The threshold was within reach. My parachuting excursion all those years ago still holds a treasured spot in my memory. I can feel my heart beating louder than the whoosh of the wind through the open door. The cracked white paint on the helmet of the brave soul in front of me reminded me this could be dangerous. Most vivid, though, had to be the countdown.

 

I stood into a squat and shuffled to the open door. Standing tall, I was silently freaking out. My instructor’s eyes were kind. “You’ve got this, Lisa” he said. He glanced out at the open sky and started to count.

 

“Three.”

 

Hours of training and suddenly I had amnesia. What was I supposed to know? How to land. How to throw the reserve chute. How to steer the chute itself. Why I was there.

 

“Two.”

 

In an attempt to calm down, I concentrated on my breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’ll be okay, I said to myself. Almost time…

 

And then the heavy-handed pat on my shoulder pushed me out the door. I fell into the most glorious five seconds of freefalling before my chute deployed. I finally exhaled, and descended three thousand feet.

 

The instructor knew I would’ve gotten stuck on Two. But with a little boost out the door just before I was ready, I could then move forward.

 

As it is with my faith.

 

So many times I find myself stuck at Two.

 

I want to trust God for His plans in the world, despite the ongoing pandemic and unfathomable events at the Capitol and in the White House.

 

I want to believe God for His provision as I reset my finances after my divorce and reentry into the workplace.

 

I want to know I’m fulfilling my purpose in this world, where I am free to be the source of light God designed me to be, and allow myself to simply be me.

 

My faith boosters push me forward. Prayer. Waiting. Journaling. More prayer.

 

“One.”

Obvious

In my prayer journal I wrote: "I want to experience your presence, God, in OBVIOUS ways today." I had been feeling a little disconnected; unanchored in my core. Prayer felt ritualistic and shallow these last few months.

Time to dig deeper.

I still remember our family trips to the Wildwood, New Jersey beach when I was a kid. The only way my eight-year-old legs would survive the endless trek to the shoreline was the anticipation of finding those little sand clams. The moment I got to the water, I’d drop to my knees and start to dig. With the very first scoop, those tiny shells appeared. I’d giggle as they hesitated for a second or two, then twitched their way back down. A thin film of salt water would soon flow over them, fully hiding them, and I’d repeat the scooping. They never stopped digging deeper. Doing this in my prayer life helps me find safety, too.

Back to my journaling. I asked God to be with my daughter as she attended her senior prom that evening. Before long, her high school graduation would mark the final chapter in my soon-to-be empty nest. I wonder: Did I do this parenting thing well? What is my role now?

That same day, as I was driving home, I couldn’t help but notice a scarlet red hot air balloon, as big as the clouds where it floated, nearby. There were yellow words written on the back side of the balloon but I couldn’t see all of them. The balloon chase was on. Heading to the next corner, I could clearly see the basket of passengers, waving enthusiastically. My eyes widened as it hovered too close to the power lines above the trees. I exhaled as it finally floated upward with the breeze. It was then I could see the full message on the balloon.

             

Brilliant gold letters, bold in their capitalization, on the scarlet background of the balloon, speaking to my soul:

            “DO ALL TO THE GLORY OF GOD.”

Navy and yellow flags accessorized the full perimeter of the balloon, waving a royal salute to the neighborhoods below. More people streamed out of their homes, pointing to the sky. Phone cameras were out, capturing the view, a beautiful orb of promise and hope and life. 

Digging deeper helps me to be grounded in my reality but not tethered to it, like the hot air balloon. The glowing flame of the balloon gives it the fuel to fly. This spirit sparks in me, giving my soul its flight. My own tethering strings to God in prayer and the Bible guide my direction to safety.

I never saw where the balloon landed, but my soul, for a moment, found its grounding.

            

Roller Coaster College

The empty roller coaster slides forward and beckons me. Holding my breath, I step in and sit down to exhale. I pull down the metal bar which determines if my ride ends in life or death. I pray it locks in properly.

This ride is familiar; only two years ago, I was involved in a college search for my son. It was an adventure, more than I anticipated. I tried to prepare myself by analyzing statistics, reviewing the majors, reading the mission statements and marketing material—anything I could get my hands on. Like the contrast of a wooden versus steel coaster; each university presentation was unique, but somehow similar. We visited at least a half-dozen schools and researched another dozen online. Matching the college details with my son’s personality, talents and goals was daunting.

With God’s help, and the help of others along the way, my son is thriving.

This time, I’m hoping my daughter’s college search will be smoother. I don’t like riding roller coasters all that much.

First, I need to pull on the safety bar to make sure it won’t budge. Am I the only one who does this? Coaster adventure-seekers love to throw their hands in the air on the ride, especially during the descent. Not me, I hold on tighter. This metal bar is all that I have when I have a million questions. Will she like the school? What kind of friends will she meet? How about safety? Will she learn a lot? And what will she be doing during her free time? I need to let the bar do its thing, and I do my thing. Research. Ask questions. And pray. School size. Student to teacher ratio. Average grades for admitted students. Population mix. Majors offered. God, help.

The real questions, the questions inside my heart and mind, won’t be handled by a metal bar, though. What I need to hold on to is God’s promises. He is always with me, and is always with her, too.

Up the hill we go. Looking at a local college. Touring an out-of-state college. Reading the college glossies. Slowly, slowly, slowly we climb. So much to see and read, and yet I know the curve to the downhill descent awaits. This is the curve where I trust our joint decision will match up with God’s plans for her.

Remembering the path laid out for my son, from the professor who offered a personal consultation to advise my son, to the other parents who gave me tips and hints along the way, to the prayers, the many, many prayers, I know God was there to help guide us in this process.

Maybe I’ll throw my hands in the air on the downhill after all. Who knows, I might like it.

What Goes In A Nativity Scene?

For many years, our family had a nativity set which consisted of MOST of the required pieces.

There was a stable, with its scattered straw, and the porcelain figures of Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. The angel, shepherd, cow, and two of the three wise men finished the scene. Somewhere along the way we lost a wise man and a donkey. Odd.

Well, not so odd. It was me, not my children, who dropped and broke the missing pieces. At least I didn’t drop baby Jesus.

This year, we finally replaced our nativity set. As I was packing up our Christmas decorations (yes, it’s always a letdown, huh?) I discovered an extra visitor in our nativity scene.

 

 

 

How did the chocolate Santa get there?

I found another notable nativity scene this year in Cape May, New Jersey. I wanted to take a picture because it seemed so big and complete.

 

 

 

It was more than complete. If you take a close look inside the stable door, my reflection appeared in the photograph, too.

My kids’ response: “Gee, I didn’t think you were THAT old.”  

What doesn’t get old, though, is enjoying these traditional nativity scenes to remind me just what Christmas is all about. God with us, in infant form, to give us hope in a sometimes messy world. Even today, more than 2,000 years later, it’s still a messy world. It helps to peek through the stable door and remember the hope I found in the form of an infant bundle.  

Now that’s even better than a chocolate Santa.

 

 

God's Word at Christmas

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.

I still remember chanting this line during my elementary school years. Interesting defense, but it doesn’t work. It’s a lie.

Words can hurt me.

Words can also heal me.

Hundreds of years before Jesus was born, a man name Isaiah prophesied the first Christmas.

Isaiah 7:14
“Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.”

Immanuel. It’s a Hebrew word which means “God with us.”

Imagine that. GOD with us?!

We’re talking about God here, not a celebrity, not a top dog in a business organization, not a sports-team owner, not a major scientist or Nobel Peace Prize winner. We’re talking about the Almighty God, the Creator of the world, who chooses to be with us.

And how about the preposition “with”? God WITH us.

“With”…in the middle of, among, alongside. Not above, around, behind, before. God sent Jesus to be with us. God’s presence is with us in the middle of the messes, the joys, the funny slices of life, the scary nights.

And how special to know God wants to be with US. You and me, personally, one on one.
No matter what kind of month we had, what kind of year it is, whether we are joyful or sad or hopeful or afraid, God chooses to be with us.

Now that’s the best Christmas present of all.

Words do matter.

Luke 2:16
“So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger.”

Yup, that’s a pretty good line right there.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Letting Go at Christmas

It’s the weekend before the big news. My son applied to Princeton and his early-decision response should arrive next week.

Yes, he’s qualified. The boy is not only insanely intelligent, but bright, sensitive, loving and thoughtful too. But Princeton has more than my son’s personality and abilities to consider. They have a school to fill; a student roster to generate; a package of incoming freshmen which will add credibility, talent and diversity to their university package.

Regardless of Alex’s statistics, there is a randomness to whether he will be selected.

This is where I need to trust God.

I believe God already knows where Alex should spend his college years. I believe God knows who Alex will meet, what Alex will learn, and how Alex will experience his young adult years. I believe it’s not only the education which makes a school special, but the relationships developed, the freedom to explore and the environment to grow as a young adult which factor into choosing the right college.

While I sit on my hands waiting impatiently for results, I believe God has Alex’s plans for good.

Maybe it’s hard to grasp this belief all the way to the core of my being, but I will write and say and read it until I get it.

I’m excited for him but know there’s a bottomless well of tears ready to flood the uncertainties and pain of letting go I need to experience as a Mom.

This is why, during this year’s Christmas season, I wonder what Mary, the mother of Jesus was thinking.

She is the rock star of letting go.

The Bible says she ‘treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart’ when the wise men and shepherds visited. I get that. As a woman and a Mom, I notice things which at times amaze me. All I can do is package up the experience and treasure it, like a personal Christmas gift.

I also get the fact that Mary, in her last stages of pregnancy and the start of labor, wanted an actual room to stay in, not an animal manger. Was she annoyed about the lack of reservations being made by the oh-so-godly husband of hers? They certainly could have enjoyed a nice bed and breakfast with perhaps a birthing room and midwife to help, but instead roomed in a stable with animals and a straw bed. But she had to let go of those desires, too.

Instead, she treasured up these things in her heart. The blessings. The fact that she knew, deep down, there was a bigger experience going on when her little boy was born. He was going to be the Savior of the world.

Now this is a version of letting go I can aspire to.

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.

#85254482 / gettyimages.com

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.

#157395790 / gettyimages.com

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?

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?

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.
___________________________________________________________

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.

True Confessions

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

It was my turn for teen initiation.

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

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

I didn’t like being predictable.

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

“Maybe I would.” My heart sank.

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

No going back.

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

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

I faced my friends’ wide-eyed stares.

“Welll?”

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

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

Quickly I responded. “I know.”

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

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.

Be Still and Know that I am God

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

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

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

Putting My Face On

I love makeup and I love scripture.

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

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

I think God likes makeup too!

My First Spin Class

Spinning. Who would have thought that a simple exercise like riding a bike at a health club could be so complicated?

My heart was pounding and my forehead was sweating, and the cardio workout hadn’t even started yet. I was introduced to the vivacious and extremely fit instructor, Maria, as well as to my machine: not just any old bike, but a spinning bike. As such, there were several special fittings required: the seat height, the seat location, and the handle height. All three factors were customized so that the bend to my knee and the angle with which I sat on the ‘saddle’ (it’s not an old-fashioned bike seat anymore) were optimized for the most effective use of my leg muscles and glutes during the workout. I had been wanting to try this thing called spinning for years now, and Maria was friendly and made me feel welcome, so I relaxed a little while warming up.

Into the saddle I sat, wondering what the hype was all about. The lights were dimmed, Maria had her microphone in place, the music was started, and we were off.

I quickly learned the spin lingo; and quickly learned why this class is so much fun and yet so challenging—like my faith walk, which is a joy, but can also be challenging. Like my Father God, Maria was there with her spirit, her smile and her encouragement the entire way.

“In the saddle”: this means we are sitting down on the bike seat while pedaling as opposed to standing while pedaling. It reminds me of moving along in my faith walk where I need to put some energy into the movement but can still coast if necessary.

The “sprint”: this is when we are in the saddle but are encouraged to "spin" (pedal) faster. The music helped us with its increased tempo, and we would mentally beat anyone around us who might try to be faster than us. Like those challenges in life where things can get me down---self-doubt, fear, confusion—I can instead choose to take on the challenge by speeding ahead on the path of faith without looking to my right or left.

The “climb”: up out of the saddle we would go, and with increased tension on the gear making the pedals harder to turn, we’d stand and push our way up that mental and physical hill to get to the top. Maria’s constant comments, such as “You can do it!”, “You’re almost there!”, “I’m right there with you!”, all reminded me of the biblical encouragement I get on a regular basis, where I can always find something that relates to my life and reminds me that all my challenges are not new ones, and God helped people before me, and can help me too with those challenges.

“Take a break”: On occasion, Maria instructed us to slow down, get “in the saddle”, and get some water and towel off so we can refuel for the next cardio challenge in the workout. God often gives me a chance to refuel—a chat with a girlfriend, a special note in the mail, and smile from a stranger—these breaks happen just when I need them and in the way I need to keep on going.

“The road”: There were times when Maria would describe for us visually what the biking workout would look like as if we were on the road, for example: we’ll be coasting for a while, then riding faster up a slow incline, then climbing a hill to the top, then another small hill before we go downhill again---all these steps would remain in my mind while she orchestrated the bike movements to go along on the path described. There were other times, however, when she simply surprised us with the road’s challenges, and with her encouraging smile, Maria would remind us she was there with us and told us we could ‘do it’…whether it was to sprint faster or climb higher. I find it interesting that sometimes I have an idea of God’s plans for me, but most of the time I am surprised. What is helpful, though, is the reminder that God is right there with me even in the ‘surprises’ on my road trip, to help me get through those challenges. God shows who He is by example, and like Maria, knows what to expect in the challenges and as a result knows how to help me in those challenges.

My name: so many times during the workout, this previous stranger named Maria would become my caring guide as she said my name during the workout: “How’s it going back there, Lisa?” It was a shock to hear my name, but then again I can say I knew she was watching me whether she said so or not. God, too, is always watching over me, and sometimes mentions my name, but I am reassured to know He always loves and cares about me, personally. Even in the crowded room, I felt noticed.


Tip of the week:
Try spinning, if you haven't already! Next on my list: Zumba!

Who's the Cop Chasing?

It’s time to drive more cautiously; y’know—stay within the speed limit. No, no speeding tickets for me recently, but SOMEone out there got them.

Two driving occasions: the first one—I was driving along on a highway, just around (okay, above) the speed limit, but going with the flow of traffic. I’m somewhat attentive but somewhat mindless. My attention span increases exponentially with the bright flashing lights of the cop car in my rearview mirror. Not a fun sight. The ‘uh-oh-did-I-get-caught’ thoughts went flying through my mind; admittedly, the ‘oh, man, how much is this going to cost me?’ thoughts were in there too. Seconds later, the police car passes me on the left to chase someone way out in front. Whew.

Second driving occasion: inching slowly on a congested road in town; again, I’m somewhat attentive but somewhat mindless. A police car is off to the right shoulder of the road in front of me. Within seconds, he puts on his flashers and cuts out in traffic in front of me to go after someone up ahead. At least this time I was sure I wasn’t speeding.

I am still thinking about these incidents because they remind me that the rules haven’t changed; I simply didn’t get caught. How many of us are living like this---somewhat attentive but somewhat mindless? The rules I speak of here are the speed limit signs; decades of driving experience dictate that I am aware of speed limit signs and what they mean. Decades of driving experience does not change the fact that I am to adhere to these signs. Even when I’m staying within the rules, as in the second example when I was driving slowly, I could still be more attentive to the signs.

Why mention all this? I know it’s the same with my weight loss journey and with my faith journey. Like the driving, I need to continue to be alert with my weight and faith; to be more than somewhat attentive and not at all mindless; to not only know the rules but to follow them too. The wakeup call of a police officer’s flashing lights are occasionally needed as reminders, but I’m planning to make sure I don’t need too many of those reminders. God is there every morning and so am I, talking with Him. That should be enough of a reminder.

Tip of the week:
Keep it simple! In these summer months, preparing and cooking meals can be challenging for our schedules as well as our heat levels! I find salads, quick-fix sandwiches and simple fruits and vegetables to be a helpful resource, particularly now.

Skinny Minnie

Several months ago, I had an experience while attending a conference at a hotel that I still can’t wrap my mind around: a stranger called me “Skinny Minnie.”

I had just finished a sweaty, refueling one-hour workout at the hotel’s fitness room and decided to finish my morning with breakfast at the lobby buffet (before I took my shower!)

“Wow,” the waitress said to me, “I wish I had the chance to work out too. Then I could be a Skinny Minnie like you are!” I chuckled nervously and thanked God for the reminder not to go too crazy on the buffet food. The reason for my sense of being uncomfortable, though, was that I have never been called “Skinny Minnie” in my life and didn’t know what to do with the label. I was stunned, actually, particularly since the waitress was small-to-average sized but still asked me for advice. I didn’t get it.

What I do get is that I look and feel better than I did before. It has been years since I’ve stayed thinner, but I am still getting used to this new ‘me’. I even look normal and blend in; I find I’m almost invisible as an average-sized person. But to be set apart as Skinny Minnie was unsettling; it was as uncomfortable as the time I couldn’t ride the kiddie amusement park ride with my son because I was too large. As for the waitress: I was no smaller than she was. Her comment to me was simply a reflection of her own perspective on how she looked and felt, not how I looked. No matter what our size, it’s the size we have of ourselves in our minds that seems more tangible than the view in the mirror. Our mind’s mirrors are distorted with years of insecurities, expectations, and self-esteem all wrapped around the outer layer of our selves that contain the sense of who and what we are, regardless of our outward appearances. We want to separate the physical from our intellectual and emotional selves, but we cannot. As I continue to wander down the path to self-identity as an average-sized person, I continue to blend the various parts of myself into a complete being.

Despite being uncomfortable, I am grateful for the “Skinny Minnie” comment; it gave me the chance to share my story of losing over 100 pounds with that waitress. It gave me a chance to share my faith journey, and to remind her that she was beautiful just as she was. I find it interesting to have the opportunity for a conversation simply because my t-shirt was sweaty. Time for a shower.

Tip of the week:
Taking the time to work out on a regular schedule, despite the time of year or vacation plans, is key for my sanity and commitment to being healthy. Endorphins aside, I always feel better in so many ways after my workouts. When I don’t feel like starting my workout, I remember it feels better when I’m finished, and with that reminder it’s easier to begin.

Speed Limit 45. (part 2)

Last week’s blog post referred to an unusual speed limit sign. Instead of the customary “Speed Limit 45” out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a sign that said something extra. It said: “Speed Limit 45. This IS your warning.”

I continue the warning theme this week with some reflections on that sign. I’ve noticed more speed limit signs since then, all of which simply state the speed limit number. I continue to ponder the implicit warnings, however and ask myself: What do I need to pay attention to? What is my warning sign, really?

One easy way to reflect on my life’s priorities is to consider what I would do today if it literally was the last day of my life on earth. Geneen Roth writes some wonderful pieces in her Good Housekeeping essays which discuss food and health issues; one such article referred to “priority-setting” exercises she uses in her food addictions workshops. Geneen described a workshop exercise where participants are asked to list what they would do differently if they knew they had only one year left to live. Then they list what they’d do differently with only six months left to live. Then three months. Then one month. One week. One day.

Keeping a focus on these one-day items on my own mental list helps me know why I wouldn’t want to need another warning sign to accompany the familiar “Speed Limit 45” message. My one-day list includes my faith. Prayer time. Slowing down. Purpose-filled activities. Family time including lots of snuggling with my husband and kids. One thing Geneen noticed is that her workshop attendants included “eating anything they want”, “bingeing”, “chocolate” and similar entries in their one-year and six-month lists, but as the timing got shorter and hit the one-week and one-day levels, the bingeing wasn’t on the list anymore. When we know that our time is really short, we don’t want to waste it on our food obsessions. My own personal warning: if I had one day to live, bingeing would not be on my one-day list. And so I proceed along my process, one slow step at a time, to reducing my food obsessions and increasing my faith obsessions. I want to take my warning signs seriously.

Tip of the week:
My very favorite way to start the day is my prayer time. After that, though, I exercise! I exercise regularly because I need to exercise, NOT because I love it. Like other activities which are NOT my favorite, I find getting them done early in the day (along with filing paperwork, paying bills and planning dinner!) can make them easier to accomplish and frees my mind for enjoying the rest of my day!

Mountain Madness part 3: Coming DOWN

Whew. A group of us climbed up the mountain, enjoyed the view from the top, and now it’s time to head back down.

Wait a minute. I don’t want to go down. I don’t want to head back to the place I was before; I don’t want to deal with hectic schedules, another day of running around, heading off crises while taking care of a family and a home and, oh yea, myself. This trek up a mountain with the beautiful view from the top leaves me changed. I see this experience as one of those times in life I cannot remain the same. For now, though, I need to simply hold onto that experience like another item in my backpack, and take the challenge of heading back down the mountain.

My friend said it was steep. The signs say it’s steep. But I didn’t know “steep” until I was going backwards down the rock formations to get to the next lower level. Like before, I was given suggestions to help my footing—walk sideways, take small steps, have one foot braced before moving the other—but I was taking those suggestions more seriously this time. I was trying to remember any scripture that could be dusted off in my memory about standing on rocks or having my feet grounded, and all I could think of was “trust in the Lord.” Yikes. Can’t I do that while standing on level ground? Apparently not, sometimes. Sometimes I need to be heading down the sliding board of a mountainside to realize that I am truly freaked out. I was actually quiet since I couldn’t talk and concentrate at the same time.

Trust and gratitude. It was about all I could feel—trust that God will get me back down because there’s nothing left to trust, and gratitude for my friends and their practical tips along the way. They even helped out by carrying some of my things—my water bottle, the camera.

It really is the same as life, isn’t it? When things are tough and I’m freaked out beyond my own abilities, it’s then that I know God will show up. And He even sends my friends to help me out, not in those intangible “I’ll pray for you” ways, but hands-on help by carrying my load, and practical tips and suggestions on making the way easier, safer, smoother. In these mountain reflections, I’m reminded that I want to seek after God’s presence in my life on level ground, too. I know God is there, but I forget. This mountain madness adventure was a much-needed reminder about dependence on God. Trust and gratitude; so simple but so challenging.

Tip of the week:
Last week, I suggested something “new” in the routine to boost health/fitness goals; this week, I’m suggesting we try something “old”. We all have a favorite food item, walking path, recipe or technique that has worked for us in the past—let’s do that again. For me one of those old techniques was to pray to God and promise that I wouldn’t blow it with my eating that day (or that hour, or that minute—whatever it takes!)—I can do that again, and again, and again—whatever it takes!

Serving Bread

As I walked to the back of the Open Door Ministry, the first thing I saw was the table with boxes and boxes of all types of bread and rolls, bagged in portions to be distributed. Of course I’d notice the bread. It’s one of my own personal drugs of addiction. The bread was next to the rows of grocery store bags containing the non-perishable food items. They were all lined up, soldiers ready to take on their mission. What really is the mission, I wonder?

I can see how easy it is to step into this type of serving situation with a bit of a superior attitude, although unintended and completely innocent. I’m one of several people who signed up in a time slot for this place which was a food pantry and clothing provider for those qualified to be in need. When I sign up to help people, I realize it sounds like it’s about me helping them. I’m one of those who has the resources, the health, the strength, the ability, and the desire to help others. What I have discovered, though, is that in the helping process, I am the one who’s receiving the work on my own heart. It’s not necessary to have the spiritual gift of mercy, or giving, or even compassion, to choose to sign up and be a part of a serving project. What is helpful on a personal level, however, is to tap into prayer for God to help me help others.

This time, I prayed about the serving project. I prayed I would help out in ways that were needed. I prayed I would see and hear what God would want me to see and hear. And so I did.

I saw the woman walk into the pantry for her first time. She was greeted by the staff with love and care. “Come on in!”, they’d say. “Sit down and let’s talk about what’s up.” So many of us simply need someone to sit down and listen to us. But many of us need a bit more; some tangible help. Not the smoothed-over “I’ll pray for you” comment, but a real listening ear and a chance for someone else to tap into our own life’s challenges to maybe take our hand and help us through the valley. In this place, there isn’t just the listening ear. There’s also the chance for hands-on help. It’s about finding the real need and meeting it. I could benefit from that focus when talking with my friends, my family, neighbors and acquaintances. Getting past the surface-level conversations and into real places of mission requires that I risk the next step that might require action on my part.

Then there was the couple who were browsing through the clothes racks, looking for something that would be useful and practical to put into their “free” bag of clothes. They had to guess at sizes since there wasn’t the opportunity to try things on, but they could take whatever they wanted. The larger-sized man stood next to me; I asked if I could help him find something in particular. “There’s not much in bigger sizes, is there?” I could have cried. My own food addiction had me in that familiar place so many times. I would be in a store and want to find something that fits and is helpful for my self-esteem, but larger sizes are elusive. It takes a lot more effort to find something that doesn’t look like a sack of potatoes when I’m overweight. His comment fueled me to take the time to take apart the slacks off the rack and look through several of them, one by one, to find the tiny size tag in the bottom right leg of the pants to read the numbers. We found one pair of slacks a little bit bigger, and it was like I found a treasure when I handed it to him.

Then there was the scary person. You know, the kind that make us say “Uh-oh, I don’t know if I could talk to her”. The miniskirt, fishnets and bleached hair seemed to offset the need to find sweaters and long-sleeved tops for her bag. I wondered what her story was. I asked if I could help her find something. She was looking for the blankets; they were usually in the back but must have been moved. She was obviously familiar with this place of handouts. How long does this go on, I wonder? How many times do these people come here. Is it possible to lack the motivation to move on?

Finally, the heart-wrenching interaction. It was unintended; I was finishing up the back rack of clothes to be sorted, not necessarily talking with anyone at the time, and next to me, on the chairs, were two small children. They were sitting quietly, one of them holding a bag of bread, waiting for the adults to finish their conversation and paperwork. The older child, a girl with bright eyes and dark hair to contrast her fair skin, looked up at me with a smile and simply stated “HI!” “Hi, there”, I replied. “This is my baby brother!”, she said, “and we got some bread to take home today.” I smiled, realizing the irony of the bread. “I bet you’re doing a great job helping to take care of him,” I responded. “Yes, I am!” A few seconds later, the adults finished. “Come on, it’s time to go!”, the girl said to her brother. “We can have some of this yummy bread when we get there!” She skipped out, taking my heart with her.

People are all the same, in some way, shape or form. She loved that bread as much as I do. She and her little brother could have older sisters and brothers that sit in the public school classroom next to my own children. We interact with people in need without realizing it. We don’t know other people’s stories, but we do know our own God, who makes us precious and unique. When we serve, let’s simply be our unique selves so that we can be like Jesus to people who need us. We end up receiving even more love and compassion ourselves. We simply can’t out-give God.

Skydiving Sensations

Have you every jumped out of a flying airplane—for fun? Yup, I have. Almost 30 years ago, several friends and I decided to take the plunge. We went skydiving. Obviously, I survived the jump and although it was quite a long time ago, I recall clearly the sensations surrounding the life-changing event. Like my Christian faith, the experiences during the process varied in type and intensity before, during and after the big leap.

Excitement fueled our car as the five of us traveled to New Jersey for our all-day parachuting event. My girlfriends and I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to float freely in the sky, even for just a few seconds. What would the training be like? Would we remember what we learned? Would we get hurt? Would we survive? Four of us planned to participate in the skydiving program and our fifth girlfriend was in charge of capturing the critical photos. We had to prove what happened, right?

This stage of anticipation on the drive to the skydiving center was like learning about my faith for the first time. Could I understand God’s Word in the freeing way it was being presented to me? Would I remember what I learned? What would I accept as proof?

Next I remember the process of learning the steps for a successful jump. There were skydiving practice platforms, about four feet high, from which we’d jump, land and immediately drop and roll to soften the blow. We were taught that the ground would come quickly, but our instructions were to look straight ahead and not down. Our practice leaps were to give us the confidence to react to the body-jarring thud in a safe way. We must have jumped off those platforms 50 times that afternoon. By the time we headed to the plane, we were ready for any solid ground that would come our way.

Learning about the Christian faith is similar in that it requires practice and baby jumps at times before a big leap can be made. Looking up to the examples in Jesus and not down at our current circumstances correlate to a stronger relationship with God. There are so many thuds in this world that the practice of rolling with the punches is a useful habit. Over time it gets easier and easier.

Then came the time for the plane ride and big jump. The process of equipping began. First the jumpsuits. Then the helmets. Then the radio. Tighten all the straps. Tie on the chute. Then the reserve chute. The feelings of fear and courage flip-flopped so often and frequently that I couldn’t know what I was feeling at any given moment.

My faith needs equipping too. The Bible. Praise and worship. Prayer. Christian fellowship. Getting involved. One fabulous difference, though, is that there’s no ‘reserve chute’ needed. Faith is all I need.

Sitting straddle-style and packed like sardines, we loaded ourselves in the cabin of that small plane and held our breath while the engine whirred to life. It was just us and that little plane now. It was time. There was nothing we could do to hear or think over the deafening motor. My stomach was doing its own jumping. My eyes were glued to the instructor’s cues. First girlfriend out. I saw the blur of her helmet through the small window. I looked some more. The cords of her chute pack detached and WHOOSH!—up she went into the long-awaited floating mode, the first step of her descent.

My turn. Gulp. Three! Two! One! JUMP! The instructor’s hand, hard on my shoulder with almost a shove, helped me out that open door. And out I went. Falling, flying, falling, flying; which was it? One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand, four-one-thousand, five-one-thousand. WHOOSH! I looked up. My chute was open. Sighing, I settled into the harness and realized that I was, in fact, parachuting. I descended slowly. It was peaceful. Quiet. Beautiful. I thought a bird might fly right past my nose. Distantly, I noticed the occasional radio instructions. “Turn right! Turn left! Turn left some more!” Getting closer to the designated landing area. The ground was coming quicker. The tops of the trees were getting larger. Just a few more seconds of floating, please. Beautiful, peaceful seconds with just me and God in the world. This is true freedom.

THUD. Ugh. Drop, roll, roll some more. The ground comes up at me with a bone-jarring reminder of being on earth. Grounded. Maybe it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

With faith, I can float in freedom mode while staying on the ground.