Ordered Chaos

            I walked into the studio, greeted by the scents of paint and glue. Busy Bees is a colorful playground for the creative artist, and it makes me smile every time. They offer a variety of crafting options, and this time I tried something new: mosaic.

I chose a square piece of wood as the background for my creation and went to work picking out tiny chunks of tile to glue on to the wood into a pattern. After the tile pieces were glued on, I would be sent home with grout (the color of my choosing) to fill in the spaces between the tiles to finish the piece.

The assortment of colors and shapes overwhelmed me at first. It calmed me to start with a loose pattern. I glued little square mirrors in alternating sequence around the edges. Silver. Gold. Silver. Gold. My heartbeat slowed as I got into the rhythm of creating. Faced with a wall full of bins in every color of tile pieces, the design started to form in my mind. I cut a tiny square into two uneven triangles of green. Funny how going from a square to a triangle changed things. I was inspired to cut some more. Next, I cut off the corner of an odd blue piece of tile and it formed a pentagon. When I halved the clover-shaped pieces, they became figure eights.

Changing the shapes gave me a sense of control. While I allowed some pieces to remain whole, I caused others to be broken. All the colorful pieces, broken and whole, show up more clearly when surrounded by the black grout of emotion’s dark depths. 

            

             I call it “Ordered Chaos.”

            A single clear stone belongs in the middle. I may not understand the stone fully, but I recognize its characteristics. For me, the clear stone is like a steaming cup of coffee first thing in the morning. It’s the smell of the bookstore where my writers’ group meets. Sharing hugs with my daughter and long-distance phone conversations with my son. It’s when I send the words “I love you, babes” in a text to my husband. Bible and prayer time. Sharing time with friends. Each of these represent wholeness yet are pieces of the whole of me.

            What does your center stone represent?

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.

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?

Focus on the Fence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you focus on the fences, too?

Weighing In

Donating blood. Sounds simple, right? Wrong.

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“No.”

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

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

“Have you ever had malaria?”

“No.”

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

“No.”

And then came the worst question of all.

“What do you weigh?”

Gulp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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