I have to be honest. I spent most of my life from my late teens into my early middle age falling in and out of relationship with God. In my teen years I was very faithful. I couldn't imagine a life without God as pilot and I walked with Him daily.
In my late teen years something got in the way though. I would say it was boys but the deeper truth is it was self. I found out when I became an adult that I could do
anything I pleased and so I began to please myself all the time. Even during the times of my deepest faithlessness though, God showed Himself faithful. Every time I called He was there and I could still hear Him speak on occasion. One time I was riding my motorcycle on the way to a friend's house and I picked up a fairly large branch. I could hear it dragging under the frame of my bike and finally had to get off and pull it out. As I did I could hear the voice of God speaking to my faithless heart. "This branch you are dragging along is just like your sin" He said to me. (Boy was He right!)
A few months later I did something very unwise. I drove that motorcycle out into the country on a snowy day to visit with some friends that I knew I should not hang out with. When I got there nobody was home so I waited. There were no cell phones in those days so I couldn't call anyone. I just sat there until it started to get dark. What I didn't realize was that the roads had frozen over. When I finally came to my senses and got on my bike to go home I realized I couldn't drive. I tried. I went about a mile slipping and sliding on the ice and fell off in the ditch about a hundred times. So I was stuck out in the country on a darkening January day with no phone and no way to get home. My bike was stuck in the ditch. I couldn't get it out no matter how hard I tried. I was so cold even my tears were frozen on my face. I began to panic. Then I did the only sensible thing that entire day, and probably that entire year. My faithless self asked God for help. About a minute later, as I was still standing there, the headlights of a car came around the curve behind me and slowed down. But it wasn't just any car, it was an El Camino, a car with an open bed in the back for the bike. It couldn't have been better. He slowed and asked me if I wanted a lift. In any normal situation this would have been a huge NO. However I knew without a doubt that this was the answer to my prayer. I didn't hesitate. He was kind enough to get out and put the bike in the back for me and then drive me all the way home. I don't remember anything else about that whole ride except the unbelievable feeling that rose in my chest as I saw the answer to my prayers come around that corner. There was something deep, deep, deep within me that understood that God had been faithful to me even in my deepest faithlessness.
His love for me is absurd, over the top, wonderful, amazing. And I did nothing to earn it.
Lord, I spent years literally spinning my wheels, never going anywhere with You. I lived only for myself. I thank you for being faithful when I didn't deserve it.I acknowledge that it was your grace that saved me. I pray now for anybody else who is struggling in this area. You are an amazing, amazing God. Amen.
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The God of Wind and Rain
March 1985. I was a junior in high school. We lived in a very large twenties era house owned by a hotshot lawyer in town. The rent was a few days late and a sheriff came to the door to tell us we had to move in thirty days. This was on a Monday or a Tuesday. We thought we had plenty of time.
Friday, lunchtime. I was pondering participles in my English class when I was called out to the hallway. Somebody met me there and told me they had driven by my house and saw people throwing things out of the upstairs windows onto the lawn. I hurriedly ran to the phone and called Mom who came to get me. We frantically pulled up to the house just in time to see someone throwing one of my great grandmother's hurricane lamps out the window and onto the lawn below, which was littered with our belongings. The men were laughing at our anguish as they continued to toss things out the door and windows. Apparently they had been at it for some time because most of our things were outside. The refrigerator, the ancient upright piano, all of our clothes, record albums, food, everything thrown out on the lawn in a haphazard jumble. The men had been sent by the lawyer who had taken things into his own hands, unwilling to wait the full thirty days for us to move. They soon finished the job and drove off in a pick up truck, still laughing as we stood among the wreckage of our lives in the light drizzling rain.
By this time my sisters had arrived home from school and my mother had arranged for a place to move all of our stuff. Slowly, one pick up load at a time we began moving the things off of our lawn and into shelter.
In the early evening my aunt came over to help. We worked all night in the light drizzle until about midnight or one AM. My mom was off with the latest load and my sisters and aunt and I were standing together under the front porch awning. As we talked it began to pour. We still had a lot of stuff on the lawn and were very worried about everything getting wet. As we stood there my aunt began to pray. I will never forget it. "Lord, You are the God of the wind and rain and we ask You now to stop the rain until we can get all this stuff under shelter. In Jesus name. Amen." As we opened our eyes and lifted our heads the rain began to lift and then stopped. To say we were amazed would be a huge understatement. But there was more to come. A little while later the rain began to pour. She prayed a second time: "Lord again we ask you to stop the rain, in Jesus name." Again as we opened our eyes the rain stopped.
Mom came back; we loaded up the pick up for the umpteenth time and she left.
A while later the rain really began to come down. Again as we gathered under the porch she began to pray. This time though the rain did not lesson. Did God not hear us? Did He not choose to answer? Was our stuff going to be ruined? As we looked around we realized that every single thing left outside was now covered by plastic and not a thing was getting wet. Standing there under the front porch we were comforted by the presence of God in a very, very tangible way. In the midst of injustice and our temporary homelessness He was there.
This was a very difficult thing to write about. I really had to think about it before I began to type. It's very hard to relive the pain of that day; hard for me to relate it and I'm sure it will be hard for my family to read about. However, out of that dark, dark day came a revelation that God is who He says He is and it's worth the shaking hands on the keyboard and tears to let other people know. God is there. He cares. He loves. He IS.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Faithfulness of God
The faithfulness and providence of God goes as far back in my life as I can remember. One example of this was the time I drove off from work with my purse on top of my car. I was working in San Diego and I lived about thirty minutes north of the city, in Escondido, Ca.
I got off work one afternoon, tired after a long day of selling pony beads and the newest thing in floral design; rubber flowers. (latex, if you want to be elegant about it).
I went out to my 1991 Ford Aerostar minivan and opened the door. I must have set my purse on the top and then just forgot about it. And then I drove away. Down the very busy highway 163 towards home and rest. (just for the record, remember that runaway tank in San Diego? the one you see on every single crazy car chase reality show on tv? that was the same highway. It is a major San Diego artery for traffic.)
Anyway, I got home, parked the van, and got out to go in the house. As I went in I realized I was a little light on the gear. Something was missing. I panicked as I thought back over the series of events in my head. After setting it on the car I didn't remember seeing my purse. I began to sweat as I did a mental inventory of all the things my purse contained. Basically my life. Credit cards, driver's license, money, and kid's pics. And my checkbook. You better believe I began praying like never before. "Lord, You are the finder of all things lost. I ask You now to bring my purse back to me, though I know it's against the odds, I believe You can do it. Amen. Then I waited. A half an hour went by. The phone rang. "Is this, uh, Julie? " "Yes, this is she", I replied, trying not to sound too anxious. I think my eyes were rolling back in my head with suspense, though. "Well, uh, I saw you drive off, and I saw your purse fall off of your car onto the side of the highway. I got out and I picked up all your stuff for you. It was scattered all over the road, but I think I got it all." "Wait a minute" I said. You mean you GOT OUT of your car on the side of highway 163 and picked up all my scattered stuff? I asked. "Yes, ma'am" was the answer.
I was dumbstruck. But there was more to come. "Do you work at Michael's?" He asked. "Why, yes, yes I do" I replied. "I work just across the sidewalk from you, in the train store directly opposite Michael's, in the same mall. I'll have it for you tomorrow, just step on over (about twenty feet from my store front) and pick it up." If I was speechless before I was absolutely astounded now. I was profuse in my thanks to the stranger who had gone out of his way, WAY out of his way, to help somebody else.
I stepped into the little railroad hobby shop the next day and met the stranger who had been so kind. Again I thanked him. Later as I went through the contents of my purse I realized that he had retrieved every single thing that had been in my purse, right down to the coupons for the grocery store. Every dollar was there. All my credit cards, my driver's license. My kids pictures. Completely intact. Even the checkbook he had used to get my phone number. Tears overwhelmed me then and threaten to spill over now as I remember the kindness of a stranger and the faithfulness of a God who would love me so much that he would answer my heartfelt prayer in such a miraculous way. Things like that are just not supposed to happen. But they did, and they still do, because we serve a miraculous, loving God, who is faithful to us to the end. And beyond.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Mercy
I was twenty years old. The year was 1988. I was a super skinny, super tall girl with long curly hair who rode a motor scooter everywhere she went. That is until today. Now I had four wheels instead of two. I lovingly caressed the hood of my 1974 Toyota Corona Hatchback. (No, not corROLLA. CorONA.) This old car was going to take me places my little Honda Spree could never go. For one thing I could drive to work in comfort now and not have to worry about "helmet hair" anymore.
I loved my little car but soon discovered it had some potentially dangerous drawbacks. One thing was that when it rained the engine would die. No matter where I was, if it so much as sprinkled, I was out of luck. One time it was on Wycliffe Ave in Dallas, right in front of the Anatole Hotel. My new best friend, Tyra, without thinking a thing about it got out of my car and proceeded to push us up the hill in the rain in her flip flops. I will never forget seeing her face in the rain behind the car as long as I live. They just don't make true friends like that anymore. But that was much later. I digress.
Another thing about the car was that when the engine died, so did the lights. This was particularly dangerous at night as I soon found out.
I was working in a t-shirt shop at the mall. It had been a slow day (they all were at that mall) and it was about 930 PM. I was tired. I pulled out of the parking lot and out onto the highway in front of the store. As I entered the highway my engine stalled and died. It wasn't raining so for a second I was thrown for a loop. I looked at the gas gauge and realized it was completely, totally empty. I had forgotten to buy gas on my way to work. My next thought was of complete panic. I had no lights. On the highway. At night. I looked in the rearview and saw a truck headed straight for me at sixty miles an hour. I knew without a doubt that I was going to die. I knew it was going to be bad. I huddled up in the steering wheel, closed my eyes and thought more than said a prayer. "Jesus, Here I come. Just please don't let it hurt too bad." I heard the long squeal of brakes behind me and braced for the impact. What should have been the tearing, crashing sound of metal and glass was instead-complete silence. I tentatively opened my eyes. I saw somebody running for my car. He threw open my door and leaned in. I could see his eyes, huge with fright and astonishment in the lights of his truck beaming from behind. "Julie?!!" he said, his voice even more astonished than his eyes because we knew each other from church.
"Dale?!!" I replied, just as surprised as he was. "Are you all right?" he asked me. I told him in a shaking voice, "I ran out of gas, my lights don't work when the engine isn't on." Without a second's hesitation he and his friends began to push my car out of the traffic and over to the gas station across the street. They even insisted on filling my tank. What I didn't know, as I drove away from the gas station was how close we had both come to death or at the very least a terrible car accident that night. I had never seen how close his truck had come to my bumper. I saw him a week later and was telling someone about the near accident in his hearing. I said "He must been a foot from my car...", when Dale stopped me and corrected me. "A foot? No, Julie, it was an inch. One inch" he said. That got my attention. I forgot about the person I had been telling the story to as my eyes were riveted on Dale's fingers, measuring in millimeters how close we had come to disaster.
I never saw Dale again after that night. It has been twenty two years since that day but I can still see his face in the headlights of his truck as he threw open my door. We both knew. Absolutely without a doubt. That God had intervened in our lives in a very, very real way. It still gives me pause and makes me bow my head for a moment to thank God for His great mercy.
I loved my little car but soon discovered it had some potentially dangerous drawbacks. One thing was that when it rained the engine would die. No matter where I was, if it so much as sprinkled, I was out of luck. One time it was on Wycliffe Ave in Dallas, right in front of the Anatole Hotel. My new best friend, Tyra, without thinking a thing about it got out of my car and proceeded to push us up the hill in the rain in her flip flops. I will never forget seeing her face in the rain behind the car as long as I live. They just don't make true friends like that anymore. But that was much later. I digress.
Another thing about the car was that when the engine died, so did the lights. This was particularly dangerous at night as I soon found out.
I was working in a t-shirt shop at the mall. It had been a slow day (they all were at that mall) and it was about 930 PM. I was tired. I pulled out of the parking lot and out onto the highway in front of the store. As I entered the highway my engine stalled and died. It wasn't raining so for a second I was thrown for a loop. I looked at the gas gauge and realized it was completely, totally empty. I had forgotten to buy gas on my way to work. My next thought was of complete panic. I had no lights. On the highway. At night. I looked in the rearview and saw a truck headed straight for me at sixty miles an hour. I knew without a doubt that I was going to die. I knew it was going to be bad. I huddled up in the steering wheel, closed my eyes and thought more than said a prayer. "Jesus, Here I come. Just please don't let it hurt too bad." I heard the long squeal of brakes behind me and braced for the impact. What should have been the tearing, crashing sound of metal and glass was instead-complete silence. I tentatively opened my eyes. I saw somebody running for my car. He threw open my door and leaned in. I could see his eyes, huge with fright and astonishment in the lights of his truck beaming from behind. "Julie?!!" he said, his voice even more astonished than his eyes because we knew each other from church.
"Dale?!!" I replied, just as surprised as he was. "Are you all right?" he asked me. I told him in a shaking voice, "I ran out of gas, my lights don't work when the engine isn't on." Without a second's hesitation he and his friends began to push my car out of the traffic and over to the gas station across the street. They even insisted on filling my tank. What I didn't know, as I drove away from the gas station was how close we had both come to death or at the very least a terrible car accident that night. I had never seen how close his truck had come to my bumper. I saw him a week later and was telling someone about the near accident in his hearing. I said "He must been a foot from my car...", when Dale stopped me and corrected me. "A foot? No, Julie, it was an inch. One inch" he said. That got my attention. I forgot about the person I had been telling the story to as my eyes were riveted on Dale's fingers, measuring in millimeters how close we had come to disaster.
I never saw Dale again after that night. It has been twenty two years since that day but I can still see his face in the headlights of his truck as he threw open my door. We both knew. Absolutely without a doubt. That God had intervened in our lives in a very, very real way. It still gives me pause and makes me bow my head for a moment to thank God for His great mercy.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Providence
Thank you, Lord for your great care for me. You knew what I needed before I knew I needed anything. Your kindness never fails to amaze me. I will worship You all the days of my life. When I awake your praise will already be on my lips and I will continually praise you throughout the day. You will be my last waking thought before I sleep and I will rest securely knowing I am in your care through the night. I love you, Lord.
About a month or so ago I needed my daughter's car keys from her room. It was early morning and I was in a hurry, so I just glanced around the room and grabbed the first set I saw. Right away I realized that they weren't what I was looking for, so I set them down and then saw the ones I needed on her desk, took them and went on my way with never another thought about it until this morning.
I didn't want to get up when the alarm went off but the new washer was going to be delivered today and I had to get everyone moving so I could be back here and ready for the delivery by 8 AM. I wasn't actually sure they would be here at that time, they hadn't been specific about it, but Murphy's Law says whatever time you aren't there is the time they will arrive. So I left the house @ 730 with the intention of coming right back after I dropped my aunt off at her friend's house.
We stopped at the ATM by my house for some cash but for "some reason" it was out of order. I knew the drive thru bank across the street was open at 730, so I pulled in there, but for "some reason" the hours have changed. Now they don't open until eight.
I decided that we would go to the gas station on the highway across the street from the high school. They have an ATM and I could get gas there too. I pulled in and my aunt went in to pay for the gas. I got out and fiddled with the passenger side window for a minute. The passenger side window has an electrical problem and once rolled down will not roll back up. My kids all know to never touch that switch because the door has to be taken apart to fix it but Ally accidentally hit the button yesterday rolled it halfway down. The chilly morning air was making it uncomfortable in the cab; so I popped the cover off the door and then the plastic switch cover off the wire. I needed a little leverage and inserted my truck key as a wedge, because it was in my hand and handy. Before I could finish, my aunt was back and we had to go, so I decided to work on it later. I popped it all back on really fast, pumped the gas and got back in the driver's seat. I pulled out the keys and as my glance fell on them my mouth dropped open. My truck key was broken in half.
Right at that moment my mind flashed back into my daughter's bedroom. In my mind I was looking for a set of keys and as I glanced at the set on her dresser I saw the extra set of truck keys, the one we had never used, on her key chain. (I wondered why she had them, our truck is a stick shift, and she has never driven it).
Back in the present, I looked out the back window and realized that we were right across the street from the high school. She would be in class right now, but I could have her come to the office and loan me her car for a few minutes. I looked at my aunt; said "I will be right back" then got out and walked across the street. They called her to the office, I borrowed her keys, and drove straight home. I walked in her room and there they were, exactly where they had been when I had actually seen them weeks or months ago, and exactly where my mind had placed them. I picked them up, drove back to the gas station, moved the truck into a parking space and out of the gas area, got back in the car, drove it back across the street and then walked back to the gas station.
As I walked across the street from the school to the gas station for the last time, I had goosebumps that weren't entirely from the chilly morning. If I hadn't had to go into her room to find her set of keys all those weeks ago, I would have never known where to find the ones I needed today. As long as I could remember we had almost never used those keys. I would have been clueless as to where to find them. If the ATM hadn't been down, and the drive thru hadn't been closed I would have been too far away to walk. God knew. He knew long before I did that I would do something stupid this morning (keys as a tool, I should know better) and fixed it before I ever-even-asked.
As I inserted the key into the ignition I looked at my aunt and said "Well, this has been a lesson in the providence of God!" She replied "yes it has!". With that we were on our way.
God is so good. I can't say it enough.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Stupid
Along with my self worth issues, or should I say contributing to my self worth issues was how I viewed my intelligence. My whole life, or most of it, I considered myself stupid.
In third grade it became apparent that I had some math issues. I was put in a remedial math class with a teacher named Miss Maxwell. She had short dark hair and I did not like her. We were studying multiplication and she gave us instructions for an assignment. As she was speaking I began daydreaming, staring off into space, thinking about anything but math. Nothing interested me less than math. She finished speaking and I continued staring off into nothingness. The next thing I knew she grabbed me up and was marching me to the office. I didn't know what I had done, but as she pulled me down the hall, she informed that I was being punished for "daydreaming". I was wearing a very short green corduroy dress with a wide seventies white collar and I became very afraid as she pulled out a big wooden board and began paddling my bottom. The dress did little to pad the blows. Neither did my thin cotton panties. I never forgot her, the math class, or the dress. Or how stupid I felt.
Fast forward two years. Different teacher, different school. Same feeling of stupid. I was in my second year of violin class and I had a secret which I carefully guarded for fear of shame that anyone would find out. I couldn't read the music. For two years I had "winged" it, listening carefully to the sound of the song as played by others and according to how I knew the tune went and duplicating that on my violin.
One day though, she finally caught on to me. Unfortunately it was in the middle of class. When she realized that I didn't know the music for the upcoming spring concert she just kind of stood back and regarded me through those big glasses of hers and then at last she spoke. "You can't be in the program" she said. I looked down at my violin as the tears came. So much shame. Stupid closed in on me and made me feel so worthless. I think in the end she did let me perform with the class for the program but after the year was over a few weeks later I never picked up the violin again, and music to me was a closed world.
Fast forward again, about twelve years. Stupid has followed me all the way through high school and intimidated me into not going to college. Instead I take a job at Jack in the Box. After a year of working there on the graveyard shift I am offered the position of shift leader. I have to go to "shift leader school" and take some classes and tests. It is while I am there that the shackles of stupid begin to loosen and I finally realize that things might not be as I supposed all these years. I take a test and hand it in to the teacher. I am the first one done. The test was easy. I had been ready for it for a week. After I hand it in he takes a minute to grade it and then says to me "I have never had someone turn this in so fast and get them all right". He has no idea the cataclysmic bomb this sets off in my mind. Simple words, but all of a sudden I realize that maybe I'm not as stupid as I think. In my mind I see a bird fly out of a rusty cage. I feel free. Little do I know that there is more freedom to be had.
One day my aunt, who has inherited my grandfather's 1949 Flat top "Texan" Epiphone guitar, asks me if I would like to have it. I jump at the offer. I have always loved guitar, have always wanted to learn how to play it, but as I mentioned earlier, it was just a shut off world to me.
The guitar sat in my house for a few months until one day I picked it up and began to pluck the strings aimlessly. I realize that it is a useless gift unless I learn how to play it. I go to the store and buy "Guitar for Dummies" and check out some stuff from the library. At first I don't get it. I sound terrible and I'm slow. Can't make it sound like music. But I keep trying. After about a month I have learned three or four chords. I open the book and try a song. It sounds awful. I try another song, this one is Yankee Doodle Dandy. I pluck the strings, and all of a sudden I realize I am playing a recognizable tune! I am absolutely elated. Can't believe it! The doors of the music world, if not thrown wide open are at least open a crack. Stupid begins to lose its hold on me at last. But there is more to come.
Ten years later I begin to attend a church function. It's actually a weekly prayer meeting. I love the ladies. I love to pray with them. On this particular day, however, I make a joke that really isn't funny. It's...stupid. The joke falls flat. One of the ladies criticizes sharply and I begin to cry. I can't stop myself. I become hysterical and I don't know why. Two hours later I am still crying. I am at home. Still crying. Doing laundry I think to myself "I haven't felt this stupid since...since...violin class in the fifth grade..." All of a sudden it becomes clear to me. Stupid is from Satan. It is not just a word it is a tangible thing. And it's not who God says I am. God has never called me stupid, he calls me friend! The tears immediately stop. I am instantly OK again. Putting down the laundry I run upstairs and get on the computer. I look up the word and am amazed at what I read.
From Webster's dictionary. Stupid: Slow of mind. OBTUSE.
I wonder about the all caps word Obtuse. I look it up. Not pointed or acute. BLUNT.
But its what it says about the origin of the word that takes my breath away. This is what really got me.
Middle English, from Latin obtusus blunt, dull, from past participle of obtundere to beat against, blunt, from ob- against + tundere to beat
The words "to beat against" bring tears to my eyes because that sums it up exactly. All these years every single time I did something wrong, made a mistake, said the wrong thing I could hear the word STUPID STUPID STUPID pounding in my head. Beating me into dullness. Intimidating me into being less than I could be for fear of failure and being found stupid.
I realized that I had a spiritual problem. It began the day the teacher told me I couldn't be in the program. She laid a mantle of stupid on me even though she never uttered the word and I wore it all my life. For a long time I was angry with her for her lack of sensitivity. What kind of a teacher chastises a student in front of the other kids? But then I realized I bear a portion of the blame. I was a child when she spoke those words. But I grew up. And I still wore the label. I allowed myself to believe the lie. Bought into it without ever questioning it, never realizing that God had never spoken that over me.
I spoke to that spirit of Stupid. I told it to go away in the name of Jesus. I asked God's forgiveness for my belief in it. And I was free.
A few weeks later I saw a lady on TV who captured my attention. Completely. It was Intervention and she needed help. Oh how she needed help. She was shown on the previews hitting herself. Beating herself up with her hairbrush, her fists, whatever she could find to punish herself. As she beat herself she repeated the mantra "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" Goosebumps prickled my skin. I had empathy for that woman like I had never felt for anyone before. I began to pray for her. I know, I know, its TV, but another secret of mine is that I sometimes pray for the people I see on TV. My heart went out to her. If only she could know how much God loves her. If only we could ALL know how much God loves us. It would change our perspectives about ourselves completely and totally forever.
In third grade it became apparent that I had some math issues. I was put in a remedial math class with a teacher named Miss Maxwell. She had short dark hair and I did not like her. We were studying multiplication and she gave us instructions for an assignment. As she was speaking I began daydreaming, staring off into space, thinking about anything but math. Nothing interested me less than math. She finished speaking and I continued staring off into nothingness. The next thing I knew she grabbed me up and was marching me to the office. I didn't know what I had done, but as she pulled me down the hall, she informed that I was being punished for "daydreaming". I was wearing a very short green corduroy dress with a wide seventies white collar and I became very afraid as she pulled out a big wooden board and began paddling my bottom. The dress did little to pad the blows. Neither did my thin cotton panties. I never forgot her, the math class, or the dress. Or how stupid I felt.
Fast forward two years. Different teacher, different school. Same feeling of stupid. I was in my second year of violin class and I had a secret which I carefully guarded for fear of shame that anyone would find out. I couldn't read the music. For two years I had "winged" it, listening carefully to the sound of the song as played by others and according to how I knew the tune went and duplicating that on my violin.
One day though, she finally caught on to me. Unfortunately it was in the middle of class. When she realized that I didn't know the music for the upcoming spring concert she just kind of stood back and regarded me through those big glasses of hers and then at last she spoke. "You can't be in the program" she said. I looked down at my violin as the tears came. So much shame. Stupid closed in on me and made me feel so worthless. I think in the end she did let me perform with the class for the program but after the year was over a few weeks later I never picked up the violin again, and music to me was a closed world.
Fast forward again, about twelve years. Stupid has followed me all the way through high school and intimidated me into not going to college. Instead I take a job at Jack in the Box. After a year of working there on the graveyard shift I am offered the position of shift leader. I have to go to "shift leader school" and take some classes and tests. It is while I am there that the shackles of stupid begin to loosen and I finally realize that things might not be as I supposed all these years. I take a test and hand it in to the teacher. I am the first one done. The test was easy. I had been ready for it for a week. After I hand it in he takes a minute to grade it and then says to me "I have never had someone turn this in so fast and get them all right". He has no idea the cataclysmic bomb this sets off in my mind. Simple words, but all of a sudden I realize that maybe I'm not as stupid as I think. In my mind I see a bird fly out of a rusty cage. I feel free. Little do I know that there is more freedom to be had.
One day my aunt, who has inherited my grandfather's 1949 Flat top "Texan" Epiphone guitar, asks me if I would like to have it. I jump at the offer. I have always loved guitar, have always wanted to learn how to play it, but as I mentioned earlier, it was just a shut off world to me.
The guitar sat in my house for a few months until one day I picked it up and began to pluck the strings aimlessly. I realize that it is a useless gift unless I learn how to play it. I go to the store and buy "Guitar for Dummies" and check out some stuff from the library. At first I don't get it. I sound terrible and I'm slow. Can't make it sound like music. But I keep trying. After about a month I have learned three or four chords. I open the book and try a song. It sounds awful. I try another song, this one is Yankee Doodle Dandy. I pluck the strings, and all of a sudden I realize I am playing a recognizable tune! I am absolutely elated. Can't believe it! The doors of the music world, if not thrown wide open are at least open a crack. Stupid begins to lose its hold on me at last. But there is more to come.
Ten years later I begin to attend a church function. It's actually a weekly prayer meeting. I love the ladies. I love to pray with them. On this particular day, however, I make a joke that really isn't funny. It's...stupid. The joke falls flat. One of the ladies criticizes sharply and I begin to cry. I can't stop myself. I become hysterical and I don't know why. Two hours later I am still crying. I am at home. Still crying. Doing laundry I think to myself "I haven't felt this stupid since...since...violin class in the fifth grade..." All of a sudden it becomes clear to me. Stupid is from Satan. It is not just a word it is a tangible thing. And it's not who God says I am. God has never called me stupid, he calls me friend! The tears immediately stop. I am instantly OK again. Putting down the laundry I run upstairs and get on the computer. I look up the word and am amazed at what I read.
From Webster's dictionary. Stupid: Slow of mind. OBTUSE.
I wonder about the all caps word Obtuse. I look it up. Not pointed or acute. BLUNT.
But its what it says about the origin of the word that takes my breath away. This is what really got me.
Middle English, from Latin obtusus blunt, dull, from past participle of obtundere to beat against, blunt, from ob- against + tundere to beat
The words "to beat against" bring tears to my eyes because that sums it up exactly. All these years every single time I did something wrong, made a mistake, said the wrong thing I could hear the word STUPID STUPID STUPID pounding in my head. Beating me into dullness. Intimidating me into being less than I could be for fear of failure and being found stupid.
I realized that I had a spiritual problem. It began the day the teacher told me I couldn't be in the program. She laid a mantle of stupid on me even though she never uttered the word and I wore it all my life. For a long time I was angry with her for her lack of sensitivity. What kind of a teacher chastises a student in front of the other kids? But then I realized I bear a portion of the blame. I was a child when she spoke those words. But I grew up. And I still wore the label. I allowed myself to believe the lie. Bought into it without ever questioning it, never realizing that God had never spoken that over me.
I spoke to that spirit of Stupid. I told it to go away in the name of Jesus. I asked God's forgiveness for my belief in it. And I was free.
A few weeks later I saw a lady on TV who captured my attention. Completely. It was Intervention and she needed help. Oh how she needed help. She was shown on the previews hitting herself. Beating herself up with her hairbrush, her fists, whatever she could find to punish herself. As she beat herself she repeated the mantra "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" Goosebumps prickled my skin. I had empathy for that woman like I had never felt for anyone before. I began to pray for her. I know, I know, its TV, but another secret of mine is that I sometimes pray for the people I see on TV. My heart went out to her. If only she could know how much God loves her. If only we could ALL know how much God loves us. It would change our perspectives about ourselves completely and totally forever.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Self Worth
I have a little secret. I have been struggling with self worth. To tell you the truth I have been struggling with self worth since the day I emerged from my mother's womb and let out that first scream that said "Look here! Eyes on me! Tell me my life is going to mean something!" I struggled with it as a child, growing up in a broken home and as a teenager who sat on the sidelines at school and church and watched everybody else. I hated that I was so different. I didn't play by the same rules as everybody else seemed to. I didn't care about popularity at school, I was creative and artistic and I talked a lot. Way too much, I thought. I hated the way I looked. I had curly hair that would never stay in place. I craved control over every single part of my life and my curly hair defied me right down to the last little wiry strand. So as my teen age years slid by my self loathing hit an all time low. I wanted to die. Just check out. No point in this worthless life anymore, if this was how it was going to be. Suicide wasn't an option for me mostly because I didn't have the nerve (thank God!) but I thought about it a lot.
If I thought that I was going to find my worth in my twenties I was mistaken. I had some high years, I got married and had kids. For a while the kids held the feelings I had about myself at bay, but as they grew up and needed me less, the worthlessness returned with a vengeance. I was a stay at home mom, no job, no career, husband gone a lot of the time. I had lots of time to think. And I didn't like my thoughts. Who was I? I had to be more than just Mom to the kids and Wife to the husband. I needed to justify my breathing space on Earth and I wasn't living up to my own expectations. Or anybody elses, it seemed. Losing weight hadn't given me the self worth I needed. I felt better about myself but with every ounce that I gained back I felt a deepening depression that I wasn't even capable of doing that right. Didn't feel like I could do ANYTHING right. I had been a Christian for a long time. Well I called myself that anyway. One day all of my spinning plates(marriage, kids, finances, house) came crashing down around me and buried me under the debris of my own life. I sat out in my back yard and cried. And cried. And cried some more. I again felt worthless. I decided I wanted to go to California and open up a boutique on the beach and get as far away from here as possible, which was ridiculous, because aside from the fact that I would never leave my kids, I knew zilch about boutiques, or running a business, or even how I would get to California with zero money. As I sat out there under those trees I had a revelation. I was not a Christian. Maybe at one time I had been, but I wasn't living as if I believed in a Living God anymore. I did what I wanted when I wanted and God really didn't cross my mind very much. I realized that I had been trying to give myself worth through all kinds of things; my dieting, my art, my writing, my photography, my kids, my marriage, and my old house. And none of it was working. These things were all part of me, but I was trying to make them define me. I realized that these things are only temporal. What happens when I'm fat, when my writing, art, and photography are gone? When the kids grow up? If my marriage fails? If I lose my house? Am I still worth something? The answer is a whispered "Yes" in my heart. I hear God tell me that I am worthy of my space on Earth for no other reason than that He created me. And loved me enough to exchange his Son's life for mine. I don't have to do anything, prove anything, look a certain way, act a certain way, just be His; completely His. Some days I still struggle. I have had words thrown at me that wounded me deeply, made me question my worth, made me feel like I've lost it. But then I find myself driving down the road, CD blaring, singing "How Great Thou Art" at the top of my lungs and suddenly I know I've found my worth again. He thinks I am worth loving, He thinks I am worth caring for, He loves all my quirky ways, curly hair and freckles included. He knows I talk too much, and sometimes say the wrong thing, but He loves me anyway. Who am I to argue?
If your self worth has taken a beating lately, know this. You are valuable. No matter the circumstance you find yourself in, your worth is inestimable. You are not just a lump of matter, you have been formed by the hand of God. YOU matter.
God help me remember that my
self worth comes not from
my weight, my photographs
my writing, or how much
money I have in the bank.
Help me not to limit myself to these
Earthly things
but to look to Heaven
to properly see
my worth.
If I thought that I was going to find my worth in my twenties I was mistaken. I had some high years, I got married and had kids. For a while the kids held the feelings I had about myself at bay, but as they grew up and needed me less, the worthlessness returned with a vengeance. I was a stay at home mom, no job, no career, husband gone a lot of the time. I had lots of time to think. And I didn't like my thoughts. Who was I? I had to be more than just Mom to the kids and Wife to the husband. I needed to justify my breathing space on Earth and I wasn't living up to my own expectations. Or anybody elses, it seemed. Losing weight hadn't given me the self worth I needed. I felt better about myself but with every ounce that I gained back I felt a deepening depression that I wasn't even capable of doing that right. Didn't feel like I could do ANYTHING right. I had been a Christian for a long time. Well I called myself that anyway. One day all of my spinning plates(marriage, kids, finances, house) came crashing down around me and buried me under the debris of my own life. I sat out in my back yard and cried. And cried. And cried some more. I again felt worthless. I decided I wanted to go to California and open up a boutique on the beach and get as far away from here as possible, which was ridiculous, because aside from the fact that I would never leave my kids, I knew zilch about boutiques, or running a business, or even how I would get to California with zero money. As I sat out there under those trees I had a revelation. I was not a Christian. Maybe at one time I had been, but I wasn't living as if I believed in a Living God anymore. I did what I wanted when I wanted and God really didn't cross my mind very much. I realized that I had been trying to give myself worth through all kinds of things; my dieting, my art, my writing, my photography, my kids, my marriage, and my old house. And none of it was working. These things were all part of me, but I was trying to make them define me. I realized that these things are only temporal. What happens when I'm fat, when my writing, art, and photography are gone? When the kids grow up? If my marriage fails? If I lose my house? Am I still worth something? The answer is a whispered "Yes" in my heart. I hear God tell me that I am worthy of my space on Earth for no other reason than that He created me. And loved me enough to exchange his Son's life for mine. I don't have to do anything, prove anything, look a certain way, act a certain way, just be His; completely His. Some days I still struggle. I have had words thrown at me that wounded me deeply, made me question my worth, made me feel like I've lost it. But then I find myself driving down the road, CD blaring, singing "How Great Thou Art" at the top of my lungs and suddenly I know I've found my worth again. He thinks I am worth loving, He thinks I am worth caring for, He loves all my quirky ways, curly hair and freckles included. He knows I talk too much, and sometimes say the wrong thing, but He loves me anyway. Who am I to argue?
If your self worth has taken a beating lately, know this. You are valuable. No matter the circumstance you find yourself in, your worth is inestimable. You are not just a lump of matter, you have been formed by the hand of God. YOU matter.
God help me remember that my
self worth comes not from
my weight, my photographs
my writing, or how much
money I have in the bank.
Help me not to limit myself to these
Earthly things
but to look to Heaven
to properly see
my worth.
Friday, September 3, 2010
He's got the Whole World...In His Hands...
I hurried into the library to return a long overdue book. As I laid the book on the counter and turned to leave I was arrested by this month's featured display in the curio cabinet. It was of several different types of globes. There at the top was a small globe bank identical to the one I had as a child. I often wondered, out of all the toys I had, what happened to this one?
When I was a child it meant little to me. Just one toy among many. It wasn't until I was grown and it was long gone that I became attached to it.
I must have been about eight years old. I don't know why I was looking for it. I remember walking all around our suburban ranch style house looking here, looking there. I checked all the usual places, in the toybox, under the bed but it was nowhere to be found. Suddenly the solution came to me. I knew exactly what I should do in this situation. I stopped walking and right in the middle of the hall I closed my eight year old eyes and prayed. "Jesus, will you please help me find my piggybank". I stood there for a minute longer and then a picture came to my mind of where it was. I "saw it" under my dad's overstuffed naugahide chair in the living room. Without wasting another minute I walked straight over to the chair, bent down and retrieved the piggybank . I said a quick "thank you" under my breath and went on about the business of being a kid. There was no noise, no fanfare, nothing that would tell me I had just embarked on the journey of a lifetime with the One who had created me, although I'm sure the angels in Heaven must have been making a deafening racket in their delirium of joy.
It would be another year or so before I would kneel with my Auntie on the orange shag carpet (with hands folded on the shiny yellow vinyl couch) in her house and ask Jesus to "come into my heart" and another year or so after that before I realized the significance of that prayer. When I finally came to that realization my whole life turned upside down. Or should I say my upside down world suddenly turned right side up, just like that little globe when I was through shaking all of the pennies out of it.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Praise and Worship
I've been doing a lot of thinking about praise and worship for the last few days. Stuck in my bed for most of the last two weeks, I have begun to miss my daily guitar time with the Lord. I can't sing, my voice is shot, and my nose has been running nonstop and I have developed a terrible cough. It has been impossible for me to worship with singing. So this got me thinking. What other ways are there to worship God? How do you worship if you can't sing? My whole being depends upon the worship of my God. My peace comes from it.
I have always thought of praise and worship as one entity, ("P and W"). I began to realize that there is a difference. Praise is the verbal outpouring of our love for our God, whether in word or in song. Worship encompasses praise but is much much more than just a verbal word or song.
I began to think about those who could not worship with praise. Not just temporarily, like me, but people who could not sing EVER. People who are sick, or elderly, or handicapped. How do they worship the Lord? People like Corrie ten Boom, who was silenced by strokes the last five years of her life. The glory of God surrounded her right up until the day of her death, yet she could not speak a word, she couldn't talk, she couldn't write or communicate in any way.
I began to think I was on to something. I asked God to show me how to worship not just in singing and praising Him but in every single way possible. As the words left my mouth I remembered a verse from Proverbs, "In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your paths." (chap 3 vs 6)
I began to realize that the act of worship can be performed in every single thing you do. Your whole life can be an act of worship. You can acknowledge (and thus worship) simply by telling him Thank You for the things he has blessed you with. You perform an act of worship every single time you hear his voice directing you which way to go when a decision has to be made, and following his voice. You worship every single time you tell your kids a Bible story. Setting a Godly example for your kids is an act of worship. Even the smallest things, such as resisting the urge to watch that funny (but unGodly) tv show that you like so much is an act of worship because you are acknowledging that He has no part in that, and so you should not either.
Worship is not simply doing these things, however, it is the LONGING inside to please God's heart. You can do all of these things mentioned above mechanically and there is no worship involved. But when you follow that burning desire in your heart to acknowledge Him in ALL your ways, not just with your voice, then when your voice is gone His peace will still be with you.
I have always thought of praise and worship as one entity, ("P and W"). I began to realize that there is a difference. Praise is the verbal outpouring of our love for our God, whether in word or in song. Worship encompasses praise but is much much more than just a verbal word or song.
I began to think about those who could not worship with praise. Not just temporarily, like me, but people who could not sing EVER. People who are sick, or elderly, or handicapped. How do they worship the Lord? People like Corrie ten Boom, who was silenced by strokes the last five years of her life. The glory of God surrounded her right up until the day of her death, yet she could not speak a word, she couldn't talk, she couldn't write or communicate in any way.
I began to think I was on to something. I asked God to show me how to worship not just in singing and praising Him but in every single way possible. As the words left my mouth I remembered a verse from Proverbs, "In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your paths." (chap 3 vs 6)
I began to realize that the act of worship can be performed in every single thing you do. Your whole life can be an act of worship. You can acknowledge (and thus worship) simply by telling him Thank You for the things he has blessed you with. You perform an act of worship every single time you hear his voice directing you which way to go when a decision has to be made, and following his voice. You worship every single time you tell your kids a Bible story. Setting a Godly example for your kids is an act of worship. Even the smallest things, such as resisting the urge to watch that funny (but unGodly) tv show that you like so much is an act of worship because you are acknowledging that He has no part in that, and so you should not either.
Worship is not simply doing these things, however, it is the LONGING inside to please God's heart. You can do all of these things mentioned above mechanically and there is no worship involved. But when you follow that burning desire in your heart to acknowledge Him in ALL your ways, not just with your voice, then when your voice is gone His peace will still be with you.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Of Pringles and Prayers
The day started off a little rocky. I knew Ally wasn't feeling well last night and wouldn't be going to school today since she was running a fever. Unfortunately I couldn't tell how high the fever was because my thermometer battery was dead. In attempting to fix this problem some time ago I bought a new one but it turned out that the battery on that one was dead, as well. (It took me a while to figure that out. I took Ally's temp and it registered at about 95 degrees. This had me really concerned and I was feeding her hot soup and covering her in about five layers of covers and looking up all the symptoms of low body temp online. I took K's temp and it registered about 98 degrees so I just KNEW it wasn't the thermometer. The problem became clear about an hour later when K began throwing up and shaking with chills. What happened, as I'm sure you have figured out is that the thermometer was reading about three degrees low. So while Ally was fine, despite my attempts to "warm her up", it was K who needed cooling down. But I digress)
So this morning, with concerns of swine flu on my mind, I called the doctor's office and he was out until Tues. They told me the only other doctor in the office would not see her because she was a new patient. This ticked me off. I decided to take her to the urgent care, but this means and hour drive, plus the wait when we got there. Was she that sick? I debated. She looked fine, sitting on the couch eating a bowl of cereal. But she did say her head hurt and she had that fever.
Finally about one o'clock I suddenly had an insatiable urge for pringles to go with my tuna sandwich. I decided to go to the Qwik Check and get some of those new extreme pringles, dill pickle flavor, and no I'm not pregnant just for those that HAVE to ask. On the way out the door I decided to utilize my time alone and began to pray. I asked God to show me what to do. I just didn't know if she was sick enough for urgent care. So I got my pringles and decided I needed a new thermometer and the dollar store was just around the corner. I pulled into a parking spot and my phone rang. It was the local doctor's office wanting to know if anyone had ever called us back. I said "yes", and then we began a discussion as to whether I should drive Ally to the urgent care. She said she definitely would, and that was that. We hung up and I decided to take her. First though, that thermometer. I went in the store and my phone rang again. Again it was the doctor's office. "The doctor has decided to see you at two fifteen". I couldn't believe it. That was as clear an answer as any answer could be. And I wouldn't have to make the hour drive.
So we went to the doctor and she is fine. Wouldn't you know as soon as we got in there her headache disappeared and she showed no signs of fever. (I never did find that thermometer, they were all sold out. go figure.)
So I get home, with a big load off my mind. Now for the dog. I do not know what is wrong with my dog. It has been raining this week so he is spending a lot of time in the house. Apparently he does not appreciate this. He mopes around with those long ears and big brown eyes making everyone feel sorry for him. We have a pretty regular routine. I go downstairs and take him outside to the bathroom at about eight AM and then feed him breakfast. This has been our routine for a year.
The last three days, however, he just refuses to go. I take him out and he just stands there sniffing the air and chewing grass. I take him back in. An hour later I take him back out. Again the sniffing chewing routine. After a while this starts to get on your nerves. I don't want to spend all day outside waiting for the dog to do his business.
Yesterday he went about sixteen hours without going. Today it was twenty hours.
Finally, FINALLY he went, at about four in the afternoon. This just can't be good for him. And it irritates me. I constantly have to remind myself he is the equivalent of a two year old.
So having finally taken care of that, I decided that maybe my treadmill could be fixed. I was thinking maybe the reason it wouldn't go was that the belt was too tight. I rooted around for a while and found the correct size Allen wrench and sure enough. After it was loosened I was able to walk on it without it stopping. Immediately I ran upstairs and rooted through my closet and found my old running shoes, got dressed in appropriate work out clothes and jumped on and started running. Oh, how I have missed this. I had the music on really loud and a huge smile on my face. After a few minutes I remembered the hate part of this love/hate relationship I have with the treadmill. It didn't stop me though. Something about this machine just gets my blood pumping in a way the elliptical never did. I enjoy it. I enjoy the pain, the sweat, the ache in my knees, my pumping pulse, and the thumping rhythm of the music and my feet keeping pace.
So I'm sitting here at my computer contemplating answered prayers. Last night I watched the TV show "Deadliest Catch". I used to hate that show when it first came on but I find myself glued to the TV watching the crazy things that happen on those fishing boats. The episode was about the capsizing of the fishing vessel Katmai, which sank last October 900 miles off the coast of Alaska. There were eleven crewmen and only four of those survived in a life raft. The survivors were telling their stories. After seventeen hours on the raft which had overturned about fifty times in the night, one of the sailors completely gave up hope that they would survive. He got down on his knees and raised his arms to the sky and began to pray. At exactly that moment as the words formed on his lips, the coast guard helicopter came up over the horizon. Talk about timing! It doesn't get any better than that!
I've been thinking about that all day. God still answers prayer, folks, whether big ones or small ones. Even if he has to create a craving for a can of pringles to do it.
So this morning, with concerns of swine flu on my mind, I called the doctor's office and he was out until Tues. They told me the only other doctor in the office would not see her because she was a new patient. This ticked me off. I decided to take her to the urgent care, but this means and hour drive, plus the wait when we got there. Was she that sick? I debated. She looked fine, sitting on the couch eating a bowl of cereal. But she did say her head hurt and she had that fever.
Finally about one o'clock I suddenly had an insatiable urge for pringles to go with my tuna sandwich. I decided to go to the Qwik Check and get some of those new extreme pringles, dill pickle flavor, and no I'm not pregnant just for those that HAVE to ask. On the way out the door I decided to utilize my time alone and began to pray. I asked God to show me what to do. I just didn't know if she was sick enough for urgent care. So I got my pringles and decided I needed a new thermometer and the dollar store was just around the corner. I pulled into a parking spot and my phone rang. It was the local doctor's office wanting to know if anyone had ever called us back. I said "yes", and then we began a discussion as to whether I should drive Ally to the urgent care. She said she definitely would, and that was that. We hung up and I decided to take her. First though, that thermometer. I went in the store and my phone rang again. Again it was the doctor's office. "The doctor has decided to see you at two fifteen". I couldn't believe it. That was as clear an answer as any answer could be. And I wouldn't have to make the hour drive.
So we went to the doctor and she is fine. Wouldn't you know as soon as we got in there her headache disappeared and she showed no signs of fever. (I never did find that thermometer, they were all sold out. go figure.)
So I get home, with a big load off my mind. Now for the dog. I do not know what is wrong with my dog. It has been raining this week so he is spending a lot of time in the house. Apparently he does not appreciate this. He mopes around with those long ears and big brown eyes making everyone feel sorry for him. We have a pretty regular routine. I go downstairs and take him outside to the bathroom at about eight AM and then feed him breakfast. This has been our routine for a year.
The last three days, however, he just refuses to go. I take him out and he just stands there sniffing the air and chewing grass. I take him back in. An hour later I take him back out. Again the sniffing chewing routine. After a while this starts to get on your nerves. I don't want to spend all day outside waiting for the dog to do his business.
Yesterday he went about sixteen hours without going. Today it was twenty hours.
Finally, FINALLY he went, at about four in the afternoon. This just can't be good for him. And it irritates me. I constantly have to remind myself he is the equivalent of a two year old.
So having finally taken care of that, I decided that maybe my treadmill could be fixed. I was thinking maybe the reason it wouldn't go was that the belt was too tight. I rooted around for a while and found the correct size Allen wrench and sure enough. After it was loosened I was able to walk on it without it stopping. Immediately I ran upstairs and rooted through my closet and found my old running shoes, got dressed in appropriate work out clothes and jumped on and started running. Oh, how I have missed this. I had the music on really loud and a huge smile on my face. After a few minutes I remembered the hate part of this love/hate relationship I have with the treadmill. It didn't stop me though. Something about this machine just gets my blood pumping in a way the elliptical never did. I enjoy it. I enjoy the pain, the sweat, the ache in my knees, my pumping pulse, and the thumping rhythm of the music and my feet keeping pace.
So I'm sitting here at my computer contemplating answered prayers. Last night I watched the TV show "Deadliest Catch". I used to hate that show when it first came on but I find myself glued to the TV watching the crazy things that happen on those fishing boats. The episode was about the capsizing of the fishing vessel Katmai, which sank last October 900 miles off the coast of Alaska. There were eleven crewmen and only four of those survived in a life raft. The survivors were telling their stories. After seventeen hours on the raft which had overturned about fifty times in the night, one of the sailors completely gave up hope that they would survive. He got down on his knees and raised his arms to the sky and began to pray. At exactly that moment as the words formed on his lips, the coast guard helicopter came up over the horizon. Talk about timing! It doesn't get any better than that!
I've been thinking about that all day. God still answers prayer, folks, whether big ones or small ones. Even if he has to create a craving for a can of pringles to do it.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Your Love Broke Through
The music takes me back. I'm forty years old, but in my mind I'm ten years old again, and laying on the orange carpet listening to Auntie Kathy play the piano. It's 1978 and the music she is playing is Keith Green. I don't know it yet, but the melodies will be with me for the rest of my life. The music wrapped itself around the four of us, the three kids, and my aunt, and created a bond that has yet to be broken. We have had many disagreements, but the one thing we have never disagreed on is that music. It was real. Down to Earth. It reached out to where we were and picked us up, and took us to another level. It told us there was a life to be lived. It spoke of hope, and peace, and healing. Things I desperately needed were offered. I reached out and took the offering, and it changed my life.
Many years later, after we were all grown up and married, my aunt decided to give the piano to my youngest sister. The only hitch was, that my aunt lived in Texas, and my sister lived in Arizona. My middle sister, Heather had a moving van, and had volunteered to bring it to her, since her new home was now close to my youngest sister's house. Heather's husband, Ian, Heather, myself, and Auntie Kathy spent three hours moving the piano from Auntie Kathy's front porch out to the moving van, over broken sidewalk, mud, and grass. It was a monumental effort. After we got it in, everyone piled in the car, and we all went to my house, to spend the night.
The next morning, Heather and Ian loaded up their car, and prepared to head to Arizona, to drop off the piano at my sister's house, and then head to their new home. After everything was loaded we persuaded Auntie Kathy to climb up in the back of the van and play us some music. She began to play. It was Keith Green. As the sound flowed around us and down the quiet street, we were overcome with emotion, and Heather and I stood in the street with tears flowing down our faces. The music was so haunting, taking us back to our strife ridden childhood and the peace found, laying there on the orange carpet. There was an overwhelming feeling was that this was the last time we would ever hear the sound of Auntie playing her piano. Other pianos were not the same. It was this piano, this music that had embedded itself inside of us, and become a physical part of our flesh and blood.
So tonight, on a whim, I got on Youtube, and typed in Keith Green. Out of the speakers began to flow the music of my childhood. Everything around me fades...Back, back, back I go, to a time before kids, before marriage, before the house, before the cares of growing up consumed me...
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The "Spirit Whisperer"
One night a couple of years ago, while flipping through the TV channels, I came across a reality show called "The Dog Whisperer". I really wasn't all that interested, and I didn't own a dog and even though we have a thousand channels, there wasn't a thing on, so I decided to watch it. To my surprise it turned out to be quite an interesting show. The show featured dog owners who needed help getting their dog's behavior under control. The supposed "guru" of dogs, Cesar Millan, was supposed to be the answer to anything and everything dog related. I watched in fascination as an owner of a Basset Hound dragged her fifty pound dog up her driveway and into her house by the leash because he refused to come in. Now, when I say dragged, I mean the dog was actually laying down in the driveway, and refusing to move, and she was literally pulling him along the ground with all her might. Now I am not really a dog lover, so you would think that this would not be a show that would appeal to me, but I found myself watching as Cesar came for a consult and practically performed magic on this dog. His behavior was transformed within a few minutes, from resisting and non compliance, to doing exactly what his owner wanted him to do.
I found myself watching all of the episodes that came on in utter fascination. Sometimes it would be a dog that was obsessed with rocks, or light, or balls. Sometimes, it would be a dog that was obsessed with water. Some dogs were so aggressive, that they were going to be put down if Cesar couldn't help. Even the tiny dogs, like little Yorkies, had problems with terrible aggression. Cesar even said that the dog with the worst aggression problem he had seen was a tiny little chihuahua named Bandit. These dogs all had problems, some small, some big, but the answer was always the same. Every time, he would come in and say to the owners. "Are you walking the dog? Are you walking the dog? Are you walking the dog?" Over and over, and the answer was almost always the same. "Well, we don't have time, Well, we thought having a big yard was enough, well, we can't control him, so we keep him at home." Cesar would tell them that they must practice exercise, discipline, and then affection, in that order, in order for the dog to have a balanced life. That never taking the dog for a walk was like keeping him in a bubble all the time, which causes boredom, which leads to discipline problems. He would tell them that it was very important and necessary to walk the dog, so that excess energy could be drained, and that when the dog was tired he would be more easily trainable. After the walk over was when they would begin to address the dog's discipline problems, when the dog was more open to listening, teaching, and training.
I watched the show regularly for about six months and gleaned some interesting things, not just about dogs, but about life.
One Sunday morning I decided that the time had come for me to find a church in my new town. I had moved there about a year before and had put off looking, because I just can't stand "church shopping" as I call it. The church I was going to was actually NOT in my town, but was an hour away. I got there and attended the service, and was not really very comfortable. Something about the place just didn't feel right. BUT the Lord spoke to me there in the strangest way. We were reading in Galatians. I can't remember what they were reading, but my eye skipped down the page to Galatians 5:16. "But I say, walk and live in the Spirit, then you will not gratify the desires and cravings of the flesh." When I read that, all of a sudden in my head, I could hear Cesar, saying over and over "It's all about the walk. It's all about the walk." Immediately, my mind made the connection between walking with dogs, and walking with the Lord. Only of course with the Lord as the Master. Not to say that we are dogs, but think about it. When we allow the Lord to "walk" us, we stay right next to him. We don't run off and do whatever we want. We don't look off to the left or right, but keep our eyes ahead. We don't get distracted by other things along the way, and if we do, then he corrects us. In other words, the walk is where it's at. He takes us where HE wants to go, and along the way, through exercise, discipline, and love, (not necessarily in that order) we learn to trust Him. WOW! All of this came to me in a millisecond, sitting there in that church.
The next week I decided to go to a church down the road from my house. I didn't hold out much hope that it would be "the one" because after all, I reasoned, what are the chances of a really good church in my little tiny town of 9,900. That very reasoning was the reason I hadn't gone there before. I knew about this church, I thought about going there, but I talked myself out of it every time.
Well, the Lord set me back on my heels the very first time I went in there and I was ashamed of myself for selling the Lord so short. The place was rocking. The choir was rocking. I mean, they were really rocking. They were all moving in unison to the music from side to side, with their hands raised in praise. It was different and refreshing. I loved it. To my shock, the pastor opened his sermon with Galatians 5:17! The same chapter I had read the previous week, very next verse! "For the desires of the flesh are opposed to the Holy Spirit, and the desires of the Holy Spirit are opposed to the flesh; For these are antagonistic to each other, so that you are not free, but are prevented from doing what you desire to do." The pastor began to describe the "walk' in the Spirit, as being a tug of war, between the flesh and Spirit. I could totally see myself, in my mind, on a leash, (in a dog perspective) tugging away from the Lord, with my fleshly desires, and He, working with me to get me to submit and walk by his side in a calm and peaceful way.
In a funny way, this knowledge also bled over into my home life. I have three children, and as the world's weeniest mother when it comes to discipline, they are all out of control. I didn't want to be a meanie, and so that's how I became the "weenie". I began to see that love had nothing to do with it. The love is there, but love without discipline is not complete. They aren't balanced. And if I'm not disciplining them as I should, then neither am I, and we are all thrown off-kilter. I love how the Lord can use something as simple and unorthodox as a TV show about dogs to teach me more about myself, But I guess if He can make a donkey talk...anything is possible.
In the end, some of these dogs, were even able to graduate to walking without a leash. At that point, it wasn't about training anymore, it was about companionship.
It became about just enjoying time together. There was total trust that the dog wouldn't run away, and just as much trust that the master knew where they were going.
Truly, if we could get to that point in our relationship with God, wouldn't that be the ultimate definition of "Walking in the Spirit"?
I found myself watching all of the episodes that came on in utter fascination. Sometimes it would be a dog that was obsessed with rocks, or light, or balls. Sometimes, it would be a dog that was obsessed with water. Some dogs were so aggressive, that they were going to be put down if Cesar couldn't help. Even the tiny dogs, like little Yorkies, had problems with terrible aggression. Cesar even said that the dog with the worst aggression problem he had seen was a tiny little chihuahua named Bandit. These dogs all had problems, some small, some big, but the answer was always the same. Every time, he would come in and say to the owners. "Are you walking the dog? Are you walking the dog? Are you walking the dog?" Over and over, and the answer was almost always the same. "Well, we don't have time, Well, we thought having a big yard was enough, well, we can't control him, so we keep him at home." Cesar would tell them that they must practice exercise, discipline, and then affection, in that order, in order for the dog to have a balanced life. That never taking the dog for a walk was like keeping him in a bubble all the time, which causes boredom, which leads to discipline problems. He would tell them that it was very important and necessary to walk the dog, so that excess energy could be drained, and that when the dog was tired he would be more easily trainable. After the walk over was when they would begin to address the dog's discipline problems, when the dog was more open to listening, teaching, and training.
I watched the show regularly for about six months and gleaned some interesting things, not just about dogs, but about life.
One Sunday morning I decided that the time had come for me to find a church in my new town. I had moved there about a year before and had put off looking, because I just can't stand "church shopping" as I call it. The church I was going to was actually NOT in my town, but was an hour away. I got there and attended the service, and was not really very comfortable. Something about the place just didn't feel right. BUT the Lord spoke to me there in the strangest way. We were reading in Galatians. I can't remember what they were reading, but my eye skipped down the page to Galatians 5:16. "But I say, walk and live in the Spirit, then you will not gratify the desires and cravings of the flesh." When I read that, all of a sudden in my head, I could hear Cesar, saying over and over "It's all about the walk. It's all about the walk." Immediately, my mind made the connection between walking with dogs, and walking with the Lord. Only of course with the Lord as the Master. Not to say that we are dogs, but think about it. When we allow the Lord to "walk" us, we stay right next to him. We don't run off and do whatever we want. We don't look off to the left or right, but keep our eyes ahead. We don't get distracted by other things along the way, and if we do, then he corrects us. In other words, the walk is where it's at. He takes us where HE wants to go, and along the way, through exercise, discipline, and love, (not necessarily in that order) we learn to trust Him. WOW! All of this came to me in a millisecond, sitting there in that church.
The next week I decided to go to a church down the road from my house. I didn't hold out much hope that it would be "the one" because after all, I reasoned, what are the chances of a really good church in my little tiny town of 9,900. That very reasoning was the reason I hadn't gone there before. I knew about this church, I thought about going there, but I talked myself out of it every time.
Well, the Lord set me back on my heels the very first time I went in there and I was ashamed of myself for selling the Lord so short. The place was rocking. The choir was rocking. I mean, they were really rocking. They were all moving in unison to the music from side to side, with their hands raised in praise. It was different and refreshing. I loved it. To my shock, the pastor opened his sermon with Galatians 5:17! The same chapter I had read the previous week, very next verse! "For the desires of the flesh are opposed to the Holy Spirit, and the desires of the Holy Spirit are opposed to the flesh; For these are antagonistic to each other, so that you are not free, but are prevented from doing what you desire to do." The pastor began to describe the "walk' in the Spirit, as being a tug of war, between the flesh and Spirit. I could totally see myself, in my mind, on a leash, (in a dog perspective) tugging away from the Lord, with my fleshly desires, and He, working with me to get me to submit and walk by his side in a calm and peaceful way.
In a funny way, this knowledge also bled over into my home life. I have three children, and as the world's weeniest mother when it comes to discipline, they are all out of control. I didn't want to be a meanie, and so that's how I became the "weenie". I began to see that love had nothing to do with it. The love is there, but love without discipline is not complete. They aren't balanced. And if I'm not disciplining them as I should, then neither am I, and we are all thrown off-kilter. I love how the Lord can use something as simple and unorthodox as a TV show about dogs to teach me more about myself, But I guess if He can make a donkey talk...anything is possible.
In the end, some of these dogs, were even able to graduate to walking without a leash. At that point, it wasn't about training anymore, it was about companionship.
It became about just enjoying time together. There was total trust that the dog wouldn't run away, and just as much trust that the master knew where they were going.
Truly, if we could get to that point in our relationship with God, wouldn't that be the ultimate definition of "Walking in the Spirit"?
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