning of Fall but the calendar read August 25th---still summer. Regardless of the season, the first day of school arrived again.
My daughter, now a sophomore, bounded down the stairs, the slight scent of powder trailing her. She looked at herself in the mirror, smoothed a couple stray hairs and adjusted her blouse. She then turned, peeked over her shoulder to check the final view from the back, and smiled. Satisfied, she joined me in the kitchen.
“Good morning, precious!”
“Morning, Mom!”
“How are you?”
“I’m okay, thanks. Except I’m a little nervous about the new building. It might be tough to find my way around.”
“I understand,” I said.
More than thirty years have passed since I started my sophomore year in high school. How odd to remember the details to this day. I wore a blue uniform, and remember checking from the back to make sure my blouse collar was laying properly, my socks pulled up, my hair smoothed down.
My young man, now a high school senior, walked down the stairs a few minutes later. Confident and calm, he no longer resembled the little boy I used to escort to the bus stop.
“You ready to take it on?” I asked.
“Yup!” he said.
After breakfast, they each posed for the obligatory first-day-of-school photo. They know to stand in front of the door, so I can see how tall they’ve grown since last year. The photo tradition gives me a chance to capture the moment, hoping to make it stand still. Tears threatened, but I held off. My chickadees hadn’t left the house yet.
“Time to go,” I said. “Let’s put on the armor of God, okay?”
We had been reciting our personal version of Ephesians 6 since my son started Kindergarten.
“Thank you, Lord, that you give us the belt of truth…”
And we go through the hand motions putting on our invisible belts.
“And for the breastplate of righteousness…”
Hand-motions to strap on a chest plate.
“…and our feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.”
Hand motions to tie on our shoes.
“Thank you, Lord, for our helmet of salvation, and the shield of faith, with which we can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.”
Strap under the chin, then left arm bent at the elbow and lifted up to hold the shield.
“…And for the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.”
Right arm wielding a sword, ready to take it on.
And my two young adults walked out the door, stepping out of this momma’s nest to fly.
Letting go is not natural, but necessary.
I cried. The first day of school gets me every time. I think I need a box of tissues to go along with the armor.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Smoke Break
Today, I watched as an employee at a local retail store took a well-deserved smoke break on a bench just outside the front doors. She was disengaged from the busyness around her, enjoying the breezy afternoon with just enough sun to be comfortable. With each puff, she seemed to take in a dose of stillness. She seemed so…calm.
I’m old enough to remember the days when it was normal for businesses to allocate time for their employees to take a “smoke break” as one of the company benefits. Smoking was all the rage, but only the cool people smoked, and I certainly wanted to be cool.
Remember the Marlboro Man?
Okay, I admit I tried smoking back when I was a teenager (sorry, Mom) but didn’t like it very much. Thankfully, it’s not a habit which interested me. As a result, you may consider me odd but I looked up “how to smoke” on Google. (Ironically, my teenage daughter caught me and seemed wary of my excuse that it was blog research. But that’s another story.)
I’m thinking I want this sense of…calm…when I’m praying.
The Google smoking instructions contained five basic steps:
1) Flame
Obviously, lighting up requires well, a light. Fire is required for smoke.
So many times I am pushed to the limit with feeling out of control in my life that a touch of heat…a flame…a scorch of awareness…is all I need to remember God is really the one in control. It’s a good way to get started in prayer.
2) Inhale a Little
The instructions mentioned it best to inhale just a little bit of smoke, slowly, so as to avoid singeing your throat, and to give yourself a chance to taste the cigarette.
Taking in only a little of the Bible at a time helps me to get a deeper sense of what God wants to say. Recently, I have been reading the book of Proverbs, one chapter at a time, and then selected a single verse in that chapter for reflection. I am able to apply that one verse more tastefully than if I simply sucked in the entire chapter.
3) Hold
The next step is to hold some of the smoke in your mouth, for enjoyment.
Reminding myself of the single verse at various times during the day gave me a chance to savor the lesson. The other day, Proverbs verse reminded me to “guard my heart” and it helped me stay calm when I felt overwhelmed about preparing for my schedule the following day.
4) Inhale Further
Next, the smoke is to be inhaled all the way down to the lungs.
Sometimes, the message I learned the day before (such as the “guard my heart” reminder) needs to get deep into my being. I decided to dwell on it for the next couple days as well. It made a difference.
5) Let Go
Finally, there are various ways to demonstrate your “coolness” by the stylistic way to let go and blow out the smoke.
For me, this means to let go of what I think I can control and simply breathe out my own efforts to let God work instead.
Thinking through these steps, I inhaled a dose of peace instead of tobacco. Drew in some stillness. Exhaled some stress. When I returned to my work later that day, I was more productive and energized.
And I was as cool as the Marlboro Man.
I’m old enough to remember the days when it was normal for businesses to allocate time for their employees to take a “smoke break” as one of the company benefits. Smoking was all the rage, but only the cool people smoked, and I certainly wanted to be cool.
Remember the Marlboro Man?
Okay, I admit I tried smoking back when I was a teenager (sorry, Mom) but didn’t like it very much. Thankfully, it’s not a habit which interested me. As a result, you may consider me odd but I looked up “how to smoke” on Google. (Ironically, my teenage daughter caught me and seemed wary of my excuse that it was blog research. But that’s another story.)
I’m thinking I want this sense of…calm…when I’m praying.
The Google smoking instructions contained five basic steps:
1) Flame
Obviously, lighting up requires well, a light. Fire is required for smoke.
So many times I am pushed to the limit with feeling out of control in my life that a touch of heat…a flame…a scorch of awareness…is all I need to remember God is really the one in control. It’s a good way to get started in prayer.
2) Inhale a Little
The instructions mentioned it best to inhale just a little bit of smoke, slowly, so as to avoid singeing your throat, and to give yourself a chance to taste the cigarette.
Taking in only a little of the Bible at a time helps me to get a deeper sense of what God wants to say. Recently, I have been reading the book of Proverbs, one chapter at a time, and then selected a single verse in that chapter for reflection. I am able to apply that one verse more tastefully than if I simply sucked in the entire chapter.
3) Hold
The next step is to hold some of the smoke in your mouth, for enjoyment.
Reminding myself of the single verse at various times during the day gave me a chance to savor the lesson. The other day, Proverbs verse reminded me to “guard my heart” and it helped me stay calm when I felt overwhelmed about preparing for my schedule the following day.
4) Inhale Further
Next, the smoke is to be inhaled all the way down to the lungs.
Sometimes, the message I learned the day before (such as the “guard my heart” reminder) needs to get deep into my being. I decided to dwell on it for the next couple days as well. It made a difference.
5) Let Go
Finally, there are various ways to demonstrate your “coolness” by the stylistic way to let go and blow out the smoke.
For me, this means to let go of what I think I can control and simply breathe out my own efforts to let God work instead.
Thinking through these steps, I inhaled a dose of peace instead of tobacco. Drew in some stillness. Exhaled some stress. When I returned to my work later that day, I was more productive and energized.
And I was as cool as the Marlboro Man.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Connections
I had an interesting perspective at Beth Moore's Living Proof Live conference back in May. My special seats afforded me a clear view of wires. Lots of them.
Can you see the two thick bunches of cables coming down from the ceiling? There must have been at least three dozen individual cords in each bunch. Each of the cable ropes connected up to the ceiling, and then fed into the blue cage. You can track the cage across the arena ceiling at the top of the photo. The cage then opened just above the center stage, where the ropes were freed. The ropes then dangled to the stage and were plugged in somewhere below the stage.
Who, I wondered, is in charge of making sure everything is connected? Looking to my right, I found this guy.
Okay, there’s always someone behind the scenes, right? We know he’s done a great job only when we manage to forget he’s even there.
Prayers are a familiar go-to response when life goes poorly. Kind of like when one of the wires gets unplugged.
But what about when life goes well? Could I still remember who’s behind the scenes, keeping all the cables connected properly?
I woke up. Early. God did that.
I have a bed to sleep in. Comfy. God did that.
I have food in my fridge. Plenty. God did that.
I received another annual “we analyzed your mammogram results and there is nothing wrong” letter. Relieved. God did that.
My husband is the love of my life and best friend. Always. God did that.
My children continue to bless my life. Abundantly. God did that.
I can read the Bible. Anytime. God did that.
I can pray and connect with God. Again.
God always does a great job behind the scenes. Even when I’ve forgotten He is there.
Can you see the two thick bunches of cables coming down from the ceiling? There must have been at least three dozen individual cords in each bunch. Each of the cable ropes connected up to the ceiling, and then fed into the blue cage. You can track the cage across the arena ceiling at the top of the photo. The cage then opened just above the center stage, where the ropes were freed. The ropes then dangled to the stage and were plugged in somewhere below the stage.
Who, I wondered, is in charge of making sure everything is connected? Looking to my right, I found this guy.
Okay, there’s always someone behind the scenes, right? We know he’s done a great job only when we manage to forget he’s even there.
Prayers are a familiar go-to response when life goes poorly. Kind of like when one of the wires gets unplugged.
But what about when life goes well? Could I still remember who’s behind the scenes, keeping all the cables connected properly?
I woke up. Early. God did that.
I have a bed to sleep in. Comfy. God did that.
I have food in my fridge. Plenty. God did that.
I received another annual “we analyzed your mammogram results and there is nothing wrong” letter. Relieved. God did that.
My husband is the love of my life and best friend. Always. God did that.
My children continue to bless my life. Abundantly. God did that.
I can read the Bible. Anytime. God did that.
I can pray and connect with God. Again.
God always does a great job behind the scenes. Even when I’ve forgotten He is there.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Cleaning the Inside
Any fellow coffee lovers out there? Like you, I’m constantly on the search for the perfect cup of coffee, every time. About a year ago, I rediscovered the beauty of the electric percolator…you know, the kind my parents used when I was young. I enjoy the traditional drip coffee makers and also the Keurig single-cup appliances, but when a friend gave me a cup of coffee made in her percolator, I was hooked. My coffeepot was on its last leg, and when it died, my next model was shiny and silver.
After a year of using my percolator, day after day, sometimes twice a day, the inside was—ahem—black. My coffee, like my heart and the words that come out of my mouth, can get bitter with long-time residue left unattended.
It was time to clean the inside.
The tiny quarter-sized well at the bottom of my percolator was impossible to reach, let alone clean. Yes, I tried scrubbing. But as with most coffee makers, the stains became permanent. I considered a popular vinegar method to clean it but was skeptical because I didn’t want the taste of vinegar mixing with my beloved cup of coffee.
Then I tried another method: the dishwasher soap method. I took a dishwasher tablet, placed it in the pot, added boiling water to the top and let it sit for a half hour. The coffee stains practically removed themselves from the inside of the pot and my coffee tastes delicious again. The reason my coffeepot is sparkly clean now is not because of my efforts, but because of what I used to clean it.
This reminds me of the bible verse where Jesus speaks to the Pharisees about cleaning the outside of the cup and dish, not the inside.
Matthew 23:25-26
25 “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. 26 Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean.
I am making efforts to clean my attitude about eating healthy---again. I am always making these efforts. But the question is:
What am I using as my cleaning product?
The only thing that works…the only thing that EVER worked…is daily prayer. It’s the ultimate dishwasher tablet. Not Dawn, not Cascade, but Prayer. The residue of life’s leftover gunk in my heart practically removes itself when I do this. My heart, like my coffee, becomes better, not bitter.
What’s your version of the ultimate cleaning product?
After a year of using my percolator, day after day, sometimes twice a day, the inside was—ahem—black. My coffee, like my heart and the words that come out of my mouth, can get bitter with long-time residue left unattended.
It was time to clean the inside.
The tiny quarter-sized well at the bottom of my percolator was impossible to reach, let alone clean. Yes, I tried scrubbing. But as with most coffee makers, the stains became permanent. I considered a popular vinegar method to clean it but was skeptical because I didn’t want the taste of vinegar mixing with my beloved cup of coffee.
Then I tried another method: the dishwasher soap method. I took a dishwasher tablet, placed it in the pot, added boiling water to the top and let it sit for a half hour. The coffee stains practically removed themselves from the inside of the pot and my coffee tastes delicious again. The reason my coffeepot is sparkly clean now is not because of my efforts, but because of what I used to clean it.
This reminds me of the bible verse where Jesus speaks to the Pharisees about cleaning the outside of the cup and dish, not the inside.
Matthew 23:25-26
25 “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. 26 Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean.
I am making efforts to clean my attitude about eating healthy---again. I am always making these efforts. But the question is:
What am I using as my cleaning product?
The only thing that works…the only thing that EVER worked…is daily prayer. It’s the ultimate dishwasher tablet. Not Dawn, not Cascade, but Prayer. The residue of life’s leftover gunk in my heart practically removes itself when I do this. My heart, like my coffee, becomes better, not bitter.
What’s your version of the ultimate cleaning product?
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Pound Cake Prayers
In my prayers the other day, I started by asking God for help in managing my food choices. Again. God can and will help me with this, I know. I’m using food as a drug to avoid difficult emotions. Yes, I’m aware of this. Yes, I still do it. And so I pray again.
God, I know you can help me deal with food these days. Help me to eat healthier and make better choices. Thank you in advance for being there for me. Oh, and help me not to eat the batter for the pound cake I’m about to make.
I make a mean chocolate cake, smooth butter cookies, crisp pizzelles and to-die-for anise biscotti. Nana would approve with a smile, a hug, and a cup of espresso to go with the cookies. But pound cake? Its secrets to baked perfection elude me.
Don’t get me wrong, I know there are special techniques to pound cake. Room temperature ingredients. Measure properly. Beat the batter for no less than twenty minutes. Check the oven temperature. I reread the page of scribbled notes I took while watching my mom bake yet another perfect pound cake. And I followed my notes and special techniques perfectly.
Raw.
Time to try those prayers again. Time to get raw. What is it I really want to say? I heard it suggested to sit still long enough as if a butterfly could land on my shoulder. And so I sat. And sat.
God, I don’t know if I really want to stop eating. The food helps me to deal with life, y’know? I’m stressed about my daughter’s headache today. I don’t want to panic or overthink it, but is she okay?
Is it okay that I’m afraid sometimes?
I want to let go and let You be in charge. I’ve taken care of myself and everyone else for that matter for so long that I don’t know how to let go.
What about my son’s college plans? Will he make the right choices? Will he get in? What about the finances?
What about my husband’s health? Will he stay stable?
What about my schedule? Am I doing too much? Too little? Am I good enough? Do you love me? Do you even hear me? How do I know you’re here, God?
Maybe, just maybe, the pound cake didn’t turn out to help me avoid eating it.
Raw. Perfect for prayers, not for pound cake.
How do you get raw with God?
God, I know you can help me deal with food these days. Help me to eat healthier and make better choices. Thank you in advance for being there for me. Oh, and help me not to eat the batter for the pound cake I’m about to make.
I make a mean chocolate cake, smooth butter cookies, crisp pizzelles and to-die-for anise biscotti. Nana would approve with a smile, a hug, and a cup of espresso to go with the cookies. But pound cake? Its secrets to baked perfection elude me.
Don’t get me wrong, I know there are special techniques to pound cake. Room temperature ingredients. Measure properly. Beat the batter for no less than twenty minutes. Check the oven temperature. I reread the page of scribbled notes I took while watching my mom bake yet another perfect pound cake. And I followed my notes and special techniques perfectly.
Raw.
Time to try those prayers again. Time to get raw. What is it I really want to say? I heard it suggested to sit still long enough as if a butterfly could land on my shoulder. And so I sat. And sat.
God, I don’t know if I really want to stop eating. The food helps me to deal with life, y’know? I’m stressed about my daughter’s headache today. I don’t want to panic or overthink it, but is she okay?
Is it okay that I’m afraid sometimes?
I want to let go and let You be in charge. I’ve taken care of myself and everyone else for that matter for so long that I don’t know how to let go.
What about my son’s college plans? Will he make the right choices? Will he get in? What about the finances?
What about my husband’s health? Will he stay stable?
What about my schedule? Am I doing too much? Too little? Am I good enough? Do you love me? Do you even hear me? How do I know you’re here, God?
Maybe, just maybe, the pound cake didn’t turn out to help me avoid eating it.
Raw. Perfect for prayers, not for pound cake.
How do you get raw with God?
Thursday, June 19, 2014
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?
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?
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Slowdown and Slurpees
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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?
Thursday, May 22, 2014
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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?
Thursday, May 8, 2014
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?
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?
Thursday, April 24, 2014
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?
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?
Thursday, April 10, 2014
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?
Thursday, March 27, 2014
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.
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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.
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Thursday, March 13, 2014
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.
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“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.
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.
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“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.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
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.
___________________________________________________________
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.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Praying Like A Mantis
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?
Monday, September 9, 2013
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.
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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.
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.
.png)
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.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
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.
Friday, July 5, 2013
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.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
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.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, March 9, 2012
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?
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?
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Finches
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.
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