What Matters Most

How blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked, nor stand in the path of sinners, nor sit in the seat of scoffers! But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in His law he meditates day and night. He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in its season and its leaf does not wither; and in whatever he does, he prospers.

The wicked are not so, but they are like chaff which the wind drives away; therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment, Nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous. For the Lord knows the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish. Psalm 1:1-6

I was grieved by the news today. We’ve become a nation that now thinks it’s okay to openly negotiate with murders and cold-blooded killers. (I am speaking of the Taliban) Our government traded five notorious radicals that would think nothing of beheading your children, your elderly parents, your wife, your husband, your best friend, for a U.S. soldier who went missing as a deserter of his platoon. His own father uttered an Islamic greeting, referring to allah, during the press conference at the White House and he has also said he wants every detainee released from Guantanamo.

Meanwhile, Saeed Abedini, an Iranian-American Pastor who converted to Christianity, is serving the first year of an 8 year prison term for working with the underground church in Iran and protecting Iranian Christians from persecution. He was also working to open orphanages in Iran. He has endured long stints in solitary confinement, according to his supporters, beatings and torture at the hands of his jailers and fellow inmates. For months, he has been “denied proper medical attention for his injuries, according to his family and attorneys.”

His wife has repeated appealed to congress and the President for his release with no response.

All this to say, that while events of this world and the news distress us, we shouldn’t be surprised by any of it. Jesus Himself said as such. Instead we need to be focused on keeping our eyes on the One who keeps us in His peace and holds us in His grace. While there is always much to worry and stress about in this life, there is more beauty still.

Lately, my prayer has been that I will wake up before it’s too late. I don’t want to live from weekend to weekend just getting by. Sometimes, those of us with particularly stressful jobs (and really, who doesn’t?) put ourselves on autopilot. When we do that, we fail to really see the people and situations around us.

There is so much to be thankful for every day. Time is flying by at warped speed and I don’t want to miss what God has for me. No matter what we might think about the current political climate, with eternity’s values in view, it really doesn’t matter. What does matter is our relationship to our Father and to each other.

And love, love always matters most of all.

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. Philippians 4:8

A walk before sunrise……..

This morning I walked in the Holy hush of pre-dawn light before the fingers of the sun had yet to reach over the top of the Superstitions. A silent witness to the earth’s preparations, I was not a participant, only a watchful observer.

I saw newspapers shrouded in their wrappers……words waiting to be read over coffee or tea, dead words in their plastic shrouds. Life is out here, where I walked.

I passed Mama dove where she sat tucked in her nest inside the cactus, fluffy eyelids still closed in slumber. It was still too early even for her.

I passed the house with the big pickup truck that barely fits in the driveway and saw a cat sitting like a sentinel. A man approached with a dog on a leash and I wondered why the cat didn’t run…..the dog didn’t bark.

He saw me looking and exclaimed, “He usually comes with us, this time he didn’t want to.” I smiled and walked on. Rounding the next corner I saw hummingbirds already busy, hovering from blossom to blossom like little jettisons.

One paused to light on a branch and I called to him softly. There he was, so very small and yet what a contribution he made to my walk, what a presence.

Further on, I was treated to a flowering cactus with large trumpet like blooms……the bees too were wide awake. And all this before dawn……

As I made the turn down my street, the sun was a gold blaze shimmering behind the mountain, announcing her presence. The call of a quail came from a nearby rooftop…..rooster of the desert.

I thought that this too, even this quiet walking can be a form of worship, a form of prayer. All this walking, and watching and noticing is me agreeing with God that it’s all good.

All before dawn.

Meeting God in-between

The God who made the world and all things in it, since He is Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in temples made with hands; nor is He served by human hands, as though He needed anything, since He Himself gives to all people life and breath and all things; and He made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined their appointed times and the boundaries of their habitation, that they would seek God, if perhaps they might grope for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us; Acts 17:24-27

From little morning chore to little morning chore. That’s where I find Him. In the flat times too, when the air is still and the earth holds her breath, He comes to breathe life through His words, which I pick up first thing; Looking for hope in between its pages, I find it.

Poets might die, but the words always live on.

I wait here, in the Holy moment before life rushes around me on the bench by the garden as the shade pulls away slowly to reveal the scorch that is sure to come. I watch as the lone bee settles on the tomato blossom……doing what God made him to do.

The doves hover, waiting for the fountain and I marvel at the white stripes patterned on their wings as they fly off. Once again, I think that He has truly made it all good, as bad as this old world might seem as it groans on its axis along with us.

A new TV series called “Mistresses” would have been considered porn not long ago. And Dr. Phil is turning “Springer” with mediums and numerologists leading tearful, grieving people astray.

When someone tells you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter, should not a people inquire of their God? Why consult the dead on behalf of the living? Isaiah 8:19

It’s not wrong for them to want hope.

Meanwhile poets die, but the words always live on.

Hope is here.

He never left.

Meanwhile, the heat will not be deterred.

The desert settles in for the long haul, and so do God and I. Inside and outside of time,

we wait together.

RIP: Maya Angelou

I’ve never thought about how it would feel to have a Birthday on Memorial Day but she takes it in stride, happy for a day to celebrate both. Last night as we were watching the Memorial Day concert hearing about all those tearful testimonials, she looked over as I grabbed yet another tissue and said, “They died, you know…..so we could be here, doing this, enjoying life, being free.” Yes…..they did. So today as we celebrate them, I will also celebrate my best friend whose Birthday it is today.

She hasn’t had an easy week. The school schedule was crazy and she stayed late helping another lady with her bus at the end of the shift. By the time the day was over she was fatigued and ready for it to end, but then the care home called and she went by to check in on her Mom and ended up staying there for 3 hours, and taking she and one of the aides out to dinner. A long story goes with it but suffice it to say, by the time she got home she was spent.

My friend, Elaine spends a lot of time sacrificing for others. She may not be in the military, but she gets up each day with her boots laced and polished, as ready as any person in combat has to do. The fight or flight instinct kicks in early when you grow up with an abusive older brother and that never really goes away.

Even so, somehow she remained ever joyful, ever hopeful for things to change. She was the kid who got to know all the neighbors and did their lawns in the summer.

Much was expected and not much was returned and yet she is one of the most positive people I know and the most fun to be around. She’s one of those people who bring a party wherever she goes. If she’s in a room, you know it by the laughter that erupts soon after. She truly is a people person, and they know it.

Strangers tell her things and old people and kids gravitate towards her. Every Thanksgiving she ends up helping some older lady pick a Turkey out of the bin.

This kind of thing happens all the time. I will ask her about someone she talked to for 15 minutes and she will tell me all these incredible details about their life, in addition to what kind, make, color of car they drive, how many kids they have and what illness or heartache they are currently dealing with. And she doesn’t even pry, they just tell her voluntarily. She has one of those faces you trust.

She is a truly unique individual and I mean that in the best possible way. She is a fixer of people and things and she never likes to throw anything away if it can possibly be salvaged. She is always saying, “I can fix that.”

And usually always, she can.

So today, it’s a privilege for me to celebrate her life and her Birthday. She may not have ever been in the military, but she has fought many battles and won. And my wish for her today is that she would see herself how God sees her and know just how much He loves her and celebrates her too!

Happy Birthday, Elaine. You are a blessing to all who know you.

To my big brother on his day

When we were young, you held my hand on the way to school, never embarrassed for your friends to see. And when you took the bike, you let me ride on the front bar side-saddle. Those were old days…..no helmets then.

I always felt protected then growing up, because you were around. We had our squabbles, and I still remember your Indian burns and stolen Tacobell you used to find late at night after I had hidden it to eat the next day.

I remember Birthdays where you were always happy to help out with the games, hiding behind the clothesline attaching prizes to fishing poles.

And I remember when I was in that fender bender on Christmas Eve and you came faster than anyone from the neighboring town.

I remember you teasing me about David Cassidy and the Monkeys, and Bobby Sherman.

But I also remember that you bought me the “Love Story” album and that Crystal snowflake necklace for Christmas.

And you might have been embarrassed to go see your sister sing at all those silly concerts, but I remember you went anyway.

And you were there at the greatest crisis of my life and that I will never forget.

Some people think you shouldn’t celebrate Birthdays once you get older but I don’t agree. I think we should never stop celebrating people, and life. Birthdays are a day to celebrate grace, to celebrate your individuality. So give yourself an extra portion today from me.

Because somehow you got here and made it through all those tough things. And when you think about it, each day is really a “Birth” day because we get a chance to start all over again.

God brought you this far, and it’s all been by His grace. So, today, there is one thing I want you to do.

It’s very important.

Today, give yourself permission to love yourself the way God loves you. And know that I am glad you were born, because if you hadn’t, my life would be missing something.

You, and a special someone else too.

The Magic Bus

She’ll be the one they reach back into their memories for long after they’ve been out of school. They’ll remember something she said that made all the difference. They’ll say: “There was this one bus driver I had in school. She listened to me when nobody else in my life did. She didn’t just talk at me, she talked to me and when there wasn’t much laughter going on in my world, she made me laugh too.”

Haven’t we all said something like that about a favorite teacher, a counselor, bus driver? Someone who reached out and dared to treat you not just as a kid, or a student, but a fellow human being worthy of respect. Respecting each other as well as respecting her is one of the expectations, one of her golden rules on the bus. Another one is that riding the bus is a privilege, not a right. And that her number one priority is to keep them safe.

She also makes it a point to be on time. She knows how important dependability is for the child who waits for a parent who may never show up. She knows how you can carry that disappointment well into your adult years.

Last year, there were singers on the bus, and she encouraged them to try out their songs on her. Then there were the times she cranked up the radio and they all sang. Teachers and principals alike would be standing slack-jawed at the bus stop, hearing the singing pouring out the bus windows. They’d say, “I don’t remember this ever happening before.”

She knows the importance and the power of being a positive presence in a world that to a kid can be a scary unsettled place. She rewards their good behavior and doesn’t hesitate to discipline when it’s necessary, but most of all, she tries to get them to understand and figure out the reasons why for themselves. She encourages them to think about the consequences for their actions before they act, instead of just reacting.

She goes out of her way to understand even the “hard cases” to try to find the root cause for their behavior. She talks to exasperated parents who are at their wit’s end, and she works with them to see how they can work together. And many times the parents tell her that the topic of the dinner table the night before was is “what Miss Elaine said and did on the bus that day.”

She doesn’t leave her faith at home and even though you can’t talk about Jesus in school, she doesn’t have to; she just does her best to love them as He would. To see them as He sees us all, as who we are becoming.

Last night, she brought this gift home from a grateful parent and I didn’t even notice the verse on it until this morning…….

And I expect she will come home with homemade cards and gifts from the kids. And more stories like this one:

There were two little girls, maybe kindergarten age sitting next to each other playing a clapping game, “Clap on, clap off….” Like the clapper on TV. When they started chanting, “Lights on, lights off” she saw an opportunity to have a little fun. Every time they said “lights off” she flicked the lights off and every time they said, “lights on” she turned them on again. (They didn’t know there was a switch right by the seat). The first time it happened, they shrieked, “Did you see that???” They did it again, and she flicked the lights again. Then the whole busload got involved. Of course when all the kids clapped, nothing happened, it was only when the girls did it.

They bounded off the bus, chanting “We have magic powers, we have magic powers!”

As Christians, we may not have magic powers at our disposal but we have something even better. We have an awesome opportunity to bring God’s love into our work place with the help and limitless power of the Holy Spirit. God calls our work Holy, whatever we do. So often, we place so much importance on what we do, whether it measures up with what the world finds worthy. The truth is: God doesn’t care what we do, as long as we do it as unto Him.

All of our work has tremendous potential to change everyone in our circle that means, every job is important.

Whatever you do, do your work heartily, as for the Lord rather than for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance. It is the Lord Christ whom you serve. Colossians 3:23-24

The Color of Time

The clock finally died. The one I got from the Spiegel catalog some 20 years ago. I thought it was so beautiful when I bought it and now, even though it’s stuck on 7:32 forever I can’t seem to get rid of it. The time piece probably costs more than it’s worth, so for now it is leaning against the wall in my bedroom.

What color is time anyway? The time that is speeding so wildly past us all. Of course it has no color for real. I guess if vapor or water has a color that would be it. But if I had to give it a color at all, it would be like looking through a stained glass window. Each color comes alive with a memory.

Every time I see purple I think of her……she owns this color now, the one to whom these sweet hands belong. I hate to think of the day she will no longer be so excited to play for hours in sand.

And sometime in the future, years from now, I will see sand and time will be that color.

Her color………….

Treasures of value can’t be measured, they can only be held in our hearts and yet God holds each one in eternity, He knows their worth.

I pour the rich brown of the coffee in my cup and hear the voices of dear ones at my Mom’s kitchen table over the years……different faces, different friends, and the joys and sorrows attached to each cup, each memory.

Yes, time can be the color of coffee too.

The Bible says there is a time for everything under Heaven. And the Byrd’s did a song that said those very words…..Turn! Turn! Turn!

     A time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

And God holds it all……not one moment is lost to Him. And the world drags time along with it, spinning rapidly beyond my control. I click moments furiously trying to stop it all. To catch every color.

To catch time.

As time continues to write its name in the dust, I pause it for just a moment. Here, can you see it on the shelf? I purposefully left it there for you to find. I guess when it comes down to it, that’s what blogging is:

Each one of us, writing our name in the dust of time.

What color is time for you?

The Home within us

The wind howls this morning, even worse than yesterday. It strips the blossoms from the Palo Verde trees and they pile up like yellow snow-banks against the curbs.

It does its job, tells us it’s there by knocking things around out in the yard. It puts everyone in an unsettled mood, even the animals. I thought maybe I would skip prayer, but then how could I do that? Prayer is talking to God and wasn’t I just doing that when I thanked Him for another day off? When I thanked Him for the last two?

More than a set time each day, it’s become part of the fabric of my being, because somewhere along the line I realized there is not ever a moment when I don’t need Him. That might sound weak, but only if you don’t realize how big He is. ………..only if you are under the false assumption that you can do this life successfully without Him. I let that delusion go awhile back. And I realized that was the beginning of what God calls wisdom.

Our days flow by like poetry. Some of it sticks. The moments you want to keep you hold onto. It’s why we forget whole blocks of poetry and songs and movies, but you always remember that one scene, that one line, that one tune. A bird squawks outside and for a moment the wind stops. I pause and read:

1 Thessalonians 5:16: “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. This is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus…….all those times I asked that very question and it was right here all the time, the anchor verse that rests on everything else.

Dorothy had the power to go home all along, she just forgot the power those red shoes had, kind of like what we do as Christians when we forget that His home is within us.

It’s simple math. Kind of like the person who searches here and there for just the right diet, the secret to losing weight, the magic formula. Here it is, are you ready? Eat less than you burn up. Eat the foods God created you for. Get up and move, because our bodies were made for that, not for sitting in office chairs 12 hours a day.

Pray always. God wants to hear from you in the little everyday moments. That fact alone is what keeps me in a state of wonder every time I think of it. That the King of everything wants……..me.

When God sounds a lot like your Mom

Fresh off a morning commute, shouldering my bag, my backpack, everything necessary to supply me with what I might need for a 12 hour day. Grumbling a bit in my head, wishing I were home to enjoy the beautiful morning from my patio instead of spending it in a room without windows. I heard it……it was the voice I always hear when I hear birds sing.

I hear it especially when I am feeling a bit of regret, or sadness, or feeling a bit sorry for myself. It was my Mom’s voice I heard. And it knocked me for a loop because I had always thought that voice was God’s, but that day, I clearly heard hers.

“But the birds are singing, Lori.” Just that one sentence. Because I know what it costs her to hear them no matter what. My Mom doesn’t have an easy chair life. I have covered that before here in this blog. Though she is 85 she is up with the chickens. Already serving, praying, looking to Him for strength.

It’s hard to imagine just how deep a Mom’s love can go, but I found out a little bit more when I was home last. She was cleaning out the cedar chest, and as each item was lifted out she told the story that went along with it. Among the old report cards and drawings there was a broom I had made out of pine-needles held together with masking tape. “To clean up our camp,” she said. She cradled each item like prized artifacts.

Then, she lifted up a summer jumpsuit in white. I had forgotten all about it. I could hear her grief all over again as she said, “This is what you came home from Mexico in.” She paused. Where I had faced the biggest grief of my life and hers, for a child’s sorrow is double for the parent. “I had expected you to look half-dead and instead you looked like a beautiful angel.”

As I get older, I see more of her in me. There are things we do just alike. Shape meatloaf for one. We don’t just slap it in a pan, we mix it, and shape it and mold it. And when we look in a mirror, we arrange our faces just so.

And we have a built-in desire to set about making a place homey. She and I bring wineglasses throw-rugs and coffee makers to campsites.

The way we always try to deflect a compliment.

Most of all, what holds our days and our hearts together like a ribbon is prayer. She taught me that.

This day is a day to honor Mother’s everywhere, and I honor her. I thank God for her everyday, that I still have her. I am also aware that there are many for whom this day holds much sadness.

It’s a day they grieve what they never had, or what they had and lost. Mother’s Day was always hard for my Mom. Her Mom wasn’t ever able to give what she needed most. She withheld love and affection, and compliments, though she gave other things.

And today we will see Elaine’s Mom, and that will be hard. We may or may not take her out to lunch. We will see how it goes. With Alzheimer’s you have to be ready for anything.

Mother’s Day has always been fraught with difficulty for her too. Her Mom was never there as a Mom should be. The other day she held up a card at the store with a weight on her shoulders. “This day is always so difficult.” She picked up the one with puppies, “Yes,” we said, “puppies are safe.”

Sometimes Mother’s Day means losing the Mother you never had, and that’s like a double grief isn’t it? But even in that, there is redemption. Because when you allow God to fill you with His grace, you can then hand that out to others. Even others you never received it from.

Today, as I lift up thanks for my own Mom, I pray for all those for whom this day is hard. I pray that God will wash you in His grace and wrap you in His great love.

And listen………for when you hear the birds sing, it’s always God disguised as your Mom.

Spiritual Misfit (no book giveaway, I’m keeping mine thank you!)

After all, that’s what grace is, isn’t it? The ultimate do-over. The infinite second chance. God gives us another chance, and another and another. Day in and day out. He works with us, he works through us, he does not give up on us. Michelle DeRusha

Michelle DeRusha dared to ask one question and it turns out that one question, “Why Not Believe?” was all God needed to crack a window of hope in her soul and launch her on a spiritual quest that ultimately found her surrounded by God’s love and grace.

I was deeply touched by the humility, honesty and laugh out loud humor that I found on every page of this book. If I ever met Michelle personally, I would want to hug her just for the Cheezit story alone!

Growing up Protestant in the Evangelical Church of the 1970’s Jesus Generation, my experiences were a bit different from Michelle’s. God was not distant for me, in fact He seemed to be everywhere I turned. You might not think of California as having its own Bible Belt, but it did. In my hometown there was just about a church on every corner and we went every Sunday, sometimes Sunday nights as well. I have early memories of talking to God like some kids talk to imaginary friends. I even had a glow in the dark plastic Jesus that I kept on my windowsill. There was something reassuring about that florescent glow.

I honestly don’t remember a time in my life when I had a serious doubt about whether God existed or if He heard my prayers. I also know that it’s nothing short of a miracle of His grace, surely not as a result of anything I ever did right. My doubts came cloaked in the form of fear. Fear of what would happen if I really let go and let God. I was the kid clinging to the side of the swimming pool even as my Dad held out his arms saying, “I am here to catch you, just let go!”

The church I grew up in was a bit on the restrictive side. Deep down, I always felt like I didn’t quite fit with what I perceived to be the “Baptist Mold” I saw others conforming to. I didn’t go to Church camp because secretly, I was afraid. In my head there was this social performance meter going on and I was convinced that if I went, I would fail some sort of test. I might have really enjoyed it, but now I will never know.

Every now and then, I went to certain “youth gatherings” and I always dreaded when the awful games would start. The ones that were supposed to be fun. I will never forget the one where we all lined up, boy-girl-boy-girl each with a tooth-pick between our trembling lips, passing life-savers from mouth to mouth. I was mortified. To a girl who was extremely self-conscious about her bad complexion it was traumatic. The life-saver was red, even all these years later I still remember that, and that the boy’s shaky upper lip was covered in blond whiskers.

The Pastor of our church didn’t believe in clapping or applause after a good musical performance, or talk, or anything, and the older members clearly were not comfortable with any of the new modern translations of the Bible, for them Jesus spoke in the King James version only. I do believe if He had shown up in the middle of our service, they would have wanted Him to shower, shave and change into a suit.

What I loved most about Spiritual Misfit, is the way Michelle relates the story. I felt like I was right there with her on the plains of Nebraska, and in seeing her, I recognized myself. I saw again how He blesses us when we are not afraid to ask Him the questions, when we crack the door of our heart open just enough. Just enough, is all He needs. Augustine said that to search for God is to have found God. I think there is some truth to that.

It goes without saying that I heartily recommend this book. As I finished, I found myself kneeling by my bedside in tears, wrapped in His grace, I thanked Him for being with me on my own journey and for being with Michelle on hers. I thought of all the times I have failed Him, stumbled, fallen, left the trail, flailed in the middle of the pool, only to see Him right there waiting where I left off.

And with a smile and an arm around my shoulders, He says, “Welcome back my child,” And we set out again.

Lori's Prayer Closet

"And when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done is secret, will reward you……"Matthew 6:6

Author: lorisprayercloset