turning out the lights and other growing pains.

Sitting in the hall of my daughter’s high school. I’m here to see her perform in a one act play.

It’s the last performance.

Her

Last performance in high school.

In the same part of the building, another local school just held graduation for fourth graders moving on to the next level of their education.

Voices bounce wildly off the walls.

All the kiddos dressed up for the occasion – the girls in heels too high tap-tap-sliiiip- along, and the boys walk tugging at their shirt tails and buttons.

But all the moms beam with pride as the dad’s sweat. Because it’s always hot for these things…

And I am in tears watching the flow of families while I wait to see my daughter’s face, and hear her five or so words.

Because although her part is small,

It’s the last “thing” before the day she graduates and another light turns out.

Because sometimes mothering feels like that.

Like turning out lights in rooms we’re not using anymore.

Not a light going out like death.

Not like failing to be the Light like Jesus.

Just an advance to the next level. A new room. Good bye to what once was and moving forward to what will be…

It’s not a bad thing. Our children move from room to room all their lives. It’s actually passage from maturity to maturity. And honestly, I know it’s good and right.

As a mother we need them to grow and outgrow. We nurture and pray and model behavior hoping our children will become too large for the small spaces.

Our children can’t finger paint and mud pie their entire lives.

They must move on to a different room.

Rooms of hope, effort, disappointment, grit, challenge, and relationship.

But to me it feels as if I’m turning a light out every time they cross the threshold of the right now to the next growing room and challenge.

Because once you grow forward, you can visit –

But you never reeeeeally get to go back to the same room.

It’s just too small.

They learn to play, and then play together, and share.

And loose.

And a light goes out.

And soon playing is more about getting it right or making the score, or the grade, or getting the boy, or college or job, or car.

Or apartment. Or baby.

And lights switch off swiftly down the halls as lessons are learned and ground is gained and marks are made.

And scars.

As innocence and naivety learn about bills, hardship, dope, divorce, love,

And people.

And hopefully, they make faith their own rather than just wearing it on Sundays like a nice shirt.

One day, you’re making snacks for story time and the next

You’re at the orthodontist.

You’re trying to explain a tampon.

You’re in the passenger seat with your teeth clenched.

You’re waiting for a text.

Or hoping for a call.

Or sitting outside the ER wondering where the hell everything went sideways.

Or.

You’re sitting outside a one act play.

Looking at strangers.

Crying as you wait to hear five words knowing God is good.

And new great memories and moments will be come and go.

But also unknowns can be frightening.

And the truth is proud as you are of your now grown child, you really miss the days when all the ouchies could be fixed with a kiss and a coke float.

So, Mommas,

Hold steady to the Lord who loves you and your children.

Be encouraged and know the One who created your littles and your feelings has a plan.

And although it remains secret, it is also good.

Lean in.

Surrender. Both

your children

and your feelings.

Exhale when you can.

And Trust.

And Know.

He is God.

this is not really about the emperor’s new clothes

Remember the story of the emperor’s new clothes?

The Emperor loved to spend money on fine clothes. He wasn’t concerned with the state of his kingdom, or people. He spent his wealth on making sure he always looked splendid.

One day two sneaky, thieves show up disguised as weavers. These sneaky thieves and liars begin to weave a tale to profit from the Emperor’s vanity. They convince the Emperor for the right price, they will weave such finery like never before seen. In fact, they add a tasty tidbit to the tale by explaining the cloth will be invisible to the simple and unworthy.

Of course, they were lying.

Liars lie. Thieves steal. And to the self-focused, Deception slips in easily undetected dressed often as compromise or world-view morality.

And the Emperor bought the lie at a high price. And when he couldn’t see the cloth being being weaved, he felt inadequate.

So rather than see the lie as a lie, the Emperor only became afraid others would find out he couldn’t see the Truth.

The Emperor sent several wise men and advisers from his court to see the cloth.

Each one verified the cloth as fine and exquisite.

Because

No one wants to be the first one to see the lie for what it is.

No one wants to believe – suddenly we really may have a problem.

And no one wants to admit we’ve allowed the liar into the palace to weave for the Emperor and make him look good.

And no one wants to believe the Emperor is only interested in looking good rather than focusing on the kingdom.

And maybe you remember, the story’s end. The Emperor parades himself proudly in front of the public – dressed completely naked in his finery.

And the public sees the Emperor for his foolishness.

And the only deep impression the Emperor makes on the public, is that he is a fool concerned more with appearance than Kingdom affairs.

And my thought this morning is simple and disturbing:

What if the current culture in our American church is more like the Emperor and less like Christ.

What if these prayers for rival are useless because we’ve left little of the actual Truth to revive?

If we don’t recognize our misplaced priorities, a revival would only be a pep rally designed to cover our nakedness, our ineffective Sunday practices, and the fact we’ve sanitized the scripture to fit current culture and public opinion.

What if we stop trying to save face by continuing the same walk the same way – and actually recognize and confess the Truth.

What if attendance wasn’t the focus? And instead we refocused on intentionality and transparency and trusted God to bring the numbers ?

Why don’t we confess somewhere along the way the liar was given entry and has been weaving for some time.

At a Kingdom price.

And then maybe the lost actually get found.

And maybe hearts actually transform.

And maybe more people are added to the number.

And maybe we will have more eyes to see, and ears to hear, and hearts focused on being Christ

Rather than trying to look like someone who looks like Him.

2020: God’s people, observations, and nutshell thoughts

I opened my devotional a few days ago, and began reading. I stopped at the first sentence.

“Learn to appreciate difficult days.”

Immediately, the total weight of the exhaustion of 2020 fell over my heart.

I couldn’t I even read the second sentence without stealing myself for the next blow. What could this day possibly bring we have not already endured? Do we really need one more opportunity to “appreciate the difficult days?”

And my thoughts continued down this path…

I’m doing my absolute gut level best to be grateful and dig in and press on AND be nice.

But it has become increasingly difficult this year to convince my broken heart to remain grateful and open. But not simply because the stress of this year overwhelms me at times.

Sure, to say this year is challenging is a gross understatement. But to me, the true heartbreak of this entire season is the revelation of foundational issues in the hearts of God’s people.

And I’ll step out on this limb one step further to say something even more unpopular.

To blame the heart issues on the virus, the masks, the economy, or the racial divide is a terrible mistake.

When we were told we couldn’t come together legally, so much of God’s Church lost its footing on mission.

But that’s only because God’s people had drawn division lines much earlier.

Remember, the Facebook posts and comments after the Super Bowl halftime show back in February?

Remember the political tensions in small groups and friendly conversations as far back as 2016. (Or as far back as forever. Politics is at its core the unsolvable word problem).

Ultimately, the prince of this world gave us all opportunities to focus on our gods this year, and we did.

We divided and chose Self and the church of ME over just loving Jesus and people no matter what.

Maybe tithes are solid, so we are assuming the church is good.

Maybe, online numbers are huge, so we all feel like the church is reaching the lost.

And maybe this will all blow over now- or soon-maybe Christmas will fix it?

Maybe, if everyone will just learn to stay out of their feelings and just go along to get along, we could move forward with the joy of the Lord as our strength?

Maybe, passive aggressive Facebook posts aren’t a sign of heart issues.

Maybe, leaving church because you don’t believe in masks isn’t a sign of Self-love over, submission to a leadership just trying to make hard decisions for the majority.

Maybe choosing masks for the majority isn’t a sign of favoritism over faith – maybe it’s just trying to find a happy medium in an unprecedented situation.

Maybe, choosing not to mediate in truth and allow it to soften our hearts to meet people where they are hurting and torn, isn’t the same thing as being hard-hearted.

Maybe, miss quoting sermons meant to gently rebuke and taking scripture out of context isn’t a harmful agenda.

Maybe, the whites are completely wrong and the blacks and all people of color are completely right.

Maybe, we can tear down idols of hate in our hearts by removing commercials, and war memorials.

Maybe riots are only caused by the informed and the injured.

And none of those angry people are just lost and angry and easily lead by lies delivered from both sides.

And maybe God’s people have no real role in any possible resolution.

Maybe the mainstream media isn’t a drug dealer peddling drama and fear to fuel the fire.

Maybe, the word “LOVE” hasn’t been weaponized to prove either side of any argument.

And.

Maybe, we can win the lost to Christ by proving to them we don’t know what we’re doing either?

Hey.

Maybe God’s church just needs to let people know, we love everyone. And we have a small group to meet their every convenience, as well as their social-political-viral affiliation.

But if you join us in person rather than online, just know we no longer serve coffee – because serving coffee is dangerous and unhealthy.

Or maybe we should just give church staff some time off. They can’t make everyone happy anyway. What’s the purpose of setting hoops ablaze for them to jump through, if we’re not going to receive the Truth they attempt to feed us?

And.

Maybe when He called satan, “prince of this world,” Jesus didn’t actually mean the enemy had any real power.

Maybe, accountability isn’t needed in the season of fear.

Maybe, the best thing to do with God’s people is to just let this thing run its course.

Like a virus.

simmer and the better thing

God pressed a strange word on my heart during my quiet time this morning. While my eyes pretended to still be sleeping and I sipped coffee, I began my morning prayer with thoughts of gratitude toward small blessings. I sat snuggled in my blanket listing things like cinnamon coffee, rest, the warm chili we had eaten the night before – even though it didn’t have a lot of flavor, maybe it was the new spice I tried – but, Lord, I remain thankful even though I guess I did wrong-

God interrupted my gratitude with the word Simmer.
“Toni, you don’t simmer.”

I sat for a minute in quiet acknowledgement. Probably, wide eyed and yet kind of blank faced like I tend to do when some truth renders me speechless.

And this is truth.

I’m not a simmer person. I skip that step. It’s a personal preference usually mandated by time restrictions or my own impatience. Using last night as an example, I ran in from work knowing I had to cook, eat and leave in an hour. Therefore, dinner prep consisted of only a few steps: brown, dump, stir, and serve.

Brown the meat. Dump the seasoning. Stir the pot. Serve the stuff.  TA-DAH!

And the chili tasted fine. At least it rendered the main idea of chili. But truthfully, because I hadn’t let the dish simmer, the flavor of all the spices remained unlocked and not ignited.

But God’s whisper this morning wasn’t just talking about my cooking skills. The point of the whisper was to notify me how often I skip the simmer step with good ideas and actions as well.

So, many times I get a brainstorm – and it’s an idea for “thing” to do. A good thing. Something to bless others or love like Jesus.
I’ll get excited and run ahead.
All action and planning.
NO SIMMER. NO sitting with Jesus and His Word. No just sitting in silence. And too often, No listening for the best next steps while I’m in action full speed ahead.

I’m not the only one of God’s people guilty of not simmering.

Nope. Too often God’s people will catch the glimpse of a good thing, and take off alone using their own creativity, wisdom, energy, resources and follow-through.

And the result:
Sometimes the good things or good ideas flop and fail right from the start.
Other times, they work beautifully for a bit. Then gradually and eventually they begin to wind down or wind up and out of control due to wrong timing, lack of resources, or just the inability to sustain the good thing in our own power.

And I truly believe a good idea either whispered by Holy Spirit or fostered from simply good intentions can be used by God in remarkable ways. Because good is good, and God is God. He can do anything. However, the real blessing in blessing others comes once we realize we must Simmer.

We must give Jesus space to work. We must allow Him to unlock the timing, to set things in motion, or in place. In the Simmer, Jesus either ignites the hearts of people to receive Him, or He will ignite your own heart to sustain the better thing He is trying to do with you and through you.

But honestly, God’s people jump and skip over the simmer. Too many times we accomplish something good, but we just can’t achieve the better because our schedules become chaotic, our souls become frustrated with conflicting emotions, and exhaustion settles in for a nap cuddling discouragement like a sad, worn teddy bear.

And we don’t understand, because we are sure of what we heard. Because it was a good idea.
Because it was good for others. Then we either walk away completely frustrated trying to discern which step or which person derailed our good plan, or we shrug it off saying,
“It just wasn’t meant to be.”
No harm. No foul. No accountability. No growth.

All too often we fail to look back and honestly ask God to show us what really happened.

It’s time to try the better thing.
Simmer equals surrender. Simmer says to God, I’m all in and I want to do it Your way for Your glory.
Simmer creates a sustaining endurance and connects your soul to an unbelievable amount of
-Well, I don’t even know what to call it.
It’s not just patience, because you will still be tried.
Life is tough.
It’s not just empathy, because you will still be stretched.
We must grow.
Ant it’s not just joy, because – well- see the above sentences about being tried and stretched.

I guess when it comes to it, I believe sitting in the Simmer connects us to an unbelievable amount of God.

And that connection will always be the better thing.

in the beginning

I don’t remember hearing the phone ring. But I did hear my husband slam the phone down.
Then after some confusion, I made a phone call. Just pushing numbers.  Then ringing. I don’t remember speaking.

Then, I’m standing in my closet. Trying to decide what to wear. This shirt is too big.  This one needs to be ironed. This one has paint on it.

I’m sure the girls were crying. I’m sure I mothered them in some way. And obviously time passed.
Because my in-laws arrived from twenty minutes away.  And then they disappeared with the girls.

I don’t remember what I chose to wear. Which is curious, because it seemed I stood in that closet for an hour trying to make the right decision. Trying to focus. Trying to force my brain to stop repeating the question, “my father is dead?”

Because here’s how grief worked for me: Shock and function attempted to inhabit my brain at the same time. My need for death to be a lie, my need to maintain control, my need to do this part right for my kids, and mom, and even do it right for Dad all sat in my thoughts together accomplishing nothing.
making no progress. And I’m sure I cried. But I can’t remember the tears.

In the next scene, I’m pouring wine into a travel mug and driving to my parent’s home.
And then we were there. My husband and me. And a scene on the lawn- surreal.
Cut grass. EMT. Covered body. Manicured flower beds. And I wonder if I can see him.
If I smell like wine. If Mom has wine. And I’m ushered inside. Not allowed off the front walk.

And then time both slipped by and stopped.
We were the first phone call. But we seemed to be the last to arrive. The house seemed full.
The evening sun lingered and then suddenly disappeared, and hours had vanished.

I worked the room grieving and greeting simultaneously.
Trying to swallow reality of the moment while attempting to make sure each person felt appreciated, to ensure they knew their value as they arrived to show support. To shake hands and embrace and smile lovingly as each guest attempted to swallow their own bitter bite of sad shock.

And sweet church ladies set the table with coffee and treats. And I remember thinking the spiritual gift of hospitality must be some kind of super power. Do they just have paper goods and cookies on stand-by? Sugar cookies for death? Chocolate chip for celebration? Peanut butter for something in between?

I said churchy things each time I shook a hand. Thankful God gave us the time we had with Dad. Thankful God allowed Dad to serve. Thankful Dad shot a great golf game earlier in the day. In the 80’s, I think? I’m not sure.  And the dear man who told me Dad’s score has long since passed as well. There will be no fact checking this post.

In my head I screamed at God, “What the hell? How dare you! I’m not done with him here!”
And all the time more hands, hugs, and spoken words. Thankful for your friendship. Thank you for being here for Mom. Thank you for knowing what cookies to bring. Has anyone seen my travel mug?

 

That horrible night always floats to the surface of my mind this time of year. A therapist might say I’m not letting go. But honestly, I’m not dwelling or wailing or wasting time in a wallow. I just believe some moments – even well-adjusted moments- leave a forever time stamp on our calendars.

The night of my dad’s death remains a dreamlike memory holding both sadness and hope. While Grief worked hard to assert himself a tyrant that night, Love filled the room. Where darkness intended to root and take over, the goodness of God and His people held me tight and refused to be banished. I was not only comforted by close friends. I reconnected with many others.  And without knowing it at the time, I met people that night who would walk with me even through darker days in the coming years.

The most important thing I’ve learned from death is the truth that God wastes nothing.
I believe God works all things for good according to His plan and purpose. Yes, people we love die and that sucks and hurts and leaves shadows over the empty places at family dinners, celebrations, and comfy chairs. But our creator refuses to leave us sitting in those shadows alone.
He offers Jesus. Hope. And something more than loss.

While He isn’t available in the physical world to fill in for my father doing father things – carving turkeys, giving hugs, fixing faucets, or drying tears, God has never left my side. Some of the struggles I’ve been through, would have broken my dad’s heart, possibly even driven a wedge in our relationship. Heaven knows, my circumstances haven’t been easy and not all my choices have been good.  But God stood close and leaned in when I needed a father’s advice and love.
He reminded me of Jesus. His son. His loss. And His love.
God used a heartbreaking moment to get my attention and renew my focus.

And then, He used the years after a horrible night to straighten out my priorities and teach me about love, grace, and transparency. Almost none of it has been easy. He just doesn’t work that way.
But there has been comfort in the valley of the shadow.

So maybe one day, this time of year will drift by my thoughts and I won’t feel compelled to write about my dad, or my grief, or what God has done with it along my journey.
But I absolutely hope not.
Because the Lord took a life-changing moment – and then used it to truly change my life.
I keep writing about the dark, hard parts because I know someone will read, hear and understand my story.
But above all, I want people to read, hear and understand that because of Jesus and God’s great love– my story doesn’t end in the dark – and yours doesn’t have to either.
It can be the beginning of something beautiful.

speak up, please.

Do you ever start typing knowing the words won’t be received well?

Then you pause, rethink your delivery or possibly even the importance of the words you are about to send. Will there be repercussions? Is this subject important enough to provoke push-back?
Am I prepared to deal with everything surely to follow once I hit send, or does the value of my point lessen compared to the weight of the impending fall out?
I’ve had these thoughts many times while composing emails and texts. No one on the planet can boast being more grateful than myself for the backspace key.  Backspace remains the key to this hothead’s peaceful relationships.
And admittedly, I should use it more.
In fact, today would be a great day to exercise use of the backspace.
As my fingers pluck along the keyboard, my brain screams warning after warning.

But I’ve set my resolve and these words are going to happen.

Christians need to stop hiding their failures and their struggles.
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT WHAT MATTERS.

Keeping your shortcomings, failings, and disappointments tucked away where no one can see them harms you and others.

Hiding because of pride or shame, separates you from God and His people.
Hiding because of pride or shame sinfully suggests you trust other people’s opinions over your Savior’s plan.
Hiding because of pride or shame also sinfully suggests to others unconditional love from others and God is not attainable. Hiding says “If you aren’t perfect, you sure better hold your head and tongue like you are.”

Who can bear the weight of such a burden? You weren’t meant to bear it. Instead, God planned for you to live in community. He planned for you to walk together, talk together with other believers.  Why?

Because crying out from your failures, disappointments, and from your true-life raw broken places encourages other believers. It offers permission to others who have failed to seek consolation in God’s grace. It speaks volumes of your faith over pride. It shouts to the shame trying to control you, “My God is for me. He will not be shaken. NOT EVEN IN THIS.”
I know.
Honesty is hard to do. People are untrustworthy. Your heart isn’t safe with everyone you meet because the church is full of people. And people fail.
But you are called to love others and strive for unity.

Life is a journey, and it certainly isn’t an easy walk.
But Jesus never said it would be.
He did however, leave you with instructions.
And you are not walking alone.

These thoughts sit fresh on my heart due to my experiences over the last few days.

I was privileged to witness a few brave sisters courageously lay out the dark parts of their stories. I considered it an offering to God as words of pain and past were shared boldly with other sisters as encouragement. Shame and pride were surrendered to love.  And I was beautifully humbled as I watched these women choose faith and trust in our God and His grace over fear of judgment from people.

In the same few days, I’ve also sadly realized others.
Others carrying disappoint, failure, and struggles, as if they are trying to get all the bags carried inside without being seen. Not asking for help. No admission of failure.
Only smiles outside and the tick of pride digging in less obvious underneath the surface.
Others resolutely banishing transparency to the corner where it sits in shame waiting to be called upon and redeemed by God
– If only the offering had been made.

I’m not naive. I’m no advocate for baring all your woes from the pulpit or at the church pot luck. Certainly, social media is out of the question with its widespread wildfire of opinions from feelingless, filter-faced responders.
But I believe God expects you to talk to each other. To share what you’ve learned from loss or even in the middle of the mess. I have always believed this, but my heart is burning with this truth right now.
Because in the last few days, I have seen with my own eyes both the beauty of boldness and the darkness in the silence.

But for your heart’s protection, I will add this:
Share in safety with a person you trust to hold what you share as priceless.
If you are married, share only with persons of the same gender. Sharing truth holds a great intimacy, and the enemy will exploit that fact by either crawling into your marriage or reputation if you share outside your gender.
Share with someone who will love you enough to hold you accountable and pray for you. This person will not always be the easiest person.
Deal with it.
Sometimes we need cheerleader.
But sometimes we need a coach.

And remember forgiveness, because sometimes the people you share with will fail.
I encourage you and pray boldly for you to receive these truths today.
You are your brother’s keeper.
God already knows where it hurts.
And He can and will use your story to bring healing to someone else.
IF you will trust, and surrender His light will shine over the words you speak.

when healing doesn’t come – five years later

We pray for healing. We wait for healing.

When healing doesn’t come, the faithful are tortured and infuriated by the idea a lack of faith may be the cause. While the Bible sites verse after verse about faith and healing, scripture also refers to some who were healed before they believed.  So, I don’t think faith is always the deciding factor.

However, reconciling the lack of healing to simply being God’s choice illustrates a God we don’t like to imagine. We don’t like the idea of a God who picks and chooses. We don’t like the idea of a God who picks bad men, and unholy men over babies and unselfish servants.

Then finally, to simply say we live in a fallen world seems trite. That statement doesn’t even contain enough words to address a question of such magnitude.

God loves us each of us and I believe His heart breaks for each of His children as they suffer. However, His will is bigger than our suffering. The span of what He is accomplishing is much greater than the scope of our individual lives.

I believe this hard truth: healing comes or does not come, and we do not get to know why.
And our trust in Him regardless of the outcome proves our faith. Because when we trust in His Love, His Goodness, and His Power even when the answer is no, the body of Christ shows the world we recognize Jesus’ sovereignty.

But I’m not suffering.
So, this hard truth is an easy statement for me to make.
I don’t have unexplained seizures. My liver isn’t dying. I haven’t endured the death of a child.  And because I am not suffering, God’s statement in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness” is comfort enough. To me, God’s grace is sufficient. It’s a blanket of love and comfort covering all my inadequacies.

However, I suppose to those who suffer or watch over the suffering, grace can feel like a blanket that just won’t cover their toes.
*************************************************************************************I wrote this post in 2012, five years ago.
If you read the original post you’ll find not only do I use the word “that” horribly, but I also had the audacity to end the post with a challenge. I challenged the suffering to remember God is the creator of the universe and He knows what He’s doing.
The End.
Forgive me. And thank God, He grows us from what we think we know.

While, I believe remembering God’s sovereignty is the correct posture of our hearts, I issued a challenge as if it were Simple. Easy. And not at all painful.

Five years later, I’m still not suffering with health or tragedy. But during this time, I’ve known disappointment, and crushed expectations. I’ve struggled with issues beyond my control and outside my ability to change. I’ve watched dear ones wander off, knowing my intercessory prayer is necessary, but ultimately their salvation is beyond my doing.

I’ve heard the words, “not right now,” from heaven a heartbreaking number of times.
And even worse, I’ve been in seasons in which I’ve heard nothing at all.
I’ve faced days when The Sad and The Tired, have nearly over taken me.
And in response:
I’ve yelled at the Father.
I’ve given the Son the silent treatment.
I’ve rebelled like a teenager with the car keys when Holy Spirit offered correction or boundaries.

So, I realize today the immaturity in throwing out a challenge.
Choosing to rest in God’s sovereignty regardless of circumstance isn’t simple.
It’s not fun like choosing to be “glass half- full” or “look on the bright side.”
It’s not a “yes, I’ll have fries with that,” choice.

It’s painful.
And letting go can initially take more strength than clinging tightly ever did.

But I still believe His grace remains sufficient.
And sometimes the answer is just no. And we don’t get to know why.
But I also believe  if you are willing to walk the distance between Thy will be done to it is well with my soul, He will walk with you the entire way.

 “Though the fig tree does not bud, and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails, and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength…” Habakkuk 3:17-19.

journal, jingles, four A.M. thoughts

Four o’clock in the morning.

I’m hugged up around my coffee mug, under my favorite blanket, pen with journal in hand.
I NEED these few minutes desperately.

Just moments ago. Down the hall. Before my alarm even sounded. I had begun listing.

And when I say “listing,” I mean I had begun making mental lists. Things I need to do, purchase, clean, and organize. Budget listing had begun. What to spend on each item on the list to achieve everything and retain surplus funds. Time listing had begun. How to do all the things and spend all the money in an order which provides total success, free time, and rest.
I made these lists repeatedly while the moments before the alarm sped by my bed. I rearranged each item and number over and again trying to make it work. Trying to solve the puzzle as if it were a Rubik’s cube and I played to beat the clock.

Did you know boats list?

When a boat lists that means it is leaning to one side or the other. Listing too far will cause the boat to take on water.
When you think about the way all my thoughts were evoking panic and causing me to wade down the hall to the coffee pot as if I were striving up steam against the current through knee-high water, this boat definition of list probably applies to me as well.

I say again. I desperately NEED these few minutes with the quiet, seeking God to take my thoughts captive, make them obedient, and resolve my mental Rubik’s cube dilemma.

After refilling my cup once, I’m ready to begin. With a sigh to release stress, control, and to center myself on just Jesus, I put pen to journal and write the words, “Lord, order my steps today. I’ve already got the crazy, and I don’t have the time or money to do any if this wrong. I need your…”

And that’s as far as I get because my not-quite-two-year-old granddaughter wakes up and toddles down the hall.

She wants my pen. I tell her no. I put my journal down.
She wants some milk. I get her milk. I pick up my journal.
She wants to watch a Christmas movie. She holds the DVD box up, and says, “dog.”
I tell her not dog. It’s a reindeer. She smiles, waves the DVD box and says, “DOG!”
I set my journal down and put in the “DOG!” movie. Refill my coffee and reach again for my journal.
Now, the kitten is awake and fighting for the spot on my lap where I hold my cup. So, I move her.
Now, the toddler is playing with jingle bells she captured from their perch on a shelf obviously not high enough to keep them safe.
Now, the kitten and the toddler are fighting over jingle bells, while the “DOG!” Movie plays but no one watches.
Now, the kitten steals a bell and climbs up my leg to reach the safety of my lap.
Now, the toddler suddenly decides my lap is the best place to be, if only to recover the stolen bell.
It’s all I can do to keep from spilling the coffee as it gets cold in my cup, and save the kitten from certain death, as the toddler finds footing on my left thigh.
Where is my journal? Under me?  I just don’t know…

At some point and for just a moment now, the toddler decides to just sit in my lap. Now, she’s not jingling bells or wrestling kittens.  Now, she just sits. Leans back against my chest. And sighs.

And I sigh too.

In moments, the chase will be on again.
For all of us really.
Wants and needs will shout to make themselves known. Jingle bells and all things Christmas will try to run us ragged. Stresses and duties of the day will attempt to run off with the thoughts, time, and money we try so hard to control and keep for ourselves.  Expectations will mock us, as we move forward failing to meet so many of them in one way or another. In fact, some of those expectations will pout or tantrum in the corner, hoping to keep our focus all day.

All this because ‘tis the season.
All this because we’re so very human and too often beautiful means perfect.
And too often Christmas means try harder.

Now, the toddler asks for fuzzy socks. I put her fuzzy socks on her tiny feet. Now, we match. I taught her about the magic of fuzzy socks.
Now, we sit together for another still moment.
Just a breath between this moment and the rest of the race.
And I’m grateful.
At some point today, I will have to budget and rearrange lists. I will have to go to the store after work. A trip to the mall may even be unavoidable.
But while the “DOG!” movie plays in the background and the kitten sneaks off with more jingling bells,
we sit still
in fuzzy socks, and I’m grateful for this time in the chaos.
I asked the Lord to order my steps, and He showed me what was important.
Immediately.
Because He is a God who Loves and Sees and Listens.
Because He is Emmanuel.
God with Us.
He name is proof we are not alone.

And this season, is NOT about perfection or try harder.
This season is about Love. Rescue. Grace.
It’s about the NOW you have been given.
It’s about the Love you give, right NOW.

the awe of off-center

Recently I attended my church’s women’s retreat. We gathered at a Bible camp just outside of Brenham, Texas. Although I was only a couple of hours from home, the distance from the city and suburbs brought me closer to all the outside than I experience daily. So being an early riser, my coffee cup and I walked out to the middle of the camp’s courtyard to watch the sunrise.

As I sat on the pathway, I silently told God I was prepared to watch Him show off.
And then I asked Him to allow me to see Him in a new way.

As a side note I strongly encourage you – in fact, consider this a challenge: Make it a practice to ask God to reveal Himself to you in a new way. You don’t have to wait until you’re away from home. I’ve asked while sitting at a red light, in the grocery store, even during worship.
He will honor your request. He may not show up the way you expected. But He will NOT disappoint.

Meanwhile back on the path,
I sat in the darkness waiting for the light to begin.

At first, the darkness simply lightened. I began to see the outline of the tree tops and layers of dark, blue-gray in the sky. As the layers slowly became clouds, the distance filled with the sounds of birds waking up. I could hear acorns falling from their branches and softly hitting the leaves which had traveled to the ground some time before this morning.
I was all alone and yet surrounded by everything. Somehow part and still un-apart from the whole. Something like the centerpiece in a snow globe – but still knowing I wasn’t the center at all.

And then there was light.

A tiny glow across the tree tops at first. I realized this sunrise took longer than they seem to at home. On any given day, I can look up on my way to work and see it beginning. However by the next time I take notice, it’s over and the day has begun rushing off into tomorrow.

Everything rushes if you aren’t intentional about slowing it down.

As I watched, anticipation grew. A little more light. A slight glow. Slowly shadows come into better form and the details can be seen in the clouds. And as I sat, a peaceful urgency began to tug at my anticipation. I felt an increasing need to see the finished view. I felt like a child on Christmas Eve, or a mother waiting to meet her unborn baby.
Something amazing was going to happen and the whole of the experience was exciting.

And at the same time, I felt a sincere desire for this moment to never end. I wanted it to linger like a grand suspended forte, while all the details of what I watched soaked into my heart.

And light grew all around. And more of the world began to stir. And I looked over my shoulder and realized the piece of the morning I was watching wasn’t even the main event.

I wasn’t actually facing east. I sat watching God from my perspective, and amazing things were happening. But while I watched in awe in my tiny corner of the Off-Center, the sun was rising in a place I wasn’t looking. God’s glory and splendor abounded in front of me, and it wasn’t even the center ring, or the main event.

Something more amazing than I could ever imagine was happening in the Big Picture.

And I thought truthfully, this is what it is to love and follow Jesus.
We trust. We watch. We wait. We get excited when we catch a glimpse of God. But all too often, shortly after the first flicker of light, we become impatient and discouraged because we just don’t see enough fast enough.
Or we wake up remembering at first we are Jesus people, but as the day rushes ahead we forget to watch for Him, His leading, or His love.
We stop noticing. We stop trusting. We stop anticipating.
We feel like the center of a snow globe shaken, upside down, and waiting for the pieces to fall so we know where we stand.

Too often, we forget where we stand is on the Rock. We wait for the One who is able to do immeasurably more than we can imagine.
Too often we forget to trust, He is doing something.
It may not be what we expect,
But it will be good.
Because the Son has Risen. And in the end He does not disappoint.

this moment

I wish I had a funny Thanksgiving story to tell. Sadly, most of the humorous anecdotes for this holiday fall into the “you’d have to be there” category.  If you aren’t part of my family’s Thanksgiving tradition, you won’t find the humor in the story of the famed and precious fruit salad being prepared by meticulous hands and then those same hands dropping it to the floor. You also probably can’t appreciate my memory of the exploding green bean casserole. And of course, there’s always the sad tale of the smoked turkey tragedy. However, even my memory of that one is fuzzy.

Attempting to maintain normalcy, we planned to have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner only a few short weeks after my dad’s death. The holiday fell on Dad’s birthday that year. In an emotionally strategic move, Mom decided to celebrate Thanksgiving the weekend before the actual date. She also ordered a smoked turkey to avoid sentimentality. My parent’s bickered non-stop in the kitchen as their official holiday schtick. I suppose by eliminating the actual cooking of the turkey, Mom thought she could avoid feeling sad Dad wasn’t in the kitchen complaining.

This is where the story gets fuzzy.
I don’t know whose idea it was to heat the smoked turkey in the oven.
I don’t remember why anyone one of us decided it needed to cook longer.
And I don’t know how it happened, but the pre-cooked, re-cooked turkey (now, practically turkey jerky on bones) ended up on the floor.

Possibly my memory isn’t even clear up to that point.
I know we decided to celebrate early. I know we didn’t eat turkey that day. I know we had laughter, but the strained kind, the kind of laughter which is only the precursor to tears. But I do know, it wasn’t a bad day.
Hard.
Out of sorts, like playing a warped record on an old turn table.
But not bad. Just a room full of people attempting to move forward from awful.

I don’t bring all this up to reminisce or make you sad. Or even because I’m sad. A huge amount of life has happened since those first hard days. My cup overflows, and I have more joy than ever. I’m finally at a point in my life where I can see ashes being made into something beautiful and immeasurably more than what I ever hoped they would become. I believe my life is proof our God wastes nothing and Jesus works in even the darkest details.

So, the reason I am sharing is …

Well, to be totally honest I don’t know why I’m sharing.
Maybe it’s to let you know, I know this day and all holidays are hard for many of you.
Maybe it’s to let you know other people have dropped the fruit salad, left paper between the cheese slices on the deli tray, or cooked a pecan pie until it became some kind of hard candy in a crust.
Maybe it’s to let you know family gatherings are about love and relationship, not about the dressing. Maybe, I’m writing to give you permission to laugh even when it hurts.

Maybe it’s to tell you, my family has broken a gazillion traditions looking for our new normal for the holidays, and most of it’s been good. As much as I love my childhood memories, I think I’m ok if we just keep trying new things and never settle into a pattern. I’ve learned although patterns offer some comfort, they can also keep you from appreciating the beauty born from change.
Maybe I’m sharing to tell you simply, I don’t know if this moment for you sits in ash. I don’t know if it’s blindingly beautiful, or somewhere in the middle of a rebuild and remodel.
Where ever this moment finds you, grab it with a wink and a smile.
Don’t miss it trying to make it better.