Trapped!

Do you every feel trapped? I do! Traffic, long lines (or even short lines) anywhere, the waste of time spent waiting for my name to be called for an appointment, waiting for a repairman to arrive, an answer to come ... all of these (and more) leave me itching for release. For freedom.

I don't like be constrained, restrained or stuck. I'm that person who takes her own vehicle so she can leave the dinner, the party, the whatever when she's ready. Who has a reasonably flexible work schedule that allows me to work odd hours, if odd hours get the job done. It's not often that I have nightmares, but if I do, they almost always involved being trapped somewhere and unable to get loose; to get away.

Sometimes I am confused about freedom, though. I think it requires control, but it doesn't. Freedom is about surrender. About self-forgetfulness. About intense focus on a task. On others. On God. I am never more trapped than when I am drowning in the Sea of Me. It's dark there. and ugly, and deep. And I am never more free than when I am lost in creating or listening, or teaching (like in Ukraine), or loving (again, in Ukraine) -- all my energy aimed ... elsewhere.

Full of worry, focused on what I want, anxious that my own needs are being met, I live in an ever-tightening vise. Focused on others though, I can simply "go up in smoke" --an offering of love on a hundred small altars, any day, anywhere, anytime.

Gerbera daisies bloom (I'm not a huge roses fan) without demand. Sparrows fly without Zoloft. The sunrise and sunset arrive on time--not a minute too late or too soon--whether I pay attention to them or not. Consider these, Jesus said, and find comfort.

The free and unencumbered life I long for cannot be reached by striving, holding, manipulating, or managing. Only by surrendering my own interests, ego and anxiety--and looking to Jesus to be my guide. Because whoever the Son sets free is free indeed.

If you grasp and cling to life on your own terms, you'll lose it, but if you let that life go, you'll get life on God's terms. (Luke 17:33, The Message)

It's Friday!

Most Fridays are my favorite day of the work week - like everyone else who does the traditional 8-5 job, but even that's not normal for me. I get to the office around 6:30 every morning and try to leave no later than 6:15 every night, but there are nights like last night when I'm here until 8:20. Hey, but today is FriYay! I get a chance to go home and crash for a day or two.
But this Friday ... yes, this Friday is different.

This Friday is Good Friday. Ever wonder why they call it "Good Friday" when it was such an awful Friday? Well, it's good for us - the only Son of God suffered a horrible gut wrenching death - just so we can choose to live.

There's more to this Friday this year. Sunday, the 16th, is the anniversary of my baby sister's birth ... but she's not here. This is her first birthday celebration in heaven. I know she's celebrating - she isn't suffering anymore. She doesn't have to worry about the cancer that wracked her body, doesn't have to be concerned about her phlebitis, doesn't have to worry about her heart problems ... she is well! All is well for her. I'm so thankful she isn't suffering anymore - I wouldn't bring her back to her suffering for anything, but our loss is so great. I miss her all the time, but especially on Fridays. I always called her on my way home to share the frustrations and celebrations of the week and listen to hers. She would cackle, and I would lose it. The sound of her laugh was infectious, and oh how her eyes would sparkle when she laughed. She had gorgeous eyes! She was so crazy - always calling and leaving goofy messed up messages on my email. I kept her last message, and the memories roll down my cheeks every time I listen to it. Yeah, this Friday is different.

...but Sunday's coming! I will celebrate my risen Saviour on Sunday, and I will celebrate Deb's birthday hoping that somehow she knows how much she is missed on this side.

I cannot begin to imagine how God felt when Jesus was hoisted up on that cross. I have sons, and I wouldn't give up any of them to that death - not for anyone and certainly not for a bunch of ungrateful humans. We talk all the time about how Jesus suffered - and I'm not downplaying that - my heart almost stops when I think of the pain he endured. But what about His Father? And His Mother? Surely, Mary must have felt as though her heart would explode. Mine feels that way when I contemplate how much she must have wanted to pull Him off that cross! And His Father ... our Father! Knowing what must be done to save this often ungrateful human race, knowing that He was giving up His son to torture and ridicule and suffering and death. Surely, He wept on Friday. Surely His heart was shattered.
      How, oh how can we be so ungrateful?
      How can we disregard what He did for us?
      How can we not believe after all that was given up for us?

But that's not the end of the story! He kept His Word ... and three days later He arose! No more suffering for Him ... or was there? ... or is there? Surely, we make Him suffer over and over again when we fail to believe; when we don't keep His commandments; when we don't share His story with the rest of the world; when we don't reflect Him.

Yes, this Friday is different, but so is this Sunday. Somehow His story is more prevalent in my mind, His sacrifice hurts me more, and His love amazes more than it ever has! I'm thankful to know that Sunday is coming, and I will celebrate Him. I will also celebrate another gift - the gift of my baby sister!

Happy Birthday, Deb!

Happy Resurrection Day!

Crashed and Burned

It had been a hard year - heartbreakin' hard! Unbelievably hard!  My world crashed and burned!

Everything that mattered most to me seemed to go up in flames. My heart burned and the ashes seemed a safe place to fall -- and to stay. Unresponsive to encouragement, I sat in the ashes for a long time. My hands filled with fists of ashes. I could smell the ashes regardless of where I was. Like the smell of the ashes in our fireplace that seem to overtake me sometimes - I could smell them!

I lost one child - not to death - to circumstances and now am at risk of losing another because of the previous circumstances. Some of them were my own doing, but a lot of them weren't. Nevertheless, I ended up in ashes. The decisions I had made earlier in my life based on good solid advice from people of character and people who I admired people who made their living giving advice now threatened everything I held dear.

I needed to get up; I just couldn't muster the oomph to do it. Sadness feels natural; sorrow is comfortable. I knew I couldn't wallow in the ashes forever. And here's the sweet thing: God knew this too. He knelt down next to me and extended a helping hand up. He promised: Give me the ashes; I'll do something with them. Something beautiful.

He spoke this message in hundreds of ways, but it wasn't until I was at my lowest that I understood the message He was giving me. In fact, He gave it to me time after time. It's just that I tend to be a little hard headed sometimes - so it's difficult to get things through to me. Beauty for ashes. How many times have I heard this? How many ways has it been preached? How many times has it been sung by various artists? But one day it clicked for me. Beauty for ashes. I have plenty of ashes could He really give me something beautiful in exchange for them? And there He was. Our God of redemption and resurrection, speaking His timeless message once again--for me, for you. Give me the ashes; I'll do something with them. Something beautiful.

It's been a while since I got that message. I wish I could tie up my story with a pretty bow. Say that I unclenched my fists, gave God the soot, and have been happy-go-lucky ever since. But I won't--because that's not the truth.

I want to be real. And real is that it took a long time to see anything redemptive in my heartbreak. In fact, there are a LOT of scars from that heartbreak that are still very visible. Real is also my trust -- my faith -- in a God who makes life worth living. Even when I can't wrap my mind around life's crazy questions. I'll stay committed to taking Him at His Word, regardless of my circumstances; believing He is a loving Creator who is making beauty in my life even from ashes; hoping for what remains unseen.

I'll continue to look for His goodness because truly the most beautiful thing in the midst of pain is a faithful God. One who stands by One who redeems--all things. One who creates masterpieces out of muck. A God who took the most hopeless situation and the ultimate death and resurrected hope. Resurrected our hope; Jesus

Psalm 6:4 NIV
Turn, Lord, and deliver me; save me because of your unfailing love.

I Believe!

Mark 9:24b is probably one of my most quoted verses. "I believe, but help my unbelief." 

I do believe! I know that I know that I know that God is able ... but do I believe He will? Maybe not - at least not when it comes to believing for something for me. I can go way back to when I was a young teen, and I really did not believe I would ever live to see the years I am in now. I believed for sure Jesus would return before I ever got out of high school. Maybe I should correct myself and say I was afraid Jesus would return before I got out of high school. That statement is more accurate.

I've worked in ministry for the past 20+ years, and I still find it difficult to believe God would want to do something miraculous for me. Odd, huh? I have no trouble believing for others, just not for me.

I am currently battling five (yes, 5) autoimmune disorders plus another reoccurrence of shingles, loss of almost all my hair - so I had it shaved and trying to figure out where the money is coming from to keep my Mother (who has dementia) in the facility where she is since she doesn't have enough income to pay for the total cost. Geez! If ever I needed to believe for me, it is now. Yet I wrestle every single solitary day with all the reasons why God's not going to come through for me and has every right not to.

What does it make you feel when you hear that God's going to take care of you - that He's working everything out for your good? Does it bring you peace or does it bring out your cynical and doubtful side?

As a child and up through my teenage years, it definitely brought out my cynical side. I was the kid who went to church because I was the pastor's daughter and had no choice! I slept (with my eyes open) through services and left as soon as I could get out without one of my parents grabbing me by the back of my shirt. I really didn't believe that God would work anything out for me.

I saw miracles, but those miracles "didn't happen for me." I think my first real petition before God was when I found myself pregnant as an unmarried teenager. It was my fault, and it wasn't my fault - but whichever way you see it I was pregnant. I knew, but I didn't know. I had not been to the doctor to confirm it, and back then (in the dark ages) there was no such thing as an over-the-counter pregnancy test. I journaled back then and every single day I would cry out through my writing for God to please let the pregnancy end or let me not be pregnant. I did that for the first six months of the pregnancy! Did He answer?  Yes, but the answer was a resounding NO! Another sign that He took care of other people and did miracles for other people, just not for me. I begged God to just let me be normal - just let things end. After all, my girlfriend was pregnant and hers ended in miscarriage - her parents never even found out she had been pregnant until she told them - decades later.

Needless to say, things have changed now. I have personally experienced miracles of all sorts, but when you're in the proverbial valley it's difficult to remember those mountain top experiences. Nevertheless, I believe. God, help my unbelief!