"Perfection"

Did you ever hear the one about the selfish woman who was being transformed?  No?  Wanna hear it?
Here it goes...

I'm not really sure what the heck I've been doing the last few months.  If you were to ask me what kind of "productive contribution" I've made to my household, I'm not sure I'd be able to answer you.  Sure, I've cooked, and cleaned, & laundered every stitch of clothing we own (most likely in the same two week period). I've shopped for groceries and clothes for a boy who won't quit growing, & taken dogs to the vet fifteen million times.  I've made lunches, made phone calls, and made it to the utility companies just before closing time.  I've dreamed, I've prayed, I've done homework (mine & the boy's), I've written (people have written NOVELS in the time I've been dorkin' around), and I've served.

About the only thing I haven't done is bring in a paycheck.

After looking at the above list of things I've done, some of you may jump on the "girl, if you're doing all that you shouldn't need a paycheck!" bandwagon. And some of you may choose the "If I can do all that with a job, so can you." train.   I beg that you read the rest of this before you jump on anything.

I've always worked.  From the age of sixteen on, I've always had a job, if not two.  I enjoy working, it keeps me physically busy.  Some jobs challenged my mind, others challenged my body, and others challenged both.  So having a job is not something I've ever had a problem with.  

My issue has always been time away from my family.  A stint in the military brought that home for me, deployment after deployment, unannounced 12-hour shift after unannounced 12-hour shift, cancelled weekend after cancelled days off.  After leaving the military, I went in the completely opposite direction, choosing self employment over a job outside the home.   This allowed me to work with my husband, be available to take and drop off our son at school, appointments at all times of the day for whatever reason - school programs and awards ceremonies, vet appointments, doctor's appointments, fishing, etc.)
I got spoiled.  I love being with my family!

Fast forward a few years.  Last fall, my husband found a fantastic job.  FANTASTIC... for him (and for me).  He got a steady paycheck, and I was free to do whatever I wanted.  His paycheck was substantial enough for me to not need to worry about getting a job. (I could stay at home!  YAY!  A job I'd never had but always wanted!!)

A long time ago, after the economy went south, we decided that we'd never have debt again.  We learned an important lesson that our family was more important than "stuff", so if accumulating debt was going to put us in a situation where we'd have to leave our time together to pay off that debt, it just wasn't worth it, in our eyes.  
Sigh...  Yes, of course we accumulated more debt.  Go figure.  Sometimes you have to screw up twice to learn the lesson...
So my husband has this great job, and we're paying all our bills on time, and blah blah blah.
Except, our debt wasn't going away.

Goals and dreams, and plans and schemes, they're all great if a couple is working towards them together.  And, for every couple, that "working towards them together" looks different.

"I" thought we'd be able to stick to a strict budget.  A strict budget that would pay our monthly obligations, and tackle the debt, little by little. "He" thought I'd get bored after a month off and get a job.  

Seven months later, here we are, and here's what we have.
    A husband who's frustrated, and a clueless, self-absorbed wife.

Sure, I listened to his frustrations, but I dismissed them, not willing to mess with my own agenda: my leisurely life of (say this out loud in a dreamy, wispy, fairy-tale voice) "writing, praying and serving the least..." (HA.  I sounded like Mrs. Doubtfire...)

And I did this for six months.  SIX MONTHS.  (I'm surprised he's still married to me.)

The bricks of my "agenda" started loosening about the six month mark.   I wasn't as productive, I wasn't as creative.  Sure I was busier, but that was just the weak mortar patches in my wall called selfishness.
I had been praying for my husband before:  "Lord, promote him in his job.  Give him peace in his job.  Give him satisfaction in his job. Blah. Blah. Blah."
One morning, I didn't know what else to pray for him.  So I simply asked God to answer his prayers, and not mine.

Then something happened.

I was being made aware of one thing he was wrestling with, day after day.  All of a sudden, I felt his frustrations; like they were my own.  I felt his hopelessness, I understood his lack of motivation and inability to dream.  And I knew why.

All of a sudden, I could fully see that if we kept on the same path, it would take us til we were 130 years old to accomplish our goals... have some land in the woods, a little house, be debt free.  Simple enough, yet I wasn't helping in any one of the ways I could to accomplish those goals.  I'd left it all up to him.

Humbled, I told him I'd get a job.  
And wouldn't ya know, I'm excited about getting a job! I have no doubt that it was part of the transformation that had to happen.  (Of course, he's elated, too!)  
I'm excited because now both of us can see the finish line.  I'm excited because I'm now contributing to our goals.  I'm excited because I'm able to do something to bring peace to him.

And if it gives my husband hope again; my chosen partner in this life, my other half, my best friend; well, then, every bit of it is worth it.

Battle Scars

We all talk about ours.  I got this one on my knee from a bicycle crash when I was 14.  I got this one on my forehead from a fall off a chair as a toddler.  And I got this one on my hand from hitting a tree on a four-wheeler not so long ago.

Scars.  Left from cuts, wounds, assaults to our flesh; from accidents, fights, injuries, crashes, or collisions.
Surgical scars, left from battles raged within the body; where the final attack on our part, (or the part of medicine) required brutal incisions - no matter how precise- in order to launch our physical retaliation.  Be it fighting against disease, broken bones, removal of something that didn't belong, or something that wasn't functioning as it should be.

We all have them, and some of us take pride in them.  We wear then as a decorated war hero wears his medals.  Sometimes boastful, other times quietly.

Every scar tells a story.  Some of them are wonderful and fantastic tales, so amazing that others wonder if it could possibly be true.  Some of them are just minute blips on the radar of our time on this planet.  And others have horrific stories that accompany them; stories that bring rushing back such terrifying experiences that if told, would bring women to tears, and grown men to their knees.

For every scar we carry on our body, there's usually an accompanying emotional scar; ones that aren't as easily dismissed.  Physical reminders of a trauma that won't heal as fast as the skin:

     The girl who still feels the heat of the fire as she sees her burned skin.
     The soldier who still feels the impact of the bullet that tore into his chest as he touches the
      scar.
     The fear that paralyzes the man from the wreck that left him trapped in his car with a bone
     protruding from his leg.

Physical pain or injury isn't the only thing that leaves scars; sometimes we're scarred from emotional battles or challenges:

     A fight with a loved one, where you KNOW you said the wrong words.  A verbal assault
     that cuts just as deep into the soul as a sword through the belly.  A moment where being
     "right", or a moment of selfishness, far outweighed any hurt that the words would inflict,
     usually spoken out of anger or lack of understanding.

     A challenge thrown out by a group that you're supposed to belong to, supposed to accept
     you, supposed to understand you, your heart.  A new chasm opened up between you, and
     the eyes to see it...
          it challenges you, offends, and damages; leaving you wounded and raw.

More often than not (at least for me), regret is the first responder on the scene, followed closely by shame and sometimes, the lookey-loo (bringing nothing productive to the situation), more anger.  If we're smart, interactions like that leave us scarred, hopefully for the pure reminder to NOT do that again.

These scars come in all forms, usually inflicted by words and our use, or misuse  of them.
When I'm the offender, I'm just as wounded from the words I say to someone as I would be if they were directed at me.
At the moment I speak the words, my personal will far overshadows God's will.  But He steps in, like a gentleman, once I've launched my venomous attack.
It is then that I notice Him in the room.
The damage is done; conviction sets in.
     Conviction is my battlefield surgeon, stitching me up just well enough to close the wound and stop the bleeding, but not well enough to hide the damage permanently.  So I have a reminder.

Then we have what I call Battle Scars.  Sure there's physical scars or emotional scars.  But that's not what I mean.

There are scars that we inflict from the daily choices we make.  The scars and wounds carried from the challenges we face as we (try to) grow in our belief and understanding of our relationship with Christ.

For me, the biggest wounds are coming from learning the difference between "following Christ" and "Churchianity".

I'm learning that "following Christ" is much more painful; painful in the way that my life is being transformed, and my awareness of the changes taking place.

Instead of spouting off at the mouth, or taking offense to every negative word spoken, or automatically going after every single wish, want or desire, I'm beginning to look at my life through the lens of Jesus Christ - as if He's the one living it, not me.

It's like we say in church, in the Wesleyan Covenant Prayer:  "I am no longer my own, but thine."
     (Thine.  Who in the world says THAT anymore?!)

In order to be "no longer my own", something has to happen to give myself up to this decision.
     First, I had to realize I'm broken.
          Fallen.
          Not perfect.
          Frankly, I suck.
Because of the fall of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, I now carry sin in this human flesh of mine, just as every single person born since, (except One).  We ALL do.  This leads me to be selfish, calloused, prideful, jealous, and interestingly enough, able to recognize the same in others.  Quiet arrogance has historically been a fault of mine.
     Second, I sought help for this fallen nature.  Who am I kidding.  How it really happened was, right at the moment I was at the lowest of the low, when I was under the rock at rock bottom, Christ found me there, hiding and ashamed.  (Kind of like Adam and Eve after the fall?)  He took my hand and began to show me the Truth about who He is, and opened my eyes to understand.
     Third, I had to agree to this life, willfully submit to what could be.

In order to have "what could be", I needed to make room for Him in my life.  So what could I give Him?
     A couple hours on Sunday morning?
          Didn't seem fitting enough for the King of Kings, the Lord of all Creation, the One who could take my life at the end of this breath.
     Spend 30 minutes a day reading my Bible?
          Again, not big enough.
What was I really giving up by squeezing Jesus in?
   
     NOTHING.

I was still the same person I was, as pigheaded as ever, as self-reliant as ever, living like God was an "addition to", not a "rescue from" this life.

I love in Romans 12:1-2, the original language written says, "Brothers and sisters, because of God's mercies, I come along side you in comfort to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God.  This is your only rational and logical worship.  Do not be conformed to the patterns of this world (a.k.a. "religion", a.k.a. "Churchianity"), but keep on being transformed by the renovation of the intellect, so you can figure out what God's will is - what is beneficial, fully agreeable, and perfectly complete."

Anytime I see the word "perfect" in scripture, I realize that whatever it is in reference to, I can't do it, because I'm not perfect.
But Christ is...

So how do I get to live this life, sharing in the "perfectly complete"?

I have to give myself up.  Not make time to squeeze Him in, not give up a couple of big-ticket items I want.

I have to give up my life.  As a "living sacrifice", as Paul said.

I have to sacrifice me; my will, my desires, my life; in order for Christ to live through me.

And for me, it's not a one-time-deal-and-I'm-done.  No, this happens every day.  Decision by decision, minute by minute, breath by breath.

I die.  What I want, my instant reactions, my emotions, my fleshly desires...I have to kill it all.

And moment by moment, in situation after situation, facing what I want versus what God is doing, I have to choose death.

Volumes could be written about that battle that rages inside me in that moment of decision time.
It's the most violent and bloody battle I've ever experienced.  The battle between what my flesh wants to do and say, and my spirit, which longs for a re-union with the Creator;  it's a battle I fight every day.

As in any battle, this one produces scars as well.  But the scars are carried on Christ's body, not mine.

Trembling

FOREWARNING:  This post isn't aimed at every single church in America.  This post is a plea, not an attack.  If this post does not pertain to your church, please don't think I'm saying it does.  I do not have the time, not the desire, to visit every single church in this beautiful country.  That being said, read on.


Burden and heaviness of heart are plaguing me this morning.

After a tiring week, being busy with obligations, a heavy work schedule, family stresses, and serving those I love so dearly, I was REALLY looking forward to a weekend of quiet contemplation, rejuvenation in the Word, and precious time resting.  I knew the upcoming week's schedule removed me from my family, and time away, for me, is never relaxing.

I was hoping to utilize the weekend for meetings with my friend to unwind, but as one of my best friends says, "The battle never ends", and Sunday hit me like a freight train going 100 miles-per-hour.

I should've known the bottom was about to drop out; I actually got to church early.
I should've known something was about to happen; my dear sweet sister-in-Christ and I were able to sing together in my car before church.  Praise.  Eyes closed, tears rolling, reckless abandon, Worship.  It was awesome.

God knew what we were walking into that day, that's why He arranged that precious time to worship Him, to be renewed in His strength, to be filled with His peace, and joy, and hope, and love.
Boy, did I need it later.

I"m struggling to understand what happened.  Actually, I am understanding.  The hard part is restraining my reaction.  I'm grasping at small straws, piecing everything together with the guidance of the Spirit, trying DESPERATELY to utilize tact, wisdom, and love.

My parents taught me early on, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."
Jesus and experience have refined that lesson, "If you can't say something with love, it won't be received."  That has helped me restrain from reacting (like an animal) our of an emotional response that would do nothing but offend and add fuel to what is most likely an already volatile situation.

I was able to witness this weekend, with my own eyes and ears, a problem the American church is plagued with, but in its own self-righteousness, can't admit.

We like to talk the talk, but we have NO IDEA what it looks like to walk the walk.

We all ourselves Christians.
We come to church every Sunday to worship (our idea of) God.
We call ourselves blessed, because we have jobs, we work to pay for the things we want and need, we have nice homes, we have happy families.

We live like we don't need God.
We are seriously clueless as to what "following Christ" really looks like.

At the rare opportunity to actually see someone who is living this lifestyle, we scoff, we call them radical, or even worse, we don't recognize it for what it is, and begin the oh-so-familiar process of judging, condemning, persecuting, and ostracizing.

Ah, how I love the American church.

The scary thing is, I do.  I seriously do.  I see the amazing potential of the American church.

I see the church in almost every single one of Jesus' parables; what it is, and what it could be.

The potential I see for the American church mirrors a story in Luke 7, verses 40-48.  Jesus is speaking with a Pharisee named Simon, following the woman anointing Jesus with oil, washing his feet with her hair and her tears.
(See, in the church, we love to make a big deal about washing one another's feet.  but how quickly we overlook the lesson that follows.)

Jesus replied, "Simon, I have something to say to you."
"Teacher, speak," he said.
"A certain lender had two debtors.  One owed enough money to pay five hundred people for a day's work.  the other owed enough money for fifty.  When they couldn't pay, the lender forgave the debts of them both.  Which of them will love him more?"
Simon replied, "I suppose the one who had the largest debt canceled."
Jesus said, "You have judged correctly."
Jesus turned to the woman and said to Simon, "Do you see this woman?  When I entered your home, you didn't give me water for my feet, but she wet my feet with tears and wiped them with her hair.  You didn't greet me with a kiss, but she hasn't stopped kissing my feet since I came in.  You didn't anoint my head with oil, but she has poured perfumed oil on my feet.  This is why I tell you that her many sins have been forgiven; so she has shown great love.  The one who is forgiven little loves little."
Then Jesus said to her, "Your sins are forgiven."

I see the church today going through an awakening of sorts.  God is opening the eyes of this western giant, which I dare not say has been asleep, but rather deceived.

We've been deceived into thinking that we're better than other people, because we're Christian.

We've been deceived into thinking that because we carry the name of Christ, everything we do now is somehow endorsed by the kingdom of heaven.

We've been deceived into thinking that God only comes to our churches on Sunday mornings; that He got our memo that services for Him (us) are scheduled for Sunday mornings at 9.  Or 10.  Or 11.  Or whenever the lights are on.

We've been deceived into thinking that God fits into this tiny little compartment of our lives (and churches) that we've created just for Him.

We've been deceived into believing that God loves our love of our traditions.

We've been deceived into thinking that God could be pleased with us, with our commitments to the church, with our programs, and with our adherence to the Ten Commandments.  (Please.  Crucial theological lesson there, but it's a subject for another day.)

We've been deceived into idolizing the building, and the schedule, and the tradition, and the clock.  In all actuality, we don't even know if God is really there at all.

Sure, we pray for our leaders, we pray for victims and those affected by natural disasters, terrorist attacks, horrible explosions half-a country away.  We pray for people who need healing.  It's so easy to corporately pray for someone you have no connection to...don't need a whole lot of faith for that prayer, do we.

But how often do we pray for the next generation being raised up, not just our children and grandchildren, to live productive lives, to experience Christ early and remain strong in Him?

How often do we pray for God to open our eyes?  To show us what we're doing wrong?  (Which, by the way, is painfully humbling.)

How often do we pray for the troubled teens in our own backyards, who have been abandoned and neglected, therefore resorting to the life of common criminals?

How often are we actually putting our hands and feet into motion, to help those who so desperately need the Gospel? 

We've been deceived into thinking that we can judge who is worthy of receiving the Gospel.

We've been deceived into thinking that living and sharing the Gospel is reserved for missionaries and preachers.

We've been deceived into ignoring the lessons on living in true community, according to Paul's letters in the New Testament.

We've established our own set of rules, and so easily condemn those who don't fit in.

We've distanced ourselves, in our opulence, "blessed-ness", and self righteousness, from the ones Jesus lived among, the ones who needed Him the most: the criminals, the outcast, the sick...
Jesus said, "I did not come for the righteous, but sinners." 
Um, y'all?  In case we forgot, that's every single one of us.

We have to step outside our comfort zones to really open our eyes to who Jesus spoke of when He said, "I assure you that when you have done it for one the least of these, you have done it for me."

The "least of these" aren't just the hungry, or the thirsty, or the naked, or the sick.  It's not only orphans and widows (fine job we're doing there...yes, that's sarcasm.)

The "least of these is anyone we've labeled an outcast.
-  Teenagers, who have no ambition, because it's never been modeled for them.
-  The elderly, locked in nursing homes, because they've either been abandoned, or require too much care for family members to take on.
-  New parents who have to work two jobs to cover the cost of expenses, the cost of daycare, the cost of groceries.
-  The couple who lost a child, no matter how old.
-  The newly retired people who just realized they have to continue to work.
-  The family that divorce looms on their horizon.

Church, this is all of us.  No matter what secret we try to hide, we are all the least of these.

SOOOO, as God is opening our eyes to the deception we've fallen into, this brings about the potential I see.

What would it look like, if the American church was to realize the deception on a grand scale, and turn back to the God who is so much bigger than all of us could collectively fathom, and "love greatly"?

"This is why I tell you that her many sins have been forgiven, so she has shown great love.  the one who is forgiven little loves little."

Can you imagine!!
     Instead of ostracizing the "questionable" members of our society, we embraced them, loved them, gave them a sense of worth, let them know how much they are valued by God, and as a byproduct, we are witnesses to the amazing transformative love of God in someone's life.

That's what happened to the people who encountered Jesus.  They weren't just healed.  They had a collision with our holy God, an experience that radically changed their life.  They were physically healed and delivered on the outside, and their hearts and minds were transformed.

Not just "changed", because people can't change.  (How often do we use that as an excuse to continue on in our sin, our deceptions, our habits, and excuses...)

God transforms.

This is plainly evident in a life that has come into contact with the Creator.  All of a sudden, the "light" shines.  And everyone around them notices it, too.  The peace they carry is displayed, and day by day, more and more of the transformation is revealed.  Christ shines through.


Church.  I say this with all the love I can humanly hold in this heart of mine:  We're deceiving ourselves if we don't study who exactly Christ IS.

We have to realize that we've created a counterfeit, a humanized deity, and called it God.  No wonder so many younger people are not even remotely attracted to the idea of going to church!

Not only have we "missed the mark" (picture an archer shooting an arrow at a target) of what God wants for us, we've moved the target, and called it our religion, our church, and our traditions; sacred cows that cannot be toyed with, and can not be altered.

God is shifting the world as we know it.
He's shifting the way we do "church".  Part of that is revealing His Truth, opening our eyes to it, clearing the smoke from our understanding of it, and calling people into a new understanding of "following Christ".  Not just in words, but in action as well.

What does this look like?  It starts with an examination of the religious culture when Jesus first came.  The "same old thing we've always done" was exactly what Jesus was up against when He began His ministry here on earth.

How did He do it?
He started with twelve.

How NOT to Take Your Youth Group to an Event.

Planning:
Start making lists.
Who's going?   Ask every single teenager you know.  Beg if you have to.
      (You won't get a final number until the last minute, but totally sweat it.  Put it on your "to-do" list every day for two months.  Send hundreds of texts, Facebook tags, Facebook messages, emails, phone calls, etc.)

Point of Contact / Event Coordinator:
     Wait to contact them until only a couple weeks away from the event.  It's okay, they don't have enough to do, and now they have to scramble to get extra tickets for your group, which, by the way, you don't even know the size of yet.

Transportation:
     We'll ride in the church bus.


Day before the event:
     Meals planned.  Simple, inexpensive, yet filling.  And don't forget something healthy. 
     Go grocery shopping; forget to buy drinks. 
     Make lists.

Transportation:
     We'll take a church van that fits 15 people.




The Day of the Event:
What to pack: 
     Deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, hat. 
     Clean socks, clean shirt.
     Make sure jeans are clean when you put them on, and don't think to bring extras.
          (You won't need them.  The black streaks on the thighs?  We'll start a trend! 
            Quick!  Everyone put air in your tires between picking people up!)
     A super healthy giant attitude...don't worry, it packs discreetly in the driver's back pocket.
     *(Make sure to leave humility at home)

 - Cooler packed
 - List after list written and marked off
 - Gas in car
 - Make sure household will not fall apart in your 30-hour absence
       (because who ELSE would take care of it!?)
 - Spend every waking moment on the phone, mindlessly (and prayerlessly) wandering around the house to make sure you're not forgetting anything... for a 30-hour trip.
- Mutter a 3-second "best-of-luck" prayer as you walk out the door.

Pick Up Time!!
- Run late.
- Forget something (most likely attached to kitchen sink)
- Go back to retrieve forgotten item.
- Run even later.
- Gather with group, even though you've missed the main group by at least two hours.

Transportation:
     Now that you (finally) know how many people are going, to save gas, the decision is made to take personal vehicles.
     Cram 7 adults in minivan.  And cooler.  And food.  And bags.  And blankets and pillows.
     Adult driver, baby in car seat, and two teenagers in car.  And everything else that wouldn't fit in van.

30 Minutes into the trip...
     "Where are we going?"
     "I don't know.  We'll find out on the way.  Someone has to have a cell signal strong enough to get online for an address..."

Dinner:
    In case of emergency, break glass to expose brutal militaristic hustle and pace; scheduled efficiency... no one else got that memo?

Pray the entire way to the event for God to keep all the tires in our caravan fully inflated, intact, and protected.  (Make it good.  These are your only prayers during the entire event.)

Arrive late, but excited. 
Leave early that same night, to ensure safe passage to previously arranged sleeping destination.
Shuttle adults, teens and pre-teens back and forth from event when vehicle troubles strike.

Get locked in... I mean, settled in.  Calm the fears of pre-teen girls who overheard a discussion about "ghosts in the building".  This may or may not include raising your voice.  If you choose to do so, don't worry, you won't come across as an unapproachable, bossy, b*tch; at least not in your own mind.

Next morning:
Reveille to rouse the troops from the eluded slumber.  (Drill sergeant mode works best here.)

Push everyone with unrealistic timelines. 
     (If you tell them the doors open at 6am, you might be there by 7:30am.  But make sure you're prepared to endure the weather for 30 minutes when you realize you were wrong - a verbal "oops" should help you save face.)

COFFFEEEEEEEEEEEE....

Make sure you park as close to the building as possible.  It will come in handy to have access to a cooler full of drinks, especially when the venue sells a 16-ounce water for $4.00.


Special Notes:
No matter how hard, no matter how much slippage you're fighting in order to have some semblance of control, it's going to go.

     You cannot control when and who takes smoke breaks.
 
     You cannot, contrary to military training, coordinate potty breaks.

     Don't get mad, scoff, or roll your eyes when the younger kids sleep through the speaking parts of the event. 

     Make a big deal of someones "theology being wrong".  It's one of the best ways to win friends and influence people.

     You CAN feed 24 people out of the back of a minivan...it will start as mild chaos, but everyone will eat.

     That being said, if you pack mayonnaise for sandwiches, DON'T FORGET A KNIFE, so you can get it out of the jar.

     Seagulls do not like, and therefore will not eat spilled and splattered mayonnaise in the parking lot.

     Enjoy the event, seriously.  It's what you came to see!

     Be sure to put yourself out there as pushy, self-righteous, bossy, and in control.
          ...that's how Jesus did it, right?
                    Right???

Blue

My heart is singing this morning; the sun is shining, the air is finally starting to warm.  This weekend, according to the weatherman, will finally produce some evidence of spring's arrival here in NC.
Which is GREAT.  Really, it is.
But the reason that makes me so happy is Blue.

Blue is one of the puppies that someone dumped on the side of the road earlier this week.  There was two when they showed up, and thank you God, the other one has found a home already.  They were cold, scared, starving - for both food and attention.

Blue is the "runt" of the two.  She was a bag of bones when she arrived, her coat was sparse, scraggly, very stinky, and so dirty she was almost greasy.  She could barely walk.  You could see every bone in her body, and she ATE like she'd never seen, smelled or tasted dogfood before...absolutely ravenous.

Honestly, we didn't know if she'd live.

My nurturing and compassionate instinct kicked in, and within minutes the pups were bundled up, sheltered, watered and fed.  The only thing -well, two things- that kept me from scooping them up and cuddling them for hours were their unholy stink and my husband's good sense.

The next few days were a wreck for me.  Nurturing, care-giving, cleaning, loving.  All for two puppies I knew I couldn't keep.  It broke my heart to bathe them, knowing someone else would be cuddling them.  But I also knew that if I didn't bathe them, they most likely wouldn't find a home.

I knew we couldn't afford another dog financially, and I definitely didn't have the time for puppies.  And I don't, really.  Every time I think of taking in a puppy, I have flashbacks of our last dog when she was a pup...
     Being outside CONSTANTLY, trying to housetrain.
     Razor-sharp puppy teeth.
     Losing sleep...waking whenever the dog moved, to make sure she didn't make a mess in the
          house.
     Puppy breath...ugh!  How some people can love puppy breath is beyond me.  It's a smelly
          combination of garbage and turds.
     Chewing. On. Everything:  fingers, hair, furniture, toes, clothes, paper, books, mail, Bibles.
          Why is it that human hands make the best teething devices for puppies??  Especially
           that meaty area between the thumb and wrist...

I can make myself almost neurotic bringing up memories of all the bad stuff, or the less-than-pleasant parts of bringing home a puppy.

But as Blue sits here in front of me, alternating between biting my notebook and falling over her own feet, I'm realizing I've forgotten all the cute and rediculously funny moments that puppies bring:
     tails wagging so hard they can't stand up
     goofy feet
     discovering the world around them
     awakening to the purpose of those funny shaped holes on the front edge of their faces
     their momentary fearlessness
     yawning so hard they fall over
     gaining strength, gaining coordination, but not at the same time
     puppy play
     unbridled trust
     puppy barks
     jumping like frogs
     sudden crashes, wherever they fall, into naps

I NEEDED to be reminded of this stuff.  That having a puppy isn't all bad; sure, it's work, but anything worth doing or having always is.

I originally intended this to be a letter to whoever adopted Blue.  And it might still be, so I'll tell you how far she's come.

Five days ago, I could see every bone, she could barely walk.
     Today she's running, jumping, playing, wrestling.  She's getting some meat on them tiny
          bones.

Five days ago, she limped away from me when we first saw her, but not from the blanket and shelter we built for her.  Or the food.
     Today she runs to me when I call her name.  Today she follows me around...like a ...puppy.  She's become my shadow; when I stop walking, she sits and looks up at me.

Five days ago, she barely had any fur.  She looked like the equivalent of being threadbare.  She was covered in dry skin and scabs.
     Today she's getting a beautiful coat, which is filling in quite nicely.  Fluffy with new growth.  The scabs and dry spots on her body are almost completely gone.  She's been dewormed, bathed, toenails clipped, dried with a towel and a hairdryer.  She's cool as a cucumber, totally laid back.

She loves to play.  She loves to be where you are.  She loves to curl up in the crook of your arm and go to sleep.  She loves having her belly rubbed, and her chest scratched.

She's about the size of a three-pound bag of sugar, so she fits nicely in your arms.  And if she's really happy, she'll rest her head in that perfect spot right where your neck and shoulder meet.

I started calling her Blue, simply because of the blue spot in her left eye.

Her coloring is black and brown, with similar markings to a rottweiler.  Now that I think about it, she's exactly the same color as our dog Trigger.

As a matter of fact, if Trigger, our big ol' hound dog, and Spencer, our shepherd we lost last year, had a baby, she'd be it!

Blue is goofy like Trigger, big floppy ears that fall into her food when she eats, a broad chest, and clown feet.    But the feathers on the back of her legs, her shepherd stance, and her protective attitude remind me of Spencer.

Today she pulled a classic Spencer move - I almost cried.  When my husband walked up to us, she got so excited and wagged her tail so hard, her rear end swung around toward him.  Spencer did it his whole life whenever he was happy to see us; we called him "Squiggle-butt" for it.

I've almost dreaded having to take care of this pup.  But as God always does, He surprises me in the ordinary, the mundane, and even the tedious, by letting me know He's there.

He's drawing my attention back to the miniscule details of His creation.
The sound of the birds chirping and chattering, almost forcing spring into our lives.
The minor changes in the temperature, and how five degrees makes a difference between playful romping and a cuddly, shivering lump on my lap.

Walking around with her outside forces me to pay attention to the tiny.  Tiny buds on the trees; tiny bursts of color from dormant blueberry bushes; the sounds tiny paws make while walking through the crunchy winter leaves and grass; the tiny purple flowers peeking through the remnants of tufts of onion grass.

New awareness of growth, new life, all around us as the long winter finally, relentlessly, fades away.  The season of death giving way to life, the season of darkness giving way to light.

Laying in the surprise patch of wild pansies, (that I never would have seen had it not been for Blue's arrival), down on the ground to escape the wind but not the sun, the sound of soft buzzing brings my eyes to the honeybees, hovering from flower to flower.  Blue bounces through them, oblivious to their instinct to gather pollen, and oblivious to what's happening inside me.

She must have heard me smile; she stops, rushes to me, and as ruthlessly as she can, attacks the pen in my hand.

It's Easter weekend.  She's not a chick, or a bunny.  But she'd be the cutest addition to an easter basket.

If we can't keep her, I pray her next home is her permanent home.

I pray her new family spoils her with love, is faithful in her training, and has the same desire I do to help God's creatures, big or small.  She will, I'm sure, weasel her way into their hearts as much as she has in mine.

I pray God uses this little redeemed pup, saved from death, afforded a new life for no other reason than love and compassion, to change someone's life, just as she is mine.

Little lessons

A couple of months ago, a friend of ours in church asked me if I wanted to sing with her.

For some crazy reason, I said yes.

Let me give you a little background…

I have not sung in church (apart from hymns with the rest of the congregation), or in front of anyone else, for that matter, in probably 30 years.

With that being said, when my friend sings in church, a little bit of heaven pours into our little country church.   Her songs are sometimes chosen by her, other times she’s led by the Holy Spirit to sing a particular song.  No matter who chooses the song, it moves everyone who’s witness to it.  When she sings, she ushers in the Spirit of God, reviving, renewing, and so often, comforting.

Her fearlessness when she sings.

Her urgency TO sing.

Her flawless voice; her simple guitar.

Altogether, it’s a combination that brings His Presence, as a present for us… a gift.

So, you can imagine my shock when I heard the words of agreement fall out of my mouth when she asked me to sing. 

An inkling of fear instantly struck me.  Not the kind that makes me crawl into a deep dark hole, but the kind that makes me wonder, ‘what the heck did I just agree to…’

Not thinking anything of it, I went on.  Set aside time to practice with her, cancelled those practice times.  Told her I couldn’t sing alone, that I don’t want to sing alone, because I was terrified of just how bad my voice would be.  And thinking about it now, she always looked at me kind of funny.  Now I realize why.  But I’ll get to that.

My friend’s gift is worship.  It oozes out of her person, in everything she does.  We recognize it through her music, mostly.  She is extremely aware of God all around her, so she worships.  It’s what He created her to do, and she does it, beautifully.  God uses her gift of worship to reach people everywhere she goes, be it church, the grocery store, spending time with friends, her children’s school…

Another friend is gifted with worship as well.  She’s our worship leader at church, she leads the choir.  The amazing thing about this friend is her hearing is failing!  She is such an inspiration, because what some people would see as a cruel joke – a love and passion for music and worship – and the one sense we most outwardly utilize for worship – hearing; hers is diminishing. 

But she keeps on.  God does the amazing, and He’s ingrained her with such a passion for Him, and a passion for worshipping Him, that she cannot stop, even now.  I believe God is heightening her other senses.  Music and worship is so ingrained into her being, that she can play the piano, and hear the notes in her heart, sung and played to the One who holds her whole heart.

She taught herself to play music, so she can worship.

Let that sink in…

Hello…that’s intense!!

These women, have played a huge role in the lesson I’ve been learning from all my studies, and time in prayer…they may not know it yet, but they will very soon.

Lately, in my schooling and my own Bible studies, I’m being absolutely bombarded with scriptural references to the Body of Christ.  As the church, I’m learning just what we’re supposed to be doing, how we’re supposed to be treating one another, what the purposes for our gifts are…

Gifts!  That’s where I was going with this!

Out of all the references I’m getting to the Body of Christ, the ones that are hitting home the most lately are the ones about gifts.  Selfishly, I can look back at the last few months and say that I was interested in those mostly because I wondered what my gift was.  And I slowly came to realize, there’s a bigger picture…

I knew the Lord had a lesson for me in there, somewhere…

Ephesians 4:11-12…”He gave some apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, and some pastors and teachers.  His purpose was to equip God’s people for the work of serving and building up the body of Christ…”

Ephesians 4:7…”God has given his grace to each one of us measured out by the gift that is given by Christ.”

Philippians 2:3-4…”Don’t do anything for selfish purposes (ouch), but with humility think of others as better than yourselves (ouch, again).  Instead of each person watching out for their own good, watch out for what is better for others.”

Wow…each of us is given gifts, and we’re supposed to use those gifts to help build up the body!! 

I totally get it now!  How awesome! 

But I had no idea what this looked like.

Until yesterday, when God dropped the weight of it in my lap.  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  My eyes could now see what had been happening; my brain finally put it all together. 

All this time I’d been wondering what my gift was, so I could share it with the body, with the church.  So I could help build up the body.  (“Me, me, me, I, I, I…”  Sorry for the movie quote.  It’s what just came to mind.)

Whenever God teaches me something, it’s very personal, very real, and usually huge, & life-affecting to me.  I can’t just learn something from reading the Word, or hearing someone talk about it.  I can do that all day long, but I’ve learned that the second I try to teach what I’ve heard someone else teach, I become the world’s biggest hypocrite.  The lesson has to be real in my life first, in order for me to share it.

That’s how I knew that somehow, in some way, this “body of Christ” bombardment was going to be big for me.

I was sitting at the computer yesterday, thinking about how both of my worshipping friends have encouraged me to do this singing thing.  I was guilt-ridden over previous judgments I’d held, technically stupid, closed-minded things, then convicted for it, especially when these people were telling me I had nothing to fear, building me…up…so…

Much…

Oh God.

Here I was, in my absolute Arrogance, thinking I had something to bring to this body of believers.  Here I was, thinking I was something.  Thinking I had something they needed.  Thinking I knew something they didn’t.

Woe.

In that few moments, I was humbled, I was convicted.  My eyes were opened wide, and then shut in shame. 

But Love showed me the lesson, and I was excited!! 

Again, the Lord taught me, made it real, made it personal.  He always does it by using a perspective different than my own.  This time, he used my friends to show me, personally, what it looks like for the body of Christ to use their gifts to build up the body.  How it’s depicted in scripture.

With the lesson came such an overwhelming feeling of love.  I cannot explain it…  I felt an unbelievable love for my friends who shared their gift.  For using their gift to inspire me, to build me up, to share the love of the Father with me.  Whether they knew it or not, they were the instruments of a powerful lesson for me, one that will be poured out to the words of “My Hope is in You”, in a week and a half.  Now that I’m grasping the lesson, I’ll be able to pour out my heart to the Lord with my song, with a tremendous sense of gratitude, with no fear, and free from judgment.

The whole lesson is making my look at the church I go to differently.  How many times has God used these people to teach a lesson I was too arrogant to see?  How many times have I judged these people?  Oh God, how long have I not loved these people, not just humanly loved them, but love them as You love them??  I’m still taking in the weight of the lesson… sure, the brick load fell yesterday, but the dust is still settling…

My friend looking at me funny when I’d tell her I couldn’t sing by myself:  she knew I’d sing.  Maybe not in the understanding of what would get me there, but she knew.  I believe that she was under orders from higher headquarters to ask me to sing.  (Her willing spirit is also inspiring!)

It’s not like I’m a wonderful singer.  I’ve watched too many episode of American Idol to know that I do not have a voice that is anything special.  But, it is the voice God gave to me, to praise Him with.  If He loves it, then I guess I can use it to glorify Him. 

To sing is to use your voice.  I’m learning that my voice is within, and that voice better expresses itself with words, once I slow down my thought process enough to hear the words between the thoughts.  This lesson is giving me more confidence to share my words, it’s helping me find my inner voice, and to tune in more to the One who gave me that voice. 

I can’t thank my friends enough, for being willing to be used by God. 

Beautiful instruments, played together for a glorious orchestra.

The Mountain

Standing on a mountaintops, gazing in awe and wonder at the immensity of the view before my eyes.

Up to this point, my view while climbing the mountain has been one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, only seeing what's closest to me.  Birds, trees, tiny plants on the path; the tiny microcosm of my existence at the moment.

The higher I climb, I can catch glimpses of a larger view.  A clearing brings an opening into a slightly bigger picture than where I am.

Briefly, the perspective changes.  Step after step, I can see not where I am, but what's beyond.  My focus is no longer on my steps in front of me, the rocks in my path, the sweat dripping down my spine.
The source of my breathlessness changes...it's no longer from the physical exertion; it's from the realization that something much much bigger is at work here.
     There's so much more than what I see!  There's so much more TO experience out there!!

The reminder is temporary as the path takes me back into the cover of my own travels.

My mind tries to process, to comprehend.

As I focus my thoughts on the "big-ness" of what I've just seen, it keeps my mind busy, distracted from the minutia of my own path, my walk, my hike.

Before I realize it, I've traveled farther than expected.  Because my focus wasn't on me, or what was happening around me, the journey to the mountaintop ended up being much quicker, less painful.

And once I get there, I can now see the even bigger picture.  The one where you can't get any higher.

I can look down and see how my hike got me here.  I can also see how other's hikes have gotten them to this peak, or even to other peaks.

WOAH.

I have to rest here a while.  Take it all in...

I realize sometime later that I have to go back down the mountain, back to my life, the everyday.

The journey back down shows the same views; the same points on the journey that the focus is on just where I'm at, and other points where I can get the broader view.

But this time it's different.  I can now see all these points on the journey through the lens of a goal:  to share this journey, and all I've learned on the journey, with others.

     People who don't think this kind of journey could be for them.
     People who don't think they can do it.
     People who are on their own journey, maybe stuck in the thickets with blinders on to the
              grander views.
     People on their journey who may not want to leave the place of the grander views, but
              haven't seen what it's like from the top.

I have to share this journey, every bit of it.

From the start:  a decision, then one foot in front of the other.

The tough spots, where rocks and obstacles try their best to hold me back.

The alone places, in the middle of the forest, with no end in sight.

The joyous places.  When the unexpected happens.  Birds singing at odd times.  Or the whinny of wild horses.

To the moments that take your breath away.  When the trees break open, if only for a moment, to show that this isn't the only mountain in the range.

And the view from the top?  Well, that's indescribable.
    How you feel so big and so small, all at the same time.
    How you perspective is forever changed there.

And from then on, the hike always beckons.