Reflection

A doll story, but not just for women

For those women who still have dolls, and the men who love them…….. Not the dolls, the women.

I was late to like dolls. When I was around 4 or 5 I wanted to be like my brother…..I had a name picked out and everything. I wouldn’t wear anything but cowboy boots, jeans and flannel shirts and insisted on wearing boys tennis shoes. Black high tops to be exact. It is to their credit that my parents actually bought me a pair and let me wear them.

Every now and then we fish them out of the cedar chest and laugh……

My parents figured it was a phase, and they were right. They held their breath and played it cool. They didn’t freak out and drag me to the child psychologist and I really respect them for that. 

Anyway, I wanted a horse, I prayed for a horse. I had a plastic collection of no less than 10. Some had broken legs and we had to scotch tape them back on. My Dad got creative with spray painting some of them if that particular month I just had to have one like little Joe’s black and white pinto on Bonanza. We lined them all up and played for hours, the neighbor girl and I.

When I was around 6 or 7 I decided I liked to wear dresses and cute clothes. Though I held onto my passion for horses, one Christmas I got a little rag doll who played a lullaby. I promptly fell in love with her…….she had a blue dress and yellow yarn hair. She was my “special” present that year.

I had a succession of dolls after that, and I loved them all. We had an emotional connection my dolls and I.

I had barbie dolls, wanna be barbie dolls, troll dolls, little kittle dolls and paper dolls. Some of my cousins had collector Shirley Temple dolls. My cousin June had a big floppy life-size doll her brothers used to roll down the stairs. They loved how life-like she looked as she fell to her death. They also attached explosives to her. They were sick.

My friend had an African American doll when she was growing up in Texas. She loved that doll and her Dad threw it out because it was the wrong color. I don’t think she ever forgave him for it. All these years later, she has looked for one like it in antique shops, even EBay. She’s never found one.

One day I went into my favorite gift shop with my Mom, and there on the bottom shelf was the most adorable doll I had ever seen. I had to have her. She had long brown hair that looked real. She is pictured on the right. I named her Suzanne, after a Judy Collins song I loved.

The other doll belonged to my Sister in law who has been in Heaven now since 1998. My Mom had her for awhile, but ran out of room to display her. She was gathering dust in the same trunk my old shoes were in, so I bundled her up and brought her home.

The strange thing about that doll? Shortly before I got married my maid of honor got sick with the chicken pox and couldn’t do the ceremony so my Sister in law graciously stepped in and fulfilled her wedding duties, perfectly I might add…….including wearing the beautiful peach colored dress I had picked out for my friend. The very same color this doll wears today.

She’s almost as beautiful as my Sister in law was. It is safe to say that I am emotionally attached to both of these dolls. It’s what they represent that I hold close, all those good times, safe times. For a few moments I am a little girl again, lost in the wonder and magic of long ago. When dolls were more than just dolls.

I remember every one of them like old familiar friends.

And when I watch my little niece with hers now, I smile and my heart glows warm.

I remember when all over again.

Letting my yes be yes

“But let your statement be, ‘Yes, yes ‘ or ‘No, no’; anything beyond these is of evil. Matthew 5:37
waf·fle 2 (wfl) Informal
v. waf·fled, waf·fling, waf·fles
v.intr.
To speak or write evasively.
v.tr.
To speak, write, or act evasively about.
n.
Evasive or vague speech or writing.
I have learned this one the hard way. I am someone who likes things peaceful and smooth. I don’t like conflict and I am many times too quick to agree or not agree with something if it means not making waves, or making someone else happy. I want to please people. But in the long run, I end up not pleasing them or myself.
Many times in life I have found myself in the uncomfortable position of volunteering or saying yes or no to someone or something and then almost immediately regretting it. In my defense, I have to say that I have gotten better in this area.
I have only come to understand and appreciate what Jesus is saying here more and more as I have gotten older. What he is saying is: “Hey, you will save yourself and others a whole lot of grief if you just give a simple “Yes” or “No.” If you vacillate and agree to something you really don’t agree with or want, you will compromise your character and more than that, and this is the part that’s really painful:
It is poor reflection on God’s character as well.
Not to say that God’s character can be changed because of what I do, it can’t. But if I say I am a believer and people know that? They have a right to expect a certain amount of integrity.
And if people can’t trust my word?
They can’t believe what I say. And what I stand for is in question too.
I had a friend who always had to pray about everything before she agreed to it. Secretly, I used to think that was kind a cop out. A way to get out of doing things. But now?
I am starting to see the wisdom in it.
It saves a lot of time and trouble in the long run when I don’t have to run around doing damage control. It makes others feel much more confident in me.
And me more confident in myself.
What do you think? Have you ever agreed to something and then been really, really sorry?

Remembering

“I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.”  John Muir
I am missing the trailhead today…..I remember so vividly, the feel……the crunch of walking over the earth, scrambling over the rocks, the stab of the walking stick as each step measured, and the grand rhythm of it all. It is a constant ache in my soul that never goes away.
To get back there.
Some people say, I am a mountain person, or I am an ocean person. I am just a nature person, displaced into a town, a transplant. In some ways I think we all are, and forever trying to find our way back home.
We have this pattern we walk because we have to. And places we must go, and they are all good places, but we know it’s not the pattern God originally picked for us. Not this meaningless counting out of days we work, so we can be off.
And so we go the trailhead or the shore to remember the truth of how it is supposed to be, and how one day it will be again,  when He welcomes us back home for good.
I have been there, I have stood on the shore, and climbed to the top and felt the exhilaration of being Home. That place where we recapture our soul once more, let it find wings and fly home.
Click…….I can almost hear the missing piece snap back in place.
Even the trees and the waves whisper………Why have you waited so long?

“The grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never dried all at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls. ” John Muir

Every Moment Counts

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;  for in Him we live and move and exist, as even some of your own poets have said, ‘For we also are His children.’ Acts 17:26-28
God is waiting for us to invite Him into every moment of our day, and in every aspect of our lives. Just imagine…….He is already there and ready to make every single moment a Holy moment. That is something that is entirely possible when you realize just how close He really is.
Just imagine, every moment a sacrament…..walking to work, stopping for coffee, waiting for the bus, sitting down to your desk……imagine Him there, just before the phone starts ringing.
In every real moment of our lives. He is.
I often think of those moments right before September 11, 2001. If those people had known what was about to hit?
How incredibly Holy and precious each moment would have become.
But none of us really knows at any given time what is about to happen. That is why each and every moment matters.
Each one counts……savor the day.


Chicken Wars

They are like trees planted along a riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green, and they never stop producing fruit. Jeremiah 17:8

Chick-fil-a boss Dan Kathy has been taking a lot of flack these days for coming out and saying that he supports the traditional view of marriage. And those who exercised their own free right to support someone who was exercising their free right to free speech by going to buy a chicken sandwich yesterday are taking the flack too.

Yesterday, we didn’t see anything at all uncommon. We saw Americans doing something that has been part of our culture ever since a group of rabble rousers threw some tea overboard in the Boston harbor. They were putting action behind their beliefs. Taking a stand….backing up someone they wanted to support.

Independence and individuality is something that flows through the veins of our country’s DNA. It is built into our constitution and framework of our entire belief system. But it is not always easy to know when to step up and when to back down. At what point do we act on our beliefs?

Do we act on them even if by doing so we further widen the gulf between differing views by making it about “us” versus “them?” Someone has to be the enemy. Someone has to be wrong.

Many of the comments I read  opposing the support of Chick-fil-a were very troubling. It seems many people have very definite, and in my view, warped ideas about Christianity and Christians in general, most of them not favorable, some of them outright disturbing.

We were labeled, fundamentalist, racist, gluttonous, stupid, ignorant, hateful, uneducated and uninformed. And the Westboro Baptist Church kept popping up in comments, as though all Christians should be branded with that particular (and I use the term very loosely) church.

You could argue the point that if the church and Christians in general had done a better job historically of loving and reconciling people of differing viewpoints maybe this all wouldn’t be an issue. But then again, no one ever loved and forgave and tried to reconcile more than Jesus, and they crucified Him for it.

Because they didn’t want to hear the truth. They didn’t want to be told what they were doing was wrong. Lets face it, none of us does.

And the very same spirit that existed then, continues to wreak havoc in the world today. He is our true enemy, and he has only one goal. To Kill, To Steal, To Destroy……Lives. That’s been his goal from the beginning.

Hurting people sometimes strike out against something they may not even fully understand themselves. The enemy is the spirit behind the hate, and it is he who we must fight, always. Never the individuals.

There is a war we are in. But it’s not us against them. It is God against all sin whatever the flavor.

Are you ready?

From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him.“You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve. Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.” John 6:66-69

I had just finished reading John chapter 6 during my prayer time a few mornings ago. I closed my eyes as I digested all I had read……this chapter is swirling with action. I needed to reflect for a moment on all I had read. It was just getting light out and I heard a dove calling from a few houses away. My little candle was flickering away silently casting a reflection in the little shop window.

I was surprised by a question that was breathed into my heart…..I had just read that saddest of verses, the one where many of Jesus disciples hit the road. It was another instance where Jesus had just finished confounding people with the truth, and it wasn’t want they wanted to hear.

“Are you ready to be my Disciple?” that was the question I heard.

I sat there conflicted. “Of course I am,” I thought. But then I remembered how many of them ended up.

And what was required. Am I ready to take a plunge off a 500 foot drop? Am I ready to commit the rest of my life to a God who commands the wind and the rain? Who can speak the world into existence? Who is many times unpredictable and scary? Am I ready to go wherever He asks? Wherever He leads?

Then I thought about life itself. If someone would have asked me when I came into this world, knowing what I know now, all I would go through, would I have so been quick to say, “Bring it on?”  I most likely would  have said no, I am not ready. Who is ever ready? 

But do I want to do it anyway, also knowing what I know now? And has it been worth it thus far?

To that I can give a resounding, and emphatical “Yes.”

God, in His great wisdom, chooses to bring us through a bit at a time. He allows some pain for growth, but also baptizes us with joy and wraps us in His love and comfort through His Holy Spirit.

That is where I stand today and rejoice along with the 12, for as Peter so rightly said,  “To where would we go?”

Indeed.

Thank you Lord, for giving me the chance at this wonderful adventure of following you. Everything this world has to offer pales in comparison to what You have to give. Amen

The heart of a writer

When can you call yourself a writer?

When you simply have to write.
There was a time not so long ago when I didn’t feel I was worthy to be called one, not a real one anyway.
fake, imposter, wannabe, dreamer….that was what I called myself.
But that wasn’t right.
I felt others deserved the title because of the beauty of their words and the wisdom with which they were written.
I read writing that made me ache from the longing of wanting to string words together that good.
But here’s the thing:
Even though the transformation from the heart to the page sometimes falls completely flat,
I still have to keep writing.
I still have to keep doing it.
Even if no one reads it.
Writing was the one thing in my life that I always started up again.
After so many other things that I had quit.
……..because I was simply compelled to do it.
The words were fighting to get out and I had no choice but to set them free.
Even if I wasn’t always happy with how I expressed it.
Even if I felt others did a much better job of it.
Even if I never got another comment.
Because God gave me permission.
And He takes pleasure in every word I write.
And because everytime I do it, I feel like I am the person He created me to be.
And because I simply have to.
 And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. Colossians 3:17

And the thunder rolled……

“Thus says the Lord……Stand by the ways and see and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is, and walk in it; and you shall find rest for your souls. But they said, ‘We will not walk in it.’ Jeremiah 6:16

As I read the words of Jeremiah this morning, reflecting on the wrath of God poured out on a disobediant people, I felt a chill crawl up my spine. Jeremiah had the unpleasant task to be the mouthpiece of God to Israel.

“My soul, my soul! I am in anguish! Oh, my heart! My heart is pounding within me. Because you have heard, O my soul, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war!”

Just then, as if ordered by God himself to put a little emphasis on His own words there was a terrible clap of thunder and I almost jumped out of my seat! The anger of God is something I never want to experience personally.

It is easy to feel a little “puffed up” as the Apostle Paul put it, when we read about all those rebellious things the Israelites did, how they strayed from God to worship foreign idols, statues that could neither talk walk or breathe.

How could they, we wonder? After God himself came down in a visual form…..a pillar of fire by night and a cloud by day? After all He had done for them? And all along, there is a loving Father who wants His people back. He longs to love and cherish them and yet they push Him away.

There was another loud clap and in my mind I remembered all those times when I myself have push God away, thinking I knew better….thinking the plan I had for myself was better than the one He had for me. And yet, His mercy and love have pulled me back, over and over again. Not once has He ever refused me.

Oh how He loves us…….His mercy calls us back, new every morning.

As with all things of nature, it thrilled me no end, that clear and powerful reminder. It reminded me this morning who is in control, and it is most definitely not me.

To watch a lightning storm is to watch the finger of God touching down on the earth, and to hear His voice in the thunder a gift, a marvelous thing.

His power, my weakness.

Coming and Going

“Love doesn’t hide. It stays and fights. It goes the distance, that’s why love is so strong. So it can carry you home.” Unknown

Somewhere in between longing and joy, regret and hardship, tears and laughter, there is a place we call home. When we go back we run into all that history, all those feelings, and in turn they run smack into everything that’s going on now. That’s why going home evokes so many powerful emotions for so many.

It’s the place and people you grew up with, the place you learned to sink or swim, or survive and thrive.

Somewhere in between the place we always seek to recreate and romanticize and the place we never want to see again lies that place we call home.

I go back to the place I spent all of my growing up years, so lots of memories come with it. The sorrows and the joys live there within its walls, along with those things that never seem to change.

The squeak in the porch step, the way the screen door sounds when it slams…….my Mom’s dryer that will never die, the one that never stops, all day long…….and that keeps spinning no matter if the door is open or not. I am convinced that God keeps all her appliances going.

And this time, the garage talked. The first time I heard it, it scared the daylights out of me. “Oh,” my Mom said, “Lauryn has a couple dolls out there that talk and it must be the motion that makes them go off.” I felt like I was in a horror movie where Chuckie the doll comes to life.

Everytime I go home I fry something. This time it was my Mom’s favorite hair dryer. I think it was going on its twentieth year. I looked up and the connection in the outlet was smoking. I caught it just in time.

My Mom constantly complains about not having enough electrical outlets, and it is a valid complaint. Back in the early sixties, they didn’t put outlets in every six feet, about two per bedroom was enough.

There was a new hood over the stove this time. I went to reach for something up in the cupboard and I almost needed a ladder. The new hood extended much further over the cupboard than the last one, but neither my Mom or Dad thought it was a problem when they bought it, they were just happy to have a new one.

The cat still loves to hang out in the sink. The first one liked it there, and so does the new one, amazingly enough!

My Mom still gives me the best of whatever she has. She insisted I have her new fan, not the one that rattles, and having body wash and lotion for me when I didn’t even think she heard me say I needed it. At eighty three she still seems to have everything everyone needs.

My Dad still says, “Everything is better when you’re here…..”

And when I close my eyes I still hear, “Watch me, Nori!” and it makes me happy but sad all at the same time.

My niece still has a problem saying her “L’s.” She was so thrilled that her Auntie was there with her, watching her swim. And she laughed and laughed at the video I made of her kitties getting into a tussle. Her favorite thing to do now is make videos of us when she thinks we aren’t watching and then laugh uproariously when we catch her at it.

I have found that going home teaches me lessons all over again. I learn things about myself and some of them don’t make me happy, yet I am thankful for them because without the realization, the change wouldn’t be possible.

Going home is made up of little hard and soft moments all strung out together.

I realized this, as Mom and I sat hand in hand watching Franklin Graham evangelize India. We each shed tears because how could you not, watching people who have nothing, suddenly gain everything? Part of mine were shed because everytime I am near them, I feel the weight of time pressing heavy.

We are a family in crisis mode, and aren’t we all? And sometimes, most times, I just don’t know to help.

One thing I do know to be true, the faith that has kept us together through so much still stands, will always stand. And always…..He keeps us.

And going home and coming home are both very good.

“The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.” Psalm 121:8

No words needed

Sometimes it’s good to just imagine yourself in a quiet comfortable place…..

No words needed…….just a glance up every now and then, a nod, a smile……

Just simple enjoyment of being together in that moment, knowing that all is right in your world, because you have God and each other and that is all you need.
“This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength…..”
Isaiah 30:15