Through My Window

Lazarus and the Great Thaw

2010-09-25T11:38:00.004-05:00

There's been this nagging whisper in the back of my mind ... you have nothing to say. Well, actually, that's just one variation on a theme that's been running through my mind since the end of March. You have nothing to say. Nobody wants to hear what you have to say. How in this world will what you have to say make a difference in this world?! Seems on the surface a crisis of confidence or of identity. Maybe so.
At the end of March, I committed to a change in vocational responsibilities that I knew would change my life. And, boy was I right. I am still a pastor, but without a congregation in the truest sense of the word. Everything about communal life that one experiences as a part of a congregation - even as its shepherd - is different. (The biggest change and hardest has been the absence of children in my life, especially celebrating and assisting Truth unfolding in and for little ones and those willing to be children of the King.) And, since the end of March, I've found myself spinning more plates (reference: that recurring act on Ed Sullivan who never could make it all the way through his stint without a broken plate) than I ever dreamed existed in the Church ... and I've had a few things to say about "juggling" before.
The passion for most of my vocational responsibilities has been in desperate need of a good thaw. The picture of the nandinas in my old front yard, frozen solid by the ice that came late in the winter would be a perfect visual of how my heart has felt about this appointed work before me ... until this morning.
With several new responsibilities in front of me tomorrow (officiating an annual Charge Conference for the first time, preaching in front of a cluster of churches in my District for the first time as their Superintendent to name two), I settled into a wrought-iron chair on my patio in the delightful coolness of morning that we've been dreaming of, waiting for through many long hot months. As I began to let the Word I'd chosen for tomorrow wash over me, bubble inside me, I found something else happening ...
That great thaw. In the space of three hours so much has happened: I've watched my little Izzy "squirrel hunt" the whole back yard, I've been covered by Grace (taking her morning nap on my feet) like an indescribable grace-blanket of love and belonging, I've been serenaded by those chattering squirrels that Izzy stirred up and the songs of invisible birds ... and giggly little girls from the yard next door. And, I've been warmed by a stirring in my heart and mind that I haven't felt in a long, long time. Like waiting for the thaw that turns winter to spring, there is a new joy and a new anticipation in me for sharing with God's people like I haven't in a long time.
This is not the first time since March that I've sat with the Truth and been moved. But, today is different. Somehow, Lazarus and that rich guy in that made-up story Jesus told have given me what I've needed since March. Thanks guys!
p.s. I'll keep you "posted" on what happens tomorrow!

Shedding What Hinders

2010-03-12T20:35:00.002-06:00

Moving from a fairly sunny day with the temperature near 70 degrees at its peak to a day at least 20 degrees cooler has reminded me of the not-quite forgotten days of near-zero temperatures and frozen stuff falling from the sky. The picture to the right is one of the nandinas just outside my front door. It was a new sort of beauty to watch the ice form before my eyes on everything from trees and shrubs to patio furniture. The ice acted like a prism, making the reds brighter and the buds I hadn't noticed yet seem bigger ... and alive! But, the breathtaking beauty that the ice brought quickly turned to hindrance, then destruction before we could do anything about the accumulation of it all. Pay attention as you drive our neighborhoods and you'll still see limbs dangling and others piled up at the street's edge. I recently drove through western Kentucky and the evidence is still overwhelming there nearly two years after a devastating ice storm kept residents in the dark and cold for weeks. Trees still alive and still bare from the winter look scrubby at best, like they've given up.

As we find ourselves half way through this Lenten season, I have to say that these images - the ones from my camera and the ones I see as I drive familiar neighborhoods of the present and the past - are a powerful reminder of what happens when we cannot or will not throw off those hindrances that hold us back. Many things come to us like the ice "came" to the nandinas in my yard: more expectations of our limited time and energy, pressure to conform to the world around us, the growing felt need for the approval of others, and much more. One at a time, we can handle those demands (some, legitimate; others, not so much). We are tempted to say that the problem starts when those things weigh me down like the ice eventually weighed down and threatened the health of nandinas and trees. But, the greater Truth is that the problem starts when we allow any of those "things" to stick that have the potential - alone or in concert with other attitudes, practices, or habits - to break us down.

When Jesus was led into the wilderness by God's Spirit and faced temptation there, it was evident that He knew how and when to say "no!" He knows how to shed those things that can hinder and will teach you ... if you let Him. There's something more than letting your 'yes' be "Yes!" and your 'no' be "No!" (Matthew 5:7) that needs our attention. That is, determining what deserves a "Yes!' and what requires a "No!" That knowledge can and will only be gained by spending time with God. The gospels are full of reminders that Jesus Himself made it a practiced priority to pull away from the distractions and demands of any day to spend time with the One who authored and ordained (and is trusting you, too, with) this day. I'm confident that God will show you and me what hindrance(s) need to be shed. Keep that picture in your mind of what accumulating ice does to trees (and nandinas) and what accumulating "stuff" does to your soul. And, ask God to help you shed what hinders.

New Beginnings

2009-12-31T14:01:00.002-06:00

I have to confess, I'm one of those. I resolve at the beginning of most new years, that "this time" things are gonna be different. Less junk food, more time on the bike; less spending, more saving, less time in front of the boob tube (that's what Daddy called it), more time in the Word or with family or working on a stress-relieving hobby ... My guess is that you know the resolution routine as well. Some of us have made headway before, but rarely do any of us make it past the first weeks, much less the first months. And, everything 'new' becomes old again.

I was reminded this week that in the face of all the things we want to be different or are afraid will be different, there is one bankable truth we would do well to remember: Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow (Hebrews 13:8). No matter what will be new in my life or for how long, Jesus is the always ... He is always my friend, always my brother, always leading toward his best, always patient when I meander, always loving, always challenging. I can depend on Jesus to be the same strength, the same peace, the same courage, the same Life-giver as always, regardless of what is shifting in my life.

You know, God offers Job an answer that is helpful for us to hear. While I think I've got a pretty good handle on things, it's really God who's got it under control. In the face of Job's increased whining and lack of understanding though he is faithful, God reminds Job of just how capable He really is. (Check out Job 38 and 39.) For instance, who takes care of the desert with nobody in it? God does. Who's responsible for sending the lightning bolts on their way? God is. Who sees the fawn born when no one else is around but Mom Doe and who delights in the wonder and beauty (yes, beauty!) of, say, the ostrich? God, that's Who! If God gives a whit about the uninhabited desert, the here-and-gone lightning bolts, fawns born under the protection of forest depth and creatures like the ostrich who, on a good day, are a little goofy, God gives more than a whit about you, about me! Oh, by the way, God does give a whit about all those things and more ... He is the creator of it all, of course God cares about His!

God cares that you want to see changes in your life. More than that, God longs to be the Power in your life that will enable those changes. Paul wrote in his letter to the Christians at Corinth that Jesus is God's "YES!" to all the promises God's ever made. Jesus is your "YES!" And, mine, too. Tomorrow may be a new beginning, but I'm sure glad to have the same, steady companion on the journey with me. The One who makes all things possible, the One who never changes, but makes it possible for me to change every day! He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow! You can bank on it.

Songs of Joy, Songs of Life

2009-12-23T13:16:00.003-06:00

The last time it happened was in 2005. Christmas Day was on a Sunday. I have to admit that I was both bummed and thrilled over the prospect of "working" on Christmas Day. The hours spent in church that morning would certainly slow us down and the road has always been our home on Christmas ... trying to get from one place to the other so that no one feels left out or let down. At the same time, how cool was this going to be to start Christmas morning with those who call themselves by the name of this Baby King and live our lives for Him?!

Little did I know just how cool these intimate, holy moments would be. Elizabeth was seven years old that year and, for her first solo contribution to worship, she was going to welcome Christ to our hearts and home again with this beautiful little song, "Happy Birthday, Jesus." With no announcements and a short, soft prelude finished, Elizabeth took her place at the center of the platform and began to sing. Her voice was clear and, of course, child-like, but powerful. After that first chorus, she took a breath to begin the first verse. The tears started at the same time. Like Peter focusing on the waves and wind instead of his Lord, Elizabeth began to really see all the faces looking back at her and felt small in that huge expanse of worship space. Faster than Santa and his reindeer, Elizabeth's mom appeared at the top step of the platform. She put her arm tight around her daughter's waist and we could hear two voices instead of one. Elizabeth never stopped singing. Some words were cloaked in tears, some were basically inaudible through the sobs, but she never stopped singing. And you know it, when verse two rolled around, she stood straighter and sang louder, clearer, more confidently. Before we could realize it, we could only hear Elizabeth's voice. Though Mom was sitting right there at her feet, Elizabeth was offering her gift the way she wanted to ... she never stopped singing.

Sounds crazy to say, but those of us gathered for worship on Christmas Day were surprised by the presence of Christ that morning. In Elizabeth's mom we saw just what God was doing with-skin-on in Jesus. God comes alongside us giving us life and strength, staying close and empowering us to offer ourselves the best way we can so that others can see what life in Him is like. And, in Elizabeth ... well, in Elizabeth we heard the same call and words of hope that the shepherds heard, that Simeon and Anna clung to, and - if you've heard the legend - that the little drummer boy was willing to trust. You, that's the best gift to offer this Baby King. Sometimes our words (and actions and thoughts and attitudes) will be cloaked with tears or worse. Sometimes our 'offerings' such as they are will be indistinguishable through the crud in our lives that is not of God. But, this Baby King loves us just the same and, I believe, was blown away by Elizabeth singing "Happy Birthday, Jesus" and is glorified and thrilled by us giving Him what we have.

Christmas Day doesn't have to be on Sunday for any of us to feel the holy weight of the moment. Those moments with Elizabeth and her mom changed my understanding of Christmas forever. This year, may you feel His presence, may you understand that Jesus was born for you, and may you never stop singing!

The Hard Work of Waiting

2009-12-09T16:46:00.002-06:00

The Advent season is about waiting. And, watching. Those who call themselves by the name of Christ spend these weeks leading to the celebration of Christmas preparing for Christ's coming. Busy work is a part of that - decorating the house, attending parties, softening our hearts, watching for hints of the Divine to come (and already present). But, the bigger part of the work will always be waiting. That shouldn't be a surprise to us; we do a lot of waiting in our lives. We wait on everyone and everything at some time or another: at the bank, on the check-out clerk, for a call back from the Doc, at red lights and moving trains, on a family member or a friend, for lab results, a grade on our paper, or a phone call from a friend. I'm beginning to realize that how we wait is a bigger issue than if we will wait ... 'cause we're gonna wait.

The concept of waiting has caused great angst in my household in most recent days. For an entire week, Izzy (one of my four-legged girls) kept her nose in the outlet beside my rocker. Oh, she took breaks for treats or for a nap on my lap, certainly to take care of business and to get slurps of water. But, the rest of her waking moments? Trained on that outlet so as not to miss a thing. When I discovered that it wasn't the charm of the outlet but the smell of a mouse that had her wrapt attention, I set traps. In all the important places from one end of the house to the other. Fifteen minutes after the first trap was placed behind the refrigerator, I heard a loud "SNAP!" echo from the kitchen. Simultaneously, I was proud, relieved, and grossed out at the prospect of what that sound meant. And, I headed down the hall toward the kitchen only to be met by Izzy coming from the kitchen. And, licking her lips! Now, I was only horrified at the prospect of all that might be ... until Izzy turned to head back to her hunting grounds and revealed the sprung trap (minus the little hunk of cheese and smear of peanut butter meant to entice a mouse) hanging from the curls on her left back haunch! What's Izzy doing with her free time these days, you ask? Well, she's not mesmerized by the outlet any longer, but she does have a newfound hope in the tiny space bewteen the refrigerator and the wall. Waiting on whatever is there, whatever might show up keeps her occupied for the most part.

I don't believe that God baits us like I did that mouse (and, oh how I hope it's only one, the one we caught!). I do believe, however, that we give up on the promise of good stuff, of God-stuff coming to us and we don't wait like Izzy. We won't. When our prayers aren't answered the way we hoped or asked, we are tempted to think that God didn't hear, doesn't want to hear, or that somehow we didn't ask rightly. Often, when the circumstances of our lives don't get righted the way we figured God would fix them, we quickly assume that God's punishing us or that God doesn't care enough to fix things. The next step in this thought parade is to give up waiting on God and find another plan B to work on ourselves. We all need to be reminded that the Truth is that God is always right on time. Also, the truth is that we'd much rather God work according to our own agenda and timeline.

What happens when we faithfully, diligently, and confidently wait on God? Things like this ... Zechariah and Elizabeth get that baby boy they've been praying over for decades (Luke 1:5ff)), a Godly young girl is chosen to bear Salvation to the world (Luke 1:26ff), her beloved trusts God even in the face of small town small-mindedness and is, in turn, trusted to raise the Son of God in a carpentry shop and under God's law of love (Matthew 1:18ff). And, Simeon and Anna - as old and tired as they both are - not only get to see it but they hold Salvation for all people in their own arms (Luke 2:22ff). All of that ... because they were willing to wait on God.

I don't know about you, but I want to learn how to wait like Izzy. My guess is that her nosed is jammed in that little crack this very moment just because good stuff came once before and she doesn't want to miss it when it comes again. With confidence, diligence, and supreme trust, I want to wait on God to show up again ... and again, and again, and again. 'Cause that's just who God is. I get it now. How we wait is much more important than if we will wait ... 'cause we're gonna wait. And, if we're smart, we'll wait on God no matter what, or how long. My suspicion is that with God, not only is everything possible, but it will always be worth the wait!

Hush Y'all!

2009-09-16T13:52:00.002-05:00

Two of the lections from last Sunday's lectionary readings (a three-year schedule of readings from the Old Testament, Psalms, Gospels, and New Testaments to be used in Christian worship ... covers the whole of Scripture in that three-year cycle) set tongues a-waggin', literally!
In the 3rd chapter of James, there's quite a discourse on how powerful our mouths can be, usually in destructive ways. In the 8th chapter of Mark, we find Peter's confession of Christ immediately followed by his reproof of Jesus when he started talking about hard stuff. The truth from James' letter ... salt water and fresh water don't come from the same spring, but we let hurtful words spew from the same "well" that God would ordain as a spring of helpful words.

So, from last week's sermon, let me share 5 guidelines that might help us help our mouths and what comes out of 'em be better representations of love, mercy and grace.

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. (Building yourself up by tearing others down just makes you a cowardly bully.)
You don't have to say everything you know. (Wielding your knowledge as power, or some sort of weapon, shows how selfish you are.)
If you're not a part of the problem, and you're not a part of the solution, then you're not a part of the conversation. (Enough said. Now, mind your own business.)
You don't have to convince the world to still be right. (Stop trying to reason with unreasonable people; have confidence in yourself and the One who goes before you.)
When you tell a half-truth, then you've told a whole lie. (Your version of the truth isn't necessary ... just the truth, the whole truth, and nothin' but the truth, so help you God!)

Jesus didn't chase down the Rich Young Ruler to offer him a better deal when the invitation to come to Christ was too hard; Jesus stood silent before Pilate because he knew you can't reason with unreasonable people. He knew the power of words and the temptation we still face to use our words as weapons, lures, and the like.

Somebody might wanna forward this to Joe Wilson, Serena Williams, and Kanye West. Better yet, let's just guard our own tongues and see what happens ...

2009-09-09T15:55:00.002-05:00

On the drive between my house and the Big City is a beautiful farm, Woodburn Farm. No matter my mood, no matter the weather, passing by their expanse of pasture and the critters who live there is always a delight. Maybe it's just the country girl in me that appreciates the lushness of the green hills and the smell of new-mown hay, but I do like it. Every calving season, those little babies seem to run and jump and chase and kick by the dozens ... and really close to the fence that I pass. To be honest, that's the only stretch of that road I don't mind the slower-than-Christmas speed limit on! Now, I'm no expert, but I recognize among the herd Black Holstein and Angus, even a Brangus or two maybe. The bulls are kept separate from the cows and calves for the most part. Which leads me to the sight I witnessed last week when I was driving by early on Sunday evening.

On average, a bull can weigh about 1,550 pounds at a year of age. We're talking beef cattle in these pastures that are probably over a year old, so no telling how heavy they are. But, two were standing their ground in the front pasture - right off the road and in front of the barn. I pulled over on the side of the road for almost five minutes to make sure I really was seeing what I thought I was seeing. There were those two bulls, head to head literally, at a stand still right there in that beautiful pasture. Both pushing against the other, neither gaining ground or proving his point. And, neither willing to give up or give in. They hadn't locked horns like they really meant business; mostly because they're polled cattle which means they have no horns. They weren't snorting and bellowing like their lives or their reputation with the herd depended on it. Just looking kinda silly in their stuck place, if you ask me. I left them that way.

The reason why this sight moves me to words instead of just thoughts? It struck me that I've met several folks in the last two or three weeks ready to lock-up with someone, eyeball to eyeball, if "you" don't see things their way. And, their way is the "rule" of the pasture. Anger and frustration building because they don't know what to do with the conflict or how to work through it ... The disheartening thing about my realization is that most of these bull-ish folks, I've met in the church. The people who are supposed to be about peace, supposed to be making peace. Clergy and laity alike who decide that puffing up a little and getting louder in order to push others around the pasture is fine, normal, just what's done. Just what's done in order to preserve what's 'right.'

Well, you can be "right" (in your own mind) if you want to, but I'm not pushing back. That accomplishes one thing only - looking silly. I've noticed something else driving past this and other pastures. Most bulls end up alone. Can't be trusted with the herd or by the herd, they're put some place where there's nobody to push around.

MJ and Jesus

2009-07-08T16:28:00.003-05:00

I have no place talking about Michael Jackson. Oh, I have an opinion about his music from "5" days to his last; I have an opinion about what was deemed newsworthy in his life from the get-go as well. Just because I have those opinions (and many others) doesn't mean I have to, nor should I, share them anytime, any place, with just anybody. Seems like many of my brothers and sisters that I also call "friend" (reference: Facebook lingo) have lost their discernment, if they even know how to exercise it, in sharing their opinions about others.

So, I do I have a place in speaking about those matters ... which just happened to springboard from Michael Jackson's life and legacy. I snapped last night. I have to admit that I was moved to tears several times over as bits of MJ's memorial service were replayed on a hundred channels ... I'm still not sure exactly what every tear was about. That wasn't my emotional break, though. This was ...

A "sister" in Christ who uses scripture and inspirational quotes all the time to reveal herself and encourage those who follow her life commented on the choice of casket in which MJ was placed and asked that God would forgive our arrogance. As strong as it sounds, my prayer is that God would forgive hers. Who are any of us to question the way another grieves? As I saw brothers standing shoulder to shoulder on a stage with sequined gloves themselves, I saw grown men trying to figure out how to say a goodbye they didn't see coming. As I saw the 24K casket (though I wouldn't choose it for myself), I saw not a dead man's arrogance, but a family's attempt to love their son/brother/father well in a way that would still fall short even though precious because it didn't restore life. Al Sharpton isn't my favorite public speaker/preacher, but I applauded in my heart when he straightened the truth out for MJ's children ... who gets to define 'weird' anyway? Though the memorial experience yesterday felt like "show" in moments, I was left with a longing for our churches to spend even half the effort preparing the things we will do/sing/say in worship each week and be clear about why we do it that way. (That service yesterday was truly the work of the people - MJ's family, friends, co-laborers, companions on the journey - when most of what we do as Christians is a solo effort. And, we are content to watch others do it "for" us most Sundays.)

The reason I've stretched my tyrade from last night's Facebook update to this page? I was absolutely floored by the response to my peppery words. I "spoke" them on the computer screen hoping, honestly, that the offending sister would read them and shut her trap, feeling embarrassed and set right. What I discovered was that within 2 hours, no less than 2 dozen people (many of whom didn't see the remark that angered me), voiced their agreement with me. When I checked my email and FB before I went to bed, I was struck not just by the numbers of folks who shouted their "Amen!" to the sentiment of patience, prayer, and love without condition for others. I was struck by two other thoughts that plagued my sleep ...

First, why didn't one of those folks say something before I did? If you had strong feelings, too, why keep silent? It is silence that enables the less-than-true and less-than-loving to have the loudest word. If you won't say it, who will? Stop depending on me and speak for yourself! Sometimes the quiet witness is no witness at all.

Second, my secret hope that the sister would feel sufficiently put in her place was a wish to swing the pendulum so far in the other direction that I was the one disturbing the peace - hers and mine. I may not be able to make you speak when you "oughta," but I can apologize when I'm wrong. I was wrong to want my, our sister to feel the things she wished MJ's family would feel. I only want her to change her mind because I think Jesus calls us to a different understanding and a different way of relating to one another. But, if I want to "teach" that with my words, my actions must match. I was wrong.

Needless to say, Michael Jackson has caused a big ruckus in my mind and in my spirit these days. It has nothing to do with the moonwalk or Billie Jean or any of that. It has everything to do with Jesus, though, and his call to follow him ... to be like him. To love MJ and his family like Jesus would. To love all my sisters and brothers the way he's loved me.

Freedom

2009-07-02T22:00:00.007-05:00

Yes, I know it's a pitiful sight. Izzy had surgery a couple of weeks ago for what revealed itself as a benign mass on her little ankle. It was beginning to interfere with her wrestling career, so Dr. Frank took care of it. This was post-surgery about 2 hours. She regained her energy and her tenacity - especially in regards to removing bandages that aren't supposed to be removed yet and chewing on stitches that itch. So, it got more pitiful still. See ...

But, we're way on the other side of the pity party. Izzy got word from Doc this past Monday that the staples and the collar are history because she's healing. It's been a long time since I've seen a truer sense of freedom displayed right in front of my eyes. When we left Doc's "office" with no extra stuff, Izzy began to vibrate. She almost didn't know what to do with herself no longer constrained by metal in her flesh and the burden around her head and shoulders. First three things she did because she could? Smelled her own behind, stuck her head out of the open car window to lick at the wind, and drank out of the toilet once we hit the door (no longer literally sans collar) at home. Now, I wouldn't have chosen those three things, but for a dog they might be heaven.

As I changed clothes to head into my day at the office, Izzy spent another 30 minutes - and that was just while I was home watching - literally bouncing off the walls, and the ottoman, and Grace, and the rocking chair. She was smelling the grass without choking herself and jumping off the porch without impaling herself. And, wrestling with Grace.

I was struck watching that crazy dog. I think that most of us, if we ever had it at all, have lost our pure joy at the freedom that is ours. Most of the folks you and I know, selves included, will allow Saturday to be more about burgers and cold beverages and swimming and fireworks than the freedom that is ours because of our geography and someone else's bravery. Let's be clear that freedom and autonomy are not synonyms. The kind of freedom that Izzy's Monday reminded me of is even bigger than geography and bravery ... it's bigger than we could ever imagine. We think our grandest goal is to be autonomous as individuals, as a country - to do what we want, when we want, how we want without having to answer to anyone. But, God longs to see us throw off every hindrance (even bigger ones than E-collars and staples) and know the absolute freedom that is ours in Christ.

Funny thing is that Grace enjoyed (and still is enjoying) Izzy's new freedom as much as Izzy did/is and not just vicariously. Izzy's freedom meant Grace had her friend back, fully, truly. Maybe that's a clear sign of true freedom ... that it absolutely affects not only the one released but the others with whom one shares life.

I may never forget watching that crazy dog do really stupid pet tricks just because she could ... and genuinely enjoying the abundance of life in the process. I pray I never forget the awareness that was mine when I realized I often constrain myself or let others do it to me, resigning my freedom for something less than God intended for me. This weekend, I pray that you are aware of the blessing of geography and bravery that are represented in stars and stripes, in fireworks, and maybe even in burgers and watermelon with family and friends. Better yet, I pray that you claim and live into a freedom that's forever bigger than that, freedom that is already yours in Jesus Christ.

Letters to God

2009-06-15T14:26:00.004-05:00

I have great backyard neighbors. Most evenings we meet at the fence to chat for a moment, so that I can hear how their boys' day has done, so the dogs can bark and run the fenceline with each other. Sometimes we exchange news; sometimes we exchange samples from the grill or the oven; sometimes we exchange nothing but "good to see ya's!"; and, then, sometimes we exchange questions and thoughts about the reality of God in our lives.

I made such a trip to the fence this morning. When my presence was requested by Mitchell, he's the rising first-grader, I knew it would be a notable experience and not just because it was early. When I crossed the threshold of my back door, I could see the whole family was in tow. I knew at 7 a.m. they were only minutes from departure for a few days of family vacation. Before we were really close enough to count being "at the fence" Mitchell asked the favor he needed from me. He held out to me a folded piece of notebook paper, announcing that he'd written God a letter. "That's so thoughtful, " I said, but I was interupting. Mitchell laid it all out for me ... "Ms. Sandra, I need you to take this by the cemetery today so God can get it." The puzzlement I was attempting to work out in my brain must have shown on my face because Mitchell explained. "God picks up people at the cemetery, so He can get my letter there, too." I have to admit, that's a pretty logical conclusion for someone who trusts God so much. And, I have to admit, that I tried to talk Mitchell into another manner of delivery. I - along with his Dad - tried to explain where and what the altar was in the church. Trying to keep things simple, I reminded Mitchell of the "railing" that we sat by in Children's Time each Sunday. When he nodded that he was with me, I told Mitchell that's where people prayed and left letters from their heart to God all the time. Mitchell furrowed his brow and quickly said to me, "I haven't ever seen anybody pray there. I'm not sure God will be looking for it there. Can you just take my letter to the cemetery?"

On my way home from the office today, I'll be making a stop at the cemetery here in town. I don't think God will mind that I read His mail ... "God, pepol aron you love yuo very much Evin yuor son Jesus loves yuo very much" I believe Gandhi got it right (check out the quote for the day). And, Mitchell has both the heart and the words. It makes me sad that the witness we've borne for him in these eight odd weeks that his family has been visiting our church is that the altar of our church is not the place where we leave our heart-letters to God AND that God may have just quit looking for any from us. It gives me hope, though, that my friend and God's has borne a different witness!

Anyway, I gotta run. I'm on my way to the cemetery.

True Gifts

2009-05-30T08:39:00.003-05:00

I have to admit that when I saw the quote by Thoreau about giving, I wanted to slam the book closed and move on to the next thing. But, I believe it's true. Any true gift is a portion of you or me. Doesn't have to be much, but some days it feels like everything I've got left. When the phone rings I sometimes cringe; when suddenly I'm no longer shopping alone, but with neighbors (who expect some sort of interaction), my heart sinks at times. I don't mean to be, well, mean, but there are days I feel like one more question, one more request, one more intrusion will be my undoing. And, I find myself hiding out ... in my house, on the road, on a desolate aisle (wishing it was an isle instead) ... trying to keep from giving myself away, trying to push away.

Now, that can be a healthy thing. Jesus did it alot, this pulling away for a "season" to regroup. Perhaps if I had set better boundaries, I wouldn't feel so frazzled in the first place. Then again, there are just some days, weeks, seasons where no matter what you do to protect yourself or others, life comes from all angles. I almost pulled away this past Monday, Memorial Day, and stayed inside the quiet of my house and my own thoughts. But, it would be hard to avoid the party going on in the neighbors' backyard. Tyler had invited me to his 5th birthday party and, it seemed, the whole neighborhood was there. I got there late, but in plenty of time to watch all the shenanigans in the pool, to see the fun games that the kids played with each other and on each other. I even participated in a little banter with the adults who were close enough to the pool to see all the action, but were just beyond the splash zone. It was all better than tolerable, but I kept telling myself ... "another few minutes and it'll be o.k. to leave. You made your appearance ..." Some gift. Especially in comparison to the one Tyler gave me.

A couple of the kids had ballgames to get dressed for, so the gift-opening came rather abruptly. A circle was made of soaking little bodies all around Tyler and the loot was laid at his feet. After each bag was unstuffed or box unwrapped, everyone oo'ed and aahh'ed or wow'ed, Tyler wrinkled up his nose in an embarrassed little grin (like "all this is for me?") and moved quickly to the next. The present from his mom and dad, of course came last. Tyler hadn't even noticed that one from them was missing from the pile ... he thought the party was his present. His dad rolled a new bicycle out the back steps of the house, right into the middle of that circle ... a circle of kids now drooling over the sleek, shiny, new bike. They looked at Tyler like he was the luckiest kid on the planet; the look on Tyler's face echoed that sentiment. And, he let his dad get him started motoring through the grass on the new wheels (not an easy things to do when you have spaghetti legs from swimming and a host on on-lookers). Before he'd pedaled 20 feet, Tyler stopped, leaned back over his shoulder, and said, "George, you wanna ride my new bike?"

I probably need to tell you that George, though physically a neighbor, is the newest friend in Tyler's circle. They're very different kids: Tyler is rough-and-tumble, never stops moving; George, not so much. Tyler is the baby of four; George is an only child. You can imagine all the differences and I would tell you there are even more. George had struggled just a bit during the party so far to really fit in; he got into the mix of things, but only when his mom pushed or another kid pulled. Everyone one of us there heard those booming words; Tyler singled George out and invited him to ride his brand new bike! Now that's a gift! Maybe even better than the bike itself. And, all from the heart of a 5-year-old.

All of us party-go-ers that day got a better present than anything Tyler unwrapped. That truth might be hard to sell to a kid, but those a little older got the message. It was like we were watching Jesus with red hair and freckles and a voice that sounds like one of my favorite 5-year-olds. The only true gift you or I will ever give anyone else, will have a little of ourselves wrapped up in it. Instead of making an appearance, or smiling through my irritation the next time I'm feeling frazzled or even put upon, I'm gonna do my best to leave a little of myself in that moment. You never know what effect it might have on a person ... even yourself!

2009-04-01T12:36:00.003-05:00

I love the original Little Rascals. I particularly love the way Stymie and Buckwheat think. Do you remember the talent show that they worked on? Not the one they took into the radio station, but the one held right there in the little barn. Buckwheat waltzed right onto the stage, with his little belly pooched out and a wide grin on his face. Spanky asked with amazement that he'd even get an answer ... "What YOU gonna do, Buckwheat?" And his answer ... "I dunna istle!" Porky proceeded to play a record of a great whistler performing an amazing piece and Buckwheat pretended it was him ... until the record skipped and the gig was up.

I don't 'istle very well either. But my Daddy did. I've been working on recording moments and stories from my life and recovered this jewel the other night. My dad had one particular whistle noise that he did with his lips AND cheek that sounded just like a bird (or some other flying creature). He could get anyone's attention with that 'istle. And, one day (much to my mother's disapproval) he really got someone.

Camping was not just back to nature for us, it was second nature. And, Blanchard Springs, AR was a favorite place. But, our parents were all about learning when you could, too, so that meant attending naturalists programs, looking at every little thing you saw along a hike, etc. At Blanchard Springs, a trip through the caverns was a must no matter how many times you'd heard the spiel about stalactites and stalagmites. One weekend, when I was in mid-elementary school, we crammed into the cave with a million other people to hear Ranger Rick talk about the wonder of nature there ... which included the bats. And, they were noisy that day! Seeing an opportunity that he just could not let pass by, Daddy leaned forward ever so slightly toward Mrs. Bouffant, who'd made it into the cave just in front of us with her gaggle of children. He did that funny whistle, as if he were a bat swooping down to speak just to that sweet lady, right in her left ear. And, amid the shrieks and squeals, that lady beat her big hair into a big flat blanket that covered her forehead and shoulders. (And, Mom would've beaten Daddy, too, if everybody wasn't already looking in that general direction!)

I have no idea why I've shared this with anybody. But, the story is a treasure to me for several reasons. It reminds me of my Dad's great sense of humor that he willingly shared with everybody - friend, family, stranger alike. It also reminds me that there are plenty of things to be aware of in the dark cave moments of our lives, both expected and unexpected. I'm also inclined to think that learning to expect the unexpected diminishes the fear of it all without robbing it of the mystery. The next time I find myself in a dark cave moment, I'll remember that though it is quite possible that a bat - or some other varmint - would love to find a welcome home or at least a momentary perch somewhere one my perch, it is also quite possible that a really good 'istler is a companion on the journey and has a gift to offer that makes the place not so dark ... tee hee.

Dancing Fool

2009-03-20T11:47:00.007-05:00

In my head (and in my dreams), I am a fabulous dancer. There, I am more "fly" than J-Lo ever dreamed and can rival any celebrity who wants to dance with the stars. In reality? I can hold my own, but I'm no Ginger ... never will be. And, truth be told, don't want to be. I'm o.k. with being mediocre at best and just loving the moment of being "one with the music." The sheer gift of movement and the ability to follow the music - aloud or in your head - is not about being as good as or better than anyone else. Rather, I think dancing is a larger life issue.

A lot of things in my immediate line of vision are dancing these days. The budding limbs of the redbud tree in my backyard AND the birds trying to perch there, the heavy heads of tulips just about to burst open with color, and all those little weeds popping up in my front yard. The thing I most love to watch dancing in the spring breeze (or cyclone, depending on the day) is a wind dancer that I received as a gift a few years ago. It's just like a million other whirly things except that it's "legs" are open on the bottom, so that when the wind turns it about it really does look a lot like a dancer, leaping and spinning as it goes. Watching it spin like a madwoman in the wind a few days back ... well, I thought for a moment I was seeing myself. Not necessarily enjoying the music of the moment, however, just spinning like a demon. Which got me to thinking ...

Sometimes the dancing you and I do - alright, I'll own it - sometimes the dancing that I do is not to my own music, but someone else's. As the beat gets faster and more demanding, I've felt more than once like I have to dance faster and with a more powerful, more definitive step-ball-change. I preached a sermon several years ago to this effect and, evidently, I wasn't listening to myself that day because I'm learning the same lesson AGAIN. The psalmists write quite a bit about dancing as an act of worship. King David was criticized heavily for his heartfelt dance when it didn't fit his wife's idea of a polite offering before God (well, really before everyone else who was looking.) And, that's the big idea. If I'm dancing as a sheer celebration of the gift of movement and being able to hear the music, if I'm dancing as a response to the joy and call of life then whatever steps I make are beautiful. Yours are, too ... don't let anyone tell you otherwise. (Now, we might not be ready to make a music video that inspires the world, but that's not the point anyway.) BUT, if my quick-stepping, as it were, is in an effort to please someone else then I've already lost the music in my heart and head. And, that's not dancing.

By now, I hope you've realized I'm not talking just about literally moving my feet, and the rest of my body if it will cooperate, to the music on my IPOD. I'm talking about any and all of the things that I, that we do with our bodies and minds and hearts and spirits. ANYthing. Really hearing the rhythm of the day and coming alongside that rhythm with thoughts and words and action turns my to-do list, my busy calendar, the day's expectations and obligations, into a dance. There are moments when that wind dancer looks more like it's twisting in the wind ... and haven't we all felt like we've been left to that - than dancing. Still, there are beautiful moments when that wind dancer seems to be taking advantage of the wind - dancing with it, if you will.

I don't want to waste the dance any more. Why should I waste my time (and the music) dancing how and when and why someone else wants me to dance? I want to stop twisting in the wind and start taking advantage of the rhythm of the day ... and dancing like nobody's business!

Tolerance and True Love

2009-02-23T14:04:00.003-06:00

Last week I found myself at a clergy meeting designed to meet and encourage those discerning a call into ministry. Not that I'm not clear how I got there ... Anyway, one young man, whom I'd never seen, met, or even heard of, introduced himself and we began, as a gathering of about a dozen, to listen to his journey to this point. He's serving as a minister to students in a fairly large church and has a pretty high profile with the full congregation - appreciated and affirmed by everyone. He's served in a couple of other churches before this one and each a different denomination or tradition. When asked to name one of the greatest lessons he's learned in his discernment and service to this point, he said " tolerance and love are not the same thing."

I've been chewing on that statement, that revelation ever since. Tolerance, at least by definition, is the ability and/or willingness to respect another's beliefs, practices, etc., without sharing them. You could also define tolerance as the 'putting up with' another's beliefs, practices, etc. Paul hit the nail on the head (1 Cor 13) when he told us more of what love is NOT than what love is. Again, by definition, love is at least a passionate affection for another person. Aha ... now I see what the young man was saying! Matter of fact, I've lived it. And, if I'm gonna confess, might as well go all the way ... I even practice that some now, sad to say.

How many people do you really hold a passionate affection for in your office? Your classroom? your neighborhood? on your team? on your pew at church? See ... you and I have traded connection and passion (not, "ooh baby you make me hot" but "i so believe in this I'm taking care of it no matter what!") for just getting by. Partly because - and I'm owning this - that we don't want to be known. (You may not like what you see or hear and you might just reject me!) And, partly because we don't want the responsibility of one more thing or one more person and 'knowing' would lead to that.

I'm not advocating that we ditch our efforts at tolerance; let's just name them by the correct name. Tolerance and apathy-with-a-smile can look and smell a lot alike. I'm not sure we tolerate one another as much as we smile as if we care when truth is it takes too much out of us to care. The treasure for us, I believe, is found in two words - respect and choice. Love is always a choice, first. I choose to love. You choose to love. Or, we don't.

Tolerance is about respecting another's views, thoughts, perspectives, circumstance, etc., even if I can't relate or resonate. In my experience, many of us are so convinced that we're right about whatever the topic is that I cease to value you or anything you hold as truth when you disagree with me. Tolerance gets me through the quick line even when the "idiot" checking me out today is distracted, slow, and not doing her job as well as she could. Love tells me that she may really be that divested from her job OR that she may be facing difficult decisions, may not feel or be well, etc. Tolerance gets me through meeting with other pastoral leaders in this area who are less educated than me, slower on the draw, you get the point. Love reminds me that I have as much to learn as I do to teach, as much to receive as I do to give ... and Love Himself reminds me that God likes using the unlikely and the unexpected.

A passionate affection ... that's what love looks like. If I'm gonna love the weird, demanding, frustrating, suck-the-life-right-out-of-you people in my life the same way that God loves me (and that I love the easy folks), it'll begin with tolerance. But, it'll never stay there. If it's true love, it won't stay put ... it can't.

Another Ride on the Zippin Pippin!

2009-01-22T16:13:00.003-06:00

Yeah, I know ... long time, no write. I'm not gonna whine about the busyness and blur that was the close of Advent and the movement from Christmastide into Epiphany. But, I could and most of it would be true ... it just wouldn't be pretty. And, really all of us are busy and deal with the blur of one moment into another.

I received a special gift through Facebook about a week ago and it's been marinating in my brain since then. A cousin of mine (of whom I am tremendously proud because her determination and success at getting healthy has led to way over 100 pounds lost!) where was I ... Allecia sent me a nostalgic ride on the Zippin Pippin! Now, those were the days!

Do you remember the wind in your hair, the clackety-clack of all that wheels on wooden boards action, and the whiplash of it all?! Can I just say it for all of us that riding the Z.P. at 13, 14 is not the same experience as riding it at 30-something or 40-something. As much as I loved it back in the day, I'm not loving the Z.P. I seem to be riding these days. A similar disconcerting sound in the wind of things bumping together violently - sometimes it's my knees minus a little cartilage now; sometimes it's the dreams and hopes I've carried for the perfect life crashing into the reality of my every day ... day after day. And, a similar whiplash when the steep hills and the quick turns threaten to toss me out of my seat. I still long to raise my arms with confidence and courage, even a little rash boldness and scream at the top of my lungs with that mix of joy and thrill that faces fear and sees it squashed.

That's not the sound coming from my lungs these days. Whimpers and fatigued groans is more like it. These past weeks have been filled with making the preparations to help my mother move to an independent living situation just short of assisted living. And, I have to say that this whiplash of emotion, the sads and the glads all mixed together, is turning out to be one of the toughest roller-coaster rides so far. It's tougher than I though to watch this graceful and gracious woman reduce the symbols and signs of a full life well-lived into what will fit into just a few boxes, choosing between the better and the best of all she has and is.

But, I believe in a God for whom all things are possible and the Lord of All has proven the Truth of that in so many big and small ways these past weeks. I'm trusting that when I, when we catch our breath once the fridge is stocked and the shower curtain hung, the t.v. hooked up, and the security code learned, that we will also feel that familiar rush at the end of a Z.P. ride ... not the adrenaline that leaves you feeling like you've got to have more of the same. No, the rush I'm talking about is that powerful peace at having done more than just survived something, but finding new life in that little death, a new hope even with end of the "ride." I'm hoping and trusting ... even as we pack these last boxes.

Come, See For Yourself

2008-12-18T15:52:00.003-06:00

The Shepherds' Candle is the one we lit in our Advent Wreath this past Sunday. As the new flame strengthened, we were challenged to quietly name - and give thanks for - all those who have shepherded us. You've been led and encouraged, nudged and nurtured by lots of folks. Their influence has helped make you who you are and will continue to shape you throughout life.

Of course, the Good Shepherd is the the most transformational presence in our lives. In fact our life is hidden in Him. Thinking of that great truth, I want to encourage you to hear the invitation first offered to the shepherds at Jesus' birth as an invitation from God's heart to yours ... because it is. God sent a whole covey (as we say in the country) of angels to announce the great good news in song to the shepherds who were just minding their own business in the field that night. "Jesus is born for you!" is what they heard. Part of that good news was the invitation to go and see for themselves what God was doing. Come and see.

Well, curiosity may have killed the cat, but it changed the lives of those who dared find their way to the Christ child to see for themselves. We may not be able to see, except with our imagination, what it was like to peer over into that trough-now-baby bed and look God square in the eye, but we can see plenty if we're willing to go, look. It will probably still be an unexpected, upside-down kinda thing. I mean, if God would make the Prince of Peace to be a baby who's gonna need help with toddling, potty-training, navigating bullies and girls and siblings and more ... well, God's liable to do anything!

I figure the invitation for you and I to come and see for ourselves is really the invitation to look around at the new thing God is continuing to do all around us, maybe even through us and in us. Forgiveness, hope, courage, love, purpose ... all of those things are really God's doing. Of course, daring to open your eyes wide to the reality of God all around means you'll see God for who "He" really is. You ready for that? 'Cause God's probably a lot different than you expected. We expect what's comforting and comfortable, not what will rock our world. (But again, God sent you a Baby King ... who else woulda thunk it?!) A second part of seeing reality is actually seeing the reality of others. The shepherds coulda looked at that teenage mama and that blue-collar dad and seen themselves; they were just ordinary, low-rung folks, too.

There is great danger, though, in hearing that invitation as your own and daring to respond like the shepherds did. Those shepherds took a big risk in going to see what God had done and there will be risk for us, too. They were just doing what good shepherds do when ... who was going to mind the sheep when they decided to end the shift early and head into town? Did one get the shaft and have to stay behind? Perhaps one was glad to be a chicken for once and volunteer to hold down the fort, I mean the flock, while the others took a peek. At any rate, they risked the safety of their flock and their reputation, at the very least. How would YOU explain the angels singing to you about a Baby born to be King and to save the world from sin? They decided that the Holy Child was more important than their sheep. At some point in our journey, you and I will have to set aside what is very important to be able to respond to God. The folks who love us the most may be the ones who give us the most grief. It's a risk.

The second risk ... you're gonna have to do something with what you see and hear. Of God and of other people. When we're courageous enough to come and see, that unfolding story somehow draws us in ... and it's our story. When you see people hungry in your community, until you help get food in their bellies you'll choke every time you sit down to more than plenty. The same is true for every other reality that you might peer into just 'cause you're looking for God.

I'm so very grateful for the shepherds that have come alongside me to get me through the wilderness and safe to a new pasture or paddock. If you've been one ... I love you. Now, what I want to have the courage to do and be is a shepherd. But, not just any shepherd. I want to be the kind that can leave the field behind when I hear God singing to me (even if just for a moment or two) to dare go and see. Go with me?

No Little Places, No Little People

2008-12-08T15:58:00.003-06:00

Yesterday, as a part of our Advent observation, we lit a candle in our Advent wreath in honor of Bethlehem. A little place, really, especially compared to Jerusalem. At the time when Jesus was born, it was no center of commerce or culture; Bethlehem was known only because of its fertile hills and valleys. It was known as the Land of Bread. Should be no surprise - but it is, admit it - that the Bread of Life was born there?!

Anyway, Bethlehem was little. And you know what we think of little places and little people. Very little. Which brings me to my next thought. The unlikely choice of Bethlehem as the debut of Emmanuel is God's good news spoken into our little-ness. Hardeman County is almost the poorest county in our state. The ravages of drug and alcohol use/abuse, astronomical joblessness rates, the inability or unwillingness to parent the children you've given birth to ... there are tons of details that point to the smallness of our little town. That is, if you're comparing us to other towns and cities in this nation (or even this world) and noting what we have and don't have to offer. But, I believe that there are no little places and no little people in God's eyes. There is something Divine happening even (or especially) in places like the one where I live and pastor. It may go unnoticed by all for a while, and by most forever ... but ignorance doesn't negate the Divine.

God picks teenage girls who struggle but still stand on Divine strength and courage to say, 'but God has something for me to do.' God chooses wise, blue-collar, carpenter-type folk who'll do the right think not because they've been educated to do that, but because they'll be true to their heart ... especially when their heart belongs to God. God breathes and acts and speaks through those who will dare to see the BIG hope and possibility in all of life. A teenage mom-to-be and her soon-to-be carpenter husband are the ones God chose to bear Emmanuel to the world first. And, God is choosing you and I today, crazy as it sounds, to bear Christ to family, friend, neighbor, and stranger alike. You may feel small; people may even tell you they think you're too little. Doesn't matter. In God's eyes, there are no little places and there are no little people.

Waiting

2008-12-02T16:37:00.003-06:00

Waiting ... I don't like. That's probably not what I'm supposed to say (seeing as how "patience" is a fruit of the Spirit, evidence that God is working in your life). And, I don't believe it's because I've been coddled by a culture that now provides drive-up windows for just about everything. In the Western world, we've been taught and told in many ways that it's up to me/you. I've been encouraged to trust is my own ability and to deepen my stick-to-it-iveness for that very reason ... it's up to me. There's something pretty deep inside each of us that understands where I'm coming from. When was the first time you told your mom or dad, "no! I do it myself!"? Whether it's your struggle or not, I own it ... I hate to wait.

So you'd think Advent would be a stretch for me. Advent is that season of preparation and waiting all at the same time, believing God's promise of Love coming to us as Savior and Friend is a true and dependable promise ... even before we see Him in that manger or feel Him in our hearts. Advent is glorious to me! So, it grieves me when our church families want to sing the Baby Jesus right into the manger from the get-go. What's your hurry? O.K., so we know more Christmas hymns than we do Advent hymns ... learn some new ones. And, learn to wait.

Shauna Niequist released a book about a year ago Cold Tangerines. The first chapter of that book was an honest confession that much of her early life was waiting for life (as she hoped, expected it to be) to begin. You know, waiting for the end of junior high so that the real life of senior high would start; waiting for graduation from high school or college, waiting for the perfect job or the perfect life partner ... Shauna's realization was that beautiful life moments that were real and full and beautiful were passing her by because she was not waiting well.

I was struck today when I read her most recent blog post ... again about waiting. Even as I was finishing her thoughts, my own ran away with me making a list of all the things I have been or am waiting for. I sat yesterday with a family and we waited for 6+ hours during risky heart surgery to hear that their loved one was holding his own. And, they continue to wait for one more good day to be added to the first. I am waiting with young adult children who see their mother's alcoholism destroying her life and theirs; we wait for their courage to love their mother in a tough and tender way that will bring hope and healing, and for their father to join them in a commitment to love her to health, not death. I am waiting for a very private couple to find courage enough to speak aloud the reality of their coming days as they face cancer that they might wait through tests and treatments not alone, but with the company of friends who long to love them well by standing close.

There a jillion other things I am waiting for you; I am confident that you're doing your own waiting right now. As Shauna pointed out in her blog today, how we wait probably says more about us than we realize. If I trust in God as my constant companion, capable and willing to bring about my best for His glory ... then I wait patiently and confidently on Him. See? I want to challenge each of us to commit to learn to be better waiters this Advent season - to let the season really be about the Gift named Christ, not how many you can cram under the tree; to let the season be about preparing your heart and home for Jesus' residency and not just fleeting company of family and friend; to get excited about the coming of Christ for you, for me and not just about getting what you'll get and getting through the holidays.

I don't know what you're waiting on, but I'm pretty sure you're waiting on something, or someone. But, how will we wait? May each moment of this season be an opportunity for you and for me to wait on God's presence. It is our Divine Promise and one that can be depended upon. As I wait for healing, for restoration and reconciliation, for courage and for comfort, I will do best to wait on the One who is the Source of all good things and whose timing is always just right.

How will you wait for all things you hope for?

God's Confetti ... Revisited

2008-11-10T14:46:00.003-06:00

I know that, in my last post, I drew no correlation between my tree that's so beautiful to confetti, especially God's confetti. That's exactly what I think of when I see the leaves falling. It's a little sad, to think of such glorious beauty falling to the ground only to be trampled or composted. But, they fall with such grace ... almost as if there's joy and dancing in their letting go to the wind and inside the rhythm of the season.

I probably shouldn't make this confession, but I'm gonna. There's something else about falling and fallen leaves that makes me giggle, a little like confetti. When Bo and Luke Duke (or any of the good guys, for that matter) would drive the streets and back roads of Hazzard County, there was always a multitude of fallen leaves kicked up into the air. It didn't matter what season of the year it was, the General Lee or Daisy's jeep even Uncle Jessie's old truck sent these once-dead-now-alive-again treasures dancing through the air. I think I live in Hazzard County ... lots of reasons give me that pause. Primarily, it's this - everywhere I go, I am the one these days kicking up dancing leaves wherever I go. You will not hear me shout "yee haw" out an open window and welded door. Neither will you hear my horn toot 'Dixie' ... but you might hear me giggle thankfully for God's confetti.

God's Confetti

2008-11-09T12:07:00.002-06:00

Everytime I go to my back door, this is the sight that greets me. I love this tree! The brilliant yellow of the leaves tinged with greens and reds and a little orange here and there is both regal and wild. I love this tree because it's beautiful this time of year and because it's mine. Well, kinda ... it's actually God's first; and some would say it belongs to the church since I live in their house. But, it's mine for no other reason than this: I've stopped long enough to receive it's beauty in this moment as a gift from the One who created it. And, so it is mine. Shauna Niequist posted a picture a year ago and again just a week or so ago of a red tree on their property. Along with the picture comes the lesson she's learned of being so busy with what seems to be important in the moment that you miss the gift of that glorious beauty. (In case your curiosity gets the best of you, www.shaunaniequist.com.)

That challenges me to think that the miraculous is happening all around me all the time I miss them just because I don't see. And, I think Augustine got it right (the quote of the day; take a look) ... you wanna see more miraculous stuff you gotta start thinking about the possibilities differently. This isn't just about paying better attention to the beauty of my corner of creation, although that's a great place to start. Maybe my next miracle, or yours, starts with deep gratitude for the ability to see or hear or smell or taste or touch the very ordinary stuff of our lives that makes living such a rich experience. Maybe, just maybe, our next miracle starts with holding out hope for a resolution, or reconciliation, or renewal, or restoration even though the world would tell us our circumstances add up to none, zip, nada.

I choose today to be deeply grateful for my tree ... and every other reflection of and avenue to God's glory. They are miracles and they are mine just by being open to receive them. And, they are reminders that the "impossible" is very possible at any season, in any situation, for any body. You don't have a tree like this? Not anywhere? You can have mine until you find your own!

Mad Skills

2008-10-30T14:01:00.002-05:00

I'm over it, really I am. I bet you got the business, too, about things going on your "permanent record" when you left high school for the big, bad, real world. I don't mean to be a goodie-two-shoes, but I didn't have to worry about fighting or skip days showing up. I did worry about whether I could hang on to my algebra and geometry skills or those dates from history for the moment I would need 'em ... and 'they' told me a lot that I would absolutely need and use those jewels a lot.

I don't know if I could legitimately keep algebra/geometry skills or historical dates on the list of all I'm capable of or expected to do, but I have come to the realization that I do have some mad skills. Individual athletes and teams as a whole are touted in every pre-game projection and post-game recap for their mad skills. And, you have them, too!

I saw that McDonald's commercial last night naming the abilities and gifts of the Washington Redskins and Dwight Howard ... and laughed. Not AT them, but at the recognition of all that I've been asked or expected to do in this normal week of work/ministry. In addition to being preacher, teacher, pray-er, listener, counselor, etc., I have held my ground as:

a GPS service (when I friend called for directions in a town that neither of us live in)
a transportation manager (when a church member asked me to explain why the church parking lot was laid out the way it was and how we would fix a loading/unloading zone dilemma)
a soil specialist (when church members asked me, yet again, what the construction guys were doing with all that dirt ... they were smooshing in down as tight as possible because good surface AND subsoil compaction is necessary for the stability of a structure, just in case you need to know)
a psychologist (when a church member asked me to chime in on why a teenage daughter is exhibiting a fresh penchant for obsessive/compulsive thought patterns and behaviors)
an event planner (when no one else seems to be able to open the closet door to see if we have enough plates/napkins/cups for the next spaghtetti dinner
a chauffer (when no one else could bring themselves to run the van to our church picnic so everyone - meaning those who don't drive - could participate, too!)
a social worker (when those riding your van are special needs adults who've been allowed to have way too much sugar and other stimulation ... just before you arrive to pick them up and promise to take good care of them for the whole afternoon)
a referree (when representatives from two ministries within the church are jockeying for position on the church calendar)

And, I'm not even going into the afternoon as a tour guide! I never dreamed while I was in seminary that saying "yes" to Jesus would mean doing all that stuff.

I heard Maya Angelou, in an interview this morning, say that gratitude saved her life. I needed to hear her say that. I was almost ready to choose an attitude for the day that is much different from that one. But, to be bitter and resentful about all that I've done is to overlook my skills ... and God's faithfulness. You've heard the cheesy saying: If God brings you to it, then God'll bring you through it. I choose to believe that God is not just helping me get through anything that comes to me, but to show OUR mad skills in the middle of it - God's power and my openness to that power.

My guess is that you'll have something come up today or tomorrow that you had no clue you'd ever have to face or handle. I can't wait to see your mad skills! Go get 'em, Tiger!

Let's Do The Happy-Dog-Dance!

2008-10-28T16:34:00.003-05:00

You might not be able to tell from her picture, but my Grace is a happy dog ... with a capital "H" and a lot of wag. She greeted me at the door last night with such enthusiasm that the disappointments and frustrations of the day melted away instantly. Though I had left her alone for almost 12 hours with nothing to do but watch the squirrels through the back door, my Gracie didn't hold it against me. She was REALLY glad to see me. She does this jump-in-the-air, twist-slightly-to-the-right, kick-my-back-legs-up-and-smile thing that brings nothing but joy, obviously to her AND to me ... especially since I couldn't do that in a million years if I tried (at least not all at the same time).

After she inhaled a treat and made a couple of fly-by's for poochie smooches, she headed for the back door and I remembered another canine incident just a week ago ... and, it was anything but joyful. Well, I have to admit I laughed so hard that I snorted. But, there was no joy in the moment for any of the parties involved except for me and my across-the-street neighbor. Here's what happened ...

I was standing in my front yard, talking with a neighbor about life and all it was holding for each of us and our families. We both noticed something out of the corners of our eyes, and commented almost at the same time ... "Is that what I think it is?" Seems another neighbor was "walking" her dog. Now, before I continue, just let me say that the sort of dog-walking business I'm about to describe does happen frequently in our neighborhood. It got started by a fairly new family who owns a mastiff-ish dog who is larger than most human beings I know. And, they "walk" their family pooch in the Turner-and-Hooch fashion sans the control stick - they let Bowser (I've changed his name to protect the innocent) run in front of the car until his little, I mean, huge heart is content while they simply try to keep up. But, what my neighbor and I saw instead was yet another neighbor driving maybe 3 miles an hour with a long, rhinestone-encrusted leash draping out of the window, attached to the driver's hand and to ... the collar of her sweet and exhausted dachshund who's legs were moving so fast to keep up they were a blur!

I was stunned, but not so as to miss the joylessness of the moment for most involved. The driver just got busted by her neighbors for being lazy enough to walk her dog that way; the dachshund surely found no joy in being seen in that position. And the poodle in the passenger's seat ...

I didn't mention her? Oh, yeah, the OTHER family dog was SITTING in the passenger's seat taking it all in. Unless I'm exaggerating a bit, I think I even saw a bit of a smirk on her face as she watched her friend/companion on the busy end of the leash. I believe that any attitude accompanied by a smirk can never really be joy; that would just be too nasty.

Anyway. I was aware last night as I watched Gracie flit around the backyard then bounce back into the house - and into my lap once or twice - that moments of pure joy might be a matter of perspective. The running dachshund might possibly have been tickled to run into two human beings that saw something wrong with that whole picture. Too, Gracie could have pouted about the long hours just watching, not chasing, the squirrels. But, she chose to do the Happy Dog Dance over seeing a long-lost friend and a milkbone.

She makes those kinds of choices a lot ... she dances over cheese, over the 5-year-old on the other side of the fence who sometimes scratches her ears, over hearing a fellow canine bark on T.V., on seeing her "Granny" and her "Tita." I want to make those kinds of choices, too. To dance more over the stuff life holds or brings me. Now that I've made that commitment, please cut me a little slack. I may be dancing more on the inside than the out, at least until I can get the twist and smile thing down at the same time.

I hope you find something to Happy-Dog-Dance over today!

Beauty Broken

2008-10-14T15:16:00.003-05:00

It's been a while. And, to tell the truth, I'd rather be back where I've been than sitting in front of this computer. No offense.

I was blessed to spend a few days at the Gulf Coast, repairing my soul (and napping, to tell the truth). I love it all - the sound of the waves crashing against land, the feel of the constant breeze on my face and in my hair, the feel of sand and water tickling my feet, the taste of the salt on skin once the wave is long gone, and so much more I can't name it all. Like Jacques said, I'm caught in that net of wonder and just don't care.

I learned something valuable about myself and about you while I was there. Shells were everywhere! And, thick. There was a two-hour stretch when I channeled my Granny Georgia who could look for stuff, behind high in the air, for hours. I must admit, though, that my first two days there I didn't really take notice of a shell ... if it was broken. I wanted to see that illusive picture of perfection - the curves and the colors, the minute details, and the secret story of how it got to be where it is. I made a comment to one of my friends - sharing this time away - about the disappointment in the brokenness of a beautiful scallop shell. And, her response caused my mind and my heart to flip. She said, "That's what I love about 'em. Not one of 'em are perfect ... like us. Makes me feel better about my own brokenness, to see such beauty inside in spite of what's happened to them."

What I learned about myself is this: I don't want you to see my broken edges or the weak spots, because you might see only that ... when, what I want you to see is my glory - the curves and colors of my life, the minute details of who I am and the sometimes mysterious story of how I got to be me.
What I learned about you is this: Somehow pain and beauty are often hand-in-hand and being courageous enough to look at your pain will help me discover the depth of your glory - the curves and colors of your life, the minute details of who you are and the sometimes mysterious story of how you got to be you.

Needless to say, of the three tons of shells (not exactly) that I brought back, not very many are 'perfect.' But, the rest, are breathtaking in their own way. I never cease to be amazed at the hidden beauty revealed because of a crack here and a missing piece there. In a world that values (and sells) perfection - as if it really exists - what release there was and is because of my days on the beach! I am praying that you and I both can learn to love the cracks and missing pieces and, especially, the surprising glory revealed, too!

If I close my eyes and relax, I can almost hear the waves coming in ...

"Reading" Our World

2008-09-17T11:09:00.006-05:00

A friend sent this by email to me. Don't know where it came from or who deserves the credit (or blame) for it. Could be the result or part of some great scientific experiment or the result of one with too much time on his/her hands. Anyway, see what you can do with this ...

Cna yuo raed tihs? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can.
I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulacily uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to resarech at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are; the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Azanmig, huh?

I'll tell you why I was struck by this exercise... I celebrate the amazing capability of our minds and I am intrigued by the implications and possibly transferrable 'truths' to the work of our spirit ... or 'reading' moments, circumstances, relationships. How incredible it is indeed that eyes can see scrambled letters and the mind not only reads them as if they weren't, but wraps itself around the concept that they represent!

Jesus, when questioned about the greatest commandment, quoted the Shema which is found in Deuteronomy 6:4-5. Only, he added to it. (Gasp!) Jesus tells us that we are to love God will all our heart, soul, MIND, and strength. (Mark 12:28-31) To love God with my mind is not dependent on understanding everything I hear or read or experience of God (and that's a good thing!). If this business of understanding mixed-up words translates to the work of my spiritual mind, then there's hope! And, I guess for you, too! I can come to understand God in Divine fullness even if I can't explain or immediately identify all of God's expressions and revelations. That journey toward understanding requires practice and stretching and, at times, a little discomfort. Foundationally, it requires faith - trust that God wants to be known by us and trust that knowing God adds to our existence. (I happen to believe that knowing God IS life.) And, if you happen to believe, like me, that God made each of us on purpose, with purpose, then we should acknowledge that God is not surprised (but, rather, tickled!) by this amazing feat of the mind to be able to see unclearly, but understand with conviction.

At least one difficulty in adding faith practice or spirit to the working of the mind is that we practice mistrust so much in our everyday living. I mistrust you because someone like you hurt me once - intentionally or unintentionally, the wound is still unforgettable. You mistrust me because you question your own ability to accurately perceive the circumstances of the moment due to the fact you misread someone else at another time.

Where does all this wondering and wandering lead me? My heart breaks over the inability or unwillingness of many supposed spiritual leaders in my community to see - clearly or conceptually - the reality of this second poorest county (economincally) in the state of Tennessee. So, can you teach someone how to read jumbled up letters or jumbled up lives and see the bigger picture? Can you see unemployment, hopelessness, poverty, lack of education, exclusion and marginalization of God's children and envision spiritual health, wealth, and hope? Today, I'm not so sure ... except that it seems God wired us with the capability. Maybe we just haven't decided to try.

A Magic Circle

2008-09-08T11:55:00.003-05:00

This is an adaptation of an article I submitted this week to the Bolivar Times on behalf of the Hardeman County Ministerial Alliance. I share it with you for two reasons: one, that the call to unity in the Holy Spirit be fresh in your ears and two, that you be encouraged or challenged (whichever one you need) to really see and know your community.

While visiting a friend this summer, we headed into downtown Asheville, North Carolina, to enjoy a pleasant evening. During dinner in an outdoor cafe, we could hear what sounded like a drumbeat carried on the breeze (much like Gilligan and the gang used to hear). Curious, we asked our waiter what the sound was and he told us about a drum circle that was probably gathering in one of the small parks downtown. Even more curious, we finished dinner and began walking toward the sound. The beat got louder and more intricate with every step. When we turned the last corner, we saw over 300 people in that small downtown park - everyone playing his own drum or her own tamborine, some simply clapping their hands or swaying to the music. It was amazingly beautiful to see every socio-economic status, every race, every age represented in this strangely magical circle. Both men and women, single and attached, some alone and some with their children - and everyone together. I still haven't figured how they did it - how they knew where to gather and on what day, what time would they start, and who's in charge? Nobody could tell us, they just heard it was happening. Some, like us, because they heard the music. Some, because they heard it from someone else who heard it from a friend that a circle would be forming. And, how did the rhythm change so smoothly, with no interuption at all? I mean, was somebody in charge and everybody knew it but me and my friend? Or, was there enough trust and shared responsibility in that huge crowd of so many different kinds of folks making music that it just happened?

As the rhythm changed the first time, I realized how intoxicating the experience was - not just the music, but being a part of it all. So intoxicating, that in the dancing and keeping the rhythm we were drawn almost to the very center of it all. As the rhythm changed for the third time, the picture in front of us, capturing us suddenly came into sharp focus. There we all were, a "rainbow" of personalities, persuasions, and backgrounds working together for a common good and enjoying it, enjoying one another!

That should be the goal of Christians whatever our persuasion or practice because it is the call of God. Paul urged the Christians at Ephesus - and us today, no matter where we are - to "make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." (Ephesians4:1-3) One person, one church, one agency will never be able to tackle alone all the difficulties that besiege our communities. Unity does require effort and commitment that comes from a choice to work side-by-side with others even when they are different from you or me. That choice gives nod to the belief that our common denominators - love for God, love for our neighbors, concern for our communities - will always be stronger, louder than our differences.

Our communities need our hope, our strength, our boldness, and most of all our love. The following statistics are just some shared by local community professionals in Hardeman County, Tennessee, which happens to be the third poorest county in the state of Tennessee. My guess is that you'd be just as shocked and heartbroken as I was to learn the reality that I and my neighbors live in:

70% of all youth who come before juvenile court test positive for drug use
1 in 10 adults struggles with alcoholism/problem drinking and its consequences
Hardeman County, though we are one of the smallest areas in the District, has the second highest criminal case load and child support docket in the 25th Judicial District
Only 66% of the county's population has a high school diploma
1 in 4 individuals live below the poverty line

Can you imagine the power of our work to stand against the decay and disillusionment that affects our communities, if we will stand together? Can you imagine the beauty and power that would begin to characterize our life together, if we would but trust one another - different as we may be - and share responsibility and leadership toward God's promise of hope and new life?

I really wish that you'd been with us that night in the middle of the drum circle where half the world showed up! And, I pray for the gathering of another magic circle ... and the other half deciding to come, too!

Big Little Things

2008-08-21T14:32:00.003-05:00

John Lennon once said that "life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." I didn't plan to get sick this week, but, hey, life happens! I also realized (while I was lying on the couch, trying to breathe and not to cough) that the little things that get forgotten in our planning and in our busyness are really the biggest things of all that go into making a life. Shauna Niequist, in her book Cold Tangerines, challenges all of us to consider that we just may have been waiting for life to begin (once I graduate from high school or college or seminary, once I step into the career I've dreamed of or into the arms of, you know, him or her, or once we have children or that new home ...) and we're missing the best life ever. It's happening, but we just don't realize how good it is. Cold tangerines are one of the big little things for Shauna Niequist. A rediscovered big little thing for me? Grape popsicles. And, once the list started in my head, I couldn't believe how many treasures I'd forgotten!

Laughing with a friend so hard that one of you snorts
the smell of fresh peaches in the summer
the luxury of curling up with a book on a rainy day
the sound of waves crashing against the shore
the feel of the sun on your shoulders and the wind in your hair
the taste and cool comfort of a grape popsicle (or a push-up!)
the feel of walking barefoot through the grass
or, how 'bout letting mud squish between your toes!
the intoxicating warmth of holding hands with someone you love
the sound of a kid's belly laugh
the intimacy of bread broken with friends
what happens in your head and your heart when THAT song comes on the radio

See, the list goes on and on. I'm still working on mine and I'd LOVE to hear some of your Big Little Things. This is another one ... just watch and I'll bet you can remember the last time you did this! Go to www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNy9jTeolUk

Better yet, stop what you're doing and savor one of those little things. Not just as a memory, but as a now moment. Hold your baby's hand, walk through the lawn barefooted, invite a friend over (or out) for dinner, share a laugh together with someone special ... go ahead and snort. What we find is that we're sharing life. Life will never be buried underneath the list of things to be done and life will never be better once we're done with those things. Life IS those things ... and what we make of them and who we do them with or for as we go along this journey.

Jesus' promise to us is that in His coming to us, to be with us and just like us, we could know the abundance in life that God intended for all of creation. Abundance isn't a quantity issue as much as it's a quality issue. And, grape popsicles or a trip through the sprinkler or holding hands with someone you love is as rich as it gets. My guess is that if you'll work on a list of the Big Little Things in your life, you'll discover just how rich you are!

Hidden Beauty

2008-08-13T14:36:00.002-05:00

I learned something today that makes me just plain mad. Did you hear? The little girl who stood so confidently before the world Friday night at the opening of the Olympics, ushering in children who represented every cultural faction of China was actually a pint-sized milli-vanilli. Lin Miaoke was lip-synching with her perfect pony-tails while the little girl who was really singing with her precious and strong voice was hidden from the world because she wasn't cute enough! At 7, Yang Peiyi has the voice but the packaging isn't right, so we push her to pretend she is something that she is not, expect her to hide herself because she's not enough.

What makes me even madder is Anne Curry's response as the story was reported on the Today Show, broadcasting from Beijing. The video loop finished with a full-face picture of the hidden girl with a shy smile and slightly downcast eyes. And Curry promptly says, "I think she's cute."

It's not about being cute! It's not about being cute enough or presentable or acceptable. It's about each of us, every one of us being valued for who we are! Why wasn't her clear, powerful voice enough to invite her to sing to the world? What lesson will each of those girls learn about their own value as human beings? You're pretty enough, but just stand there ... we don't need to hear from you. You sing like a bird, but, well, those teeth ...

I was (who am I kidding, I still am) one of those girls ... you know, never quite together. A hint of a cowlick here, a pimple there, braces on my teeth, pudge everywhere and worried about who might notice or care. There have been moments in my growing up - and I'm still doing that, by the way - when the evaluation and approval of others was/is of ultimate importance. And, thankfully, there are other moments when I can celebrate that I am who I am and the little things like pimples (still) or arm flab don't define me. I'm not defined by my lack of athleticism or a huge vocabulary, just like you're not defined by the vocation you pursue or your birth order position. These things about me and you (that grow out of comparison with someone else, really) are not mistakes ... they just are.

Don't get me wrong, I haven't arrived at some enlightened place where it no longer bothers me when you disapprove. I'm just saying that I've had and have good folks in my life who remind me that I'm more than my appearance or my choices or my abilities ... and lack thereof. I hope these little girls have someone in their lives to tell them much more that "I think you're cute!" I hope that you have someone in your life who encourages you to stop hiding yourself for fear of not being enough. My prayer is that each of us not only can come to grips with our own pricelessness but also of one another, even and especially in our difference. In her book, Looking for God, Nancy Ortberg cautions us with this wisdom: "The reason molds work so well for Jell-O is that gelatin is a substance without form of its own. But people aren't like that, or at least we shouldn't be. Molds are rigid, predetermined boundaries that create shape but leave no room for movement. Great for Jell-O, disastrous for people."

I believe there's a deep truth that you and I need to hear, to be reminded of, and to embrace:

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works; that I know full well. Psalm 139:14

My hope is this: that Lin and Yang, and every other little boy and girl in this world can hear and believe the truth that they matter just because they are. And, that you know and appreciate yourself full well as an amazing creation, wonderfully made (pimples, arm flab and all!).

Pretty Evil

2008-08-06T14:08:00.006-05:00

The painting is Salome Dancing before Herod by Gustave Moreau. It's beauty and bold statement took my breath the first time I saw it, when a portion of the Armand Hammer museum exhibit traveled to Memphis. I encourage you to look at it in closer detail than what this picture/post may allow.

Hang with me while I give you the backstory to my sharing this painting with you. I'll get back to it.

I just returned from a week-long continuing education event that was quite disappointing to say the least. There were wonderful moments sprinkled through the six days that felt like a hundred. One of those? Experiencing "The Dark Knight" on an IMAX screen with a group of friends and colleagues. (There's something fabulously weird about being face-to-face with a 5-story tall Batman jumping off buildings!) Our animated conversation at the close of the movie was about lines and moves and surprises and special effects. And, without fail, we all had a strong response to The Joker. Ledger did an amazing job of creating, presenting a character that was larger than the actor playing the part. And, as weird as it sounds, I rather liked The Joker. He had a strong grasp of the truth, lived from a place of understanding that was boldly discomforting but attractive to everyone - those characters in the movie with him and those of us watching from our seats. Our conversation included the question of what drives the darkness of The Joker - some pain from his past, perhaps, or pure evil?

Pan to the painting by Moreau. If you took a moment to look, the opulence of the scene is unmistakable and intoxicating. Did you connect with the story Moreau is translating for us: Salome dancing before her step-dad/uncle in honor of his birthday. He was so taken by the performance that he popped his mouth off before he thought and offered the girl a reward of up to half of all he had. Young and unprepared for the spot she was in (who would be?), she deferred to her mother's guidance. Since her mother hated John the Baptist for telling the bold, hard truth about the life she was living, she told the girl to ask for John's head ... and she did. (Matthew 14:1-11, the Sandra translation)

Did you notice the panther in the bottom right corner of the painting? Sleek and beautiful, powerful ... and waiting like a panther waits. What struck me when I saw Moreau's work for the first time is that evil is just like that. Beautiful, powerful, sleek (or, slick), and waiting for our moments of weakness, blindness, ignorance, misplaced good intentions, self-absorption, denial, fear, ... Sometimes, it seems, evil pounces on us with no provocation; sometimes we invite it in as if we didn't know what we were messing with. Maybe we don't.

If evil always looked like The Joker, we'd know right away to steer clear because of it's ugliness. But what it evil acts like the Joker - wise or funny or promising or weirdly attractive? All the more reason for us to not get so caught up in the dance, performing it or watching it, that we're not aware of the panther in the room and its true nature. No need to stop dancing or finding joy in the beauty of it all, no need to be afraid ... just don't pet the panther, if you get my drift.

2008-07-25T17:07:00.003-05:00

I spent the first three hours of my morning weeding the beds in front of my home. That should probably be embarrassing - that it took three hours (and I'm still not finished) - but it's been that kind of spring and summer. With another ceu event taking me away from home for a week, I was afraid of what I would find when I got home if I didn't do something now. So, I headed straight for the jungle, er, I mean flower bed.

I wasn't there long before I discovered some very sinister things happening at ground level. There's basically one weed to blame for the whole jungle - a weed that, from a fairly small (and rather innocent-looking) sprout sends runners in every direction imaginable. And, those runners cling to soil, other plants, brick, whatever it can get its little suckers on as they "run." My fingers were raw in no time flat, tracing runners and making sure that root and all was gone from every little place this thing had traveled.

Pause for a moment. I heard once that people who work with money and are trained to detect counterfeits (without the handy-dandy little pen) never focus on what the fake might be like. They know and real stuff so well that when the "feel" is off or the color isn't quiet right or some other detail is even a hair different, they know. They focus on the real stuff and that truth makes it easier to detect the lie. All that to say this: in my teaching and preaching, I don't focus much on sin. Not that I don't believe it's real, sinister, and deadly. I figure that knowing the Truth so well, recognizing God's grace and love in the most surprising places/ways will illuminate the cavities in our souls and lives.

All that said, my encounter with the weeds this morning was all about sin. I couldn't get it out of my mind as I worked hard to find all the suckers and dig out all the roots. One thing - a thought, an action, an attitude, a secret, you know - can look like such an innocent sprout. But, the next thing you know, runners are headed in a million different directions and sticking to everything they can get to. The next thing you know, that one innocent- enough lie (betrayal, poor choice, insensitivity, you name it) is making its presence known in most every other thought, choice, action, and attitude.

I couldn't take it any more ... that's why I weeded that bed today. My prayer is that I can learn to tend to the bed of my soul before the jungle sprouts ... from that one cranky, mean weed. I want, need the courage to see the weedy little choices and words and actions for what they are. And, more courage still to let 'em be ripped out by the roots. There is such beauty and harmony and health in that bed - and in my spirit - when it's cared for like it should be.

Happy gardening to you, too!

Surprised by Grace!

2008-07-10T16:48:00.005-05:00

What amazing grace flooded my world - and my office - today! I looked at the clock above my office door for the umpteenth time this afternoon and discovered that the door frame was also framing the faces of very special people from my past. There, surprisingly, stood my youth leader and her daughter whom I used to babysit. And beside that young woman were her two daughters - full of life and joy and love (and mischief ... after all, I know their mother AND their grandmother!) As Margaret and Jennifer, Haley and Madison came into the room, so did amazing memories and the easy conversation of old that helped create them. The hope we used to share in the Body of Christ we absolutely knew as family filled the room, too, as we talked candidly, quickly about our faith journeys and our spiritual needs. Something else was palpable in the room, too ... a sobering soreness that remains from the loss of great men who, once a vital, integral part of our life together, are now a part of the Church Triumphant. I'm glad, though I can't explain how it happens, I know that it's true that in God's economy, the best of Daddy and Wayne still fill our hearts and any room we occupy. My greatest surprise today wasn't seeing the faces of such special people, 'live' and in my presence; it is the discovery of a long ignored quiet, but powerful river of hope and purpose running through me - all because a youth leader told me with conviction that who I am matters (not just to her, but to God!) and, then, trusted her children to my care.

Who, in your seasons past, can you recognize now as conduits of God's love and grace, mouthpieces of Divine truth and wisdom who have helped you become who - and how - you are? Being loved on by and loving in return such amazing people (who will really always be a part of me, and me of them) was such an unexpected and awesome twist on today ... kinda makes me want to be the one to show up in another old friend's doorway or mailbox or voicemail. How 'bout you?

A First Look

2008-07-07T16:32:00.000-05:00

I remember looking out the front window of our Parkway Village home that summer day as the rain poured down outside (and in my heart). My sadness over a friend's move several states-distance away seemed to be echoed by nature herself and I consciously recognized for the first time that I, we seem to look on life through a window that offers a differing view with every new hope or reality, dream or disappointment. Some views are drastically different; others only slightly so. It was only a year or so later that I was looking through that same window in our home with great anticipation for a beau to come pulling up in front of our home, to come for me. At times the window is framed with hope or someone else's idea of what is, what should be; at times the panes of glass are cloudy with a different kind of pain or with simple ignorance. But, the constant is the two-fold purpose of a window, any window. It is, simply, to let Light and Wind in, and to let me and you see out. With great excitement and a little anxiety, I'm hoping that you'll help me see more clearly and allow me to share with you just what I see ... through my window.