Backstage Pass

BREAKING NEWS!

2012-01-24T10:27:00.000-05:00

BREAKING NEWS: I have a brain disorder! Not a mental disorder, as some of you may have thought. Well, I probably need a second opinion on that, but we shall start with the brain disorder.

For twenty-five years, I have had neurological symptoms that have not only puzzled me, but have stymied my doctors. In less than twenty-five minutes, my new neurologist may have figured out the problem.

It appears I may have a rare form of "silent" migraine, one that manifests itself in neurologic symptoms rather than in head pain. It is based in the brainstem. And it may be treatable.

*pause here for hallelujahs and victory dances :)

It took untangling miles of red tape and a three month wait to see this neurologist. So in the interim, my friends and I prayed. We prayed for wisdom and understanding for the doctor and that she would have ears to hear what God spoke. We prayed for God to go ahead of me and prepare the way. We prayed for favor, for patience, for insight. We prayed through my wading through 20 years worth of files I kept at home and for just the right way to pull them cohesively into a spreadsheet-- or two. :) We prayed for peace. And we prayed for answers.

God answered today.

Twenty-five agonizing, hand-wringing, expensive years have passed. Why did God wait so long? I don't know. But I do know that He works behind the scenes and puts things in order, in His timing. He didn't dry the path in the Red Sea in an instant, either. He worked all night, in the dark, from the far side of the bank. Moses and the people couldn't see His handwork until the path opened before them. (Look it up: Exodus 14:21.) But that did NOT mean that God wasn't working. They just couldn't see it. And what had Moses told the people just prior to this? "The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still." Ex 14:14

Oh, how I fight stillness! You would think I was a two-year old who'd slurped down a quart of red Kool-Aid. But God's word for me in the past year has been "wait". Truth be told, I have hated that word. (I am also not fond of its homonym, "weight"!)

Twenty five years ago, little was known about this disorder. Even ten years ago, it was a mystery. In fact, research on this disorder has come leaps and bounds in these last few years so quickly that the name of it is still evolving. God has been preparing the way for the answer. He has been preparing my neurologist. And in teaching me about "wait", He has been preparing me.

Next? A two-part process. One: identify triggers. We already know that chemically-based fragrances (including air fresheners and some perfumes), cigarette smoke and volatile organic compounds (varnishes, fresh paint, paint thinners, etc) are my major triggers. Now we have to identify if there are others in my diet. Two: find the right medication. We start the hunt on Wednesday with a prescription calcium channel blocker. Its purpose is to relax blood vessels as well as calm the excitability (and prevent nerve cell damage that occurs) of one of the neurotransmitters that goes haywire during an episode. I am NOT a fan of medication, so this is going to be a challenge for me. (First step in old-lady-hood is lining up that first little pill bottle, right? Ack!)

Thank you for your prayers and your support through all of this. And in your next prayer time, please thank God for answers and for Dr. Andrea Diedrich. (I just sent her a thank you note and told her you all and I had been praying for her for months. I hope it encourages her!)

Onward!

Math Lesson

2011-08-29T12:08:00.000-04:00

Some will not read this because of the title. I myself would be tempted to skip it for that very reason! If you know me, you know I do not like math. The mere mention of math assaults my brain. Practicing math = torture! I avoid anything that smells of mathematics.

In math, as in all subjects, the best teachers are ones who introduce you to a concept and then present the opportunity to work it out. Remember those worksheets? (Ugh.) I never would have learned my multiplication tables if I had not been given immediate exercises to complete. (And more for homework? Agony! Affliction! )

God is an excellent teacher. In Sunday School last week, we explored the story of the good Samaritan, which Jesus told to illustrate the point that all peoples are our neighbors. True to form, God gave me an opportunity this week to work it out through personal experience. (Okay, Holy Spirit, as long as there is no math involved!)

The Samaritan came across a man in need. Others passed by the man, but the Samaritan stopped to assist.

Friday, I came across a man in need. Others passed by, and I nearly did, too. I had good reasons: 1) I was on the phone with my daughter who was asking for advice. 2) I had a trunk full of groceries, some perishable. 3) I know little about cars. 4) I was a woman, alone, and as such, stopping to help a man is not usually considered advisable.

The young Asian man stood to the side of the disabled vehicle. Something about the way he stood, helpless and distraught, sliced the excuses right out of my heart. The mother in me (whose own son had been a lone student in Japan for a year, beyond my reach or help) applied the brakes and turned into an adjacent parking lot.

He was from China, an exchange student at the nearby college (ironically the same university my son had attended), and had been in the States only two weeks. The car belonged to another Chinese student, who was walking to a nearby store to purchase jumper cables. He was beyond grateful that someone had stopped to check on him. I stood alongside, unable to offer anything but companionship, wondering why on earth God would have prompted little ol’ automotively-incompetent me to stop. And then something happened. God used me to multiply His favor.

Another stopped. A chivalrous man had seen me next to the car and assumed I was the owner. He stopped to help a woman, not a young man. Turns out it was his day off. His regular job? A mechanic for AAA.

The mechanic pulled out a few tools and brushed the battery terminals. The car started. With their permission, I followed them home just in case the car died again. Both students were touched, and I did not receive the traditional Chinese bow but warm American hugs instead.

How beautifully God works! How perfectly and precisely! And always with a little humor for my benefit: the student was a math major. I love God.

Sincerely Wrong

2011-07-16T10:43:00.002-04:00

I watched a documentary last night about a man who claims to be the Second Coming of Christ. I was shocked by his doctrine, shocked by his tattoo (666!), shocked at his followers.

Then I went to sleep and had nightmares!

There are thousands who follow this false prophet. They are devoted, excited, passionate, sincere. Unfortunately, they are sincerely wrong.

I am reminded of a young man who took a summer job on a farm. The new hire was shown the difference between the weeds and the good plants and sent off to hoe a row. He threw himself into the task, worked hard, and was proud of the results of his labor. Several hours later, the foreman discovered the earnest young man had misunderstood the instructions. Hundreds of tomato plants lay decimated, surrounded by upright weeds. Sincere? Yes. Wrong? Yes.

What happens when instructions are misunderstood?

What if this new farmer had never been corrected? He could had gone home and begun to teach others what he believed! How many could have been misled? Sincere, yet wrong.

The man in the documentary is proud of his self-taught theology. He had a vision in which angels told him he was Jesus. He proceeded to interpret the New Testament as if he were the Second Coming, believing he had defeated Satan, that sin was no more.

His followers follow him, not the Bible.

The blind leads the blind. The weeds grow.

Sincere, yet wrong.

You will recognize his followers easily. They proudly have 666 tattooed on their arms. They even have a photo blog: newly-inked followers stand in front of his image and emulate his eerie, two-fingers-to-the-forehead salute.

The documentary had footage of children copying the gesture. The children are taught that this man is God. One child said his parents “party” (and we're not talking cake and balloons here) because “God does.” After all, there is no sin, right? Sincere. Wrong.

I don’t know what to do other than to pray and ask you to do the same. And please read and study your Bible. Don’t rely on a person to tell you what is truth. Learn from the Creator what is a weed and what is not. Check claims against scripture. Do not be deceived, do not be swayed. These people are out there, and with them others who are blindly led by man. Sincere. Wrong.

I know. As the old song goes, I once was blind but now I see.

Just Shoot Me

2011-04-21T22:16:00.007-04:00

Have you ever just thrown your hands up in despair and resignation, exhausted from attacking every angle of a problem so that you finally just give up? Just shoot me. I'm done.

I've been there more times than I care to admit.

When we are in that headlong rush, we have a determined, blind/deaf focus. It's only when we stop that we can see and hear beyond our blinders. Then, something amazing can happen.

We remember that there is One who can not only see beyond our limitations, but is also totally knowledgable, completely powerful and absolutely merciful.

God answers, God solves, God grants.

Well, amen!

It isn't always immediate. It isn't always what we thought we wanted. But if God is omniscient like we believe He is, then it is always what is best for us. He's our parent. You know what that's like. Do you give your child three pounds of fudge just because she wants it? What if it's almost dinnertime? What if she's diabetic? What if she's allergic to chocolate? She might not know any of those conditions, but you do. Same goes for God. He knows things that we do not.

Just as you are more interested in your child's health and future than her momentary "happiness", He isn't as interested in your happiness as much as He is in your holiness. Not that He doesn't want you to be happy. It's just way more important that you be on the right path, the one He has laid out for you. Because, remember, He knows things that you do not.

So how do you get there?

That's the primary question I have tried to answer in "Just Shoot Me", the new book that will be hitting the bookshelves in May. Here's an excerpt from Chapter 6:

What good does it do to ask God for direction if you are not going to wait long enough to hear His answer? That’s like placing your order at St. Arbucks and then walking out the door before the barista can even chai your latte. Nonsensical, it is. (Repeat previous sentence in your best Yoda imitation.)

Psalm 5:3 (NIV) says, “In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation.”

Oh, how I hate to wait! Patience, thou art not one of my natural virtues.

I once asked God for patience. He gave me children instead. That’s because God teaches patience, He does not simply give it. Humility comes the same way. Word to the wise.

I, the OCD-gifted multi-tasker, struggle with this simple order to wait. Can’t we walk and talk?

God does not shout. He does not struggle for attention. He is the teacher who stands and waits. What is that old saying? When the student is ready, the teacher appears. He does not raise His voice over the din, but gives His lessons in near-whispers. The student must lean close.

My class has only one student (moi!), but she has more noise and commotion in her head than 15 six-year-olds at Chuck E. Cheese.

I wander around my mind-field, searching for the day’s target. God, is this the place you want me today? Is it here? Do I write today? Do I work on illustrations? Do I pray? Do I? Do I? Are we there yet?

Listen. Await instruction.

I asked God about why He makes me wait for His voice.

He answered in a dream...

Okay, does that grab your attention? (smile)

Send for your copy: details in the right hand column. Yep. Right there.

What are you waiting for? Onward, friend!

Singing with all my heart

2011-04-10T10:35:00.002-04:00

I'm home this Sunday morning, watching our church service online. Right now, the vocal team is singing beautiful songs of grace and surrender and the overwhelming love of God for us.

As much as I want to join in with song, tonsillitis does not allow singing, at least not on-pitch or without copious coughing. So I sit here, singing in my heart... "I'm lost without You!"

Thank you God, for the technology that allows me to view the worship and for the ability of my heart to sing without my voice!

Absent but working

2010-12-28T13:59:00.002-05:00

I just looked at my posts for 2010 and found there were only five. Five! Hmmm. I didn't do so well at blogging this year.

New Year's Resolution, anyone? (smile)

It isn't that I haven't been writing. I just compiled a book of forty scripts for church service! And I've been working on a new book. It will be called, "Just Shoot Me". Yeah, I know you want to know more about that one.

I'll tell you after I hear back from the contest committee to whom I submitted it. Pray for it/me! Thanks!

Heave-ho!

2010-11-22T14:34:00.000-05:00

Change. If it had a facebook page, I would neither “friend” it nor “like” it.

If it were up to me, I would be typing this in the version of Word that came with Windows 3.0. I still have the same cell phone I got the summer before my daughter went to college. She graduates in May. I resist change like a two-year-old at naptime.

Get me my blankie and a cookie and maybe we’ll talk.

Change is inevitable, at least for the living. So why the drama? Why the pout and tears and heel-digging?

Moving forward requires effort. Complacency does not. I like my warm, comfy blankie.

The church I attend and adore is going through change. At times, the discomfort, the uncertainty, the upheaval have been alarming. For a year, I questioned whether it was a ship that was going down or whether it was a ship that was simply turning.

The ship is turning.

It is time to get all of our oars in the water and row together.

In a multi-person boat, the rowing must be executed in precise synchronization with all other rowers. An article on rowing states, “Coordinated timing is imperative to avoid "checking" the boat, or slowing its forward progress.” Is this the unity spoken of all throughout Scripture?

Heel-dragging and pouting, gossip or cutting remarks, passive hand-wringing or aggressive attack: all prevent or slow the forward progress. We can’t afford these behaviors, whether we’re talking about a church or a relationship or a community or whatever obstacle.

Brothers and sisters, it is all hands on deck. It is not time to “bail out” but to “bail water”. Patch the holes. Raise the anchor. Train the rowers. Gird your loins. You can always tie your blankie around your waist.

And don’t forget the cookies.

Hyssop and Heartsong

2010-09-03T12:30:00.001-04:00

Last year, I was inspired by the flower-saturated border and scalloped picket fence of a quaint, mountain-town restaurant. What pleasure!- to be able to sit at the table and look out on all that loveliness! So I built and planted along the front walkway of my house, in full, glorious view from my kitchen table.

May I tell you what a joy it has been to me?

Climbing roses, lavender, lime basil, and sangria-purple dahlias; black-eyed Susans, sunny marigolds and soft, wooly lamb ears: all embrace the fence with color and texture. But my favorite of all has been the tall, airy bush in the center.

Wandering the garden center aisles last fall, I was first attracted to the hyssop by its soft purple color, but ultimately chose the feathery perennial for its biblical symbolism: Jewish priests used hyssop in cleansing ceremonies. Psalm 51:7 exults, “Purify me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.” It was used to sprinkle sacrifices and sanctify homes. Hyssop speared a sponge that was lifted to Jesus on the cross.

I placed the plant in the herb and flower bed, across from the Jesus statue which holds court amid the sage and thyme. And it flourished there.

Beautiful as a cut flower, the hyssop joined hydrangeas in an arrangement for a couple who lost their unborn child. It graced plastic-bottle-vases of zinnia and lantana for friends who needed encouragement, for an acquaintance who had regained her health, for a random stranger at a gas station. It announced the chosen color at my daughter’s wedding shower. The more it was cut, the more it grew. Last year’s 18” spikes have become this year’s five-foot spires!

And, oh, the hummingbirds! And butterflies! And the hemaris diffinis! (Oh, my! The hemaris diffins! This clearwing hummingbird moth’s name comes from two Latin roots. One is “blood”. The other is “end”. Ponder that with your knowledge of hyssop as it relates to Christ and sacrifice. Another little “coincidental” treasure from God! How many do we miss?!)

Watching the feasting as I also partake of lunch, I am struck by the connectedness of living things and sit stunned in awe of their Creator. A heart-song expands in my soul, the hymn I loved as a child, the one that always swells over me in these moments: This Is My Father’s World. I become aware that my voice has joined my heart, and for a moment, I am transported, washed with hyssop, on wings of worship.

Bread

2010-01-19T18:24:00.003-05:00

I had never seen a flock of robins: I have seen only one or two at a time, usually in the spring, bouncing across the lawn, cocking their heads as if listening for subterranean clues. But there they were, twenty or more, kicking up the dry leaves in the side yard.

My reaction, on that unusually frostbitten Carolina morning, was to feed them.

I sprinted out the side door, still in my nightgown and robe, and tossed a bowlful of crumbled, stale bread onto the asphalt drive. From the warmth of the dining room, I watched. No takers. They all resumed the tossing of leaf litter, each in his or her own square yard, ignoring the food that lay two feet away.

Hmm. I logged on and googled “robin”. There I found that the birds flock together in winter and eat worms, insects and berries. No seeds. No bread crumbs either, evidently. They did not recognize my offering as food.

It got me to wondering: would a robin starve to death surrounded by food, just because it did not recognize it as such? And then God whispered. People starve to death spiritually all the time, with a Bible just a few feet away. With a Christian just a few feet away.

Outside, a squirrel had discovered the bread. Rapid-fire, she buzzed through several larger pieces before springing up, alert, to survey for competition. Finding none, she grabbed another piece, held it in her mouth, and scampered to the base of a tree where she buried it beneath the leaves. After several trips, she caught the attention of a robin.

The robin investigated. It tested a crumb. And tasted again.

And God convicted. You have the bread of life. Are you publically partaking? Do your actions show that it is good? Are you taking the treasure out into the field? Or will you let the hungry die from lack of knowledge?

I looked for the robins this morning, but they were gone.

Forgiving One’s Self

2010-01-11T22:53:00.003-05:00

God has my attention.

In the past two days, the same subject has arisen four separate times. The first was in a Sunday School lesson. The next, within hours, was in my facebook inbox. The third time was in a book I was reading. And the fourth time? During a detox massage. Pretty unrelated occurrences, wouldn’t you think? That’s why He has my attention.

The subject? Forgiving one’s self.

Oh, great. Time to open wounds. Yay.

Not so fast, my friend! You may be as surprised as I was to find out where this goes.

One path I take when exploring a subject for writing is to find out what the Bible says about it. Guess what? The Bible doesn’t say anything (that I can find) about forgiving yourself. Don’t you find that odd? How could that be? Certainly there are pages and chapters and entire books devoted to the subject in the local bookstore!

The Bible does speak repeatedly about forgiveness. It is something that God offers to us. We get the first taste of it when we acknowledge our sin, repent, and accept Christ as Lord and Savior. Our sins are forgiven. Read the beautiful imagery of Psalm 103:12 (NASB): “As far as the east is from the west, So far has He removed our transgressions from us.”

Therein, I believe, lies the answer.

God’s forgiveness is completely, wholly sufficient. It is permanent. Therefore, if I say that I cannot forgive myself, I am implying that God’s forgiveness is not enough. I must realize that it is not necessary, or even scriptural, for me to forgive myself. Did I take it to God? Did I ask Him to forgive me? Then, God has taken care of it. Period.

Our real issue, I think, is in letting go.

Would you believe that one day before the “forgiving self” topic came up, God gave me a script to write? It was about letting go. Fancy that. Why does it still surprise me when God sets me up? (smile)

In that script, one person stands holding the string of a balloon which represents something they claim to be giving to God. The problem is, they will not release the string.

Are you still holding on? Why?

It all boils down to a faith issue. Do you believe God has forgiven you?

Let it go. Don’t hold onto the string. Release the grip. God places blessings in an OPEN hand.

THIS IS WAR!

2010-01-08T15:33:00.000-05:00

Perhaps it was the discovery that there are NFL players who weigh about the same as I do (and I am not talking punters or kickers). Perhaps it was the picture someone posted of me, taken when I was unguarded. Maybe it was the realization that someone I thought looked like could be three or four of me was actually only twice my weight. Regardless, I am now aware.

The scale in the bathroom was not kind in its estimation of my weight. Ugly, round numbers glowered at me, laughed at my state of shock. Disbelief gave way to anger.

How? How did I let this happen?

It is not the heaviest I have been, but I never thought I would see 180 again.

And so, my friends, I declare war.

War on weight. War on fat. War on complacency.

I am choosing my strategies and weapons. I am studying the enemy. And I am rallying my troops.

This is my recruitment effort. Would you like to join me?

Here I will be posting my progress. I will share my journey. You can share yours with me and we can keep each other accountable. We can share what is working and what is not. We can encourage and cheer one another on!

Weight War 2010. Healthy again in 2010. Begin again in 2010. Help me choose a battle cry! Post your comments!

Day Three: Nativity

2009-12-03T09:49:00.001-05:00

HISTORY
St. Francis of Assisi is credited with giving us the first nativity scene in the year 1223 AD.

One account tells that he and his fellow monks performed a play that year for the people of a poor Italian village. The play was held in a cave and was intended to be a reminder to the villagers that Jesus was born for them, into a poor family like theirs. Another account paints the picture of St. Francis performing a nativity play himself, using small wooden pieces to represent the characters.

A lasting tradition is that St. Francis asked a man named Giovanni Vellita of the village of Greccio to create a manger scene. St. Francis performed mass in front of this early Nativity scene, which inspired awe and devotion in all who saw it.

The play became hugely popular and the creation of the figures or pastori became an entire genre of folk art.

Nativity scene figures always include Mary and Joseph. Jesus is often added on Christmas Day (or late on Christmas Eve), usually placed in a manger. Some scenes have shepherds, sheep and angels. Wise Men and their camels traditionally wait to arrive until the twelfth day after Christmas, known as Epiphany.

There are two traditions of portraying Mary:

The Western tradition says Mary was virginal and also was not subject to the curse of Eve (a Catholic teaching that her soul was pure when her body received it in her own mother’s womb). Therefore she did not suffer during labor. This is why she is depicted either seated, holding Jesus on her lap, or on her knees in adoration.

The Eastern tradition, on the other hand, emphasizes the reality of the incarnation of Jesus and his human birth: Mary, having just given birth, is pictured lying down.

INSIGHT
Mary lived far from Bethlehem, yet prophecy held that the Messiah would be born there. How did God solve the disparity? He used a Caesar to order a census. He always has a plan, though we might not always see or know it.

SUGGESTION
Display a nativity scene in your home. You could put the Wise Men in a separate room and move them closer, day by day, until Epiphany (January 6). Keep shepherds on a hillside close by, until Jesus is born. Add a little straw to the manger as the time draws near. Read Luke 2:1-19 and Matthew 2:1-11 as you move the characters.

Day Two of Twenty-five Days of Christmas

2009-12-02T09:32:00.003-05:00

ADVENT

HISTORY
The word “advent” comes from the Latin word adventus meaning "coming". It is celebrated for the four weeks that precede Christmas, one week for every millennium between the Fall of Adam and the Birth of Christ.

Advent was not always associated with the birth of Christ. In the early Church, it was His second coming that was anticipated, not His birth. (Latin adventus is the translation of the Greek word parousia, used in reference to the Second Coming.) Eventually, the Church extended the celebration of Advent to include the coming of Christ through his birth in Bethlehem.

Observing the season of Advent with an advent wreath is one way to keep Christ literally at the center of our attention: the wreath has a white candle in the center, representing Christ. Four other candles, three purple and one pink, are arranged in the greenery of the wreath itself and are lit on each Sunday in Advent. The light grows each week, reflecting the growing anticipation of the birth of Jesus, the Light of the world.

Purple symbolizes repentance and fasting. Purple is also the color of royalty, in anticipation of the coming King.

Pink or rose represents joy and reveals a shift in the season away from repentance and toward celebration. This candle is lit on the fourth Sunday in Advent.

The white candle in the center represents Christ and is lit on Christmas Day.

INSIGHT
Advent is a time of preparation for Christ. But is it really Christmas, the Christian Christmas, for which you are preparing? Are you calm, or stressed? Joyful or jangled? Does your list of things to get done take precedence over sitting with God every morning? What would one of the first century Christians think Christmas was about, judging only from your behavior/schedule/attitude?

SUGGESTION
Consider an advent wreath for your home. It can be as simple as candles in a circle on your dining room table, but be sure to place it where you can see it often. Light one candle on each Sunday beginning the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Why not set it up after Thanksgiving dinner and start a new tradition of beginning the season when your hearts are still full of gratitude to God?

Day One's Reading from My New Book!

2009-12-01T08:52:00.002-05:00

Christmas Beginnings

HISTORY
We celebrate Christmas as the birthday of Jesus. But the Bible does not record the date of His birth, so how was December 25 chosen?

The answer comes from the historical pattern of the Church of eradicating pagan practices by Christianizing them.

In Northern Europe, the pagans celebrated the winter solstice in late December. The Romans honored their god Saturn and the “birth of the unconquered sun” (dies natalis solis invicti') on December 25. The Church decided instead to celebrate the birth of the Son (who was certainly unconquered!), and incorporated the pagan traditions of Saturnalia, changing their meanings. Thus the celebrations would not be a stumbling block to new converts, who could continue with their long-loved customs, albeit with new meaning.

A nativity celebration first appeared on the Roman Church calendar on December 25, 336 AD.

INSIGHT
As you read through this book, you will find that many of our Christmas customs have their origins in paganism.

Does this mean we should be appalled and decide to not celebrate? I don’t think that’s a good response!

In the heart of the Christian worshipper, the focus of this season is the gift of Jesus Christ and His gift of eternal life. Ancient pagan ways have been given new meaning. We do not celebrate Saturnalia on December 25!

This is the time of year when even many non-Christians pause to think about the meaning of Christmas. If it is our purpose to bring them to Jesus, then we can use even these secular aspects to point them towards Him.

Like Peter the Jew reaching out to Cornelius the Gentile, we the Christians reach out to the lost. We have to meet them where they are.

SUGGESTIONS
Read Acts 10:1- 11:24 to learn about Peter and Cornelius. This “reaching out to the non-Jew” was a major turning point for the Church. Without it, you and I may never have known Christ.

Whom do you know that needs to be pointed towards the Reason for the Season? Pray for that person and ask God for ways to reach out to them.

Little Blue Beads of Faithfulness

2009-11-12T11:33:00.004-05:00

Last year, on a trip to Pittsburgh, I saw a necklace that I just adored. It had blue beads and a silver pendant on which was etched a tree. If you know me, you know that the tree is one of my favorite symbols of God’s faithfulness, as in Jeremiah 17:7-8.

The necklace was in a box with matching earrings. The sale sign said it was a “special purchase”, and, for less than $10, I bought it. I’d been searching for just the right color of blue beads, and here they were!

When I got home, I was disappointed to find that the necklace itself was really more of a choker and was too short for my comfort. Determined to find a way to wear it anyway, I took it apart. The pendant became a slide that fit perfectly on a wire I already owned. The beautiful blue beads went into my crafting box to be used at a later time.

This week, my husband and I were packing shoeboxes for Operation Christmas Child. I chose to pack for a teenage girl, and thought that she would enjoy making her own jewelry, so I went to my crafting box in search of beads to add to the ones I’d purchased. There were my special blue beads. I resisted.

Surely God would not want me to give away those beads. The others I had were replaceable; I could simply go purchase more if I wanted. Those were no longer available, and besides, there weren’t enough to fill the little compartment in the bead box. But God reminded me that I was to give sacrificially. It wasn’t a huge monetary sacrifice, but it was something I was unwilling to part with. God won. The beads went into the girl’s box.

Last night, we took our boxes to the church for collection. Then we went to service.

The worship service was awesome and heart-provoking. We learned about letting go of fear and of God’s faithfulness. We sang of God’s blessing and of His faithfulness.

After service, a friend rushed to find me. She said, “I have something for you.” Daphne reached into her pocket and pulled out a necklace and earrings. She said God spoke to her in service and told her to give them to me, and so she took them off then. She said it was unusual for her to wear that particular necklace, but had felt prompted to that night. Once she was in service, she knew why.

I looked at the offering to me and was dumbstruck. Friends, it was the twin of the necklace I had purchased the year before in a town eight hours away; the very same pendant, the same perfect blue beads that sat in a shoebox a few yards away. The very beads I had been asked to give up were now returned to me! How is that possible?

Is your mouth not just hanging open? Tell me He doesn’t perform little miracles to let us know He is here and He is involved and He wants us to know that He is faithful. Try to tell me He isn’t real! I have evidence in the obedient actions of a faithful friend and in the undeniable form of beautiful blue beads and a silver tree pendant.

Thanks and glory be to God!

Foreword to a book I am writing...

2009-10-20T21:06:00.001-04:00

Twenty Five Days of Christmas
A Devotional Book: Finding Treasures in the Traditions of the Season

Do you ever wonder about the meanings behind our traditions?

For me, the drive to discover the genesis of Christmas traditions came after studying “covenant” in the Bible. I was intrigued and delighted to find that many wedding customs are based in covenant language and ceremony: the exchange of vows and rings, the walking of a center aisle, the sharing of food and drink, the bride’s taking the husband’s name, to list just a few.

I began to wonder about our Christmas traditions. Where did they originate? Is there any Biblical basis for them? If not, is it possible to use even the secular aspects of the season to refocus on the Reason? Where is the treasure in the tradition?

Life, to me, is like a glorious treasure hunt. God wraps wonderful little gifts and leads us on the hunt to find them. He has given me a shovel and instructed me to dig. Here, I share with you what I have uncovered. My hope is that you find something of value to share with your family and friends as you celebrate with a renewed passion all things Christ in Christmas.

Married or equivalent

2009-09-15T11:00:00.001-04:00

Change, I know, is inevitable.

Our language changes. Words get new meanings. Even words that are improperly used become acceptable when Webster’s decides that they have become so commonplace that they are now part of our language and are, therefore, now proper.

That irks me.

For example, take the lovely word “nauseous”. It used to mean “something that makes one nauseated”, as in, “That scent makes me nauseous”. A person would never say he was nauseous, because that meant that he made people feel as if they were going to expel the contents of their stomachs. He would say he was nauseated. But the incorrect “nauseous” surpassed the correct “nauseated” in usage. Now they are considered synonyms.

This kind of word-wiggling has hit home twice this week.

Get this: my daughter reports that her English professor is trying to make the “f-word” more acceptable, saying it shares its root with the word “conflict”. The teacher says it should not be viewed as being offensive. Say what? The teacher then asked for a show of hands of students who had never used the “f-word”. Only two hands went up, including my daughter’s. It reminds me, unnervingly so, of my ethics class when my professor asked the Christians in the room to raise their hands.

(Y’all, I could go off on that one for several pages, but will restrain myself for another day.)

Then came the kicker of the week, in the form of a question on a survey.

I was asked to check one of two choices: married or equivalent, or single or equivalent.

Pardon me? Uh, come again? When did there become an equivalent to marriage?

Little by little, the cultural moth eats away the moral fabric. The f-word becomes commonplace and professors in public universities praise its uncommon flexibility as noun, verb, adjective, phrase… and more! Surveyors decide that marriage can be synonymous with whatever one desires to equate it. Next, other surveyors will hail the wording as a pleasant, forward-thinking solution and it will become the normal survey question.

Forgive me if I’m nauseated.

Ready?

2009-08-27T10:33:00.000-04:00

I awoke in the wee hours of this morning, aware that I had been crying in my sleep, the intense dream still clearly present in my mind.

In the dream, I was puttering around the house, doing the mundane thing of the day, when an angel of the LORD appeared and said, “Are you ready? It is time to go.”

“Go?”

“Yes, your time on the earth is over.”

“But I can’t go yet! I still have so many things I wanted to accomplish! And… and…no one is here with me! I need to tell them all I love them… just one more time, please! One more hour, please, that’s all I ask!”

“Very well. One hour. But you cannot go anywhere and you cannot tell anyone that you are about to die.”

And in the dream, I began to write, to pour out love and hopes and dreams and encouragement and gratitude to the people whom I love and cherish.

When I opened my eyes, my heart was pounding. What if it were true? What if this is my last day on this planet? Was I ready? And since the answer to that last question was an unequivocal “no”, what was I going to do about it?

Today, I am writing notes to my loved ones. Some of those notes will be in the mailbox this afternoon. Some people I will email. One of my children lives close enough to receive fresh, homemade cookies. My husband will be the recipient of some undivided attention.

Today, I will take the love that God has given to me and I will pour a measure of that love into every person with whom I have contact, from the banker to the salesclerk to the insurance representative on the phone. I will take Jesus with me. I will listen to the Spirit. I will praise my God and tell of His work in my life. No complaining. No arguing. Only loving.

And, LORD willing, I will do the same tomorrow.

Friend, today may be your last. There is no time to complain or argue. There is no time to waste on things that do not matter. The angel of the LORD does not give an extra hour.

What are you going to do about it? Are you ready? That’s the big question.

Be Still

2009-08-24T17:38:00.002-04:00

As the school year begins, I am reminded again to sit at the feet of our Teacher.

I need to spend more time listening. God does not shout. He does not struggle for attention. He is the teacher who stands and waits. He does not raise His voice over the din, but gives His lessons in near-whispers. The student must lean close.

This class has only one student, but she has more noise and commotion in her head than 115 six-year-olds at Chuck E. Cheese. Be still?

I walk around my mind-field, searching for the day’s target. God, is this the place you want me today? Is it here? Do I write today? Do I work on the illustrations? Do I pray?

Be still.

God does not shoot arrows at a moving target. He stands behind the archer and guides her arrow. Do not be the target, Lisa. Be the archer. Be still. Await instruction.

I, the "OCD-gifted” multi-tasker, struggle with this simple order. Being still, like napping, is a waste of time! I protest! Yet the Spirit commands.

The refrigerator hums. The clock ticks. The dryer buzzes. The cat scratches at the door. I need a shower. My husband will be home for lunch in less than an hour.

Be still.

Then I hear. “On Christ the Solid Rock I stand”… “Create in me a clean heart”… “I come to the garden alone”… The songs flood my heart and I worship.

The phone rings. When I pick it up, before I say “hello”, I hear my husband singing, “Blessed be the name of the Lord!” I smile. He has been listening, too.

Tell me God doesn’t know what He’s doing.

Will the next George Sodini please stand up?

2009-08-13T10:55:00.000-04:00

I read his blog yesterday. It has taken me a full day to process it, and I don’t know that I will ever understand. Yet, I feel compelled to write about it.

George grew up, got a good job, bought a house and waited for life to have meaning.

George longed for a partner. He believed a woman would make him complete. He wrote, “A man needs a woman for confidence. He gets a boost on the job, career, with other men, and everywhere else when he knows inside he has someone to spend the night with and who is also a friend.” Yet this kind of relationship eluded him. At 48, he was still single, and he had lost hope: “This type of life I see is a closed world with me specifically and totally excluded.”

George read self-help books and subscribed to a program that purported to teach him how to find a mate. He worked at making himself desirable, joining a gym, going to a tanning salon, being careful about personal grooming. And yet, he said, “I always had hope that maybe things will improve especially if I make big attempts to change my life. I made many big changes in the past two years but everything is still the same. Life is over.”

He wrote about a talk-show. A caller spoke of the hopelessness of living in the inner city where men engaged in destructive behavior so as to shorten their miserable lives.

In January, he wrote, “The future holds even less than what I have today.” It was the day George “chickened out”. He had a plan for that evening, but said, “I always think I am forgetting something, that's one reason I postponed. Similar to when you leave to get in your car to go somewhere - you hesitate with a thought: ‘what am I forgetting?’ In this case, I cannot make a return trip!” After a few months of despondency, George finally put his plan into action.

On August 4, 2009, George Sodini walked into a crowded Pittsburgh gym class, unzipped his bag, pulled out two guns, turned off the lights, and opened fire. Three women died and many others were injured before he turned the gun on himself and ended his life.

As a human and as a Christian, I ache.

His blog showed that he’d attended a local church for thirteen years, until 2006. He credits his former pastor: “…this guy teaches (and convinced me) you can commit mass murder then still go to heaven. Ask him… I think his crap did the most damage.”
George wrote on August 3, “Maybe soon, I will see God and Jesus. At least that is what I was told. Eternal life does NOT depend on works. If it did, we will all be in hell. Christ paid for EVERY sin, so how can I or you be judged BY GOD for a sin when the penalty was ALREADY paid. People judge but that does not matter. I was reading the Bible and The Integrity of God beginning yesterday, because soon I will see them.”

I’ve looked up the website George gave for the church. I cannot tell what kind of church it is. The page that is supposed to tell of their doctrine is down, with the message "Our newly revised doctrinal statement will be available soon.” Revised doctrine? It leaves me to wonder: Did they teach George that it isn’t enough to just believe in Jesus, but that you have to accept Jesus as Lord and Savior in order to go to Heaven? Or was that the thing that he referenced earlier that he was forgetting, the reason he was unable to go through with the plan because he knew something was missing? It is frustrating and maddening and distressing that someone could come so close to the Truth and yet miss it!

George was empty and he needed Jesus.

George had “Christians” in his life. He described one of them. “I have been in barrooms and church groups. The worst people by far are the religious types. Especially a right-wing, stiff-faced fundie like Andy. A condescending, demeaning, passive-aggresive person. Frigid, rigid, linear and totally inflexible. Being a very serious person, he cannot hide his frown-lined face. He better not try to smile; lest his face might crack.”

Is this how the world views us? Is this how your lost friends see you?

Brothers and sisters, where are we failing? Is our joy not evident? Are we not giving an account for the hope we have? Are we not being light and salt? Is there nothing different in us? How will they recognize truth unless they see it in us first?

Is the next George Sodini sitting in the next cubicle? Is he your neighbor? Is she the loner in Biology class? How God’s heart must ache!

Lord God, You came to seek and save the lost and you have given us the task now of seeking them and leading them to you. I pray that you open our eyes and prick our hearts! Amen!

Busy!

2009-06-03T21:06:00.002-04:00

Hello, all!

I just wanted to let you know I am alive and well. I am working on an assignment that has commanded all of my time, so I am not writing/blogging like I used to.

The assignment? I'm illustrating a children's book that I wrote about a year ago. The original concept came from a puppet show that I wrote about two sisters who were very different from each other and the way their mom helped them to see how special each was. We performed the play "black box theatre"-style with enormous body puppets. At one point in the play, the girls sat together and read the "book". Now it is really becoming a book!

Please pray for me as I seek God's direction in each illustration. I will post more as time permits. The basic sketches are done and the book itself is laid out. I now am working on the color studies and will soon be doing the actual pen/ink/watercolor art pieces.

May God give you a blessing and assignment as well!

Onward, fellow artists and writers!

Of Chicken Soup and Hard Candies

2009-04-06T18:56:00.000-04:00

I know I have an active imagination. It is one of the character traits with which God has blessed me. Sometimes, though, it is really “out there”!

Take, for example, one of my mental images of the Holy Spirit.

Scripture calls the Holy Spirit “The Comforter”. That sounds so sweet and soothing. “There, there, Lisa. Everything will be fine, you will see. Here, let’s get you a nice hot bowl of chicken soup.” Envision a wonderful, gentle grandmother with thick, welcoming arms and an abundant supply of Kleenex. You can almost see the dish of sugar-soldered hard candies on the coffee table.

This Holy Spirit whispers in my ear. “Send that person a note of encouragement.” “Pray for this person.” “Check that pocket before you put those pants in the wash.” “Your daughter could use a phone call today.” “Your son in Japan could use some hand lotion and taco seasoning. Send some when you pack that care package this week.” Seriously. Ask Adam if it isn’t so.

But today, I explored a word and discovered a definition that brings a new dimension to my Comforter. I marvel at the depth of meaning and shake my head at what gets lost in translation.

Comfort comes from the Latin word fortis which means “strength”. Like Fort Knox. Like fortified cereal. (Have you had your Wheaties today? It’s the breakfast of champions!) Like A Mighty Fortress is Our God. Add the prefix com, which is an intensifier, and you get something akin to “powerfully strengthened”. My Comforter does more than just gently pat my shoulder and tell me it will be OK. My Comforter suits me up in God’s armor and climbs in with me. My Comforter encourages and empowers me. “Onward!” is the cry!

That’s a pretty powerful “grandma”, if you ask me. What do you want to bet that comfort-food-soup has got more than just seven essential vitamins and iron? And hey, maybe that stone-hard candy is ammunition for my slingshot. Watch out, Goliath!

Do-It-Yourself?

2009-03-05T12:01:00.005-05:00

Confession alert!

I love to watch home improvement shows.

There’s always somebody on there who has tackled a project themselves and gotten in way over their head. Then they have to call an expert. Oftentimes, it costs them more than it would have to hire the expert first. They always start off thinking they can do it themselves. Hmmm. See a spiritual application coming?

This week I saw a show with a twist: the inexperienced wife was trying to help the professional-grade husband install cabinets he built. Can you say “recipe for disaster”? At one point, he just needed her to get out of his way. She was crushed. (Emotionally, y’all, not physically!)

Wife wanted to help. She loved her husband. She was excited about his work. She was doing all she knew to assist. But at that point, she was making matters much more difficult than they needed to be. She needed to get out of the way.

Zing! God zapped me on this one!

How many times have I gotten in God’s way? My intentions are pure, but sometimes I am just making things worse by meddling in affairs way too far over my head. I don’t understand why we can’t just nail those cabinets to the wall. Come on, God, I’ll hold it up and you nail it. (I hear you laughing out there!)

Guess what? Impatience and pride are not conducive qualities.

Sometimes He’ll let me try to hold it up myself. (Wow, this is too heavy!) Sometimes He’ll let me just get it nailed up, only to find out there wasn’t enough support in the wall and it tears away and crashes to the floor. (What? I needed to use screws? Find the wall studs? What's a cleat?) At times, I have not measured correctly (ah, what's a half an inch?) or try to put the cabinet in the wrong position (I think it should go here, even if it was designed to go there!).

Finally, I give up and admit I cannot do it myself and step back to listen to the Expert. What time I have wasted! What resources I have squandered!

The lesson? Beware of what you think is a do-it-yourself project. Call the Expert first. And learn to get out of His way!

Portable feast

2009-02-18T10:18:00.001-05:00

When I was eleven years old, I got my very own pocket-sized transistor radio. From my tiny Kansas town, I could hear broadcasts from Omaha, Nebraska over 100 miles away. It was amazing to me!

What 1970s preteen joy: a starry summer night and American Top 40 with Casey Kasem!

Tuning into the desired station with the analog control knob was tricky. You had to listen very carefully as you dialed, almost crept, into the correct, narrow bandwidth. Oftentimes, you could hear the cacophony of several stations at once! An incremental twist revealed static, another tiny turn brought more overlaid confusion. Then, by turning yourself slightly and finding just the right position, the airwaves became suddenly, startlingly crystalline clear. Then you had to stay still. Very still. But, oh, the happiness of a personal, portable auditory feast!

That prized transistor radio is long forgotten and I’ve long since lost the art of being still. Come to think of it, I have not recently partaken of an auditory feast. Oh wait… what is that I hear? I struggle to tune in, to get past the static in my ears… or is that my heart?

“Be still!”

God reminds me of a little transistor radio and a narrow bandwidth, of positioning myself until the sound was crystalline. He gently instructs my heart to dial, to find the correct position to tune into His voice, His own narrow bandwidth.

My friends, it is time for a feast! Pardon me while I go get ready!

Illuminate

2009-02-11T10:32:00.003-05:00

I have a mission for the year. It’s a one-word command: Illuminate.

Years ago, I had a powerful dream. I was standing in a room with two attendants who pulled back a curtain to reveal the most beautiful tapestry I have ever seen. The background was rich, almost-midnight-blue. Intricate, exquisite embroidery in vivid jewel tones wove in and out and around unfamiliar silver and gold letters. I asked one of the attendants what it said.

“It is God’s name for you: it is His vision for your life,” was the reply.

Stunned, I asked, “Well, what does it say?”

The answer has stayed with me to this day.

“It says, ‘One Who Shines’.”

Fast forward to Wednesday night, February 4. I sit in service with dear friends as we soak in the last evening our beloved Worship Leader will spend with us before beginning his new assignment from God. My heart is full and open. I am still. It is the perfect opportunity for God to zap me, to sneak up on me and plant my own new assignment.

The minister has preached about being the light of the world. He uses the word “illuminate”. Suddenly the light goes on in my spirit as God whispers, “Illuminate the text, ‘One Who Shines’! Onward!"

In Art History class, we learned about “Illuminated Text”. It refers to the beautiful, intricate illustrations of the monks who copied scripture. They crafted borders and vignettes on pages of text to not only beautify but also present the scripture to the illiterate, to those who could not read the unfamiliar letters.

Like the tapestry in my dream.

Like the children’s books I am writing and illustrating. Those two unfinished books have been sitting on my desk, collecting dust because I have not given them priority. One God gave me to do last spring. The other came at New Year’s. They have been roughly sketched out, waiting for inspiration. Now, I am literally called back to the drawing board!

Ponder this example of God, the Master Planner: what style of illustration do you think I have used in those books? I have woven intricate borders and illustrations on pages of text to present scripture to the illiterate, to those who can not read. I am dumbstruck with wonder and awe at how God has been guiding as I have been unaware.

Then, just as I think it is only about the children’s books, He reminds me that I am to also illuminate through my online journaling, to illustrate with word pictures.

And for one glorious moment, He pulled back the curtain again.

Accurate Fit

2009-02-03T12:46:00.001-05:00

Did you ever play dress up? I remember my son as a toddler, trying on his daddy’s shoes and hat. He couldn’t see out from under the brim. He couldn’t pick up his feet, but strained just to shuffle along. The photo op lasted only a few minutes, not even long enough to find the camera. It was just too hard for him to move under that burden.

It was a different story when Adam had on his own gear. You couldn’t contain him. He was busy getting things done. I’ve got several pictures of him in those little sneakers and ball cap!

At times I have found myself playing spiritual dress-up. Like David in Saul’s armor, I’ve tried to walk around in somebody else’s suit, with pathetic results. Like David, I’ve found Saul’s tunic and accoutrements to be not just ill-fitting but also burdensome. God equipped David with a staff and a sling and five smooth stones to do the job He had set before him. Saul’s armor was not intended for David. Saul’s armor is not mine, either.

I have my own suit, tailored with God’s measurements for my life.

There are spiritual gifts that I simply do not possess. There are missions that are not mine. There are great and wonderful works that are intended for others to do. But God has ordained specific things for me and I need to be about the business of discovering them. I need to stand and be measured, be fitted according to those measurements, not what I wish them to be but what they actually are. I am not a size 6. I am not a size 22.

God has a suit of armor for me and I, according to Ephesians 6:10, am to put it on. (The armor belongs to God, “Government-issued”!) Though we all have the same armor components, He has given me a suit sized especially for me. Let Saul wear his own. Let David wear his own. Let the spiritual leaders in my life wear their own. You wear yours. May God grant me the grace to wear mine.

O Christmas Tree, how lovely are Thy branches!

2009-01-08T08:52:00.005-05:00

My to-do list this week included “disassemble the tree.” That was never on the post-Christmas instructions in my childhood home. I grew up in an era of real trees, the kind the whole family could argue over.

My mother’s favorite was Scotch pine. It was a densely-branched long-needled tree. I don’t remember ever going to cut one down: that cultivar must not have grown in the regions where we lived. But I do remember the fussing and cussing and stay-out-of-the-way straining as my father put it up, trying to get it straight in the dysfunctional stand, tying it in place to the walls with nearly-invisible fishing line. More than once, one of us didn't see it and nearly strung ourselves up. Yes, that really set the holiday mood!

Christmas tree hunting with my own children was a much more pleasant experience. We went to the farms, little red saw in hand, and searched acres of rows of fragrant white pines for the perfect One. Sometimes we found a bird’s nest inside, with or without tiny empty half-shells. Those were my favorites.

It was not until I remarried in my mid-thirties that I ever had a fake tree: a “symbol of a symbol”, as I called it.

A Christmas tree symbolizes Christ, from the cross (also called a tree) He was nailed upon to the sacrifice of life it represents. How could an artificial tree embody sacrifice?

I surrendered my real tree because my stepson was allergic to the real thing. At that time, my aunt was getting rid of her old-model artificial in favor of the latest, greatest trend: pre-lit trees! I accepted the 1980s-era cast-off. It is the one I disassembled yet again two days ago. My stepson and all the other children are now grown and gone. The tree, ironically, “lives” on.

In its absence, the corner of the dining room looked absolutely bare and forlorn and yes, dead. I have remedied that situation by replacing it with a live tree! It is not a pine, but a seven-foot ficus, the lovely weeping fig that was becoming cramped in my sunroom.

Throughout the branches I have draped string of twinkle lights. Just now, I have become aware that I can see them reflected on the computer screen. Jesus looks down from the picture on the bookshelf to my right. My verse-a-day desk calendar stands to my left. My to-do list just faded away, supplanted by an urging: be still and know. Soak. Worship.

Even in January, Christmas is here. Christ is here

Whirlwinds and Starry Skies

2008-12-17T11:10:00.001-05:00

Friends, it has been a whirlwind two weeks!

We had our Christmas production at church on Friday and Sunday. I played one of the focal characters, a woman named Jade who has become “trapped in the trappings” of Christmas to the point where she cannot even find its true meaning anymore.

Does that sound familiar? I know I can become so distracted that I can pass by the Nativity scene in my dining room and not even look in on the Baby Jesus. I am guilty of passing Him without a glance here in my home. What does that say for my heart?

I read in the Bible this week about the Wise Men. They noticed something in the sky to alert them of that a King of all kings was born. Did you even notice the sky last night? Can you tell me, without running to the window, what the sky looks like today? How much do we miss because we aren’t paying attention? How much do we take for granted? How complacent have we become?

When the Wise Men went to Herod, he asked the religious leaders about where the Messiah would be born. They answered, “Bethlehem”. But did they get excited about the possibility that the Messiah had been born? Did they marvel at the Magi’s quest and go hurriedly to investigate? We have no report or evidence that they even were interested. They knew it all… and still missed it all.

I know the story by heart. I have read the prophecies. All around me is celebration and decoration. But am I still missing it? Am I trapped in the trappings? Are you?

Please, God, help us! Calm the whirlwind around us and in us, as Jesus did the storm on the Lake of Galilee, saying, “Peace! Be still!” Let us investigate with wonder the birth of our Savior. Let us experience Immanuel, even now!

Quick Update

2008-11-26T22:29:00.002-05:00

I returned from my visit with the Duke neurologist today.

Let me tell you, it was a good thing we sent God ahead of us, because God was the only thing that arrived in advance.

Neither my records from my neurologist nor the letter I sent were received by the doctor. I called the neurologist's office earlier this week to make sure they'd been sent. They claimed to have sent them. (Hmmm. All these blunders by that office have me convinced that it's time to find a new neurologist!)

But it's OK. The Holy Spirit nudged me this week to copy some of the files I had at home. I brought those few pages, which included bloodwork results, and the copies of the MRIs I've had.

An exam and consult later, the Duke neuro noticed something in that bloodwork that my neurologist's office had not. Then we talked about results of a liver screening I'd had done about ten years ago that had showed problems. He connected a few dots and recommended that I have a full liver screening done. Funny, no one else had ever thought to dig that far.

If the liver is not functioning properly, the toxins it is supposed to filter out end up in the blood and can affect the whole body... including the nervous system. Presto! Enter my symptoms.

So Monday we will draw some blood at my primary care doctor and I will be asking a friend at church for her neurologist's name (local).

I'll keep you posted.

But for now, thank you for your prayers and for sending God ahead. God imparted wisdom to a doctor who was flying in the dark. He had it under control. No surprise there. :)

Onward,
Lisa

Divine Appointment

2008-11-18T10:42:00.002-05:00

Y’all, I am just not writing enough! Do you feel neglected?

I’ve had another neuro-episode and I’ve been doing more resting than anything else. It is about the only thing that seems to help when my nervous system decides to take a spin on the merry-go-round! Plus, my computer has had a few neuro-issues of its own, poor thing!

My episodes make writing more difficult because my coordination is challenged, even down to fine motor skills. I encounter fat-fingering (when I hit two keys together) as well as a sort of typing dyslexia: my fingers get out of order when I hit the keys. It can be frustrating but occasionally amusing: changing the order of two letters can give an entirely different (and strikingly inappropriate or hilarious) word, like playing MadLibs!

But I do have good news and a God story.

I am scheduled for an appointment at Duke University Medical. YAY!

We had discussed Mayo Clinic, but Mayo discontinued its association with my insurance company as of October 1. Mayo recommended Duke. My appointment was scheduled for March 5, but when I went online to research the doctor I was to meet, I found out she was a stroke specialist. Curious. I have not had a stroke, nor do my symptoms match pre-stroke signs. I backed up one page on the website.

Before me were twenty-plus pictures of Duke neurologists. I asked God to show me the one He wanted me to see. Two faces immediately stood out. I clicked on their profiles and found experience with my symptoms. Perfect! I called Duke. The receptionist was a little testy when I told her I’d been scheduled with the wrong doctor.

“Well,” she snipped, “what doctor do you want?”
I smiled. I had a confident answer.

Don’t you know I was able to schedule an appointment with my second-choice doc for November 26! And when Duke called the next day to confirm, I found I was actually scheduled with the doctor who was my first choice! Now that’s God intervention!

So now we send God on ahead of me.

It is the most effective way to get an answer: send God ahead. I’m asking God to permeate the place I will be going. I’m asking Him to solve the riddle. I’m asking Him to shower wisdom on the doctor, even today. I’m begging Him to supernaturally intervene and let this be a fruitful visit. And I submit myself to His plan.

Friends, will you join me? Send God ahead. Send Him ahead of my appointment. Send Him ahead of whatever you are facing, especially with Thanksgiving and its opportunity to be with family and friends who may not know Him. Let Him prepare the hearts. Ask Him to begin to marinate a few minds. Ask Him to guide you into what He would have you say and do. Ask Him to make it very, very clear. Then submit to His plan. Trust. Obey.

Snoopy and Bellydancing

2008-10-25T14:29:00.001-04:00

What?????

There’s actually something posted on Lisa’s blog?

Catch me before I faint!!!

OK, y’all I have heard you. I shall bring before you Standard Excuse # 16: I’ve been busy.

Honestly.

I have not put my tush in the seat and written ANYTHING in weeks. Not even scripts for church. And, no, this is not because I now have a Facebook page, though that could easily swallow hours.

Have y’all been on Facebook yet? I got a page so I could keep up with my three children and two stepchildren in their far-flung reaches of the country and, yea, the planet. I found relatives and long-lost friends and people whom I do not know who seem to want to be my friend if for no other reason than to increase the number of people they claim to know. And then there are the invitations to play all sorts of games: I can “grow” plants to save the rainforest; get bought, sold, or kidnapped; accept and arrange “flair” and find out which Peanuts character I am most like. I am Snoopy, by the way.

But I truly have not spent much time on the thing. I’ve been spending time reading and studying. I’m taking this awesome Precepts class that is exploring “covenant”, and let me tell you, my eyes are being opened in ways I cannot even explain. Scripture is woven with such beauty and depth! Covenant language and symbolism are abundant in so many traditions, from the custom of the handshake to the way we exchange food at drink at our wedding receptions! I’ll write more about that later.

But for now…

I have an article to finish for the newsletter our Worship Department publishes. And I need to practice my choreography for my bellydance class. Yeah, you read that correctly.

Doing the Egyptian basic,
Lisa

Think about it

2008-10-07T09:12:00.002-04:00

Lighten Up

2008-09-25T09:36:00.001-04:00

The bed in my daughter’s old room is covered with blankets and pillows. And curtains and bedspreads and lengths of fabric and silk plants.

It all started about six weeks ago when I was cleaning out closets in preparation of storing my son’s belongings during his exchange-student year in Japan. I found more than I remembered being there.

Then twice in two days I’ve come across stories of people who decided to clean their homes of excess. I sat down to my Scripture-of-the-day calendar this morning: it was about offering back to God so that He can re-offer it to others. When there’s a subject God hits that often in that short a period, I’ve learned to take heed.

Here in Charlotte, there’s a place called The Butterfly Bin. (Actually, they are in the process of moving to a new warehouse in Huntersville.) It’s a place where we can donate all the things it takes to set up house: furniture, bedding, linens, dishes, kitchen essentials, small appliances, curtains, décor items, etc. People who are setting up their homes and are in need (for example: young folk who have aged out of the foster care system, women emerging from prison, homeless families getting back on their feet- all pre-screened by various organizations) are given vouchers to “shop” for free there.

What better place to donate my good-but-unused-and-doing-no-good-in-the-closet stuff? Here, it’s just taking up space. There, it can warm a home and a heart.

How about your cabinets and closets? Are they like mine, crammed full of things you can let go of? I found a pretty set of dishes and three mixing bowls to add to my pile. And I’m going back in.

Update

2008-09-20T10:25:00.004-04:00

Hi, y'all.

I haven't been posting much. It has been a busy season:

All three of my children moved within days of each other. One went back to college, one went back to Georgia and the other is now in Japan. Yes, Japan, as in halfway around the world (or thirteen hours ahead). Helping your children move can make muscles ache- and hearts, too!

I've gone back to work part-time as I have been relatively asymptomatic. It's crazy there, since I've taken off so much time due to illness. I am still not caught up. Plus, I'm the administrator for our group chiropractic booth at the Southern Women's Show (this weekend)and have spent mucho hours on that. Try getting eight doctors' offices and schedules into one cohesive format! My head hurts. Good thing I know a chiropractor... or eight. Wait. That's WHY my head hurts. :)

I've been writing, but it's mostly been scripts. Our church has a drama team that performs short (2-4 minute) sketches on some Sundays, generally to reinforce a sermon topic or series. We've needed fresh scripts and God has been sitting me down to give them to me. Sometimes it's during my "designated" writing time. Sometimes He gets me out of bed in the middle of the night. (As if He's on Japanese time!)

Then there's my ongoing search for answers to my health issues. My immunologist agreed that Mayo Clinic is a good "next step". However, as of October 1, Mayo is not participating with my primary insurance. They have suggested Duke instead. Duke does accept my insurance. So all the necessary referrals and pre-certs are in the works. It's waiting time again.

We did find out that my illness is NOT related to my high Epstein-Barr virus titers. There was no DNA evidence in my blood that EBV was active. There is also no blood evidence of lymph system cancer. So we ARE ruling things out and narrowing the possibilities. Of course, it's gotta be something quirky and unusual. That's just par for my course! :) Good thing my blood type is B+ (be positive!)!!!

OK, consider yourself updated. Now I have to finish reading about tomorrow's Sunday School lesson, write in my FAITH journal, do my Precepts homework, mop the bathroom, do a load of laundry, make out the grocery list, skin some tomatoes and chop the rest of the salsa ingredients, prepare and can the salsa...

Oh, and whadda ya know... another train just blew its whistle and flew on by! I'm taking that as a reminder to pray!

Y'all got your tickets?

Can You Hear the Whistle?

2008-09-03T02:10:00.003-04:00

It’s 1:00 am.

I had been asleep for about two hours, but God woke me. I could hear the approach of one of the forty-nine freight trains that pass our house every day. It sounded angry and out-of-control, as if it were heading for the house. The whistle blew and it passed on by, but I was left with the thought of what would happen if a train derailed nearby. We live within 100 yards of the tracks. Rail cars could easily buckle into our home and our lives would end instantly. I shook off the image and returned to sleep.

I dreamt that I had been stung by a bee and my throat was swelling closed. It was so vivid that I awakened coughing, alarmed that my tongue was thickening. It was not so, but it was enough to understand that God was getting my attention.

The message? Our perch on this planet is precarious. It could be over in a second.

I could not go back to sleep. When God wakes me, I have learned that I need to get up and go to the computer and write. This time has an urgency I cannot ignore.

Am I sitting here in the middle of the night because there is someone searching in the middle of the night?

Do you know Him?

So much of my life I thought I did, but it was a superficial relationship. He had to bring me through heartache to show me that I needed Him, to alert me that, yes, I had accepted Him but had not allowed Him into the control room. I was still trying to run my own life. It was like driving with my eyes closed.

Do you know Jesus? Are you prepared to meet Him?

Life could be over in the next ten minutes for any of us. It is only by the grace of God that we have breath in our lungs. We cannot take the risk of not knowing Him. Death comes at its appointed time and waits for no one. Not you. Not me.

It begins with the knowledge that we cannot reach Heaven on our own. Good deeds won’t get us there. Every one of us has missed the mark, has messed up. We might not think it fair, but God demands perfection from us in order for us to come into His presence. We are without hope… condemned. The price for our sin is death. The price must be paid. And that’s where Jesus comes in.

When Jesus died, He paid the price for our sin. And He didn't stop there. He conquered death and left that grave. What hope that is for us!

Now we can come into God’s presence. All we have to do is accept that gift that He paid for with His own life. We come to believe in Him, His death and His resurrection. We acknowledge our need for a Savior because we understand that we cannot save ourselves. We ask Him to do that for us. We confess that we’ve made a mess of things trying to run our lives without His direction and we ask Him to take over. We stop going down the path we were traveling, stop doing the things we already know in our hearts are not pleasing to Him, turn around and allow Him to lead. We step out in faith.

And that’s the first step, but it’s a big one.

That’s the step that keeps you from having an eternal address in Hell, where there is no God, where there is no Savior, where there is no hope, where continual torment has no relief. You think things are bad right now? At least there is hope while you still live. There is no light within the black jaws of Hell. No torch to keep evil at bay. No Indiana Jones. No one, no thing to save you, forever.

Are you ready? Or are you on the path towards destruction?

Accept Jesus. That’s all I can say to you. Do it now. I may not be here tomorrow to tell you again. You may not be here tomorrow to hear it again. And when you’ve finally given up and given in and given it to God, tell someone. Did a person just now come to your mind? That’s the Holy Spirit telling you who to tell. That’s the person who’s been praying for YOU, specifically, by name. And tell me, too. That’s why I’m writing to you. That’s why I’m now sitting here at 2:00am.

I’m awake, and I hear another train.

Neuro News

2008-08-18T11:54:00.003-04:00

Good morning, all.

Test results are in. I had my follow-up visit with the neurologist this morning.

Good news: He doesn’t believe it is MS or an MS spectrum disorder. YAY!

Other news: He doesn’t know what it is.

Next step: He is referring me to an immunologist/specialist for further study.

OK, so we’ve got one hurdle cleared! Now for the next one.

My track coach in high school taught me about hurdles. She said that in most sports, you focus on the ball so you will hit it. In hurdles, you do NOT focus on the hurdle, or you WILL hit it. You focus on the space above the hurdle. Miss Pinyan did not know she was teaching me a spiritual lesson as well.

The space above the hurdle is where God is.

So, y’all, focus with me on the space above the hurdle.

Day 19, symptom-free,
Onward,
Lisa

Weekend harvest

2008-08-16T21:37:00.003-04:00

The garden has been producing, folks!

Today I made salsa and canned five pints of it.

And then I canned some peach preserves and blackberry jelly, from a recent visit to a peach orchard!

I'm sure there will be a spiritual tie-in later, but for now, it's time to get ready for bed.

Sweet dreams!

Free

2008-08-10T19:13:00.003-04:00

She was not my first choice.

The other horses- the beautiful, the gentle, the named, the favorite, the strong one- had already been spoken for. She stood there, without saddle, without bridle or reins. Stood there, waiting for me.

This was all that was left? A naked, non-descript Shetland pony?

She had a reputation, that pony. She was known to be temperamental. She’d throw you if she didn’t like you, they said. She was uncontrollable. Wild.

The camp counselor gave me an ultimatum: Ride this horse back to the base- or walk the long, hot stretch of Kansas prairie. Reluctantly, fearfully, I mounted. Everyone else had already left.

My knobby twelve-year-old knees hugged her bare back and my hands grasped the generous tufts at the base of her neck. As soon as she felt me settle, she took off after the others. I gasped and dove forward, forcing myself as close to her as I could get, clamping my elbows tight to her neck. My body jolted each time her hooves struck. My eyes pinched shut to block as much sensation as possible.

And then something amazing happened. The pony and I began to move as one.

My waist-length brown hair and her long flaxen mane galloped together, rising and falling in waves behind me as I pressed my cheek against her neck. We flew, powerful and liberated, parting the grass ocean, sailing through the wind and the sun, leaving behind my fear and her reputation.

It was the most natural, freeing experience I have ever known. It was a gift, a moment in time when an awkward, skinny girl could imagine that anything was possible. Horses could fly! And if gravity could be overcome, then problems could be, too. Hope rose from under the hooves of a plain Plains pony. My heart risked to believe: the ones who were always last to be picked could be chosen, could be loved. Each just needed the chance to prove herself.

Have Some Fun!

2008-08-03T22:17:00.002-04:00

My new prayer buddy, Diane, (www.dianeapplewhite.blogspot.com) that I met on Renee Swope's blog after the She Speaks Conference, has invited me to join a little game of tag.

I was never very good at tag, but I will play, especially since I have had four (count 'em, FOUR!)good days in a row. I haven't had to even use my cane! Not that it matters, since this is cyber tag! :)

OK, this is how it works:
1-Diane tagged me.
2-I have to post 6 random things about myself on my blog.
3-I also need to post these rules. These. You're reading them.
4-Then I tag six buddies, by posting the invite on their blogs, and by posting their blog addresses at the end of mine, so you can read about them, too, if you want!
5-They get to play, too! (and send it on to six others)
6-Then I let Diane know I did it!

This is a fun way to get to know random things about each other that just wouldn't come up in "normal" conversation. Plus, the one tagged gets a little extra traffic to her blog, which is always an encouraging thing.

Read and be humored!

1. I have a crazy “talent”: I can talk like a munchkin from the Wizard of Oz- without helium. It began when I was a child, imitating the Twiddlebugs from Sesame Street. It has progressed to being able to sing the Star-Spangled Banner as a combination of Porky Pig, Whitney Houston and a munchkin. Priceless. My children will confirm its five-star embarrassment potential.

2. In college, I completed preliminary testing to qualify to join Mensa. Yeah, the high IQ club. People who know me now are probably pretty shocked to read that. That was when I had changed my major from Art to Biology, Pre-med. Then I birthed three children. Suddenly, it didn’t seem all that important!

3. I can sing songs in Japanese, Russian, Hebrew, French, Spanish and, of course, English (including that strange Star-Spangled banner). I even know what I’m singing! However, I am strictly amateur. Many people are nodding in agreement.

4. I’m only 45, but I’ve got parenting experience beyond my years: add together the ages of my three children (after their birthdays this week), their cumulative total is 64. SIXTY-FOUR! Add in my stepkids and you get 93. My husband’s and my ages together equal 94. This will be the last year we stay one step ahead of them!

5. I was born in a hospital so brand-new that I was only the third baby born there, and the first girl. When South Fulton Hospital in East Point (Atlanta), Georgia has its 50th birthday party in 2013, I’d better be invited. Or I’ll just show up and sing the Star-Spangled Banner. For real, y’all.

6. I share my birthday with the Ayatollah Khomeni. (Hopefully you are old enough to know who that was. Or Google it.) I take this to mean that I am destined to be a world leader. Or crazy. Perhaps that’s redundant. I also share the date with Sugar Ray Leonard. This means I have knockout potential. I just need a visit from Stacey and Clinton and Carmindy and Nick from “What Not to Wear”. And a personal trainer.

NOW...Whom shall I choose to tag?

1) My daughter, Sarah. www.developinhim.blogspot.com
2) My writer friend, Renee. www.reneemotley.blogspot.com
3) A sweet encourager, B. www.walkingbyfaithdownaisle15.blogspot.com
4) A fellow She-Speaker, pinkshoelady.blogspot.com
5) A fellow Lisa, who posted on my blog before. www.lisaperdue.blogspot.com
6) Hmmm. I don't have a six. Guess I'm still pretty new at this!

Y'all enjoy each other. Encourage each other daily, as our Lord directs! I can't wait to read your six random things!

And if I didn't link to you above, but you just want to reveal your random six, just leave me a comment! I'd love to get to know you!

Wandering Jew and accompanying Gentile

2008-07-31T11:38:00.001-04:00

I was roaming around the house on the phone (cell phones are so cool!) with my daughter yesterday, and found myself in the sunroom. We were discussing our morning quiet times (having a Christian “adult” daughter is so cool!) when I noticed that one of the plants had decided to jump its pot. I don’t know where it thought it was going, but lengths of the vine had severed themselves from the momma plant and landed on the carpet.

“What craziness!” I thought. Closer inspection revealed that the vines had “dampened off”- the stems had rotted an inch or so above the soil. So I rescued the still-living (that is so cool!) escapees and pinched off the dead ends and set them in a glass of water to re-root. I exiled them to another part of the room, where they could be protected until they were ready to re-plant.

The name of the plant? Wandering Jew.
My quiet time study earlier that morning? The return of the exiles to Jerusalem.

Tell me God doesn’t have both impeccable timing and a keen sense of humor.

I’ve never considered myself to be much of an Old Testament scholar. But recent Sunday School lessons have had me digging into history to try to put it all together. Basically, I’m trying to gain some chronological understanding of the prophets, the exile, the return to Jerusalem and all the kings involved. Stuff that I’ve “historically” (smile) found boring has now piqued my interest. (Tell me God doesn’t work miracles! Next thing you know, he’ll have me fascinated with numbers. Hear that sound? My husband and children are laughing uncontrollably. One day I will tell you the story of The Fit of Rage and The Algebra Book, by Lisa Roszler.)

Did you know that not all the Jews returned when they were allowed? Nope. Some just stayed behind in Babylon. “Y’all go on ahead! Be safe! I’m happy for you!”

Maybe they’d been there so long that it felt like home. Their children were born there, their new homes were comfortable. Perhaps they had no need of the old ways, couldn’t identify with the homeland, had lost their religion? Forgotten what it was all about? Maybe they had become so assimilated that they were unrecognizable, even to themselves, as being a different, chosen people.

Then a profound thought hit me.

I am a modern-day exile. Where is my Babylon? America? This planet? Am I so enamored (see that root “amor”-love?) with this present life that I have failed to remember where I truly belong? Am I trying to make my heaven on earth? Have I forgotten what my life is to be about? Am I recognizable as being a citizen of Heaven, Zion, New Jerusalem? Do I long to return?

Those sprigs of vine will soon grow roots, but they can’t live forever in a glass of water. They need soil. They need home soil. Just like this Wandering Gentile. Praise God He gives us His Word, His Living Water to remain in until He takes us home!

Not to goad you, but...

2008-07-30T12:16:00.003-04:00

It has been reported that before the Indonesian tsunami hit, the wildlife started heading for higher ground, even before the humans were aware it was coming. Scientists call it “instinct”.

What is instinct? It’s a prompting. In comes from a Latin root word that means “prick or goad”.

Goad. That word makes me smile, because a scripture I never understood comes to mind. I remember reading in Acts 26:14 when Saul was blinded on the road to Damascus. Jesus said to him, “It is hard for you to kick against the goads.” Do what?

Evidently, “kicking against the goads” is old Greek-speak for “useless resistance”. Ever seen a child throwing a (non-public) temper tantrum in the presence of a patient mother? She’ll let him wear himself out, because she’s not giving in.

Hmmm. So instinct has to do with a pricking or goading. Seems to me it comes from our patient Father. He prompts. He waits out the temper tantrum. Maybe we get wise and listen and follow His lead. Maybe we continue to kick against Him.

There’s another scripture with “goad” in it: “The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails- given by one Shepherd.” (Ecclesiastes 12:11) What colorful imagery! Lest your imagination lead you astray, those nails are not the Shepherd’s fingernails in your arm, pulling you along! My Bible references the term back to Ezra, who speaks of God’s grace in giving the remnant of Israel a “firm place”, literally a nail or peg, in His sanctuary.

I like the thought of having a peg in His sanctuary, a place to hang my coat and stay awhile. In my mind I see a row of personalized nursery school cubbies: there’s even a place for my shoes- but baggage is left curbside.

Do I hear God prompting me? He’s singing Newsboys- again:

“It’s just a Spirit thing, it’s just a Holy nudge,
It’s like a circuit judge in the brain.
It’s just a Spirit thing, it’s here to guard my heart,
It’s just a little hard to explain.
It pushes when I quit, it smells a counterfeit,
And it works a bit like a teleprompter.
When it’s teleprompting you, I pray you let it through…”

And the Spirit whispers, “Travel light, go in haste! Head for higher ground!”

Happy

2008-07-22T09:08:00.006-04:00

This will not be a long post. It will also be my only post this week.

I am packing to go out of town (to Charleston and Georgetown, SC) for our 13th anniversary. We are celebrating a marriage that almost didn't make it past the shaky 8th anniversary. I spent the 8th (July 03) packing up my kids' stuff to take to them when they'd had to move in with their biological dad after our lives fell apart in June of 03.

Now, with God's grace, we not only celebrate our anniversary, but will also soon celebrate a year of being back in the same house together! I will have to post more about that later.

For now, I am posting pictures of my garden.

During those four years of separation, I clung to Isaiah 51:3.

"The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins: he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing."

My wasteland has become a garden. You can often find me there, because it brings me great joy. Sometimes I am hidden among the plants as I weed or tend, but all you have to do to locate me is listen for the sound of singing.

May God put a song in your heart today!

Get the Point

2008-07-18T12:40:00.001-04:00

Remember how your mama told you not to point your finger at anyone because you’ll have three pointing back at you? Go ahead, try it. Point your finger. See your other three fingers pointing right back to you? Hmmm. Guess that old saying had some truth.

Today, I pointed someone to a scripture. And guess what? God pointed it right back at me! But, hey, this was a good thing!

I sent a new friend to Psalm 63:7: “Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.” (NIV) I just love that scripture. It was the one I put in my pocket last year at our Christmas production when the character I played had to sing. I’m a nervous one when it comes to being on stage in the first place and singing compounded that nervousness by about six hundred times. But I knew I had that affirmation right there in my pocket and, ladies and gentlemen, the show went on! It was in my pocket again on Mother’s Day, when I sang Anita Renfroe’s “Mom Song” before our congregation.

Scripture is powerful, my friends!

Well, today I was doing my quiet time. I usually do it before getting on the computer and checking on my bloggy friends, but today, I did it after pointing the new friend to Psalm 63. That was still on my heart, so I decided to read it for myself again. And then I looked across the table to the books I was reading yesterday. There sat The Message, which is a modern Bible translation.

Here’s how The Message translates Psalm 63:7:
“Because you’ve always stood up for me, I’m free to run and play. I hold onto you for dear life, and you hold me steady as a post.”

Steady. Not exactly my physical state right now. My husband calls me his “Weeble Wife”. According to the old commercial, “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.” Why? Because they have heavy, rounded bottoms. Yep. OK, while I do acknowledge the similarities and admit that this baby do got back, that would not be the reason why this particular Weeble Woman does not fall down.

I am holding onto my Jesus for dear life and He holds me steady as a post.

And that part about being “free to run”? Did I just not sing those very words in a Newsboys song?

What a fantastic thing to find! An old favorite scripture has fresh meaning! Are not God’s mercies new every morning? Hallelujah!

OK, now I just gotta go inquire of old King James and the Living Bible and…

Ode to Beautiful Feet

2008-07-17T14:45:00.002-04:00

Cute shoes are climbing up my list of life’s good things.

It’s because I find myself looking at my own feet a lot lately. I have to watch where they are going so that I don’t a) fall in my “disequilibrium”, or b) step in an ant hill, after last month’s allergic reaction episode. (Read the June 9 post entitled “Kiss My Grits!”)

Now, generally I do not pay much attention to feet. I have not considered them to be worthy of noting. I mean, c’mon- how many famous pieces of artwork have been devoted to them? Can you even think of any? In fact, many artists say feet are the most difficult body part to accurately render. Feet are utilitarian. Mundane. They are (forgive me) pedestrian.

I was watching TV the other day and a commercial came on for this egg-shaped callous remover thingy. The women were shown scrubbing it all over their scaly feet. Then they demonstrated the effectiveness of the device by (GAG!) emptying the reservoir onto a cloth…in full view of the audience! Boy, talk about an appetite suppressant! I ran into the bathroom (well, “ran” is probably an exaggeration considering the fact that I can’t even walk fast right now) and soaked my feet in the tub as a preventative measure.

Nobody wants scaly feet. We want beautiful feet.

God has something to say about that.

“How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news,” He says in Isaiah 52:7. And in Psalm 121:1, He talks about lifting our eyes to look to the hills, to search for help. That help, the psalmist says, comes from God, who made the mountain. Put it together and you’ve got a vision of one coming from God with good news. That one is Christ. And then, because we are to be His hands and feet, it becomes our legacy. We are to have the beautiful feet that bring the Good News, to help others.

He enables us to go on the heights. (Habakkuk 3:19) That’s where we are empowered.

He leads us through the valley of the shadow of death. (Psalm 23:4) That’s where the lost are.

He will not let our foot slip.(Psalm 121:3) That’s His protection.

Jesus had the most beautiful feet in the whole world and I can inherit them!

Gotta go, y’all. My feet (and my spirit) need a little soak in preparation of some mountain climbing and valley searching. I’ve got the added benefit of Old Navy’s black and white scrollwork satin flats on clearance for $15. But as for that TV scrubby thing...

In His Hands

2008-07-16T12:07:00.000-04:00

Hey, y’all! I am still here, though not able to sit and type too much at this point!

I had a lumbar puncture/spinal tap a week ago, in hopes of uncovering clues as to what disease/condition I am “experiencing”. Then I had a “blood patch” to take care of a complication of the lumbar puncture. Now I am having residual effects from the blood patch, as well as the symptoms of the disease/condition we’re trying to diagnose! So, I am on my back a lot.

But God is good. I’ve seen Him at work. I’ve cried and He’s comforted. I’ve asked and He’s provided. I’ve heard Him singing to me when I’ve been unable to rise or turn over in the bed, when I’ve been physically unable to read or watch TV or do anything but lie on my back for hours upon hours. Mostly, He sings Newsboys songs and old hymns! Hey, God has eclectic tastes!

I cried like a baby about having to go for the blood patch. I did not want any more needles injecting or removing anything from my body, spine in particular! I knew God could just heal me, so why wouldn’t He? WHY??? I already knew the answer, but that did not make it easier to accept: He had a bigger purpose. He was going to use the experience for something good. Yet, I cried and cried. I even cried on the phone to several good ministry friends, who prayed for me on the spot. (Lisa does not generally cry on the phone, y’all!)

Desperate for evidence from Him, I called out, “God, I know that You should be enough for me. I know You really are enough, but, please forgive me, I can’t feel that right now. I am scared and I’ll be alone in a strange place with people I don’t know and I’ll have to trust them and I am terrified! Is it too much to ask for an angel to be there with me? Will you send me an angel? Please? And please guide the doctor’s hands as he injects the blood into my spine. Please just help me feel Your touch in his hands.”

I finally gave in and accepted the peace that my friends asked to be given me and rested until time came to go.

I was lying on the bed in the pain clinic when the door opened and the nurse walked in. It was Kira, from our church! God immediately opened my eyes to see that this was the angel I’d asked for, someone I could trust who would be with me every step of the procedure. An image came to mind of our Christmas play in which the praise/dance team representing angels surrounded me and escorted me. Kira used to be on that team, but had been unable to take part at Christmas due to her pregnancy. God was now allowing her to play the angel’s part! I broke down sobbing again. How good is our Lord? How perfect in plan? How merciful and loving?!

That’s just one story from this adventure. There are others. In fact, I know God is calling me to write to the doctor that performed the blood patch, to thank him for helping me- and to share with him about the God who used his hands.

Stay tuned! God is living and active!

Of Bedpans and Ice Cream Trucks

2008-07-01T18:13:00.004-04:00

Ah, yes, new doctors.

I mean really new. Like “ink still wet on the diploma” new.

Yes, my new neurologist is a young one. Board certified in 2005.

But I didn’t ask him what flavor of ice cream he would be, as I intimated in my last post. He seemed much too serious for that.

As I thought we would, we rehashed my medical history of the past twenty years. (Twenty years ago he was probably running after the ice cream truck!) Same ol’ tests. “Follow my finger with your eyes.” “Walk for me.” “Can you feel this?”

Guess what we get to do next? That’s right! More tests! Lumbar puncture, anyone?

So pray for me on July 8. That’s when they draw spinal fluid and I get to lie flat for 24 hours. Hey, do I need a bedpan? Oh, the lovely thoughts!

Submit, Lisa, submit.

I heard a preacher on the radio Sunday. He was talking about feeling the “chains of our flesh”. That’s quite a visceral punch. And accurate, I must say. It’s no wonder that I’ve been having dreams about being able to fly, diving upwards into the sky, like jumping off a diving board but it being a springboard instead! Be gone, chains of gravity! Be dismissed, laws of physics!

For now, I guess I’ll have to stay earthbound. At least bodily.

My spirit? It stays up most of the time. It’s free!

(cue Newsboys' “I Am Free”)

I am free to run! Hmmm. Physically, not so much. Got that cane, remember? Couldn’t chase the ice cream truck if I wanted to. But I am running the race set before me.

I am free to dance! Oh, most certainly, cane or no cane. It ain’t pretty, but God doesn’t care! And my husband is here to hold me. I couldn’t say that last year at this time!

I am free to live for You! Christian and American. There’s nothing freer than that.

I am free! Hear me praise God! Sing it with me, friend!

I think I’ll go decorate my cane with red, white and blue ribbons! :)

Lady in Waiting

2008-06-30T12:16:00.003-04:00

I’m not in much of a writing mood today. I want rest. I want answers. I want a diagnosis. I want to run screaming until this “thing” leaves my body. Except that I can’t run. Have you ever seen anyone run with a cane? Didn’t think so! :)

I have an appointment tomorrow with a new neurologist.

This is like some weird “dating game”. “Bachelor, er, Neurologist #3, if you were an ice cream flavor…” Hey, I don’t want some kind of nutty one, you know!

So tomorrow, I’ll just have to rehash twenty-some-odd years of on-again-off-again neurological symptoms and explain my life-on-hold-since-February whale of a time. He’ll prick the bottoms of my feet and make me touch my finger to my nose. He’ll look over old blood work and MRIs. And maybe, just maybe, Lord-willing-and-the-creek-don’t-rise, he’ll have something different to say. He’ll see something that he wants to investigate. Maybe he’ll have just come back from a conference and has just learned about something new. Hey, that happened to me just last week! I just gotta wait until tomorrow. (cue song from Annie…)

I have this fascinating job. It’s called Lady in Waiting.

According to Wikipedia, Ladies in Waiting were ladies “of a royal court appointed to serve or attend a Queen, Princess, or high ranking noblewoman. A Lady in Waiting was not quite a servant. Ladies in Waiting were considered 'noble companions' who, by their status and nobility, could better advise a woman of high station.” OK, so I need to write a new job description.

Lady in Waiting: A servant of the royal court, anointed for the King's service and appointed by the King to encourage other women.

It goes with the dream I had Saturday night: a man resembling a cross between Ed Begley, Jr. and my Uncle Larry was leading our Sunday School class and told me I was being commissioned to teach other women about who they are in Christ. OK. So then I got to Sunday School for real the next day and the lesson was about finding one’s life purpose. I opened my Bible to find a paper I’d stuck there months ago. It was about who we are in Christ. The teacher (not our usual teacher) wrote several words on the board. Among them: Consecrated. That’s what my name means. I looked at the teacher and suddenly recognized him as the man in my dream.

God’s pretty cool, huh?

I’ve gotta go. It’s time for the Lady to take her nap. I’ll let you know what the new neurologist says. Until then, sweet dreams! May God speak to you in yours!

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Always

2008-06-27T14:17:00.002-04:00

Just a little daisy bouquet for anyone stopping by today. This is the beauty I see when I look out my kitchen window: daisies and window boxes and herbs!

Magnanimous

2008-06-26T10:18:00.002-04:00

It’s a word I saw today on our desktop fliptop devotional. It’s not an everyday kind of word, so I looked it up.

Magnanimous: generous in forgiving an insult or injury; free from petty resentfulness or vindictiveness; proceeding from or revealing generosity or nobility of mind or character.

Another source described it as “a heart big enough to hold no grudges”.

That got me to thinking. A heart like that must have a lot of room. It must get cleaned out on a regular basis.

Grudges are a lot like clutter. You just get used to having them around. You don’t even realize they take up so much room. Maybe they seem comforting somehow. And what if someone suggests you get rid of clutter? “Why, I’ve had that forever!” or “I might need that someday!” “Aunt Martha gave that to me!” Hmmm.

The Bible speaks of a root of bitterness. That’s a grudge. Hebrews 12:15 specifically tells us to get rid of it: “See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.” It’s toxic. It strangles the heart.

Didn't we just discuss forgiveness yesterday? God must want us to explore!

How does one begin to unclutter the heart, to uproot bitterness? One must get past the paralysis of “I don’t know where to start!” Sister, let me help you.

Picture Jesus. Yes, close your eyes and imagine Him. He’s marvelous and strong. He’s glowing with love. He even appears real, not just a flat image. See Him in color and brightness. He takes up the whole view! How peaceful! You might even be aware of fragrance and sweetness. Rest here a few minutes and soak Him in.

Now, you’re going to want to rebel against this next part. Think of a person who really gets under your skin. When you close your eyes, do you see them in black and white, boxed in a stagnant little snapshot, maybe down in just a corner of your vision?

Bring them to Jesus. Imagine moving that little photo into the image you saw of Jesus. Make it color. Make it living. I know, you are wanting to rebel even now, to stop the exercise. Don't. It can't hurt.

Move that person into the center of your vision, and let Jesus give them a big hug. See them relax. See that angry, bitter, mean, cold, unholy, vile, senseless, insensitive person give in to Jesus' warmth. See them break into an actual smile, or cry. Feel your own heart soften. Allow it! Stay here a little while, too. Cry if you need to. And the next time you think of that person, remember that you gave them to Jesus. See it again.

When the writer of Hebrews said that no one should miss God’s grace, He was talking about YOU, too! Forgiveness multiplies grace. Don’t miss it! And don’t strangle it with a bitter root! See to it that no one misses that grace- including the object of your grudge.

“Create in me a pure heart, O God.” (Psalm 51:10) Lord, help me to be magnanimous.

Anointed

2008-06-25T11:10:00.000-04:00

I just looked up the meaning of the word “anointed”.

The word was on a card I picked up at the She Speaks conference. We had all written our “doubts” on another card and had taken them to the foot of a cross that was set up at the front of the room. There, we symbolically laid them, giving them to God. In exchange for our doubts, we picked up a card with scripture and a special word. I thought everyone got the same one, but found out later that there were many different cards.

Mine said “anointed”.

Something that is anointed has been set apart or consecrated for God’s service. Amazingly, my name actually means “Consecrated to God”. How’s that for confirmation?

The scripture passage on my card was Luke 4:18-19. This is the scene in which Jesus, in His hometown, read from Isaiah and then announced that He was fulfilling the prophecy written there. At first, the people marveled. Then He said a word of truth that they didn’t want to hear, and the people promptly drove Him away.

People don’t always respond well to the truth, do they?

It’s a little scary to think about. God has given us His word to proclaim and yet we’re not always going to be received well. The “special emphasis” God has given me, for which He has set me apart, for which I am anointed, is especially rejected. It’s called forgiveness.

Forgiveness is a precious gift: everybody wants to receive it. Ask them to give it away, and they act as if they cannot afford to do so.

Why do we act that way? We hold on to hate. We point fingers. We keep our wounds open and bloody, as if doing so punishes the one who inflicted them. All it really does is keep us from healing.

What do you do when you cut your finger? You allow it to bleed just a little to cleanse it from the inside. Then you wash it under water. Next you apply ointment to keep it from getting infected. You bandage it to protect it from filth. And it heals.

When we accepted Christ, His blood cleansed us. We were baptized with water. We were anointed with the Holy Spirit. God covered us. So we should be healing.

Are we? That blood represented forgiveness and came at great cost for Jesus. He gave it freely. We accepted it. Now we need to pass it on. Freely. For our own healing and for the healing of others. They won’t believe it truly exists until they see it in us.

The wounded are waiting.

Doing Good!

2008-06-24T10:31:00.000-04:00

Every now and then, someone will ask me, “Lisa, how are you doing?” My reply is “I’m doing good!”

Yes, I know that the grammatically correct response is “I’m doing well”- if you are talking about health. But that’s not what I’m talking about, though it may appear so. I say it that way because I want to secretly remind myself that I am supposed to “do good”, to not do harm. I am supposed to be God’s ambassador.

Good deeds, however, are not the complete picture.

Have you ever heard of King Josiah?

He was the boy who became King of Judah at the age of eight, after his father was assassinated. He did enormous good. Josiah wiped out all signs of idol worship. When the Book of the Law was found in the temple, he ordered that it be followed. He reinstituted Passover. He did marvelous things for God. He was sincere. He was ruthless in obedience to the Law. He found rules and he followed them.

Except that he forgot to talk to God about it. He was so busy doing that he neglected the One for whom he was doing. He ended up missing the point. Like the Pharisees of Jesus’ time. Busy, busy, busy and scrupulously clean on the outside, but hollow.

Like you. Like me.

Isn’t that what we tend to do? We busy ourselves with Christian work, doing good for our King. We’re sincere! We write our hearts out for Jesus. We spend time reading each other’s blogs. But did we pray first? Did we have our quiet time first? Did God really get put first this morning? Not just the talking about Him, but the sitting with Him.

Faith without deeds is dead, yes. But I think deeds can be empty, too.

I don’t know about you, but I have a tendency to be a “human doing” instead of a “human being”. And right now, I’m getting pretty convicted. I’m going to post this and go sit, go be at my King’s feet for awhile and make sure I’ve consulted Him. His battle plan is the one I need to be following.

Here's One for George

2008-06-23T11:22:00.001-04:00

Man, oh man, what a weekend!

How does one describe the She Speaks conference? It was like finding God around every corner. He showed up in the phenomenal details. He showed up in the women who were seeking hard after Him. He showed up in the speakers and even in the servers at dinner. It was like standing under a waterfall of blessings. I’m still trying to soak it all in, but it’s going to take months.

And that was just from Friday and Saturday. I couldn’t go on Sunday. My mysterious malady (not yet been diagnosed, but appears to be related to multiple sclerosis) reared its despicable head on Sunday morning, leaving me so off-balance that I had to get out my cane again. Practical application: I couldn’t drive. So, to all my She Speaks sisters, I apologize. I did not intend to leave without saying goodbye!

Wow, wow, wow! I now know “Without A Shadow of a Doubt” (thank you, Renee, for Saturday night’s message) that I am supposed to carry forward this dream of being a writer and a speaker. And speaking of dreams, I had one last night that still has me reeling a bit. God tends to speak to me when I am asleep because He can get me when I’m still. (I need to work on being still when I am awake, too. Those are my fish belly experiences- see previous two posts.)

Last night’s dream found me visiting a place I used to work. There among the ladies (who for some reason were all wearing blue scrubs) was George Carlin. No, I have never worked with George Carlin. From what I know of him, we probably would not see eye-to-eye! (Any of you who have stumbled across his material, except for a brief stint as Mr. Conductor for Thomas the Tank Engine, know what I’m talking about.) But this was a kinder, gentler George. And he told me that I needed to be up there on the stage because people needed to hear my message. Then he disappeared into the back room. OK, George.

So I get up this morning to find out that George Carlin died last night.

What am I supposed to do with that? God has spoken to me before through Boy George songs, but through an urgent George Carlin? Maybe I need to look up the meaning of the name “George”.

George, I hope you met Jesus. I really, really hope you know Him.

Fish Belly Again

2008-06-18T16:50:00.004-04:00

First, God prompts writing on a certain topic.
Then, He gives an experience to keep it fresh.
He is just the Master of timing!

So, after Monday’s post about Jonah, here I sit in the belly of the fish.

What’s up, God? Can we get this lesson over so I can move on?

God’s mental note: Add another day in the fish belly to teach patience.

Tuesday started out pretty well. I was just a little tired. I went down for my daily nap and woke two hours later with the inability to focus my eyes and an unsettling perception that horizontal surfaces are actually vertical and vice-versa. I recognize these as symptoms of my as-of-yet undiagnosed condition, so I am not terribly alarmed. I just pretend I’m Spiderwoman climbing the walls when I’m actually crawling on the floor.

Oh, except that after a few minutes, I get tired and then I’m just mad.

OK, so I have to call my boss and tell him I’m not coming in. Great. Love that, especially the blubbery part where I break down into tears on the phone. Super.

And did I mention that there’s a man in my backyard, digging a new septic field? It means I cannot flush the toilet for the next several hours. Lovely. Oh, and he just hit the cable line, which means my TV is useless and my internet down. Until the cable guy can come and repair it, scheduled between 10am and noon- TOMORROW!

I can still type, right? But my coordination is so off that I accidentally invent new words. Nto os muhc frun.

Happy times, y’all!

A few hours later, my husband (who took the day off to supervise the septic event) is dozing. I must have talked his ears into the buzzing range. I realize that my vision has improved when the six paintings over the fireplace have returned to their usual three. Great! Now I can at least read! What do I have to read? There’s the latest issue of my Martha Stewart magazine on the end table.

Then God draws my eye to the Bible sitting on the coffee table in the sunroom. Oh.

I am drawn into a world of Old Testament kings and warriors and the servant girls who point them to God for healing. My heart relaxes, my eyes behave and I read until bedtime.

In the middle of the night, God whispers for me to get up and write. I protest, and then realize that He has given me a topic for an article that I need to write. The fat-finger syndrome is gone and typing is normal. Praise God! And how amazing to find that He put a computer in the fish belly. He thinks of everything, doesn’t He?

Kiss My Grits!

2008-06-09T09:55:00.004-04:00

I’m a nature lover. Put me in a garden and I’m happy. I love plants, I love animals, I love all of God’s creatures. Well, most of them.

There are a few for whom my wrath does rise, namely cockroaches and flying, stinging insects. And now, ants as well.

I think anyone can understand my disgust for cockroaches. Even the movie, “Enchanted” couldn’t make me change my mind with all its choreographed cleaning (cleaning! What???) bugs. The stinging insects are another no-brainer. I like them fine if they’re pollinating my squash, but don’t let one fly near me. They are like little loaded guns- a sting sends me to the ER, if I make it that far.

Friday, I found out that ants are also members of the send-Lisa-to-the-ER club. I was watering the hydrangea when I stepped on an ant hill. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention to my feet, until I felt a burn on my ankle. I smashed the offender, brushed off his buddies and went back to watering. My hand started to tingle and I realized that it was from the venom I’d encountered from crushing the ant. I knew then that I might be in trouble. I rushed into the house, took an antihistamine and my husband drove me immediately to the ER. My heart pounded, my lungs closed.

An IV and several drugs later, ants had joined my list of enemies. They were to be annihilated! I formulated my plan.

Did I tell you that I am an organic gardener? No chemicals for me. But I do have a powerful, good-old Southern weapon: grits. Yes, grits.

Saturday morning found me feeding the ants, sprinkling the dry uncooked grits onto the ant hills. “Kiss my grits!” I whispered, lest the neighbors hear me. The ants came out, picked up the tasty flakes and took them back in the hill. I felt a little guilty at their joy over “manna” raining from heaven; I knew that once they had eaten, they’d be drinking some water and the grits would swell up in their little bellies. Then they would expand beyond capacity: exploding ants! Take that, you vermin!

By Saturday afternoon, the ant population in my yard had significantly declined. (And here I thought my husband didn’t eat grits because he was born outside of grits territory!)

I’m sure somewhere in all of this, God has a spiritual lesson for me. I keep hearing one of those songs we sang in VBS: “Oh, be careful little feet where you walk…” It was an admonition to keep ourselves on the path, to not stray, to stay out of trouble. It is a reminder to me today to do a heart check, to check where my spiritual feet are planted and to remember that every breath comes from God.

God and the Mac

2008-06-06T17:56:00.003-04:00

My daughter, Sarah, recently referred to her MacIntosh laptop by the name she gave it: Jehovah Jireh.

The reference brought a smile to my heart and to my face.

Last August, Sarah was preparing to go away to college to study photography. She needed a Mac. She had to wait until her financial aid was finalized before she could place the order, so by the time she’d done so, it was getting ominously close to the day she would be leaving. And the package couldn’t be delivered to her college P.O. Box.

We were dismayed to find out that the scheduled delivery date was on Monday- AFTER her Saturday move. It was coming all the way from China. There was nothing we could do to speed up its arrival- or was there? We decided to pray. It seemed a silly thing at the time to pray that a computer would miraculously arrive days before scheduled (who ever heard of a package coming EARLY?), but we decided God was big enough. The question was: would He really be that concerned, that involved in day-to-day details in the life of an everyday 18-year-old girl, even if she was a new Christian? (That salvation story is a miracle story for another post! Whew- wait till you read THAT one!)

Sarah checked the web every day, sometimes more that once, to track her package. It seemed to be stuck in China forever. Finally, on the night before she was to leave, it arrived in the Midwest. The delivery date stubbornly stared back at her, refusing to budge from its Monday slot. Sarah went to bed heartbroken.

The next morning, we packed the car. I was closing up the house when I noticed that the plants in the sunroom were wilted in the heat. I decided to water them immediately. Sarah took the opportunity to look online “just one more time”. What she saw shocked us both: the Mac was on the truck, scheduled for delivery before noon- THAT MORNING!

Unfortunately, we could not wait around the house any longer due to the length of the drive and her scheduled check-in time. But it was SO CLOSE! What could be done? Perhaps we could intercept the truck somewhere on our way out of town. God was big enough, right? I quickly called the delivery service to find out where the truck was.

Moments later, I was on the phone with customer service when I happened to look out our dining room window. There was the FedEx truck, parked in our driveway!

Sarah and I ran out to meet the driver. He was unprepared for such a joyous reception! We told him of our prayer. We announced that he was witnessing a miracle and that God had used him to pull it off. He smiled. (I hope it encouraged him and built his faith!)

We climbed into the over-packed car and set off, amazed at God’s timing and provision, of His love and care for such a small detail in the great scheme of things.

And thus came the name: Jehovah Jireh, “God Will Provide”. The Mac is proof! How often do you get tangible evidence like that? And here’s a funny little God-bonus: “MacIntosh” is Scottish for “son of Thane”- and Thane means "Lord"! Tell me God isn’t involved in details! Can I get an “Amen!”?

Fruits of labor

2008-05-19T10:39:00.002-04:00

You can get away with things when it’s your birthday. You can even make phone calls to your deeply-sleeping college-aged children at nine-thirty on a Saturday morning to ask them if they want to go strawberry picking even when it’s something neither they nor you have ever done.

Here I am, “halfway to ninety” (as my “halfway to forty” son sweetly pointed out) and I’ve never picked strawberries- blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, yes; but never strawberries. So I thought: what better thing to do on your birthday than something you’ve never done?

The three children acquiesced, as one might humor a little old lady. They showed not even a hint of insincerity. (Have they been taking acting lessons alongside Algebra and Physics?) I picked them up at the apartment they share just off campus, and off we went. The four of us aren’t often in the same place at the same time, so that in itself was a little treat for me.

Saturday was a beautiful day, a take-your-sweater-on-and-off kind of day; warm but not too hot, stirred with an occasional, casual breeze. The strawberry fields were amazing, stretching to the edge of vision, bountiful and fragrant. Oh, and muddy. And populated with young families trying to artificially manufacture sweet memories.

To my left I could hear a father chiding his daughter for not moving fast enough and berating his son for playing in the mud. The mother complained about wearing the wrong shoes. Grandma worked ahead, gathering quietly. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was. I wanted to go tell them to relax and enjoy each other. They were too close to the mundane, too preoccupied with regulation to see that childhood is fleeting. They were missing the joy. Been there, done that, I’m afraid.

I’d had my head down, busily investigating the plants and the raised beds and the watering system, as is my horticultural nature. My two daughters and son had moved to “greener pastures”, to the more distant, less-picked rows in search of the prime of all berries. I stood up and caught sight of all three of my children a few rows over. It was one of those sudden, poignant, observant moments, when God pulls back the curtain and blesses us by allowing us to see the fruits of parenting labor.

There they were, working and talking, just beyond my hearing. They moved without hurry or worry, intent on finding the best. I could detect no arguments, no strife. I realized they were happy. Their baskets and mine were full. As was my heart. Such sweet fruit!

Present

2008-05-13T11:50:00.003-04:00

I have a piece of jewelry that my husband bought for me as a gift last August when our four-year separation was over. It’s a slide that goes on a necklace chain, a silver tree and stream on a background of abalone. I loved it immediately because it reminded me of one of the scriptures I clung to during those difficult, wilderness years:

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes: its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.” Jeremiah 17:7-8

The necklace is a beautiful aide memoire to me of God’s faithfulness amid our human-ness. It is physically symbolic of Solomon’s plea (Proverbs 3:3) to bind love and faithfulness around our necks. It bespeaks a stunning and poignant testimony.

The unusual beauty and artistry of the necklace never fails to garner attention. It has become a means of witness for me because I am able to share the story and scripture behind it. Just last week, it opened the door for a waitress to share that she was separated from her husband. It gave my husband and me the opportunity to pray for her. It blessed her to literally see and hear evidence that God can work miracles, that He also hears her cries. It completely blessed me to be used by God to give her hope.

All that from silver on a piece of abalone.

Silver? The word comes from a root that means “to refine”. As in, removing impurities through the application of heat. My husband and I spent four years in the very center of the Refiner’s fire. Spiritual refining is no easy thing to undergo; I still must constantly have to remember that the tree in Jeremiah does not fear when heat comes!

Abalone is a shell. Webster’s says it is found “clinging to the rock” on the coastlines. How appropriate is that? I spent those four years clinging to the Rock, listening for God’s instruction. Abalone’s other name? Sea ear. As in “listen”.

How involved and interwoven God is in our lives, even into the meanings of random words! What amazing power He has! He can use a husband’s present to his wife to demonstrate and illustrate that He is real and active. That He is present. Indeed, He is The Present.

The Unpredictable

2008-05-13T09:53:00.003-04:00

It is cold again this morning. Are we having another blackberry winter? Does that mean double the blackberries this summer?

Weather is just unpredictable! Just when you think you have it figured out, it changes!

One of life’s mysteries to me is that God never changes, yet He is not predictable. He is faithful, He is steadfast, He is unwavering, unstoppable, and unfaltering; yet He is still unpredictable.

I do not know where I will see Him next. I do not know when He will whisper in my ear. I do not know what He has in store for me next year or next month or this afternoon. He is full of the best kinds of surprises!

But I do know that He is near, always, whether watching me discover a hidden treasure or whether standing behind me to catch me should I stumble over a hidden land mine. There is a comforting feeling of His presence through it all that gives me confidence to step out even when I cannot see where my foot will land. Not that I have this trust issue down perfectly, because I don’t. But He is patient with me.

“Trust and obey, for there’s no other way to be happy in Jesus but to trust and obey.” Those words were written by Daniel Towner after hearing a young man share his testimony. It was said that the young man obviously knew little doctrine, but knew enough that he was going to just trust and obey.

That’s stepping out in faith. That’s understanding that God’s ways are higher than ours (see Isaiah 55:8-9). That’s obedience. That’s what we are called to, regardless of what our short-sighted eyes tell us, or our culturally-tuned ears hear or our self-preserving flesh fears. It is remembering that, even though we have no trail map, even though we cannot predict what lies ahead, we are being led by the One who laid the path down and has traversed it already.

Lead on, Lord!

Wind advisory

2008-05-12T21:47:00.000-04:00

I love wind chimes, especially the capiz shell ones found at all the little shops at the beach. I have a set that hangs from the corner of our carport. There’s something calming about their tinkling sound. A gentle breeze sets the strings of translucent shell-circles in motion, sweetly touching them together. They whisper with a delicate chatter. It is one of my favorite sounds, something reminiscent of childhood and lazy summer days, before life stormed in with all its troubles.

Today, it was a different sound, still dainty but unnerving, like a thousand little crystal glasses crashing to the floor. It was not calming. The chimes were clamorous, twisting wildly in a strong wind. Young trees were tossing about. My newly-bloomed peonies bowed and the delphinium tilted.

There are many scriptures that speak of wind. Sometimes the reference is to cleansing, to the blowing away of chaff and rubble. Sometimes the wind is a reminder of God’s power. Sometimes it is an example of things that cannot be grasped or understood. But my thoughts today centered on Ephesians 4:14, which teaches us that maturity in Christ will give us the strength to not be tossed about by the wind, which here represents false and wayward teachings.

Our culture today is full of false teaching and secret formulas. I cannot even watch Oprah anymore. I think of all the twisting around that’s going on, and how those who are not fully rooted in Christ can be swayed by the popular. The thought deeply distresses me. And I think of my wind chime.

There was an urgency to its clamor, as if to forewarn. And I wonder: is that what I am to do as well? Stand, secure in Jesus, in the face of the wind and sound the alarm? Will I be heard over the noise of the TV?

For the birds

2008-05-06T21:40:00.002-04:00

I’ve been thinking today about God’s provision.

The thought started with Elijah and those ravens. I think I would have to be extremely hungry (ravenous!) to accept food from birds, even if God told me that’s how He was going to take care of me. Carrion? Worms? Garbage? Left-overs? (Well, maybe left-overs.) I can hear me now: “The Raven Ravine diet? Sorry, God, I’m just not into extreme fad dieting.”

Maybe it’s because ravens are just not my favorite bird.

Ravens and crows are in the same family. They are big bullies. They sometimes eat the eggs and young of other birds. I think they are… well… ugly: clothed in black and greasy looking. Like the mafia of the avian world. Sorry, but I like my pretty little songbirds. I like to watch the cardinals and finches in my birdbath. I like to throw out breadcrumbs for them.

Inevitably, the black birds come. They swoop in and greedily devour the breadcrumbs on the sidewalk. They invade and splash in the birdbath with glee, claiming it as their own. Just yesterday, as I sat in my sunroom looking out the window, I saw one in action, tossing water around like there’s no drought. I started to go out to shoo it away. It looked me square in the eye. And then I remembered Elijah.

God provided for Elijah through ravens. God reminds us that He provides even for the birds. Even for ravens, dirty and mean as they are. He provided for me, dirty and mean as I was before Christ. And He shows me that He is using me to provide for the ravens. After all, He teases, “Wouldn’t you rather have it that way? I could always have the ravens provide for you instead!”

Thanks, God, but no. Let me go grab some bread crumbs and refill that birdbath!

Under R in the Dictionary

2008-05-05T20:50:00.000-04:00

Musings of a Word Geek

I’ve been reading about Elijah. He just shows up suddenly in I Kings 17, telling old King Ahab that there’s going to be a drought. Then he has to run and hide. Literally.

God tells him to go hide out in a ravine and He will send ravens to feed him. Does anyone else see how those two “r” words seem strangely related?

OK, Lisa, so what?

So, God is beautiful and lyrical and linguistically profound. How special! He thinks so thoroughly that He builds puzzles and connections into our language as it develops!

Ravine/raven. Their common Latin root means “devour”. There is a secondary theme of violence, of rushing. Further digging into the roots and other (less used) words they have spawned (such as ravin) turns up phrases such as, “greedily searching for prey” and “anything captured; prey or plunder”.

Ahab was coming after Elijah. Hide and seek. Hunter and prey. God provided a hiding place, one carved out of the hills by violent rushing water: a ravine. He provided food, brought by “unclean” birds of prey: ravens. Elijah would be hungry. Perhaps he was ravenous.

OK, so I am a word geek. I’ll admit it.

But isn’t it fun to chase down a word and find out that it connects like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle? Or is it just me? You do not have to answer that!

Fruit and cake

2008-05-02T14:35:00.003-04:00

It’s been a hard morning. I’ve had a relapse of some of the neurological symptoms that I was healing from. It is frustrating, to say the least. I react with tears.

I will say, though, that God got me smiling this morning anyway.

I had been crying, reclining on the wicker love seat in my sunroom, looking up at the overhanging branches of my Ficus Benjamina, when I started thinking of Sir Isaac Newton and how the apple fell from the tree he was sitting under, leading him to develop the idea of gravity. (Physics, at eight o’ clock in the morning. Mercy!) I lay there and wondered about what idea God might give me, lying under my tree, and thought about how no apples would be falling on my head. If anything, it would be a fig, because this ficus is also called “Weeping Fig”. Quite appropriate, since I was crying.

Then of course my strange brain put two and two together and came up with Fig Newton. Oh, I laughed. You might not think it was funny, but God and I did. He really has to work on me sometimes and develops these special little moments just for me. He’s good.

But wait, there’s more. He didn’t stop there.

Remember the old commercial where the little British boy is sitting in bed, eating a Fig Newton? His mum comes in and sees him and says something like, “What have I told you about eating cookies in bed?” And he says, “But mummy, this isn’t a cookie. It’s fruit and cake!”

Fruit and cake. Fruit and bread. Bethlehem. (If you’re lost, look a few posts ago! House of Bread, Name It)

How great is our God that He can bring a brain like mine full circle and focus me again on Jesus?

I have to go now. I need to put Fig Newtons on the grocery list.

NDP

2008-05-01T12:51:00.002-04:00

It's May 1st!

One third of the year is officially past.

I look back and think about how I spent that third of a year. Was I productive? Did I grow? Is the world any better because of any action I might have taken?

One action I don't take often enough is prayer. Today is the National Day of Prayer, a day of great opportunity for Christians to be visible, a day for us to come together in unity- a trait for which we are, unfortunately, not too famous.

So that's what I'm thinking about and praying for today: that the "world" see a body of believers unified and visible, seeking the will and mind and power of God.

Coming to my senses

2008-04-30T10:13:00.009-04:00

It’s cold this morning in Charlotte, NC! My daughter, Sarah, up at Appalachian State in Boone said that she saw snow flurries yesterday. I’m really not that surprised.

We old-timers call this “Blackberry Winter”. It happens every year in the South, when the blackberries are blooming. So consider yourself warned for next year and watch for the blackberries to finish blooming before you reset the thermostat or put away your jackets and heavy bedcovers!

Do you know what blooming blackberries look like? (That picture right here isn't them. Those are forget-me-nots.) You’ve likely passed by them every day this week. They are the white, arching plants along every roadside this time of year in our geo-zone. Come the Fourth of July, they’ll be covered in plump berries.

That makes me think about how much we miss because we are so far removed from living “near the land”. How many of us can we look up at the sky and tell by the cloud formations alone what kind of weather to expect in the next few hours? Can you tell a tomato seedling from that of a zucchini? Can you differentiate the call of a cardinal from that of robin? How many of us can tell which direction is North by looking at the shadows on the ground? Can you estimate the time of day by the position of the sun?

What kind of a culture are we living in that we are desensitized not only to violence in the media but also to the beauty of the natural world? What is left, but middle-nothingness? We speak of blandness as being “vanilla”, but how long has it been since we paid attention to what vanilla really tastes like?

Today, I am going to pay attention to my senses. Maybe it’s because of my illness and the realization that my eyes are failing, but I feel deeply convicted that I am missing so much of the beauty that God has placed within my reach. Today, I will count the number of petals on the forget-me-nots that bloom in my herb garden. I will “forget-me-not” who created them. I will marvel that only a scant handful of people will ever see this particular flower, and that God is gracious enough to allow me to be one of them.

Quick update from yesterday's appointment: no definite diagnosis, but much information found in the blood! I have Epstein-Barr virus (EBV) like 95% (literally!) of the US population, and it could have infected my nervous system in a reawakening of the virus. There are no heavy metal/toxins in my blood, so my house and well water are fine and no one is trying to poison me. :) Devic's (neuromyelitis optica) is not yet ruled out. We wait for the next flare-up and test more, likely with a spinal MRI, lumbar puncture (yeeouch!) and repeated blood work. At this point, symptoms are still slowly improving. (YAY!)

Name It

2008-04-29T12:24:00.001-04:00

I’m sitting here on Tuesday morning, in the midst of my quiet time. In a little over an hour, I will be sitting at the neurologist’s office, waiting to hear the results of the blood tests. Six weeks ago, they took fifteen vials of blood to test for various diseases and conditions as a method of ruling out several things and in the hopes of diagnosing.

The answer is in the blood. I’m waiting for a name.

Names are significant. I love discovering their hidden or lost meanings. I think it’s important for prospective parent to really search out what the name means that they are giving their child. Me? I was named after a soap opera character. (Does anyone else see that as a set up? Y’all, please don’t name your kids after soap opera characters!) But I take delight in my name’s true meanings. (Yes, my name has two meanings, depending on where you derive it from. Does that explain my split personality?) If you take my name from Elizabeth, it means “consecrated to God”. From Melissa: “honeybee”.

Yesterday, I found out that the name “Bethlehem” means “House of Bread”. Today, I discovered that Bethlehem used to be called Ephrath. That means “Fruitful land”. That made me smile. Maybe I dig too deep and read in too much, but I think that’s a perfect “other name” for the birthplace of Christ.

How many times did Jesus use fruit in His parables and illustrations? There are all the mentions of vineyards and vines and fruit and figs and farmers. And we are called to be fruitful. But most important and significant and poignant to me is that fruit is used to make wine, which symbolizes the blood poured out for us.

The answer is in the blood. Really, that’s all I need to know.

House of Bread

2008-04-28T10:07:00.002-04:00

Bread. Mmmmmm! Just the thought of hot, fresh bread makes me a little hungry. How about you? I cut bread out of my diet during the recent low-carb craze. It’s nice to know that the nutritional pendulum is now swinging back to recognize that bread can be part of a healthy diet! The hunt is on for a good bakery!

“House of Bread” sounds like a well-stocked gourmet bakery, doesn’t it? I imagine loaves of all sorts: rye, pumpernickel, asiago and rosemary, sourdough, white, wheat. It’s all good and it all has one thing in common. It’s all bread, no matter how you slice it.

Here’s the thing. House of Bread isn’t a new Charlotte bakery. It is the actual meaning of the word, “Bethlehem”.

You know, Bethlehem, birthplace of Jesus. Isn’t that interesting?

Jesus, Bread of Life, was born in Bethlehem, House of Bread. How amazing is that? God is such a master of detail! Can you see Him sitting there, waiting for us to find these little morsels of linguistic treasure?

Jesus was the in the lineage of David. David’s great-grandmother was Ruth. Ruth came to Bethlehem and gleaned wheat (which is used to make bread) from the fields of Boaz, who became her kinsman-redeemer and married her. Boaz owned a threshing floor.

David built an altar near Bethlehem on a threshing floor (where grain is threshed to separate kernel from chaff). That floor became a site of worship: Solomon’s temple. It is the same location, the same place where Abraham had prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac.

It all points in the same direction: Jesus is the Bread of Life, our Kinsman-Redeemer, God’s Son who was sacrificed for us, whom we now worship.

It makes me want to get out my Bible dictionary and look up some more town names!

Hmmm…. Jerusalem…

Pass the Torch

2008-04-26T18:03:00.002-04:00

It’s Saturday afternoon, and I sit here exhausted and excited and ecstatic (and probably half a dozen other wonderful e-words that my brain can’t access this minute) all at the same time. And I have a question: Who is this God, who stands at the intersection of life present and future, and cheers me on?

There He stands. He’s waving a banner. He’s got my name written on the palm of His hand. “Time to go, Lisa! Get out there and make me proud!”

I have been sitting on the launch pad for two years. Houston, we have ignition.

I just spent the most amazing weekend at a conference. No, I can’t call it a conference. That’s too sterile. It was more like a reunion.

God showed up. He brought along about a thousand friends. He’s building an army. Recruiting volunteers. I signed up. Tour of duty starts today. Mission: set fire to the hearts of women across the planet.

What? Set fires? I spent much of my life “putting out fires”. Appease here. Calm there. Don’t let it get too hot. Don’t stir up the coals. Play nice. Don’t play with matches. Stay out of the fire. Don’t get too close!

Funny, how we are conditioned to think of fire as destructive. But scripture tells us all over the Bible that God is like a fire. He’s the cleansing fire, the refining fire, the consuming fire. He’s the fire that can ignite the heart. We just have to come close.

Here’s the truly wonderful part: drawing close to Him not only lights our torch, but it draws us closer to each other. And then He allows us the privilege of taking that fire and spreading it, torch to torch, heart to heart.

I hold out my flame to you.

Battle Cry

2008-04-22T10:36:00.001-04:00

Until yesterday, I had not had a real, meaty quiet time since my last post on March 21. (see below) Honestly, I’ve been afraid to hear what God has to say to me. So I’ve floated on the surface, reading the devotionals in Open Windows, but never really diving in.

A few days ago, I woke up with an old Boy George song playing in my head. “I know you miss me, I know you miss me…” What on earth? Then I had to smile. It was God, inviting me back. He has to use extreme measures with me sometimes. (!) I mean, come on… if you have to use Boy George to get my attention, I am really tuned out! (Sorry, George! I really did like your stuff in the 80s!)

So, after Boy George and an awesome experience in Sunday School (more on that later), and a fresh surge of Spirit, I was ready to open my Bible again.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:2-4

Oh, great. “Here we go again,” I thought. But God stopped me and asked, “What is a trial?”

I thought of a courtroom. There is an issue to be proven. Witnesses are called. Testimony is received. It does not seem like a fun time to me. Yet a trial is essential to prove that something is true.

In this trial, this hard time of my life, God is so abundantly gentle and unconventional. He does not begin by asking me to prove myself: instead, I see God proving Himself to me! He calls witnesses to my mind and their testimony reminds me of His truth and proves His faithfulness and His provision. How amazing is that? And somehow along the way, in God’s gloriously un-mathematical, logic-defying process, my own faith is proven. I persevere (sometimes after a rest!) and I mature a little more.

I must come to the conclusion that I will never be able to figure God out. I think I see Him taking me one place, but instead He shows me a road I’ve never known or expected to be there. Indeed, His ways are above mine. He is my Captain. I will follow.

Today, in my heart and soul, a fresh battle cry rings out: onward!

Things Unseen

2008-03-21T09:35:00.000-04:00

I don’t like what I am reading today. Everything I have turned to in my quiet time has struck me too hard. I say I want to hear from God, and then I don’t want to hear what He has to say.

It’s about my eyesight. This whole neurological episode/journey of the last month has pretty much cleared up except for the visual disturbance. I am glad for that, really and truly, but at the same time I am distraught about the loss of peripheral vision and the inability of my brain to process light when it comes in at certain angles. It’s like seeing a glare on a computer or TV screen except that it is inside my eye. I am (not so patiently) waiting for word from my eye doctor about the optic nerve tests I took on Wednesday.

So here I am this morning, opening God’s word, seeking Him. It’s what I am supposed to do, what I want to do, what I am driven to my knees to do. I open the book I’ve been studying in my quiet time (He Speaks to Me, by Priscilla Shirer). The chapter has been talking about being submissive to the Lord’s assignment for our lives. Priscilla references II Corinthians 5:1-9. Curious about what caught her attention in that passage, I look it up.

What I find is certainly timely: it is Paul’s exhortation to remember that our bodies are just a temporary tent. We’re supposed to long for our permanent, heavenly home. We’re not supposed to feel at home, satisfied, in this body. As long as we are at home in this body, we are away from the Lord. Then verse 7, the kicker: “We live by faith, not by sight.”

That’s a hard verse for someone struggling with the prospect of blindness. My eyes flood with tears and I sob. I am exposed, brought into touch with another Achilles heel, another weakness. I want my sight. How else will I be able to function? How will I be able to see the beauty around me?

And God says, “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

Not what I want to hear. So I run. I head for the little Open Windows devotional I keep over by the computer. I turn to today’s entry. The story is about blindness and darkness. This is more than I can handle. God, what are you saying to me?

So then, I hear God. He says, “Lisa, can you see me?”

Of course I can’t see You.

“Am I important to you?”

You’re the most important thing in my life! I live for you!

“OK, then, what are you worried about? If you can’t physically see me and yet you live for me, how important can it really be to see anything else?”

I am silent. He’s got me there. I am quiet, but my eyes fill again. It’s Good Friday. We all know Jesus’ example. But it’s really, really hard to say, “Not my will, but thine.”

Camellias... and other burning bushes

2008-02-12T12:26:00.002-05:00

I was just now reading Priscilla Shirer’s book, “He Speaks to Me”. It was a line on page 84 that stopped me: “He’s looking for a people who are serious about hearing His word and obeying it. Is the Holy Spirit bringing to your mind an area of life in which you have refused to obey God? If so, don’t ignore it. Acknowledge it and confess it so you can get on with the business of creating an intimate relationship with the Father.”

I stopped reading and thought about how He has called me to be “One Who Shines” (a name He showed me on a beautifully embroidered tapestry in a dream about 12 years ago), and how He has called me (about two years ago) to become a speaker to encourage and spur on women in the faith. And here I am, no further along in developing my speeches/topics than I was six months ago. And I ask myself, “Why is that?” And my heart immediately answers, “Because I am afraid!” And before I even realize it, I have spoken aloud, blurting out, “I am!!!”

And here is where God taps on the window of my heart and whispers gently to my spirit, “The confession and the answer are one”.

I have confessed that I am afraid: “I am!!!”
And God reminds me: “I AM!”

God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’” Genesis 3:14 NIV

Do not misinterpret: I do not claim to be Moses! But I know God has sent me just the same. He uses scripture to reinforce, to remind me of His calling on my life. I have no burning bush! But when God tapped on the window of my heart a moment ago, He also drew my attention out the window of my kitchen, where I do my quiet times. I see a camellia bush. It has captured my attention because it is different than anything else in my yard. It is not in flame, but it is in bloom. In a drought. In February.

The remarkable thing about a camellia is that it blooms in the dead of winter. Mine is a deep pink. And now my attention is drawn to the shirt I am wearing. Deep pink also. Hmmm. Interesting. I also find it interesting that the camellia was named after a missionary who found it on the island of Luzon. Luz means “light” in several Latin-based languages. (The Latin root word for “light” is “lux”.) Hmm. “One who shines”.

Perhaps my lesson today is to be like the camellia. In a world of dormant lives and among the spiritually dead, I am to bloom. Despite the drought, I am to bloom. I am to be different, to stand out, to attract attention for my Gardener, the I AM.

And I am not to be afraid!

Hope and the Rock

2008-01-17T11:48:00.000-05:00

This morning, I was reminded of something a little 6-year-old girl recently said to me: "Hope is the most beautiful word!"

What makes that such a touching statement is that she was a participant in a program at our church for children of divorce. (It's an amazing ministry of healing and hope called DC4K, and it's nationwide- http://www.dc4k.com/.)

She wasn't talking about hope as if it were a present that she'd asked for but wasn't sure she'd get. We were talking about the hope of the New Testament. It is more like “confidence” or “eager expectation” than "unfounded optimism". The Greek word is “elpis”, the root of which is “elpo”: “to anticipate with pleasure”.

One set of notes I read called “hope” a “blessed assurance”. That, of course, got me singing. I found an old hymnal and looked up “Blessed Assurance”. The lyricist, Fanny Crosby, was, in effect, saying, “Hey, listen up! This is my story! I have inherited salvation because I am now God’s child! He has redeemed me! I have been born again and washed in His blood. Jesus is mine! What a blessed assurance! I have been given a taste of God’s glory! My soul is at rest and I am singing with joy!”

What incredible words! And to think I had sung that song a hundred times without ever really hearing and understanding it. I hungered for more, wondering what other songs might open to me. I turned back one page in the hymnal and there was “My Hope is Built”. The refrain is, “On Christ the solid rock I stand; All other ground is sinking sand, All other ground is sinking sand.”

Immediately, I envisioned a sea in which there were hundreds of people. I looked around me at their faces, because all that was visible above the water were their heads. They looked so frightened and exhausted, and I realized they were treading water. I, however, did not feel such strain and I realized it was because I was standing on a rock. I called to the woman closest to me, “Just relax and put your feet down!” She cried back, “I tried to, but it’s quicksand and it will pull me under!” And then I realized that I had something she did not. And I told her that my feet were secure and I called her to come to The Rock.

The third verse to “My Hope is Built” says that His oath, covenant and blood “support me in the whelming flood” and that when everything around my soul “gives way”, He is then “all my hope and stay”.

I am reminded that I am called to stand firm on that Rock and be a lighthouse. I am to be a beacon of hope, of confidence, of blessed assurance. I am to call out to the drowning, to share what I have found: “Here is safety! Here is rest! Come! It is for you, too!”

Finding My Voice

2008-01-16T21:35:00.000-05:00

Whom Do You Choose?

That’s a phrase my voice teacher, Karla, uses for warm ups. We sing, “Whom … Do… You… Choose…”, listening to the resonance of each note, focusing on the color of the sound, egg-shaping the interior of our mouths as we descend the four notes of the arpeggio. I have to concentrate. I have to pay attention. It does not come easily.

Voice lessons are not like singing to the radio. This is work. These are exercises for the voice and abdomen. It is training and repetition and focus.

I always thought singers just opened up their mouths and let it out. And I still believe the best ones do just that. But it isn’t as if they have not prepared. It’s just that they finally get to that point where it has become second nature.

Getting to “second nature” has turned out to be a rather lengthy process for me. “First” nature is to be fearful, to be anxious, to be shy, to lack confidence. Yet, in Christ, I am a new creation. Why does the old nature linger?

Whom do I choose?

What are my choices?

I can choose to remain as I am, to nurse the old nature. To give in. To beat myself up. To stagnate. And when I have wallowed enough, to search alone for self-confidence.

Or I can choose to believe in the promise of God that I am a new creation. (2Cor 5:17) That He has not given me a spirit of timidity, but one of power, love and self-discipline. (2Tim 1:7) That my confidence is not in myself, but in Him. (Jer 17:7)

Whom do I choose?

I choose my Lord. Daily. Sometimes minute by minute. I must hide His word in my heart and fight the old, self-centered, self-empowered nature. Little by little, lesson by lesson, God separates the wheat (the fruit) from the chaff (the husk that obscures it). Jesus lifts my hands and the Spirit blows away the residue. And, like any good training, we repeat the process over and again. Threshing. Winnowing. Threshing.

“Whom… Do… You… Choose…?” Again, “Whom… Do… You… Choose…?” I sing down the keyboard, lower and lower, until my voice is on its knees. And when my heart finally joins it, the notes sing for themselves.

Whom do you choose?

Blind

2008-01-07T14:23:00.000-05:00

Is it really stepping out blindly if God sees where I'm going?

Are His eyes not perfect?

I am legally blind without corrective lenses. But after an examination and a prescription and a fitting, and I can see.

I remember my first pair of glasses. It was in the winter of my third grade year. I stepped out of the optometrist's office onto a snowy sidewalk on Main Street in a little Kansas town. And when I looked down the street, it was as if a whole new world had been unveiled. Even at that young age, I was already legally blind, but no one had known. Not my parents. Not me. I was very, very nearsighted, lacking the ability to see distance. Suddenly, in the literal blink of an eye, I gained perspective.

I could see all the way down the street, blocks and blocks ahead, to the point artists call "the vanishing point", where left and right converge in the middle, where all angles meet at the horizon. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen! It changed my life forever because it caused me to pick up pencil and paper and begin drawing. I could see! I needed to document it!

And here I sit, documenting even now.

It's time for a re-exam. God is about to change my prescription and give me a fresh perspective. I can feel it. There's nothing to fear. There's something I've been missing, and now I will see.

God examines the eyes of my heart. He understands exactly what I need. He has prescribed the perfect lens. Now I sit here, ready to be fitted.

Awake

2008-01-03T10:27:00.000-05:00

It's 3a.m. What on earth am I doing awake? I haven't had my requisite 8 or 9 hours of sleep! But here I am, in a bathrobe, sitting in a cold room, writing.

I woke with my brain trying to write. Why? I evidently forgot to shut off my brain before bed. Can one really turn off one's mind? Mine seems to be missing a switch. It's as if it gets to the overflow mark and the release valve kicks in... and out this stuff pours.

What is there to write about at 3a.m.? Usually, I find that when I wake in the night, that's God's "special" time for me. It's His "Lisa, we need to talk" time. So I obediently (albeit somewhat hesitantly at times) get up and get out pen and paper and start writing.

So, hey, God. What's up tonight?

New Year. Resolutions. Make time. Get up.

Ouch.

Did I leave God out of my planning again? Did I forget to seek Him and His advice prior to making a life step? No, but I came close.

This is a reminder.

I need to make time with Him a priority. THE priority.

You don't need as much sleep as you think you need. (Grin) The daily quiet time needs to be a commitment... "break-fast". Not a snack. Get in that Bible. Read. Pray. Listen. Write. This is the Year of Shining. This is the year to be inwardly reflective and then to shine outwardly. It's time to polish the mirror. It's time to feed the fire. It's time to come out from under the bushel and shine. Be a lighthouse.

This blog is not just the musings of a 44-year-old empty-nester. It's a way to practice openness. Publicly. Allow others in. Provoke thought. Stimulate.

A natural stimulant. Sounds like Milk of Magnesia! Spiritual M.O.M. Flush out the toxins, restore regularity. That's what 3a.m. is about.

OK, God. I'm listening.

"Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well."

Seeking implies action. Research. His kingdom? His kingship? His people? What is His righteousness? What is righteousness in the first place? And what things will be added? Ah, I think He just gave me what to study in my next few quiet times.

I need to put God where He's supposed to be, on the throne of my heart. My Lord. The One I serve. Does He call me at 3a.m.? Get up and serve. Submit. His is not a heavy burden. Why resist? Why question? Does He not love me? Does He not protect me? Did He not give His very life for me?

How does one show gratitude? By serving with love. By being attentive. Trusting.

How does one demonstrate trust? Is it really stepping out blindly if God sees where I am going? More on that later.

I'm a blogger!

2008-01-02T19:10:00.000-05:00

It's 2008. It's time for something new. It is time to become. This, my friends, is step one in my new year journey. More later!