Sit still.....

Those of you who know me, know I live life "all in", with a bounce.  I cry freely, laugh readily, feel real big and have moved into a place where I'm not afraid of any of it.  I have tasted freedom....and I like it even better than chocolate.

This morning, I am listening to my Creator smile.  I can hear that.  It sounds like curtains rustling,  flying out from the window when a breeze hits them. My bounce used to be me living frenetically on the ceiling, unable to stop, unable. to. just. stop.

I read these words this morning and they wash over me like a lesson learned.  "Sit still, my daughter, until you learn how the matter turns out." Ruth 3: 18.  I still have my bounce, I still have my words, I still laugh and cry and feel but now?  Now I know how to bounce and sit.  Because "sit" is on my insides.  I stand up confident in who He is who keeps me and take a seat in my spirit because of it.

I have learned peace.  And it wears well with me.

And I still bounce.   Have I mentioned that?  Life delights me!  :)

Not Yet.......

On June 1st, last year, my dad went to heaven.  A few weeks before he was set free, I went to see him at the alzheimers facility where he was.  I leaned in close..."Dad, I"m praying you get to go to heaven soon."  Just a few minutes before he made no sense, but this time?  He looked right at me and the tears came immediately.  "Me too," he said and we touched foreheads.  It stabbed me right in the heart to see this man who'd so capably taken care of me, cheered me on, loved me, be so frail.  But right then, God let me know, my father knew what was what when it counted.

This early morning I look out the window of the home I live in because of my dad's kind heart to others and see the workers beginning for the day.  "God.  WHY?  Why can't you just make my mother give the house to me?", I asked Him last year.  It would be so much easier on me.  Soon after that prayer,  the insurance company ordered major improvements to be done on the house before they would insure it again, improvements I would not have been able to afford, had I been given ownership.  But I don't own it, because my Father whispered, "Just wait.  You watch.  You'll see.  It's not ready yet."

So, this morning I smile to myself.  These workers?  It's a pastor and his sons.  Isn't that just the the Father heart of God to send "family" to help? And they've been so kind to do things they weren't even hired to do, because they know I live alone and sometimes that feels vulnerable.   They'll be renting my garage to put their equipment in after they're finished on my house.  It comforts me to see them coming and going,

Sometimes?  "Wait" is just another way to say "I love you, child."  I don't know what the future holds for this house or me, but I've learned Who holds it and I trust Him with the waits.

What I love.....

As I sit here listening to a thunderstorm announcing itself out my window right now I think to myself...."Ah....I love them!" and it made me smile to think about the things in life that catch me by surprise, that cause me to throw my head back and smile up at the heavens.  There's so much hurt, so many question marks, so much to hang our heads and our hearts low most every day.  It's that curious thing about life, isn't it, that while those things shake their fingers at us and dare us to find joy, joy sits quiet and waits for us to take notice.

I love county fairs and all things fried dough and lemon shake ups, even though it's terrible for me.
I love gathering up all my brave that I don't really feel and pushing myself to do something I fear.
I love camping on a rainy day when everything gets wet and all you want is a hot soapy bath.....I love that one even more after I've gotten home and think back on it.  :)
I love the smell of hash browns and bacon on a Saturday morning and I can stay in my jammies and bare feet until I want to or the rest of the day, whichever sounds best.
I love when my kids make me laugh; honest, real, from the belly laughing and I love when they make me think; honest, real from the soul thinking.
I love getting real mail in my mailbox that someone thought to write out and send to me.
I love when everything in my house is dusted and the laundry is done and the dishes are all put away all at one time and I feel all in order and superwomanish.
I love when my nose gets all dry and my ears pop when I get in an airplane because...that means I'm in an airplane.
I love rain.  But also snow.  And cold.  And hot.  But mostly weather.
I love that there's places I haven't been before so I can have dreams about going there someday.
I love meeting people who aren't like me at all and listening to their stories that aren't like mine at all.
I love staying up late and watching a movie and maybe even another one after that when I know I don't have to get up early the next day.
I love Easter morning when it's just me up early to watch the sun come up and feeling like it's my special holiday all to myself for just a few minutes and I imagine what it would have been like to be at the tomb when they found out it was empty.
I love the color purple.  Except when it's a bruise.
I love cobblestone streets in Charleston, South Carolina
I love that I've gotten to fly, actually fly, a plane even when I was scared to because it made me feel proud of myself to not hesitate to grab the controls.
I love that I can feel brave and insecure and smart and foolish and shy and bold all in one day.  Because it means that I am alive.
I love being alive.
I'd love to know what you love.
:)

No Real Words...

I wanted to tell you something.  People who are filled with joy?  We usually feel really deep.  And we cry.  Usually in secret.  Or not able to be secret about it at all and it spills right out.  I, for some reason, seem to be asked to step into the light and be vulnerable to you, my friends.  Friends I know and friends I've never met but when I tell you my heart, you become my friends, whether you receive it or not. Because my heart is what is real and because I love people.

I found my way to my back yard just now and sat down in the too tall grass and burst into tears.  Not just any tears.  But the kind that make you suck in air, like a kid who cries so hard they can't breathe..  I've been holding it in for days.  And I don't know why.  Sometimes?  Sometimes this world just gets to me.  I turned this song on and listen to it over.  And over.  I read what God put in my ears today again.  "The Lord will fight for you.  And you shall hold your peace and remain at rest." Ex 14:14  The thing is?  I don't know what He's fighting for but I feel in the middle of a battle.  And friends, I find myself crying big tears, feeling so tired.  Like, in my bones tired.

Bling makes me tired.  Loud, brash living sucks me dry.  Pretending makes me sad and worn out. I feel laid flat from anything that sucks the "real" out of the air.  I don't know why I'm crying, I know exactly why I'm crying.  I feel used up and thrown off to the side so I cry.  I feel filled up and running over, so I cry for that.

That's the thing about a joyful person.  We seem like we don't need.  But, we do.  I just needed you to know.  This world is not my home.  And yet, right now, I'm sitting in my grass, in my yard, where my house sits.....longing for every drop of life I can squeeze out while I'm "on assignment" here.

No real words touch it right now.  But, those are the ones I could piece together.  I wanted you to know, that if you ever cry in secret for no reason and every reason?  You are not alone.

You Do (n't) Bring Me Flowers......

I bolted up the stairs to her.  "I wondered what you'd think when you saw them," she said a little sheepishly.  Her shoulders drew up to her ears, like a little girl, and she wrinkled up her nose.  "It's so extravagant," she said to me, but her eyes twinkled to betray her delight.  She giggled a little and I got tears in my eyes and giggled with her.  Her husband has been gone four days on a mission trip to Haiti.  He's been on several.  But this time; this time he did the unexpected.  He's had flowers delivered to her each day he's been gone with a note to accompany each one. 

Theirs is not a young love; it's 20 plus years now and ten kids, one set of twins, between them.  He has a job that affords the ability to be this extravagant but they have hearts for others and choose most times to use their money for orphanages, for blessing those around them.  I have been the recipient of their "others love" many times. I know their hearts.  "It just seems like so much," she said. "Oh Lyn, don't you see?  Your man gets it. " I shared with her what I had just posted before coming to her house; to pray for your  husband so that he will see his worth in the Kingdom that lies within him.  A man of God who can love this extravagantly knows his place in the Kingdom.

I went on about my work and felt like a pitcher too full, threatening to slosh out tears as I worked on my knees to scrub up kid stains off the kitchen floor.  As one girl to another, I beat a happy heart for her.  Every girl longs to be loved like that, no matter how many kids you've had or how loose your skins becomes.  That "what are you thinking, that's way too much" kind of love.  It doesn't have to be four vases of flowers, it doesn't have to be money spent at all.  Just that poured out, extravagant expression that leaves no question marks.  I've not known that from a man with skin on.  But as I worked and hummed "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" I thought how this man lived out loving his wife like Christ did us and how that causes a person to grow and flourish and shine in the Son.  And I warmed myself in that thought.

Consider the kind of extravagant love the Father has lavished on us—He calls us children of God! I John 3

Nightfall Thoughts.....

It's the end of the day and it's been a full one.  I shake my head at how God surprises me, like a man at the door with flowers, all grinning and handsome.  He knew I needed to be reminded that He loved me, that He was there, that He takes delight in me.  So He gave me more than my cup could almost hold today.  It's His way, when you least expect it.  I'm grateful that I have more than enough.  I'm right tired to the bone tonight.  But I know I put my hand to how He made me.

I helped four different families today.  Four households that have become friends; people that I love and love me back.  I long to be able to do this someday and not have to rely on it to eat and have electricity.  My heart thrives on seeing where I can help.  And the bigger payoff is not money, but that hearts are knit together and I live full up to the top.

I hear my girl sing to herself as she fixes her hair, just freshly washed.  I smile to myself.  She's my faithful companion.  The last of my six.  I feel my stomach clinch up sometimes when I think about the time, fast approaching, when she will fly.  It's right and good and I swell up proud inside but, man, I'm gonna miss her.  And I wonder how it will feel to finally be alone for real.  To not have her there to laugh with or make late night runs to get hot fudge cakes.  I have to trust.  To shake off the dread I feel.

Ah, I feel restless tonight.  I want to go somewhere, to get on a plane and feel my ears pop and ignore the safety instructions because I'm too excited to listen.  To land and hear the buzz in an airport I've never been in before.  To wonder what color the rental car will be and where would be a good place to eat.  I look up.  Someday, Father?  I can travel again like I used to?

It's air is cool outside and I wrap my hands up so they almost disappear in my hoodie as I type.  It's funny how your emotions are.  Like bumper cars at a carnival, they crash into one another; first content, then lonely, then satisfied, now wistful. At night, in my yard, I take stock of them all, like a camping list before you leave. I look around  at how green the grass is and how it always seems birds fly in twos.  And how writing "camping lists" makes me almost smell the hot dogs cooking on a campfire and ack....I get restless again.

I need to go to the grocery store before it's too late to get power greens and almond butter and raspberries and toilet paper.  One of those I will not be eating.  I remember that I've made a pact with myself to not eat sugar for ten days and so do not put chocolate on the grocery list.  Do not even think about chocolate.

I look back over this and think how someone reading this might laugh at my silliness, my randomness, the fact that I took time to write it down and publish it.  But I like to write and offer it up and pretend that you're sitting beside me. It makes me feel connected, knowing someone's listened; hoping I made someone smile or feel something.

I'll get my book and curl up soon and listen to the dryer hum.  I'm reading Worldwalk  again, one of my favorite books.  I haven't held it in my hands in years but I will go all over the world through the author's eyes.   I'll hug my girl goodnight, grateful.

That's what I'm thinking about tonight.  :)



 

Be Who You Is

Twice in the past three years I've been spoken over prophetically.  For those of you unfamiliar with that, it means that someone speaks into your life with a supernatural "knowledge" about you.  In other words, God puts it there and they give it to you.  Since both of these encounters occurred in a church setting, I have them recorded and I listen to them from time to time. Coming from my background, I would not have held much stock in that kind of experience, but for living it myself.

My sucker punch to the gut is "hearing" the taunting voice that I am "wrong".  Not wrong about things; just wrong for being.  If there was a job description, I never fit it.  If there's was bar to be reached, I'd always be an inch too short.  If there were some sort of criteria for selection, I'd be one cookie short of a full batch.  It has been a lifelong lie that's nailed me down.   This morning I woke up with that old familiar voice sneering in my ears.  I thought to grab my keys and go out to my car and listen to my tape.  This is because I have an old, humbling car with only a cassette player in it.  For some reason, the church I went to gave me cassettes of my prophecies.  Isn't that just like the Father?  He saw to that little detail.

The voice of the young, black woman came out of my car speaker.  I've listened to it so many times already and I smile every time I hear it, usually through tears.  I hug the the way she says it hard because it's imperfectly perfect.  She spoke with unhesitating authority.

"Daughter,  just know that I made you unique.  Even with your name, there is a uniqueness about it and you are a unique person."  He says that He don't want you to be like nobody else but you just be yourself, the way that you is.  He says, "I made you that way and I made you the way that I wanted you to be.  Even with your personality and that joy that you have, you don't realize how it affects other people.  You look at yourself and you may not think that you matter to people but you do and they can see Him through you.  So He says,"Daughter, keep on going forth and just know that I am with you and I am your God and I made you the way that you are.  Don't change.  I will use the way that I made you to reach others.  You are a person that spreads joy."

Being unique, being called "unique" sometimes feels lonely to me.  Unique sounds like "weird" in my ears. I see myself in a cage at the circus.  "Come one, come all, Marvel at the unique lady!"  I feel the separation.  I've longed to be like everyone else except myself.  But this young woman's words?  They fall different on me.  Maybe I wasn't a mistake after all, some morphed version of what's alright.

My name, in Hebrew, means "palm tree".  I wondered what that represented biblically and went to fetch my computer.  God?  Who am I?  Why did you make me a palm tree?

• an abundance of especially refreshing fruits;
• its growth: rather fast, and straight up;
• the ever-green leaves at its top;
• with its raised branches/leaves (the official term is: fronds) at its top it seems to worship God the way it was done in Biblical times: with raised arms;
• to that end, those fronds let themselves easily moved by the wind (the Spirit of God);
• by its example and by its fruits it stimulates men to look up and to listen to God.

  

"People with this name tend to be compassionate, passionate, intuitive and romantic.  They tend to follow professions where they can serve humanity.  They are affectionate, giving and fall in love easily.  They draw people to them."

I sat in my yard reading these words.  My Father made me, is making me and this morning He showed me why.  In the big, big world I am not even a ripple.  But, Jesus loves me, this I know.  And He made me who I is.  

Snake Handling

"What should I write about?", I asked my friends.  Forgiveness, came the answer.  I don't want to write about forgiveness.  Even the word feels trite and "religious" in my mouth.  Nothing new under the sun has been written about it.  Most of it makes me stop listening.  It's all just so much babble and none of it sits on me like that light yoke the Giver promises me.  And sometimes I've found myself having to forgive the Forgiver of all. What's that about?  I feel irritable and restless. I can't stop thinking about chocolate covered cashews.  I don't know what to say.

In January, I got on Facebook with a cute status update.  "What's everyone's word for the new year going to be?",  I asked.  I got every response from "coffee" (you know who you are!) to "adventure". My word came to me like a package at my door.  "Impossible".  It delivered itself into my heart and I sat mulling it over the way you do when you think something is going to jump out at you.  That sounded dangerous.  It threatened to not give me what I wanted.  Worse, it promised to give me what I least expected. Most alarmingly, it sounded a lot like losing control. I sat in my kitchen that cold, snowy night with only the light of my year round Christmas lights and my computer screen.  This felt like a dare, and not a "fair" one at all; sort of a cosmic Let's Make a Deal.   I faltered there on my squeaky wooden chair as I made my decision.

 The choice I made that night was to let my walls of self protection fall.  Much like the proverbial tree in the forest, when your walls fall, no sound is made whether anyone's there to hear it or not.  You feel it, is the thing.  Impossible rushed in and wreaked havoc on my insides.  I started crying harder, questioning bigger, and aching deeper.  This did not feel good.  Surely, I'd picked the wrong curtain.  What's worse, the less I protected myself, the more there was to protect from.  It's  right dangerous outside my walls, I yelled out to no one but me.

That's when it happened. The Giver showed up, all Knight in Shining Armor.  "Get out of the way. You're standing between Me and you," He told me.  I laid myself down that day as flat as I could and looked up at forgiveness.  He covered me up and buried me in it.  Everything that gave me life stopped and I quit breathing it in.  I let go and died.  Thankfully, I've never recovered.

I'm 56 years old.  On July 15th, I will get another year older, having done so one day at a time.  My eyesight has changed, my heart beats stranger to me. It's not because of my age, though.  My "death" caused me to walk inside of the Giver and I look out through His eyes, feel with His heart. Some days are rough and I struggle to not give out freely the forgiveness I survive on.  When I reach out to grab hold of something to trust other than Him, it turns to snakes and I throw it back down..

There it is.  My best shot.  I live now with my feet firmly on the ground and my eyes looking upward.  I love this life even on my hardest days.  I have questions that no answers make sense of.  Some days I am lonely.  Some days I am flying high. It hurts me when someone doesn't like me.  And I don't understand why I can't have what I want.  At night whatever bothered me in the day can seem like a monster under my bed.  Most days I'm quick to forgive all of it.  I've learned to "forgive" Him for not letting me rule the world and that was the greatest gift of all.  Because I realize now that my lack of trust in Him was the key to forgiving.

Rockin that Gentle and Quiet Spirit Thing!

I started to "take a tone" with this piece; that church lady thing?  But I knew those of you who knew me would call me out on it so I decided to write "clean" and honest.  I have been described, in a recent weeks' time, by completely different people as "a whirlwind, zesty, jubilant, vibrant, bubbly,  a nut and my personal favorite by my kids; a doodle. I can be introspective and quiet.  I know how to sit in church prim and proper like and not disturb my neighbor.  You can take me out places.  I promise.  I know how to behave.  I can sometimes get lost in taking a thought off the shelf and looking at it like a diamond, rolling it over and over and analyzing the stuffing out of it.  But my personality is generally akin to a puppy.  I will lick you on the face and pee down my leg from sheer happiness to see you, to be with you!

I am single.  That is primarily due to divorce.  But, since that time, I have remained single sometimes because the men I liked didn't return the sentiment or because the ones that approached me were not what I knew I wanted in a man I would choose to walk beside.  At least, that is the explanation in the "natural" world.  But I know different now.  I know my insides and how they'd gotten twisted and knotted back on themselves.  See, the Bible describes what is precious in a woman in God's sight as"the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit."  I like the way The Message puts it.  "Cultivate inner beauty.  The gentle, gracious kind that God delights in."  I would always stop right there and form a mental picture of the Mona Lisa.  I had decided that that meant I needed to swallow all but my head and become absorbed by a man or by my friends' and their opinions.  I set aside the essence of who I was and disappeared.  I was afraid to be me, because what if that was the wrong thing?  Instead, I read "quiet" and pushed the mute button.  It was easier that way; until it wasn't.

I've told my story in other places on my blog.  But after the top of my head exploded, I had a choice.  I could stuff all the messy fear back inside and sew me up tight or I could lay it all out in the Son and look it over careful with His eyes.  I chose the latter and I've not looked back.  Those of you who knew me before the explosion have seen the difference.  Those of you who've met me after, can't fathom that I could have been that person.  I can't either, now.  Because here is the rest of that verse.
"Cultivate inner beauty.  The gentle, gracious kind that God delights in.  The holy women of old were beautiful before God that way...you'll be true daughters of Sarah if you do the same, unanxious and unintimidated."  Did you catch that?  I'd stopped too soon and missed the point!  I was an anxious and intimidated wife, friend and daughter of the King and I was robbing myself until the day  God wrestled me to the ground and yanked my own hand off of my own mouth.

As my viney twisty thinking started to unravel,  I allowed my Teacher, my Defender, my Father to shine down bright and cause the sprouts of me to grow into full blooms.  Where before I used to look in the mirror and see my face all duct taped up, I heard Him say "Daughter.  Look again!"  He has taught me that in my "bubbly" I can be unintimidated in loving others and sowing into their lives gently but boldly; that in my "jubilance" I can pay attention to the hearts of those around me and come alongside quiet.  I have learned that being "quiet" doesn't mean being silent, but being strongly, inwardly confident in Whose I am and in Whose hands I put things.

These days I wear my new me more comfortably.  I still have days where I fear my whirlwind doodle self might be too much this or not enough that. I am a different kind of friend now with a door to my house and my life that is always open.  I have been single, married and divorced and  can encourage those of you who have your man beside you to not fear being his peace, to use your words to build him strong and your Father to lay him at His feet.  And, don't forget a side of zest, just to keep him guessing.

A friend of mine gave me a plaque with the words "Your crazy is showing.  You might want to tuck that back in."  You know what?  I think I'll let mine fly a little.

Lavender Cracked Pepper Lattes On a Scale From 1 to 10

Occasionally, my girl and I, we like to treat ourselves to lunch at the cafe of a nearby bookstore.  We pick out an entree to share and we each find something to read and we sit in silence, reading and eating.  We are comfortable in that silence.  We're there together, and we understand that about each other.  During the last year when my father was in an Alzheimer's facility nearby the cafe, we would go each Monday and I'd sit there with my coffee, preparing my heart to face the man who was my father fading away.  As I often do when I go anywhere, I connect with those around me.  The staff at the cafe became familiar faces and we'd greet one another when I walked through the door.  They knew why I was there and they'd sometimes slip me a piece of my favorite chocolate to go with my coffee, just to make it easier for me.  I liked that.  I liked that we knew each others' names and that when one of the young cashiers who had fabulously dyed purple hair left for an adventure sight unseen in Oregon, we exchanged email addresses so she could send me her stories.

Today though, we stopped at the cafe after a long absence. We'd just not had time to wander in for a good while.  I smiled when I saw the sign for lavender cracked pepper lattes...oh my; how ladylike, I thought to myself, and considered getting one just because it sounded adventurous when I heard "Hey!  Where have you been??!"  Ah!  A familiar face behind the counter.  I smiled my greeting back and ordered my blt on toasted grainy goodness and sat down to wait.

Order up and the waitress delivered it straight to my table and sat down.  "So. On a scale from 1 to 10, 10 being wildly, madly good....how's life?", I said to her.  She wagered a 4, she thought, and propped her chin in her hand.  "Why?", I ventured, because I cared.  I don't ask the question just to be asking it, and I ask it a lot when I encounter someone, sometimes even of total strangers when I have a moment to look right at them; car mechanics, bank tellers, people sitting on the next bench at the park.  

We talked for right near an hour.  The other waitress graciously took up the slack as this woman opened up the door to her life and invited me in.  We sorted through the things she layed out before me, she and I.  I listened mostly.  I like to listen.  It warms people when we do.  As I did, I whispered to God.  "What should I say?  Anything?"  And then a word floated to the surface of my brain.  "I hear the word 'hijacked' in my mind.  It seems like maybe you've allowed your life to be hijacked?"  Tears spilled out and down her face.  That's it, she nodded.  That's it exactly.  She let out the worst of the story and cried some more.  It was time for her to get back to work.  She got up and started to walk away and turned around and came back and hugged me. "Thank you for listening.  You came in for lunch and look what you got!"  Yes.  Look what I got, indeed.

I walked out to the car with my girl, bewildered at how that happens to me.  I don't understand it.  I don't set out to bang down people's walls and find out their secrets.  I marvel that people tell me what they do, many times barely knowing me.  It seems to be what I can give.  And in return?  I'm trusted with hearts that make me richer inside.  I wouldn't trade that.  Even for lavender cracked pepper lattes.

What Does It Matter......

I like to exercise and cook and eat healthy, except for the occasional (read daily) chocolate.  I could out walk Forest Gump's running.  One of my favorite books, World Walk by Steven Newman, is the account of a man who walked the world because it was "there",  Even thinking about travel makes me start packing.  I enjoy restaurants; the nice ones and the hole in the wall ones you find only when you ask a local.  I like plays, because they capture my imagination and symphonies because I get to wear my little black dress and feel sophisticated and cultured and clap politely during the movements.

I'm fascinated by politics because I like to know the anatomy of the world and how it works.  I learn that by listening to those who understand more than I, and ciphering out what I think for myself.  It intrigues me to consider the biblical implications of the nightly news.  I love music and how it moves me and books and how their words capture me.  I like to read things I don't understand to see if I can understand because I don't like giving myself an easy excuse.  I used to take riding lessons and when asked if I wanted to learn english or western....I asked which was harder because that is what I would learn. I can be saucy that way.

I think boats are nice and wouldn't it be lovely to have one and go out on it whenever you wanted?  I love pretty clothes and feeling like a lady, all curly hair products and make up and such.  I think a dainty bracelet is just about all I'd need to feel feminine and flowers sent to my house just for me would make me feel "looked after".  It'd be nice to be the prettiest girl in the room, just once, with abs all laying flat and arms worked out firm and catching admiring glances like trophies, demurely pretending not to notice, not to care.

I've known important people, famous people even, and been in their homes; seen them behind the scenes and I can tell you that they live well and drive well and eat well and look better than most of us.  I sat on the living room floor of someone whose name would be familiar to many of you and talked life.  They had money and things and experiences. They went to the gym and they went to church and they went onstage and lived a life "moral" and good.  They even sang about God.  That day, though, on their living room floor, we both had the same feeling.  None of this is wrong.  All of it is good.  But we can't punctuate our lives with a list plus commas.

Boats, cars, health food, gym, money, beautiful, or God; if all that we seek stops at our own reflection in the mirror; if what we pursue holds our lives hostage, if what we have causes us to fear losing it and our currency is what buys us "safe" and makes us feel comfortable or important or noticed; if suddenly we were unable to advertise our life on social media for you to take note of "me";  If you could have everything you thought you needed to be happy.....what would it matter then?

    what God is looking for in men and women.
It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor,
    be compassionate and loyal in your love,
And don’t take yourself too seriously—
    take God seriously.  Micah 6:8

When You Can't Find a Card for Mother's Day

This "new" normal I'm in, this walking around in a new skin that feels like a daughter of the King and learning to believe it, is exhilarating most days.  I find my old fears fading.  My courage and boldness and joy are growing into strong plants with stems that feel thick as a redwood tree.  They seem to be forming a garden shield around me that makes me brave enough to step out into the water without remembering that I can't swim and not caring if I drown in the process.

For all the progress I've been graced with, though, there is one relationship in my life that I don't have down.  I don't know what to do, so I do nothing.  And Mother's Day finds me lost for much emotion or a plan.  Except for fear.  I am afraid of my mother.  It's irrational in the natural.  She's 83 years old and not a physical threat.  But in my spirit?  There's where I quake.  Broken, damaged people that haven't allowed the light in can do what feels like irreparable harm to each other.  I've forgiven her.  I think I've forgiven her.  But my heart still fears her.  I still believe her words sometimes.

I can sense in my spirit that the One who I belong to is calling me to believe His words this year.  I feel a chain wanting to break off of me.  Isn't is funny, though, how sometimes in our fear, chains can feel safer than what it takes to get free?  This though, this is my jubilee year.  I'm not going to the Hallmark store.  I will make my own card.  And I will write His words to me and give them to my mother in person rather than chicken out and mail it.  The thought makes me want to run to the bathroom, frankly.  The promise of freedom, though, makes me unclinch my stomach and grab my shield.  And possibly a bucket to throw up in.

But, uh......would anyone want to go with me??  ;)

If I Should Die Before I Wake.....

I'm gonna write this out real fast like before I swallow too hard and think too much and chicken out.  It's been in my mind for weeks.  That is how it is with me.  I feel an idea hatching itself in my mind, my spirit, and then the title comes to me and all the ideas swirl around it like birds in a Disney movie and land to rest and they form the story.  This is my story.  I've told you bits and pieces before but not all of it; not the worst of me.  Most of you, I've hidden from.  I didn't want to.  I just didn't know how not to, because the truth is, I was hiding from myself. On May 17th I will be getting baptized for the second time in my life.  If I don't tell you why, you won't fully understand.  I want you to.  Because now?  Now I'm not hiding anymore.

I was 12 the first time I got baptized. That's what "good girls" do and I was one.  I was one, not because it was necessarily the "right" thing to do.  I was one because I was afraid not to be.  I didn't want to go to hell.  And I didn't want those around me that I valued to not like me, to disapprove of me.  I needed to plug into approval to survive.  So, I did not drink, I did not smoke, I did not use drugs, I was a virgin when I got married and after I got married I scrambled to be "enough" for my husband and my children.  It's not that I didn't want to be all that I was.  It's just that it's all I had inside of me.

  I realized early on that things were not as they should be in my marriage.  None of the good girl stuff worked.  So I focused on more good things; I poured myself into home schooling all six of my children and loved every minute of it.  I ground my own grain and made bread and granola, I kept the house tidy and did "christian workout videos" so I would stay looking acceptable and I figured I should watch the  christian ones.  I did bible studies and stenciled things on my walls and read out loud to my kids every night and stayed off the phone whenever my husband got home so I could make him king of the castle and and and and.....I was so lonely.  Deep, deep inside of me.....I felt abandoned.

In order to continue though, I needed to form a plan.  I did this by keeping to the country home I enjoyed.  It was far enough out that no one would "just drop by" to discover that we were not perfect.  In fact, we not only were not perfect; we were falling apart but, boy, did we look good.  I prayed to the God that lived on the ceiling because that's as far as I felt like my prayers went.  "Rescue me, God.  I'm miserable."  And then?  Then, I'd pick myself up by my very own will power and try harder.  Because here's the thing about perfection, about protection......in order to survive, you have to build a fortress and when you lay the last stone, you turn around to realize you've bricked yourself in.  God can't help you, because you don't have time to wait on Him.  My fortress, though, was transparent.  I could see out and you could see in.  You just didn't know that what you were seeing was an illusion and I was too afraid to tell you.

So then it happened.  One day I did what I never thought I would do.  I cheated on my husband.  Those of you who know me well, who know the story of my marriage, will be inclined to defend me, to excuse my behavior, to find good reason for it.  It's true that there were many years that I experienced deeply wounding things; there's enough blame to go around,  but I want to tell my story without dishonoring anyone else.  I want to own what I did.  My bankrupt soul grabbed onto stolen honey and it turned to gravel in my mouth and I threw it back up all over myself.  I told my husband and those closest to me right away to get it off of me, out of me and put a stop to it but the explosion had already caused the damage.  I looked in the mirror and didn't know who I was anymore.  I'd lost my "good girl" mask.

I couldn't stop crying even long enough to wash the dishes so I ended up on pills to help me cope.  The ground under me felt like quicksand, threatening to pull me under.  I wasn't completely sure I wanted to fight it.  Self and outside condemnation finally won and I walked away from my marriage to try and find oxygen.  I spent the next few years in my own desert.  My older kids were devastated and wanted nothing to do with me.   I didn't blame them.  My motherhood was all I'd had before, that and my pride in who I thought I was.  Now, I had nothing.  I lay down on my friends' couch one day and couldn't speak.  "Oh God," I said in my head, "if You're more than the ceiling, I need You to do something."  It was five years before I could hear the answer.  Not that He hadn't tried.  I just wasn't listening yet.

I sat on the front row of my friends' church, tired and stressed.   "God.  I feel so invisible.  So unusable.  So mute.  I don't think anyone here sees me.  I don't even know if You do.  I don't even know if any of this matters."  It was then that a woman I didn't know walked up and stood in front of me.  "You were willing to walk out of here without hearing from God.  He wants you to know that He sees you, that He will cause you to rise and shine.  You will not go unseen.  You will not go unnoticed.  He will cause the joy of the Lord to grow within you."  It was then that I truly believed and it leveled me.

I've changed since that night.  I shook hands with Grace for the first time in my life and it wrapped itself around me and hasn't let go.  The fear of being "found out", the suspicion I had that I was unlovable, the wall I'd built around me to protect myself from people....crumbled and left me standing without my defenses.  The surprising thing was that I gave less thought to whether or not I was safe and found myself safer than ever.

Today I love people easy and meet them right where they are.  I know who I am and Who I belong to.  I still fight off the old battle clothes of fear and insecurity and cry best in the bathtub because the acoustics are better and it feels more dramatic.  I'm not always "comfortable" but growing pains never are.  I've learned to live risky and out loud.  I've learned to share my lunch and my life and take the chance it calls for.   My heart's desire is to be salt in the world, to season the lives of those around me, to be the oil of joy, to give a hand of hope where it's needed.

So, if I were to die before I wake, I wanted you to know the truth about me and what has happened.  I wanted you to know that He has made me brave and I'm walking where the air is clear.