Good Friday

When your need for Jesus' sacrifice on your behalf 
is so evident that you can hardly get your stiff neck 
to turn to the cross...that's Good Friday. 
That's today. 

Oh mercy... 

Sometimes grace is unbearable... 
"Be gone! Leave me to my death!" 
But it remains...
The weight of offered forgiveness 
pressing upon cold heart,
Pressing, pressing, again and again, 
seventy times seven...it perseveres...
Repentance.

Reviving...

Gasp of breath, flood of life. 
Again I breath,
again give thanks. 

How can I bear up, 
stand stiff, under Your grace,
oh God...
when the weight of cross and blood atonement, 
in the face of my stain, bends 
and woos most stubborn heart? 
How can I? 
Why would I?

Oh God...your mercy.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

Good Friday...

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. ~Roman's 5:8

Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord ~Acts 3:19


"A thousand times I've failed
Still your mercy remains
Should I stumble again
Still I'm caught in your grace
Everlasting, your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, your glory goes beyond all fame." 

     ~From The Inside Out, Hillsong United

Sorting the Pile

So many days are not tidy.

So many circumstances just won’t be tidied, not any time soon, anyway.

Part of me is ok with unattended piles and those metaphorical dishes left undone, but there is another side that wants order…punctuation, as in, tidy periods that cross things off the list. Essay-like seasons with beginnings, middles and ends. Complete sentences. Unlike that last one, or this one.  They're only fragments made to look tidy by punctuation, not ideal, but real. Isn’t this how I think and how I often speak?

Now I’ve jumped from housework to grammar with no clever transition…

This, too, is life.

The pace is dizzying. No time for grammar or syntax or clever, just a constant pace of ideas, events, and emotions flashing past at paralyzing speed. And because all disciplines tend to intersect, science brings inertia to bear. When I feel that sudden inability to move amidst the rush, a twenty-three car pileup of thought comes crashing from behind.

Today is pileup day.

It happens.

I could have ignored the pile, but somehow saying what is has helped sort it out. I know the pile or the pace does not define me, yet I sometimes trip or get run over. 

A friend of mine spoke truth today…declared what is, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding…” (Proverbs 3:5) and she added much encouragement. This passage in Proverbs, a well-worn road in my heart and mind, continues, “In all your ways acknowledge Him and he will direct your path.” 

Praying what is. This, too, helped me sort the pile.

Truth does that.

Heart-squeeze

Holding Ellena tightly I whispered, “If I hid you in my purse and brought you home, do you think Mommy and Daddy would notice?”

“What?” Daddy had overheard, so I confessed my scheming. As we all laughed I told them they needed to have lots more kids so if one accidentally went missing when we left for home they might not notice right away.

Sigh…I loathe goodbyes.

How do I hold my newborn grandson on the morning of our departure without a huge heart-squeeze of tears?

I’m pretty sure that tear ducts are mysteriously connected to our hearts by some unseen pathway. Biology may say otherwise, but I reside in the world of what is seen and unseen and tears are often what speak in the overflow of my heart. Wet words that cannot be spoken for sometimes words are just not deep or high or wide enough.

So I savored making Little Missy her breakfast this morning, sitting next to her with mine, and had no trouble maneuvering my spoon with one hand as precious bundle of boy lay cradled in the other arm.

No trouble but the tears.

Then, snuggled next to my daughter after watching her do the same with her dad, my heart rested next to hers in a long sigh. So many words spoken in that time of not speaking…surely the well sprang up, though we hid it just a bit longer.

I have often tried not to cry in front of my kids as we hug, pray, give thanks, and hug again in those goodbye moments. I’m not sure why. To make it easier for them…or for me? Regardless, the puddled eyes and sniffs are inevitable no matter my intentions. It’s that heart-squeeze thing, I suppose.

Today as we held one another in one last circle of prayer, I sensed the words unsaid; the pouring out of hearts that was surely heard as clearly by our heavenly Father...perhaps more clearly.  

For He was, is, and always will be. Taught this as a child, I embrace it with whole heart and mind. He knew me before I was ever formed in my mother’s womb, just as He did little Charlie. He knows all my days, including this one, and has already provided comfort for it, promising to never leave me nor forsake me. As precious as my children are to me, so much more am I to Him.

I can’t hide my heart from my Father like I sometimes hide behind words not spoken or tears held back. I’m so glad of this. For, truly, I need a safe place to rest my heart…especially today.

Thank you, Father. I feel your arms holding me…holding my heart together.

Charlie lay sleeping where I’d gently laid him just moments before. Caressing his cheek one last time, tears threatening yet again, I picked up my bags and walked out the door. Another long embrace with my daughter - “I love you” - and I crossed the street to the car. It’s a small street, but that walk from curb to curb seemed endless. As we drove off, there was Daddy, tender-eyed, holding Sweet Pea as she opened and closed her little “bye bye” hand, with Mommy standing by his side…letting the tears flow.

And, finally, so did I.


*       *       *       *       *       *       *


I am reminded of a much beloved song. Truth that brings comfort and rest:

He Knows My Name
Tommy Walker

I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in His hands

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I roam

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

Here's what filled our hearts for the squeezing: Blessings From Medford and Overdue.

Overdue

Kids always keep us on our toes, don't they? Little Charlie surely decided to keep us guessing and finally made his entrance a week overdue. I'll never get over the miracle of birth, and your child's child is like a double miracle.

But a baby was not the only thing overdue here in Medford. If your grands live far from you, you'll understand.

As grandparents we've enjoyed varied monikers over the years, some given us by our sweet grands, others by circumstance. We are Gramps and Grammadette to our spunky southern princess, Cadence, and her lively brother Desmond.

And our little Sweet Pea in southern Oregon? 

Well, to Miss Ellena, who understands everything but has been slower to enunciate, we are Gah and GahGah. But since I've been here, I've made a game out of getting her to say Grammadette. 

"Ellena, say Graa-maa-DETTE!" To which she responds with her pixy grin and adorable transposition, "Daah GAH! Daah GAH!" Back and forth we volley... because it makes her giggle. 

At the end of the day, I don't care what she calls me...as long as she calls me. If I end up being Gramma GahGah or just GahGah, that'll just make me giggle. I certainly don't aspire to any kind of Gaga-like fame, though I do have my own share of ridiculous antics...

But, seriously, my one hope in her regard is a place of love and permanence in her heart. That's fame enough for me.

For all these precious long-distance kiddos, I refer to myself as Flat Screen Gramma. Macbook to Macbook is how we've bridged the miles. Skype is our friend. 

I love my grandkids to pieces, but I confess I will never entirely love being Flat Screen Gramma. Gramps and I make the most of our flat screen status playing games like peek a boo, goofing with the sock monkeys, singing songs, and pulling out our repertoire of silly sounds and faces. It's all great fun, but being here reminds me of all the long overdue hugs, kisses and heart to heart snuggle time.

In light of this, watching Gramps gain instant "favored status" with Ellena upon his arrival the other day was as good for my soul as it was his. Even as I write, she is clamoring for his lap as we all share the comfy sofa. I've been demoted to second fiddle and that's ok with me. Gramps has far fewer shares in real-time skymiles and snuggles.

Witnessing his first cuddles with newborn Charlie was a precious milestone, as well. Photo op time, for sure. And as he gazed lovingly upon his sleepy-eyed grandson, we couldn't help but comment on their matching dastardly cowlicks.

"Really?" he said.

"Totally!"

Looking down again he sighed, "Sorry, Charlie." 

It's so good to be here. Coffee outings, conversations, walks in the sun. Watching our "kids" continue to grow as parents. Giggles and snuggles, lots of singing with Sweet Pea. Memorizing little Charlie's face while willing him to memorize mine. Filling our hearts with as many cuddles as possible till it's time to go.


Time to go...

It will come all to soon. It always does.

But in the meantime, there's Ellena...leaned in, tucked under Gramps' arm watching Aristocats.

Sigh....

We're soaking up these overdue moments.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

For two more "snapshots" of this overdue visit see Blessings From Medford and Heart-squeeze.

Blessings From Medford

Some days I forget to see God's blessings. Do you? 

Blessings are always there, beckoning quietly. They live in fleeting sun breaks, in a tiny child's voice painting stories with endless imagination, and in the words, "Thank you, love." They live in bare winter trees with spring hidden deep as well as in the first golden smiles of daffodils. Even the patter of rain all day belies the grey as it harkens every shade of green to breathe again. Sometimes life brings even more obvious beauty, yet, still, I can breeze by with my lists and my one hundred clamoring thoughts.

Until today... 

Ironically, it happened as I struggled to bring mascara to lashes that would not come into focus no matter how I strained these grandmother's eyes. (Putting on makeup by memory? Another musing for another day.) As the blur brought an inward smile, I found clarity. My mind's eye gathered scattered blessings.

I’ve been hotel-ing on my daughter’s sofa here in Medford for the past week and a half waiting for baby number two to arrive. Suitcase living and being far from home and routine can bring it's own kind of blur: new surroundings, adjusting my life to theirs, late nights of conversation or board games, going with the flow, remaining, basically and happily, without a plan of my own. And as we all daily wonder if "today" will be the day, all lists are held loosely. Yet woven throughout the days of waiting, sacred moments are everywhere. 

And this morning a blessing did come very quietly... 

As I lay snoozing in tucked sheet and fleece, my dream-state sensed a small presence. Groggy and bleary, I opened my eyes to the sweetest angel face: strawberry curls, eyes, wide-set puddles of blue, sucking two fingers while the other tiny hand reached out to “boop” my nose. What a precious "good morning." 

Pulling her up with me I closed my eyes again and, reveling in my frequent Skyping Gramma dream, enjoyed her nearness, her warmth, even just the sound of her breathing.  

Once sated with snuggles and kisses, she toddled off to help Daddy prepare a pan of blueberry muffin deliciousness. With perfect view into the kitchen, I took in that precious father/daughter moment seeing much more than measuring and mixing. That was love, right there, and deep blessing being cultivated into the heart of a father and a daughter. A sacred moment. 

And then he brewed fresh coffee. 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

For more on Medford see Overdue and Heart-squeeze.

Obedience Gives Me Courage, The Prequel

"Obedience gives me courage," she says. Somehow this seems ripe for a sequel...or, perhaps, a prequel...which is just my fancy way of saying, "I think I'm supposed to come clean about all the fear and courage stuff." 

You want to know what has always scared me the most? 

Singing in front of people. 

Guess what the Lord asked me to do just a little over a decade ago? 

Sing in front of people. 

"Ahh! Are you serious, Lord? Really? ...Anything but that!"

"Yes, I am serious." Insert long conversation with God that ends in Him asking... "How will you ever look your children in the eyes and tell them they can trust me if you will not trust me?" 

Well, that rendered me speechless. Yes, speechless. Nothing is impossible with God.

"Wait..." you say. "Haven't you been singing on worship teams for years?"

Yes, I have. 

I wrote the original obedience post on the eve of preparing to lead worship...as in, I was to play the piano and be the lead vocalist...for a large women's event and I found myself nose to nose with fear once again. As I prayed throughout that day, the Lord reminded me of who He is...mighty, loving, holy, faithful, always near....worthy of my trust.

If you've ever been held back by fear, you may find encouragement in this testimony of God's faithfulness. 

Here's the whole story...

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

My biggest fear since...well even before...high school was singing and playing the piano in front of others. I'm pretty sure the desperate pounding of my heart and the feeling of all the air being sucked out of my lungs drowned out any actual thought as to why I was afraid. The terror just took hold. Much of it had to do with perfectionism, I am sure. Fear of failure. "What if I mess up?" Assessing risks. "If there's any chance I might not be perfect I will not even try. I don't want to be humiliated." 

It was sometime during my junior year that I literally skipped my afternoon piano recital because I was too terrified to play in front of...who?...a bunch of other music students and perhaps a smattering of parents. The pieces had to be memorized. Again...what if I messed up? Somehow there was nothing more shameful. So I went across the street to the music building at my high school, walked into the choir room, sat down calmly and played my recital pieces to no one. I played with heart and a true love for every note, every chord...for the sheer complexity of what two hands and weeks of practice could achieve. It was wonderful...and free...and fearless. 

But this was the choir room. My safe place....where I could just be one of the altos....and occasionally lead with the piano as we did our vocal warm ups. I was never asked to do a solo...and would have died right there in my chair if anyone would have even suggested I try one. But singing...yes, I loved singing! Loved the sound of sweet harmonies ebbing and flowing. One of the group. Blending in. Never really...heard.

So after high school I gave up music. Pursuing it in college would have meant...gasp!...auditioning. Easiest decision ever. "Uhhh...NO!"

 *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Fast forward almost 20 years... 

Married with three children. I began to long for a piano. The old family upright wasn't even in the family anymore, so I began to pray for a piano, was going to put an ad in the paper for one. "Wanted: That lonely piano in your living room that is only being used to hold family photos and knick knacks." You know what I mean....lovely piano as a display piece that no one plays. Such a travesty!

Within months...maybe it was just weeks, I can't really remember...but this I do remember: A man at my church walked out one Sunday after service and said to all of us standing there, "Would anyone like a piano? We have two and need to get rid of one of them." Free? "Yes, free." 

It makes me smile to think of how little, then, I really knew this miracle-working God who had just answered my prayer.

Days later the piano was delivered and I wasted no time in digging out old sheet music, honing old favorites, and working on my sight reading by playing through a Maranatha Praise book. For many months, every night after the kids were tucked in and every day while they were at school, I would worship at the piano for hours. Such a joy to sing to the Lord...to play for the Lord...in the privacy of my own living room.

But the safety of my own private heaven was not to last. Through a series of what I like to call "stepping stone" events, I was asked to consider joining another woman...soon to be dear friend...in leading worship for our church's women's Bible study. My first response to this request of, "Would you like to play the piano and sing with me?" was "Uh..no!" Translation: "Are you crazy?!" But then the above mentioned conversation with God occurred and I knew I had to say yes even though the mere thought left me shaking in my shoes and, literally, sitting at the piano praying that the Lord would be teach me.

So began the journey of the reluctant worship leader. Practicing endlessly... piano parts, harmonies, even practicing something to sing for sound checks. "Sound checks?" Yes. Sound check time scared me to death! This is when I would have to sing in the mic all by myself so the speaker levels could be set. ALL BY MYSELF! WITH EVERYONE LISTENING! Commence rapid heart rate and tummy elevator careening to the basement...air in lungs...gone! 

It's always been the singing that scared me the most. I do not, nor have I ever had any desire to sing by myself in front of anyone. Ever. 

But when it comes to Jesus the songs just well up. Worship is a part of me. Singing to Him is as natural as breathing. In this context it is not performance, it is praising my King. 

In this the Lord said "Go!" and I knew I must obey. Thus began a long season of scouring the word for His promises of "be not afraid, I go before you always." 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

I've been clinging to these promises for over a decade of being on and off various worship teams. Through it all He has proven Himself faithful; faithful to be with me while I forged ahead through stomach aches (and other anxiety induced bodily functions), through jitters beforehand, or even crazy fear welling up suddenly in the middle of an otherwise relaxed worship set, and now, thirteen years later, while leading worship all by myself...albeit, in a small, intimate setting. It's been baby steps of obedience. Lots and lots and lots of baby steps and incredible stretching...miles beyond any self-defined comfort zone.

Bottom line? I love God. I love to worship Him. I desire to obey Him. And...He's given me new eyes. He's taught me to look out on a Sunday, or a Thursday night, or with the Tuesday morning ladies and see my family...my brothers and sisters in Christ...who need to see Him, to be in His presence, to surrender, repent, be healed. He's given me a deep love for my church family that far outweighs my fear...that's more important than my fear. 

It's not a new message: Consider others' needs above your own (Phil 2:3,4), but we don't usually associate it with overcoming fear. 

Why I even get to serve in worship ministry is still beyond me, but I have learned to rest in His character, His call, and in the promise that He will equip me.  

So do I rehearse? Yes. Still somewhat endlessly...till my tired voice and achy hands remind me that I'll have no voice or strength the next day if I don't stop. I never want to be careless in serving the Lord. He is worthy of my best; of diligent preparation...pray, practice, repeat. 

Am I ever still afraid? Yes. But at the end of the day, or more appropriately, as I walk toward the keyboard, I know that the results are all up to Him. And I don't entirely mean how I do with the singing or the playing...

Here are the important questions: Did the Spirit move in the hearts of those who were lifting their voices to the Lord...including my own? Did He find a soft spot in a hardened heart? Did a wall crumble? Was love poured out lavishly to one who was longing? Did the Lord bring comfort...or healing? Were eyes opened to see Him as bigger and more powerful than they'd ever imagined? Were eyes opened for the very first time to His goodness and grace?

These are the results that matter. Was God glorified? This is why I've chosen to push through the fear for all these years. The Lord desires that His children enter into the promised land of His presence, into fullness of life in Him, and it's an incredibly humbling to even get to be a part of that. I don't need to be perfect as long as others see Him who is perfect. Worshiping in song is a powerful thing.  

As I've seen Him work in and through me in this battle against fear, my courage has grown. He promised to never leave me nor forsake me, and He has been true to His word. 

The craziest discovery has been that these lessons of obedience in the face of fear have had only a little to do with leading worship. 

In hindsight, the Lord has shown me that they've had everything to do with continually taking me to the edge so that my faith could learn to leap, then to soar. 

Why? Because He knew that there were challenging events ahead that would require great faith, that would tempt me to run in fear, or to just hunker down in selfishness.  

And for the sake of very important relationships in my life I would need to learn obedience, overcome fear, let faith be stretched. I would really need to know my big God...not just know about Him, but know Him; to invest in my relationship with Him. This happened by having to take Him at His word in those leaps of faith over and over again. 

Worship ministry was my training ground for bigger battles. 

Battles have a way of leaving their marks upon us, don't they? Here are a few that are burned into my heart: When I obey...in the power and strength of His life in me...He is my courage. And in deep thankfulness for all that He is and all that He's done, I am willing to be courageous. 

Willing because He's with me. 

Willing because He's worthy.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

On the night of the women's event as the time for worship drew near, I found myself overwhelmed by a flood of fear, worse than I'd known in many years. Heart pounding, trouble breathing, scattered thoughts... I looked at my dear friends around the table, shared my fear and asked them to pray with me. We joined hands, bowed our heads, and then something wonderful happened. Even as I began to speak, praising the Lord and asking Him to do battle, an amazing calm began pouring over me, into me, through me...literally washing away the fear. Heart and breath returned to normal and I walked up to the keyboard filled with peace. 

What are you afraid of? 

How has the Lord shown up as you've faced your fears?