When it is "the end of the world as we know it"

Thoughts on 12/21/12...the much hyped, supposedly Mayan-predicted end of the world. 
Know that I am a flawed, ever-seeking follower of Jesus Christ. So grateful for His grace. It was Jesus who said, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” It is on the premise and promises of faith in Him and His word that I share.


"It's not the end of the world!" 

Has anyone ever said this to you? My mom used to say it all the time, very likely in response to some outpouring of girlhood drama, real or imagined. And I'm positive that it's thoughtlessly slipped from my lips dozens of times.

It's interesting how we often minimize the feelings of others, especially our children. Granted they are prone to huge emotional swings and patience can run thin...but do you remember times or events in your life that did feel like the whole world would end for the sheer doom that was pressing on your heart or giving you that horrid endless stomach-free-fall? Panic rising or dread falling? 

For every decade of my life I remember several, and I am certain that I've lived through scores more that lay forgotten in the kicked-up-road-dust of "life moves on whether we like it or not." 

Truthfully, it was easier to move on with life when those feelings of doom, hopelessness, and pain were acknowledged instead of minimized or dismissed...by me or, most often, by those who had authority in my life. Those whose responses shaped mine and whose perspectives either clarified or muddied my emotional reactions to the roller coaster learning curve that is life on earth. 

Why are we so uncomfortable with others' pain, grief, disappointment, depression? Or is it that we're only willing to be aware enough to say, "That's horrible!" as we comfort ourselves in the thought of, "Glad that's not my problem." And just because our children's complaints, fears, and desires seem childish to us, does this give excuse for not walking them through these things and helping them make sense of the world and their own emotions? 

Has ignoring something ever made it disappear from your heart? 

Does saying or thinking "it doesn't matter" really make it not matter? Do you ever stop and look at the things you've hauled around that were long ago filed as It Doesn't Matter...No Time to Deal With This...or one of the most effective "shut 'er down and make her feel small" categories...That's Stupid...which translates to "you're stupid and how you feel about this hard thing is stupid too." 

In these times where prayer requests come unceasingly from loved ones who need healing...in mind, body and soul...in marriages and families, from those who needs jobs and material provision, from those who are grieving and broken...will we stop and listen? Will we pray?

In a time of history where we as a nation have had tragedies pounding us like unrelenting body blows, will we learn how to handle loss or grieve well? Will we learn to allow time and space and grace for others to travel their road of despair? Will we let it change us and our relationships? Slow us down and cause us to reflect on how we, as individuals, can either throw down roadblocks and snares or make smooth the path of healing with our choice of words, attitudes, actions.

A week ago today our nation, but more specifically a community and a huge ripple of real families and children, had an "end of the world" day, a day that marked an indisputable end to hopes that represented a world to those who woke to an ordinary morning of work and school and holiday preparations. A world to all whose world had known the comforting presence of these precious women and children...and a semblance of peace and safety. 

This event was horrendous in it's magnitude of loss. There is no denying or diminishing that truth. And each day in each of our worlds the cries of death, pain, sickness, divorce, betrayal, fear, sorrow, and despair reverberate just as truthfully. Some seem small and trite, others are undeniably heart-wrenching, but pain is pain. How we deal with the small muddles gives us tools for the catastrophe. How we choose to show grace to those weaker, younger...our own children?...can make a world of difference in their ability to ride out the next inevitable storm. 

For those in Newtown, Connecticut and their loved ones, today is the one week anniversary of the end of their world. For others of us, our cataclysm...our unexpected crash, or slow ebbing away, our end of the world may have been weeks ago, months ago, perhaps years ago. No matter which, the end of anything that is "life as we know it" is a time for grief, real and raw...most often followed by cold, unpredictable sneaker waves that suck our breath and threaten to drag us under. 

Most of us have heard Jesus' parable of the house built on sand. (Matthew 7:24-27) The longer I live the more I realize the truth of His word picture. This world is all shifting sand. It is a place where evil, sin, and death all have sway. My hopes, my world, cannot be sustained upon it's promises. The only way I have weathered storm after storm, and pounding after pounding is by learning to set my feet upon a Rock that is not of this world, and the rock of His word. This is my firm foundation.

Hebrews 12:3 reminds me to, "Consider [Jesus] who endured such opposition from sinful men so that you so not grow weary and lose heart." These words show me ahead of time where to redirect my gaze in the times of trouble that will come. He has been my only place of hope in those "end of the world" moments and seasons.

But the intent of my challenge to you today is to look at your own responses to those around you who are suffering. Perhaps this will mean looking deep into why you respond as you do. Do you run from pain...yours and others...and why? 

Do you diminish the expressions of pain, confusion, or fear of those in your path, including your children of any age, or can you do battle with them by listening, listening, listening...and then, after you have really listened, speaking truth that is truth, not just the knee-jerk reaction of your own hidden pain or fears? Or your need to get back to your to do list?

When we are open to being healed we have the potential to be a healing balm in the lives of others. But know that there is pain in healing, just ask the burn victim or the physical therapy patient. Why do we expect anything different of emotional and spiritual healing? Do not run from this pain, embrace it. 

Pain will mold and shape your life anyway...

but you have a choice in whether you'll end up misshapen and bitter, 

or scarred, but whole. 

I have found this healing in Jesus, in His character and in His promises. He may correct, discipline, even painfully prune, but He never diminishes or dismisses me. He is a wise and tender physician who has walked the road of pain with me...so often carrying me when my legs and my mind buckled under life's strain, when my world was ending.  

Therefore, it is His tenderness that I long to share with others who are hurting. In view of His mercy, it is His grace I long to give. His long-suffering, His ability to suffer long...to be patient...that I need in order to really stop, share their pain, and with a heart ready to listen, come alongside. Whether the grieving parent or the wounded child, the sister who sees no hope, or the teen drowning in fear or depression, I want to be willing to walk this road of pain with others.

Am I ready for "the end of the world" in someone's life? Are you? 

How will you answer your young children in the face of the little calamities sent to shape them? 

How will you walk with another's grief? 

When we shut ourselves off from others with the habit of dismissing their pain, 

we not only miss out on the potential of helping them grow and heal, 

but, far worse, we become a part of the pounding 

that maims their hearts.

My favorite of God's promises is, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Would that we lived even a pale reflection of that promise in each other's lives. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 

the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, 

who comforts us in all our troubles, 

so that we can comfort those in any trouble 

with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 

~2 Corinthians 1:3,4

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. 

~Psalm 147:3

Scattered

Late autumn leaves lay scattered, curled and brown on weather faded lawn. Morning showers have given way to chill breeze and clouded sunshine.

The responsible firstborn in me says, "You really should go rake up those leaves." The would-be poet sits...and studies...and looks for metaphors.

In the light of the writer's eye, all of life's snapshots are suspect. There are always lines to be read between. Images to suggest deeper images. And so I catch myself staring and doing the daily volley of right brain, left brain, deep lob by right brain, left brain standing with forced civility saying, "And that was helpful because....?"

Today the sitting wins and the leaves speak of life's fragility.

Seasons come and go and the leaves' claim to bold branch living is tenuous, at best. At least their demise is predictable. First the cold snap. Color flushes in...last gasp on grasp of life? Every shade of red-orange-gold imaginable in a stationary parade of brilliance. And we marvel, and sigh, and consume the sights and smells like desperate men before a last meal.

It is Fall and fall they will. We who live the seasons know this well. Yet there is time to prepare for winter's coming. We put the beds to bed. Coil hoses. Rake leaves. Don storm windows...and rake more leaves. Firewood is stacked. Snow shovels stand ready.

But for many...too many lately...the cold and the dark, illness, death, calamity of one size and another have snuck up with unwelcome surprise.

So as light wanes I gaze once again upon my leaf strewn yard and see a reminder of waning strength, of life, so brief. Of griefs endured and night-long bedside vigils. Of fractured families and broken hearts. Of wars and strife and loved ones far from home.

The leaves are scattered like so many lives and so many pleadings for prayer, and hope, and help. So many needing comfort, healing, protection, provision, forgiveness.


And I speak to God...



Why do I still so easily whine? How is it that my heart must be constantly led back to Thanksgiving? Truly my light and momentary troubles are nothing. And truly I am always held by my loving Father. Every valley of the shadow of death, or despair, or depression has been traversed with You, my wise and tender Shepherd. Every one. 

How many times have You carried me?

Jesus, You are refuge and strength. Thank you for making a way for me. Will you make a way for those I love? You see all that's scattered. I know You can make it whole. In Your time. In Your ways that are above my ways. You are the God of the holding and the healing. You see the faces and families that run through my mind in this moment. 

How I thank you for these lives that touch mine...rejoicing and weeping. 

There is no love where there is not risk. And You continue to show me that it is a privilege to ache for others, to bear with unloveliness, to stay in the journey, to lay my life down. 

Thank you for Your life, broken for mine... How I long for that day when all that is scattered will be made whole.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 

“Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. 

They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 

He will wipe every tear from their eyes.

 There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain..." 

Revelation 21:3,4

Why We Battle

My sweet granddaughter. Silly, spirited, feisty...and dearly loved. Her father, an officer in the United States Air Force. But to her, he is "Daddy."

Such a precious image as we honor the sacrifice of our military, past and present, this Veteran's Day.

But this picture also reminds me that so often, for all of us, life is a battle. Battles without and battles within. Conflicts encroaching on our safety, our health, our joy, our sanity. On foreign fields and in our own homes. Some of us in uniform and some not.

Little ones like her are why we persevere...why we get up everyday, give thanks, and continue to struggle, sacrifice, and press on...no matter what. Each generation laying it's life down for the next.

We are men and women of the battle, but we need not battle alone...

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." ~Isaiah 41:10 

And a few more thoughts on this day...

I'm very conscious this Veteran's Day of the fact that as I sit in my safe, quiet living room with my husband rummaging closely by in the kitchen, many are far from their loved ones with safety being a moment by moment blessing. Many families are soldiering on without Dad, or without Mom. And so many in this country have and are giving their best...their youth, precious time with families, their health, mental wellbeing, and their very lives to engage in defending our freedoms and to come to the aid of others around the world. 

For those in the military who have and are sacrificing much of your freedoms for ours here and abroad, I say thank you. For those wives and mothers, husbands and fathers, and for all the children who by enduring separation bear a huge part in this sacrifice, I am humbled and grateful. May the Lord hold you close, be your protector and provider. And may none of us allow ourselves to be so comfortable and self-consumed as to forget those lives and freedoms laid down on our behalf. 

May we honestly consider how we might encourage and come alongside these families and veterans in our own communities, today and everyday.  

If we live shoulder to shoulder, no one battles alone.

If only...

If only I were a daily journaler I might capture thoughts before they crawled into some dusty corner of my brain. I tend toward the reflective in all things, but those reflections don't just bounce to the page on their own.

It's likely the same reason that I'm not a photo taker. I find myself busy living life - truly being caught up in the moment - and so very content to just be that I don't always record things in picture or print. I live them, feel them, think, and process. And, inevitably, I will joyfully sit with others, soak in conversation and watch children's antics...instead of snapping pictures.

I have never been and never will be "say cheese" mom or the scrapbook mom. God bless all of you who are, but I just wasn't cut from that pack of paper. 

Writing is a different type of chronicling. It's own embellishment and interpretation of a snapshot...a thought, experience, or journey. It takes uninterrupted time...which usually means begging and borrowing from what should be spent on other, often needful, endeavors. Sigh...

Thus the dream persists of a cozy attic studio where I hole up with my laptop while my delightfully good-natured live-in housekeeper wrestles everything of house and shopping and cooking into perfect order...and, most importantly, keeps the coffee hot....

(phone rings)

And now, even as I'm formulating thoughts and editing what I've written so far, I receive a phone call from my granddaughter who wants to tell me that she folded up her big rug during nap time, that daddy is flying on an airplane today, that sandwiches are yummy, and would I "please" talk to her on the computer?

(insert: happily resigned shake of the head and an inward chuckle...)

And so she appears, via Skype, snuggling with bear bear, bobbing her cute pigtails, and after a hearty, "Hiii Gramma!" tells me that mommy is making her a sandwich and that she'll be taking a nap later. When I tell her that I like her pigtails, she says, "Tan too." (thank you) And after a long sip on her water she declares, "Deeewishus!" And we talk about how her plate is green and her bib is yellow and her socks are gray...Then Mr. Crying in the Background appears, tears gone, and smiling at his sister. Despite his mom's persistence, he is definitely more interested in sucking his thumb and watching sister than eating his mushy rice cereal...

And on it goes for quite a while longer...until we finally say goodbye...because I really do need to shower now and get to my dad's to cut his hair....

Now I think I know why writing remains only a wish some days. (smile)

But, again, I am living and being. Being with my "kids" who now live many miles away. This happens a lot actually...these texts or calls, "Wanna skype?"

Do I usually stop what I'm doing to snatch a few minutes with these precious little ones, or with my daughters who still like to hang out with mom? Yes, you bet I do! Do I take those phone calls and texts from them...and from my son and his wife...and treasure the chance to share life? As often as I can!

Truth is, I'd always rather be than do
...especially when I can be with them.

And so all my thoughts today about how "life is a kaleidoscope lately...and how it's hard to focus on any one color, shape, thought, feeling...impression"...blah, blah, blah... and how "my brain feels tired"...yada, yada, yada...will wait for another day.

I never want to come to the end of my life with the people in my life as part of the "if onlys." 
And now I'm running late to get to my dad's house. Gotta go!

Life is a story too, even if it remains unwritten,

and I want to live every page. 

An Autumn Tale: Warm & True

Once upon a time when chill came to harken the change of seasons, Husband bought an electric throw blanket. All fleecy and green, it held great potential. But Wifey with the chilly hands and popsicle toes kept forgetting to use it.

Then one night she crawled into bed and her little toes met sweet warmth under blanket and flannel. Husband had covered the foot of the bed with lovely blanket set on high well ahead of nighty night time. And every evening after that, as long as chill persisted...and because her memory was not what it used to be...she was surprised and delighted anew by the warmth and would shout aloud or to herself, "Oh what a precious husband!"

Last night it happened again for the first time this season. 

Wifey is so grateful that Husband thinks ahead to slay the cold and give her tender covering. A good man is a blessing indeed. 

And they lived cosily ever after.

The End

Giving Your Life Away

While reading Ann Voskamp's blog the other day a passage jumped out at me,    

"And I read truth at the table: “…. and whoever sows generously will also reap generously.” All I can think of is...did I break myself generously and did I sow generously and all that you have in the end is what you give away."

This hits to the core of my life's passion, bearing the seeds of a personal mission statement, if I were to ever write one. And so I reflect...

Have you ever clearly known God's call on your life?  

At age 16 I knew without a doubt that my calling was to be a wife and mother. (I wish I always heard from God that specifically, but for all the challenges that followed, I'm very glad that I had no doubt about this one.) So at sixteen, my greatest ambition was born. During my junior year of high school my best friend talked me into entering our local Jr. Miss pageant. All the other girls went up on stage introducing themselves and declaring their goals for the future: teacher, nurse, business woman, surgeon, etc. And then it was my turn. Walking up in all my teenage-longing-to-be-an-adult passion, I said simply, "Hi. I'm Bernadette Rivard and I want to be a happy wife and mother." 

I truly did...word for word. It probably sounded corny then too. Especially in that power suit era where being at home full time, "just a wife and mother," was looked on as settling, demeaning, wasting your life. "After all," many people said to me...and the world said to all of us in general, "you're smart. You can make something of yourself." And, "Half of all marriages end in divorce. Shouldn't you have a backup plan?" I am a child of divorce, so I was not naive to that reality. And, yes, I was an honor student with an aptitude for most areas of study...but it wasn't what I was called to do. I'm not against college educations or meaningful careers, though I probably have a different take on life and careers than many people. I am a life long learner...reading, studying, writing. Always a student of something. I remain just an English major wannabe and I'm totally ok with that.

I did not believe that God's call required a backup plan, nor did my sense of worth require a piece of paper declaring some achievement. Over the years my husband often encouraged going back to school if I wanted, but the Lord's direction has always been, "Press on with what I've called you to." And I learned over time that I already had the only fall back plan I needed. Jesus. My Rock. All I ever needed to do was to run to Him...learn to take a stand...right there with Him...to be still and to abide. 

Full time wife, full time mom. Was it hard? Did I ever want to quit? Did I ever shout, "I'm so done!!" Yes, yes...and of course! There was plenty of 20, 30, and 40-something angst, especially since I didn't allow the backup plan of divorce into my vocabulary. (As a kid of divorce I kind of dug in my heels on that one.) That stubbornness carried consequences of it's own, but I'd been counting on a big God, remember? He has never let me down. So marriage and motherhood it's been...for three decades. 

Has God ever shown you that there's more to the story?

Isn't there always more to the story? More than meets the eye? Silvered-lined clouds and all that? That's always what my literary mind is looking for: What's between the lines? Where's this story headed? What happens to our quirky middle-aging heroine when she's no longer a round-the-clock mom?

I like this part. 

So all of those years of pouring into the hearts of my little, and then not-so-little, ones? It gave me resilience, endurance, and taught me more than I ever taught them. And the seasons of battling against my husband, then battling for my husband, now battling together...got me on my knees and desperate for truth...life changing truth...more than anything in my life ever has. It revealed who I was, thus, who I didn't want to be anymore. And it magnified who God is, big time! God's promises became my lifelines and a faith professed became a faith hardened and made sure by the battle. I became fully persuaded that He has the power to keep His promises (Romans 4:21) by actually walking and trusting and finding out for myself that my God is truly wise, loving, and holy. He is utterly faithful; full of mercy, grace, and compassion. Grace changes everything and it changed me. 

Back to motherhood for a moment: In the purest sense my original call to be a full-time mother was not so I could nuzzle sweet babies or chase children around while living a perfect Betty Crocker...or perhaps in my case, June Cleaver...life. I do not love everything about homemaking and I still wish that I had a passion for cooking delicious food and turning trash into treasure. Raising children is no picnic either. The hours are lousy, there are no mandatory breaks, and by the time you get around to sitting down to that hot meal...well, it ain't so hot. These are not complaints, just truths, because being a full-time mom was the best job ever! 

The vision and passion God gave of motherhood was one of continually giving life by giving mine away. Spending my time sharing knowledge, laughter, creativity, a listening ear, firmness, direction, truth and correction with the little lives He blessed to my care. Pouring out. Investing. Shaping. Preparing the next generation for a life of love, integrity, faith, and servanthood. God told me that He had a purpose for my children's lives, and so I have been nurturer and nurse, teacher and taxi, disciplinarian, counselor...and desperate seeker of His wisdom for all of it. 

And in the most practical sense, this also is what it looks like to be a discipler. One who invests in the lives of others. Jesus said in Matthew 28:19 - "...go and make disciples..." It is our call as His followers.

If I had merely given birth to my children then just left them to their own devices...well, in truth they would have died. They needed food and constant care initially, then they needed to be taught how to eat for themselves...and what to eat. Many things taste good, but are not good for you. The hot stove is tempting, but it burns. Selfishness must learn to share. And with the lessons as well as the rebellions, someone needs to be there to reassure and redirect, to forgive and help restore. 

A new believer in Christ is no different. We can't just say here's Jesus. Believe in Him. Be forgiven. Now go and have a nice life. Children of God are also raised up...by those who are older in the faith. And just as raising children is time consuming and challenging, so is walking alongside a fellow believer...guiding, loving, encouraging. Being that fountain of living water that refreshes and gives life.

Giving your life away goes against common sense, but do you really want a common life? 

Jesus says in Matthew 10:39, "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." I really like the New Living Translation's rendition..."If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it."

And, oh, the rewards! It's a life of listening to the Spirit as you listen to others. Asking questions, planting seeds. Trusting, not meddling. Learning when to step back, be patient, and let the Spirit work what you cannot. And through weeks, months, years...seeing growth in other's lives: baby steps, walking, running...falling, yes...but getting back up again and pressing on...vision expanded, heart enlarged, faith settling, and then watching as they become the ones coming alongside others. My heart is recharged every time I see it, and my passion grows to raise up more "kids."

This is the rest of the story. The story within the story. While following God's call to raise up my children and to work alongside my husband, He was raising me up to be more than a mom, more than a wife. That time purposed for them became my training ground. He was giving me a life and a career with eternal value. Teaching me to give myself away and in return making me a very rich woman. I've not added much to our bank account over the years, but I wouldn't trade the life I've had for a dozen 401k's. 

"All you have in the end is what you give away." In truth, I think you receive much, much more. What He's given is an abundant life...to the full and over-flowing...so that it has to be poured out. 

Do you ever feel this way? Compelled to give away what you've been given? Like you would burst if you didn't?

Why do I write?

I've been writing a lot lately, so I've also been reading much - including blogs. Author Beth K. Vogt recently posed a question on her blog In Other's Words that stopped whatever brain journey I'd been on and beckoned me to rest and stew a bit:

"Why do you write?"

    Well, I write because... "Um...no, delete that." 

I write to... "No, that's not it either."

So, I let the question simmer overnight. Slow-cooking makes things tender ...including my heart sometimes. 

Awakened much earlier than usual, I was drawn to the old blue sofa and tattered leather-bound Book...John, Job, the Psalms. Words that spoke. Even white steaming mug sat neglected as I searched for fresh bread instead. 

Satisfied, I heard the call of lonely keys and found the hard black bench as comforting as old sofa once the songs began to rise. Melody after melody...lyrics praising and echoing the Word spoken just moments before. 

Peace...

Heart, and aging hands, finally paused. I returned to nubby worn cushions...and yesterday's question:

Why do I write?

I write because I see life as story and feel breeze as poem. Whether tragedy, comedy, wee tale, or grand epic...eyes close and I breathe…and long to paint with words what my heart and spirit sees.

I write because the Lord breathes new life into me everyday and I need to share the air…precious truths, spacious places of rest, grace that heals. My cup runneth over…and finds home on lined canvas.

And until recently I hadn’t dared to dream that I could be a painter.

Many days it seems only folly, for next to His words mine are so tiny, His thoughts so far above my own. But He reassures that when the Spirit fills they can bear truth to challenge, encourage, or give laughter to a heavy heart. 

I know full well that words should not be scattered carelessly...so I labor over my letter-painted pictures. Praying and waiting. Listening and looking...and looking again. 

Where it all leads, only the Lord knows. But as long as He gives fresh bread for breaking and seeds to be sown...I will write. 

* * * * * * * 

We're not all called to write, but if you're following Jesus earnestly, you are being equipped with fresh bread and seeds to be sown. 

• How are you sharing what you've been given and sowing into the lives around you? 

This morning in Cleaver-ville...

Doorbell rings...little neighbor girl and her friends standing on the porch...

"Well hi, Sophia!"

She fumbles with a piece of paper and finally gets it all unfolded..."We were wondering if you've seen any of these spiders at your house?" Holds up small chart showing photos of the local usual suspects..."We're asking the neighbors if they'd like us to inspect their houses for spiders."

"Well actually Ty sprayed our house for spiders, so I think they're all dead."

"Hmm...Have you ever seen a wolf spider?"

"Yes I have!"

Turns to little journal-holding boy next to her..."Ok, write that down..."

(Insert laughing out loud on the inside, while keeping a straight face on the outside.)

After commending them on their lack of fear for the aforementioned eight-legged varmints and recommending that they not get too close to any of them...I sent them on their way, but the smile they left behind lasted me quite a while.

 

I remember when it was my kids and their band of friends embarking on similar escapades: Sidewalk chalk cities complete with bank, grocery store, and...drive-thru espresso stand. Battalions of army men fighting the good fight. Bike riding in and around the driveways of the "friendly" neighbors. Street hockey. Slip n' sliding, and in the winter, sledding down the backyard slope. 

And Sophia? She is the daughter of one of that "band of friends." 

So on these sunny summer days when I hear the outdoor laughter and see kids huddled at play or rallying on bikes, I muse at the passing of time. We've lived in this house for twenty-one years. Wow...I'm one of the old moms now! And I may be tempted to feel my years...just as I now have to feel around for my reading glasses...but most days it makes me happy to be one of the "friendly" neighbors whose house surely needs a spider inspection. 

On Being June Cleaver

It all started one Friday morning while I was fighting off a case of “Oh my word! I’m going to cry again!” Ugh! Seriously.

Two days before I’d stood outside the Little Rock airport having one of those tight-squeeze-that-lasts-forever hugs with my daughter Jillian. Why can’t all Air Force families whose wives happen to be my daughter just automatically get stationed to Fairchild AFB…for life? Why must adorable grandchildren live so many states away? My thoughts were as bleary as my eyes as I continually remembered those sweet little faces…the smiles…and the morning cuddles that I’d left behind. I can’t even linger there too long now…

Anyway…

After having spent a wonderful Thursday on an all day date with my husband, I was suddenly facing Friday...alone. In the quiet. In my stretchy pants. Only a pot of coffee to keep me company.

So I started tackling my most hated travel chore: unpacking. Stacks of clothes lay strewn about in the spare room and I was determined to get things in order. While sorting through the piles, starting laundry, having another cup of coffee - with some dark chocolate this time - and frittering on Facebook... 

...I hatched a silly plan.

Silly plans and silly days of frittering on Facebook do well at keeping the “I miss them so much, I think I’m just gonna sit here and cry” paralysis at bay. 

I remembered the red and cream skirt from the earlier unpacking, thought of a fun new outfit that would include the sweet black wedges I’d bought, and the new-millennial June Cleaver was born. 

What better way to spend the day than with June Cleaver? Perpetually put together. Perpetually cheerful. Perpetually in pearls. What could be better than done up hair, new shoes, and a sweet red skirt to chase away the blues? Who says that dress up and make believe are only for little girls?

And you know what? The rest of the day was a whirlwind of prancing around on those platforms, happy as a clam to be doing housework. Bantering June-style on Facebook. Coining the new WWJD – "What would June do?" 

...And meeting the laughing, approving eyes of my husband when he returned from work.

After having texted him the photo of the new June that afternoon he said I’d need to help him pick out a tie and sports coat for mowing the lawn on Saturday. Good man, that Ward. 

Ward and June are now not far from our consciousness. We bring them out when we need a little silly. And on Tuesday night Ward took June out for frozen yogurt. #wardandjunearedating

To be continued...

On Life and Laughter: the blog

I’ve spent a lot of time with my kids the last few days. Not bro and the two sistas or the fabulous kids-in-law, they’ve all left town, remember? No, I’ve been spending time with all the journals, poems, and silly pieces that I began writing three years ago. Reliving memories: the good, the bad, and the ridiculous. Thanks to several events and conversations that began to continually poke at my “put it off till it’s perfect” mindset, I began my secret project…the blog.

“But you already have a blog,” you say. Tis true. But that is my silly blog, or on a good day it might ascend to witty, even funny. And so I pray for good days.

When it came to my attention recently that I’d had a blog account open…and empty…for an entire year I did one of those inner “roll your eyes” things, called myself a dork and a chicken, and began to square my shoulders toward the challenge. And one night, in a fit of insomnia, the idea of starting a silly blog came to mind, a place for puns and randomness and that much sought after dash of wit. So before I had too much time to talk myself out of it, I dove in and spent an entire day or two creating “Cross your eyes and dot your teas.” But the goal still cowering in the corner was the “real” blog.

The real blog is the revealing blog, the one where you put yourself out there and risk the slings and arrows of outrageous comments. It’s the place where you lay your life out in the open, venture to share a passionate opinion, or again, on a good day, pour out a little grace and encouragement. You take this blog seriously and in return hope to be taken seriously.

“But when are you ever serious?” you say. Tis also true. I spend a lot of time in silly land. As far back as childhood I learned that laughter is good medicine. Life is full of serious, but for me silly is genetic. I just can’t shake it…no matter how hard I dance. (But that’s another story) As far back as childhood I’ve also been introspective and prone to delving into big thoughts. What a relief to finally be big and more able to go toe to toe with them. Or at least brave enough to try.

Big thoughts, often brought on by big storms or even hiding in the midst of little happenings, are primarily what move me. Since childhood I’ve been pondering a big God, getting out of bed at night several times to ask my mom, “Who made God?” “He was, is, and always will be, child. Now go back to bed.” Then I would lay there trying to get my mind to venture to a place called “always was.” Sometimes it’s seemed a curse, that compelling to think so hard. But I’ve come to know that it is what my big God ordained for me before I was born. Even in me, it always was. 

So my kids are being spun out into the blogosphere. Not as big and wondrous a place as the universe, but still a place of mystery, to me at least. I know that they’ll be safe. Safe enough. God is my refuge and strength, not what others think of me. I say that with much certainty today, but it’s been a hard fought piece of ground. It’s good to be standing here, in Him, as I send my thoughts out into the unknown. And I can no longer escape the compelling to write any more than I’ve been able to escape the need to think, and mull, and pray, and diagram things in my head…most often while I should be sleeping.

“On life and laughter and everything in between. My life. My faith walk. My goodness…life is breathtaking!” It’s a working title and a place to start.

Though my mom insists that I was known to just sit and laugh all by myself as a child, and on my husband's authority I still do sometimes...life and laughter are best enjoyed with friends, so feel free to stop by often.

An Unexpected Blessing

As I walked through the Little Rock airport I wondered if saying goodbye would ever be easy. The prolonged hug outside the car. Trying to smile as I gave Cadence one last wave… Fighting back tears, I found myself grateful for the distraction of all the “take off your shoes…put your laptop in the bin” security procedures. Next up: a tall Pike Place with room for cream, a few posts on Facebook, and a call for Zone 2 to begin boarding. 

I entered the small commuter plane and quickly slipped past the young man in Seat 2B to settle into 2A. As he sat back down he asked where I was headed. “Spokane, Washington.” How about you? “I’m going to Minnesota to meet my girlfriend’s parent for the first time.” “How exciting!”

It’s not often that a young person strikes up a conversation with, well…someone my age, and I was immediately struck by his easy manner and the genuine light in his clear green eyes. As we prepared for take off then headed toward Memphis he continued to share, “I was a meth addict at 16…my dad’s an alcoholic…I’ve had four step-dads.” I soon learned that his addiction led to rehab at Teen Challenge and a life-changing encounter with Jesus. Double freedom. After rehab he’d signed up for DTS (Discipleship Training School) with YWAM (Youth With A Mission). It was there that he met Sarah. Though from a more stable family, she’d also fought demons of her own. He went on to share how God had brought them together…more details than I’ll share here, but it made me smile as it all poured forth from this very grateful, red-haired young man who is still amazed at God’s goodness.

After each sharing bits of our stories with one another, we finally exchanged names. He is Drew and he’ll “be 19 in three weeks.” He works with youth at his local church and loves to go back to Teen Challenge to volunteer and give back to those who gave so much to him. In September he’ll be back working with YWAM, assisting with the new DTS students. He and Sarah know that they have much to learn and much yet to be healed in their lives, but they have good mentors and a great Savior. We parted with a promise to pray for one another.

Landing in Memphis I thanked God for - a safe landing, of course - and for this work of Providence. “Youth with a mission.” In light of eternity, I’m still very young. That thirty-minute conversation was a comforting reminder that though my time in Little Rock was done, the Lord still has so many other appointments for me, so many opportunities to listen, to encourage and to pray for others.

Thank you Jesus and thank you, Drew. Godspeed.

Heartsick

I am sickened and appalled by news of the mass shootings in Colorado. I am angry, and sick, and so grieved. 

When will we see that this world has not become a better place by force of man's reason, discovery, and innovation. Mankind will not make itself better by creating it's own virtue and thinking good and fine-sounding thoughts. When I was a child, children were not killing their parents, nor parents their own children. Men did not burst into schools and coffee shops and crowded theaters and murder innocents. Acts of evil are on the rise. We are not being enlightened into a greater state of virtue.

Just as the Bible prophesied, "Sin will be rampant everywhere, and the love of many will grow cold." (Matt 24:12)..."But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God— having a form of godliness but denying its power." (2 Timothy 3:1-5)

From slanderous, hateful discourse on the airwaves, to the worship of self that tears families and relationships apart, brutality in our communities, unashamed extortions in the white-collar sector, and any number of breaking news stories that continue to slap us daily with their sensationalism until we are almost lulled into a complacency of "well, that's just the way it is," hateful, horrid acts are on the rise. This is our world of mankind despising and refusing to acknowledge it's Creator. "I do not want you, God. Even if you do exist, I want to live my life my way thank you very much." Just as in times of old when another culture had fallen into depravity and "everyone did what was right in his own eyes" (Judges 21:25), it will not go well when there is a sliding scale for right and wrong.

We can debate philosophies and loiter in the ethereal land of grand thoughts and ideas, but it does not change the fact that man is born into sin. One does not have to strain to see that we have "all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God." Which parent has ever had to teach his child to lie? And how many of you have had to give tantrum lessons? "Repeat after me, son...Mine! Mine!" This inherent self-centeredness is just that, inherent. We are born with it. And even as adults we continue to battle...or give in to...this inner drive to preserve self, seek our own gain, to have control, to be lords of our own lives. It's not working. It never has, it never will. There is a presence of evil that desires to rule men's souls. Believing that he does not exist is just as perilous as denying God's existence.

For there is an authority to which we will all bow one day, either here or on the other side of this life. And there is also One who can free us from our slavery to sin and give us peace with our creator. His name is Jesus. A name that has been reviled and mocked from the time he walked upon this earth until now. Sent by God the Father not to just say and do amazing things, but in obedience to his Father, to take the penalty for the sin of all mankind; to die a horrible death on a cross for not only every sick and heinous thought, word or deed that has been done, but even for our seemingly passive rebellion against God and what He has declared to be right and true. He was crucified, died, and was raised to life again, our sin upon His shoulders, so that we could be free from sin and live a new life by His spirit. By His death and resurrection we can know peace with the Father in heaven who created us, now and for eternity. Jesus..."Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved." (Acts 4:12) Only in His power we can battle against our sin and selfishness and let our lives reflect a goodness that is truly good. 

I may not have ever been tempted to walk into a crowded room and open fire, but I have opened my mouth and spewed out hurtful words that surely have wounded and killed the hearts of others. I am a selfish person. I am a wretched woman. And I am so thankful to know God, to have a Savior who saves me eternally, and saves me everyday...especially from myself. A Savior who forgives me and calls me to seek forgiveness for the messes I've made. How I need Him! So please...I beg you...wake up friend! Wake up world! We are not getting better on our own. Turn to Jesus. Be whole, be healed, be forgiven.

I could go on and on, but I already have... My heart is heavy with grief as I am once again forced to look upon the tragic effects of sin. 

Oh God, have mercy on us. Have mercy on our land. We are sick and so very sad today. Many are grieving and aching...free-falling into despair. Be their hope, their life, their comfort. We need you, Jesus. May we cry out to You today in humility and repentance, "Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed; save me and I will be saved, for you are the one I praise." (Jeremiah 17:14) 

Goodbyes...

Today I am pondering goodbyes. I am beginning to see that much of life is about saying goodbye...and learning to do it well.

Goodbye can mean "I’ll see you soon" or “I’ll see you in heaven,” and everything in between. In the past several years this has become more poignant as I’ve been parted from dear friends that I have loved and ministered with. Some have been called to minister elsewhere nearby, some have been sent on grand adventures of faith hundreds of miles away. Others have lived out their days here on earth and have been called to their eternal home. And most recently, I have had to say goodbye…one by one…to my children and their spouses as they have followed their given paths away from home.

My preparation for these goodbyes began many years ago with “seasons” of friendship. Can you look back on your life and notice that there were people that you were closely connected with - perhaps in school, or while your children were small, on a job, or in ministry - but as time and life’s events took your journeys elsewhere, the proximity of that friendship was gone? I’m not talking about having a falling out, but perhaps more of a calling out. At first I would try to hang on so tightly and force a relationship to stay, but I began to see that some relationships were there to nurture a season of life, to truly just propel me on to the next leg of my journey. There are also some that, despite distance, will be life-long and, truth be told, I don’t think we get to pick which ones are which.

Every one of us has a journey. If I love you I will walk the stretch of the road with you that is mine to walk and when the crossroad comes, I will bid you farewell…praying that you do “fare well” wherever you are called. Your life is not mine to hold tightly, but it may have been mine to encourage for a time. And at the end of the day, I just want to be faithful to that for I am so eternally grateful for those who’ve walked those stretches of road with me. It may have been a matter of years or just a few conversations, but each life that’s touched mine has made an impact. Even those that have caused hurt and pain have been used for God’s greater purpose.

Years before my children ever had the glimmer of a calling, be it marriage or other life adventures, I began praying that I would be able to let go of them gracefully and graciously. (Grace being the operative word.) Especially being a mom-at-home, my life and “career" has been so closely identified with their lives. But my goal as a parent was always to propel them toward adulthood. Even when they were younger, to challenge them to look beyond immediate gratification and not just learn practical skills for adulthood, but begin to have a vision of themselves as, in their case, a man and as women. It was so good to choose to celebrate their milestones, to allow for rites of passage that were meaningful and intentional, but in the back of my mind was the knowledge that one day all of this must culminate in “goodbye.”

And how intensely do we love our children? I have often thought of mine as “burned into my heart"...like a brand. My heart is forever changed by having given birth and by having done life with them. The joys of victory and the agonies of defeat…and all the ordinary days in between. I love them in ways that words fail to fully capture and that is fitting, because they were never meant to be captured. True love is huge and holds it’s hands outstretched, it is never tight-fisted. My kids were created by God for their own journeys and if I love them, I will shout, “fly…fly!” even if the next minute I must bury my head in my hands and cry. I must bear the sorrow of goodbye so I can watch them stand, and struggle, and grow, and embrace all that life has for them.

And, so too with my friends. Sometimes I have seen God take a friend out of my life so that I will learn to stand without them, and stand more fully in Him. Or so that I will have eyes to see a new relationship that He’s ordained for me. Even as an extravert I can get pretty content with my little circle of close friends and fail to see someone new who is just waiting for a fresh companion. And most often, He is calling my loved ones to a new adventure and I can either focus on my sadness at having to say goodbye, or love them well through the sadness by continuing to encourage…standing at the curb-side waving with all my might and wishing them a safe and amazing journey.

As I grow older, I have begun to see the beauty and purpose behind the ebb and flow of life...and lives. It’s sole purpose is life, and life to the full. A seed must fall to the ground and die in order to bear much fruit. This is the order of life. And so often this means that my ordering of life must die, and I must learn to say goodbye in a way that joyfully says “fly!” When someone leaves there is always a hole left behind, but isn’t that where new plants are nestled? In fresh holes? The trick is not missing new blooms because we’re still staring down the road at a set of taillights. Do we acknowledge our sorrow? Of course. But we can bear it a little better each time as we come to see that life is not about hanging on to things or people.

So today as I began the day skyping with my daughter and her kids in Arkansas, then did the same with a beloved friend in California, and also learned of a dear couple who have been called on to their next adventure, I have stopped to ponder all this, to let the sadness wash over me with each goodbye, and at the thought of that "farewell" to come...and I know it's all going to be ok. Goodbye is ok, even when we love much and it hurts.

We can love deeply and learn to say goodbye, because sometimes they are the same thing.