Not just for picnics

I’m a sucker for anything military. Let me hear a few strains of Stars and Stripes Forever played by a really good marching band and it’s an instant lump in my throat. Present the colors while playing taps and that’s it, kleenex time. The fact that someone would willingly put their life on the line for my freedom and not even hesitate to do so instills in me a sense of gratitude I can never properly express.

My Mom and Dad had a part that. She told me stories of when she was a young girl during WWII and my Uncle enlisted. She told me how they had always bickered and fought just like any siblings growing up, but when he got on the train to leave for boot camp and they thought they might never see him again it was a whole other story. Everyone was crying their eyes out. She never forgot that. Thankfully, he did come back.

She told me when the young soldiers came through town on the train, she and my Aunt would go out behind the shoe store where they worked and wave to all the boys. Their boss never minded. During shoe rationing time you could only get shoes on Thursdays. My Mom says every week they ran out of certain sizes and they had to dodge flying shoes from irate customers.

Elaine had an Uncle who was shot down and spent time in a concentration camp for years. When he came back, she said he could never seem to get enough food. To watch him eat was to watch someone with a true appreciation for it. He never forgot starving.

It is never very far from my mind that each day there are young men and women, vets who are coming home without arms, legs, hands, feet. For me and my freedom. And they do this without hesitation. How can I ever thank them enough for that?

Tomorrow the first part of my day will be spent in church, thanking God for His ultimate sacrifice, of another Son who went willingly to give His life for the freedom of my soul.

The second part will be spent at the Ballpark where I will help Elaine celebrate her Birthday watching the Diamondbacks play ball and eat a hotdog. I will take part in an American tradition that goes back a long ways. The flag will be waving, and someone will throw out the first pitch, and there may even be a fly over.

I will sing God Bless America and Take Me Out to the Ballgame, and I will feel like a true American. And I will tear up sometime during all that.

In my heart I will give thanks for those who serve in all areas, military, missions, outreach. Committing themselves to the cause of freedom while they lose theirs.

If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it. Matthew 10:39

How we can lose our fear

Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand. Isaiah 41:10

He didn’t know it, but when he said he was selling that first painting, I went and looked at my walls for a space. I loved the message…..”You are enough.” So simple and yet so powerful, as if God was speaking from Heaven drawing the eye toward that light, with a message for all the world. And then he said it was sold, but that he would paint one for me. I caught my breath. He did he know? Maybe it was all those “likes” on Facebook. I don’t remember saying I wanted one. But I did.

And it’s anointed, I know that. Because whenever God joins up with us to create something, the message always reaches more than who it’s originally intended for.

In between stammering and searching for words I told him that my Dad painted watercolor and how it was growing up with paints around. How he would put a black “X” through a painting we all thought was perfect but he didn’t.

I told him about how I have always battled fear, always been unsure of my own abilities, always looking for confirmation. But maybe I should be grateful, it’s the one thing that has kept me close to my Father’s side.

When we settled on the quote, I knew it was right. Isaiah is one of my favorite books in all the Bible.

Last night, Elaine stood in the kitchen overwhelmed because so much was over and she was afraid of relaxing; of not knowing where or when the emotion would finally release itself. I said, “At some point when you finally settle down and relax, you will wonder how you ever got through it all.” She said, “Yes, that’s what I’m worried about, that’s when it will hit.”

No more school, no more double duty rest home visits between runs. No more sleeping out on the porch listening to motorcycles cut through the night at all hours, screaming off to who knows where. No more sleeping with ice packs because it’s still 100 degrees and your Mom doesn’t even realize she is sleeping in your old room. No more battles over showers. No more watching her Dad lose his grip on this life and pass into the next.

No more. And it scares her to death. Because now it feels like she just dove off a cliff and forgot her parachute.

Yes, this message is for more than just me. It is for her too, as well as the artist who painted it. Really, it’s a message God wants all of us to get. It’s an open invitation to be inspired to leave our fears behind.

Inspiration, when it starts with God, spreads outward like ripples in a lake. When we create something with our own hands, it’s like He is inviting us into His personal sanctuary. To our surprise, we discover that the transubstantiation that takes place during the creative process actually has the power to give life. Whatever we make then becomes glory for Him.

“Do not fear, for I am with you.” Like a voice in the wilderness it beckons.

Thank you Duane for using your talent for His glory, and thank you Jessica for encouraging this, a little bird told me you did.

A little slice of peace, please.

Every day on my way to work there is a small patch of water right in the middle of all the commercial buildings, and the busy road. And just about everyday you will see him fishing there. Just one lone man standing on the bank with a pole.

I can’t imagine there are any fish in that hole filled with water, but I guess there must be. Maybe it is just the hope of fish that matters.

Maybe it’s not really about the fishing at all.

I know one thing, he has made time to hollow out a sacred space in his day.

Maybe he even prays, maybe just standing there gazing into the water is a prayer all by itself.

I keep wanting to pull over and talk to him.

I love the idea that he just goes. I love the idea that he has found a measure of peace amidst the backdrop of our traffic stampede.

While we are all racing by trying to beat each other to work and get that coveted spot, he just fishes. I envy him a little.

I’m thinkin’ he has found the secret. That guy has found his little slice of Heaven right in the middle of town. I don’t know anything about his life or what he does or if he works, and it doesn’t really matter.

He is an opportunist. He makes time.

For peace.

Good news for the common man

Then Amaziah the priest of Bethel sent a message to Jeroboam king of Israel: “Amos is raising a conspiracy against you in the very heart of Israel. The land cannot bear all his words. For this is what Amos is saying:

“‘Jeroboam will die by the sword,
and Israel will surely go into exile,
away from their native land.’”

Then Amaziah said to Amos, “Get out, you seer! Go back to the land of Judah. Earn your bread there and do your prophesying there. Don’t prophesy anymore at Bethel, because this is the king’s sanctuary and the temple of the kingdom.”

Amos answered Amaziah, “I was neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet, but I was a shepherd, and I also took care of sycamore-fig trees. But the Lord took me from tending the flock and said to me, ‘Go, prophesy to my people Israel.’

Israel basically told Amos to get outta dodge. To go back where he came from and continue herding sheep and growing fig trees. They were bloated on their power, in love with their wealth and comforts, and they were talking advantage of the poor and needy. That never sits very well with God.

At first Amos held the spotlight on Israel’s neighbors and that was all good with them. But when Amos started listing all their sins on the town marquee it got ugly. They wanted him out of there.

I like the fact that God roots for the underdogs of the world. It is easy to convince myself that I am one. But the lessons of the Israelites can be equally applied to me. And it stings. In reading these Chapters I need to ask myself the hard questions.

Am I getting complacent? Am I quick to point fingers of blame at someone else, when I need to be looking inwardly at myself? Am I getting lazy? Am I putting myself above others when I don’t reach out because it’s too uncomfortable?

Amos reminds me that though God loves the underdog, the common working class, he also loves the people drunk on their own self-importance who don’t think they need him at all. He loves them enough to warn them.

I remember all the times in my life when he gave me second and third chances. I am bowled over by his compassion, by his mercy that never seems to run dry.

There are so many things in this life that scream for justice, and it seems to be getting worse. It’s so easy for me to jump up and down and scream, “Yeah God, get them, get them!”

Get those people who are doing unspeakable things to children.

Get the those politicians in Washington who couldn’t care less about us hard-working folks, who have their pensions and their pockets stuffed with bribes.

Get the addicted mother who has 6 kids she doesn’t even care about running wild raising themselves, while she sits on the couch sucking on cigarettes as well as the system. (I know this to be true)

But God never told me to be concerned with them, but with my own heart.

I am thinking of a scene, that breakfast meeting on the beach where Jesus met the disciples after his resurrection. Peter asked him a question concerning John. I love what Jesus says, and I can imagine him saying it with a measure of remonstration in his voice and love radiating out of his eyes at the same time.

Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.”

Yes, Lord. I get it. Point taken.

How we can…..praise through the storms.

I was sure by now
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

Casting Crowns, Praise you in this Storm

I wasn’t going to pray this morning, but as the awful images rolled across my screen of the terrible storm that ripped through the Midwest yesterday I thought, “How can I not?” I thought of the different kinds of storms that are hitting all around me like lightning strikes. And they just keep hitting. How would it feel to have everything you own ripped away? I can’t even imagine it. As I look at on my patio today there are all kinds of boxes from a storage unit just cleared out. All stuff. But all stuff that can be replaced.

I think of the other kinds of storms, the tornadoes and floods of life that have nothing whatever to do with the weather.

How will Bill go on without Nancy? A man in our park recently died. His wife Nancy is left behind. Every day she and Bill would ride around together on their bikes. We all nicknamed them “The Sanford’s” because they would ride around on garbage day and look at what everyone set out to see if there was anything they might take home. Nancy will have to ride alone now, and my heart hurts for her.

And my Dad is losing his eyes. Macular degeneration and cataracts are making it hard for him to do the things he has to do and the things he loves to do. He has to have shots in his eyes. Why should he have to go through that? I don’t think it’s fair. My own eyes squeeze tears back when I think of him not being able to read. We have always discussed books together. I wonder why God didn’t heal his eyes like I asked.

A dear friend just lost her husband at 58.

The substance abuse problem that lays like a big fat sleeping dragon that I wish I could slay for someone else.

Too many storms to count here, and it doesn’t seem they will be leaving anytime soon. In light of all this, how in the world could I think I could pass on prayer?

As I sit down to write all this, I can say in my heart of hearts, that I can still praise God in light of who He is. Because He is worthy. And because in each and every storm that’s rolled across the plain of my life, He has been with me.

Astonishingly, I find that along with Casting Crowns, I can actually mean those words, even live those words if I have too, however painful it is.

Please join me today in prayer for all those affected by those terrible storms yesterday. My heart aches for my friends in the midwest. And my heart aches for the other kinds of storms I listed too. As I heard Duane Scott say this morning on Facebook, “Insurance agency will replace everything in the basement so we’re gonna take showers now, get the sewer water washed off, and drive into town for breakfast.” I smiled when I read what he said next in light of all that is happening. Everywhere.

“Sometimes all you can do is just eat pancakes.”

Thank you Duane, I see the beauty and wisdom in that, and bless you for saying it and living it. I am not having pancakes, but later today I will pour myself an icy cold drink and I will go out and float in my kiddie pool for a while.

Because God hasn’t left. He’s still here with us. Especially in the storms.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

All imagines from MSN and Bing AP news

Psalm Sunday

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voicegoes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.

In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun. It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, like a champion rejoicing to run his course. It rises at one end of the heavens and makes its circuit to the other; nothing is deprived of its warmth.

The law of the Lord is perfect, refreshing the soul. The statutes of the Lord are trustworthy, making wise the simple. The precepts of the Lord are right, giving joy to the heart. The commands of the Lord are radiant, giving light to the eyes.

The fear of the Lord is pure enduring forever. The decrees of the Lord are firm and all of them are righteous.

Psalm 19:1-9

A Story……

My Granddaddy on my Daddy’s side was a preacher. He wasn’t a preacher in the traditional sense, like in a proper church. He did his “testifyin” as he called it in a barn and his congregation were the migrant workers. I remember seeing a hat full of money, more money than I had ever seen in one place, full and overflowing. Sometimes they even passed it twice.

They loved him, that much was clear, that barn would be full to overflowing. I don’t know if they understood every word he said, but they understood passion. That’s understood in any language.

He used to warn my cousin and I against climbing up on the roof and yet sometimes I wonder if he didn’t leave that ladder out on purpose. As soon as he left, we’d slap that ladder against the side of that old house and scramble up there and tap-dance to our heart’s content. The music the heels of our Mary Jane’s made against that tin roof was something that was worth getting in trouble over.

Grandma was the one we were concerned with. She was bigger and had a bit of a mean streak. My brother and I used to watch her kill rattlesnakes from up there with one snap of her mighty wrists. She was strong enough to kill turkeys that way too. A turkey attacked me one day, bit me under the arm. We had that turkey for dinner that night. She didn’t mess around.

If my memories of those West Texas summers were woven into anything it would come out looking like a patchwork crazy quilt. Some parts terrifying some parts wonder. The time my Grandma locked me in the dark closet with the glow in the dark Jesus would fall under the terrifying category. I don’t know if Jesus was meant to comfort me or scare me but in the end fear won out.

The other thing that would fall in that category was when Grandma told about how she danced with the devil. She said he came into her bedroom wearing a dark suit and was the most handsome man she had ever seen. They waltzed.

She and my Grandpa had their own unique blend of religion. They believed in reincarnation but also went to the tabernacle for meetings where people who were slain in the spirit would do some very unnatural things like roll around on the floor and make weird noises. To us it was part of the entertainment. We thought they looked more possessed by the devil than anything else.

The wonder part of the memories were made at Grandpa’s baseball park where I was allowed to help out in the concession stand and make snow-cones. There were hot summer nights when chiggers bit ferocious, when the air was so full of damp my hair would mildew on the pillow overnight.

And there were those afternoons when the sky was cast in yellow and the air was eerily still and we waited for the sound of the tornado siren. Times where we all hustled down to the cool of the storm cellar, and other times where we watched those monsters roar in, wide-eyed and rooted where we stood.

That old farmhouse is long gone, taking with it a way of life that will never come again. Sometimes when I least expect it, some little thing will remind me.

The crack of a bat, the smell of hay, a dapper old man with a jaunty walk.

Otherwise they are tucked away in my heart for safe keeping. We fan those flames of memory and bring them back to life with our laughter and our stories.

Once again, I’m tap-dancing on a tin-roof.

images from google

Facechurch

I had no sound on my IPhone for half a day (and a night) yesterday. I got it damp and the speakers died. It spent the night submerged in rice, which seemed to do the trick since this morning it seems fine. If I didn’t know it before, I know now. I am too dependant on it. On a gadget. I never thought I would be one of those people.

I admit it, I like when I hear the little chime that tells me I have a text. It’s almost a Pavlovian response with me, I instinctively reach for my phone. And last night the non-noise was almost deafening. Not that I get that many, mind you.

I even like the other little warble that tells me I have an email, even if it is FTD again telling me I need to order flowers.

The truth is, my phone is just the vehicle that connects me to others in my little community. The people I care about are in my phone……not literally but you know what I mean. I have a voice memo of my Dad and my niece talking. He’s 84 and someday after He’s gone to Heaven I will let her listen to it. I haven’t gotten around to saving that somewhere else yet, and I would be very sad to lose it.

This morning as I was checking my Facebook news feed over coffee, the thought came to me:

Facebook is like church. A community of like-minded people gathering together to encourage, enlighten, strengthen, humor, help and support each other.

But this visiting is what we used to do over the back fence, or on the front porch swing.

In my Mom’s day none of the women worked so they would all gather at one house or yard and bring their kids. They didn’t have Facebook back then, they didn’t need it. They had their own community.

And while people are still meeting at backyard barbeques, front yard garage sales, neighborhood Bible studies, and yes, over the back fence and the porch swing and the neighborhood pub……

……..now they’re communing over coffee, twitter and Facebook too.

Even churches are using social media in a big way. Just about every church has a “Like” option. Does yours? And shame on you if you haven’t “Liked” your church!

The world may change, but people never will. We are hard-wired by God to live, thrive and work in community.

My phone is happily ringing, dinging, and playing music and every time it chimes with life today, it makes me smile.

Because I know my peeps are in there.

****Note: I had to change the title of my post which was going to be The Church of Facebook, but someone already wrote a book by that title……I had no idea!

Psalm 139 and a half

Nothing I do today will surprise you God. My day is already mapped out by you. You’ll be there the whole time I am cleaning the floors, dusting the shelves. You’ll be nodding in time to the music I play while I vacuum because I know you like the Newsboys too. You know my every ache and pain, my every small complaint,

my every praise, my every prayer.

You will smile at things that make me smile because you know that smiling is just another way to give you praise. You peer inside the dark chambers of my soul, that place where I have pulled the curtain over. You throw a spotlight on all those places, Lord. They don’t scare you.

You know about the eight pounds I am trying to lose.

You also see the things I hold back from you (as if I really could), things I clutch tightly too for fear of losing them. I think if I hold on too tight you will test me by taking them away. Take them Lord! If I had to I could live without every single one,

But I could never live without you.

All around me, I see the glory of your creation. You seem to love taking my breath away.

When I close my eyes I can imagine all of our prayers playing on Heaven’s giant ticker tape.

Thank you for caring about all my secret heartaches and fears. You know every one. Bind up my wounds with your precious oil.

And thank you, Abba Father, for loving me no matter what.

Sometimes you just have to throw stones

If you’ve seen Forrest Gump you remember the scene where Jenny comes back home and faces the house where she suffered so much abuse as a little girl. It is one of my favorite scenes. She starts throwing stones at the house and you wish you could pick one up and throw one with her. Scenes like that are why I love movies.

Abuse holds a family hostage like a sleeping dragon. You never know what may make it stir so you walk quietly around it. Try to stay out of sight. When you are a kid you look to your parents for protection but when they are part of the equation and not the answer you have no where else to go. And when you are told things like “Emotion is useless” “You might as well quit crying because tears are useless too.” You learn early on there is only you. You try to shoulder all that dysfunctional mess yourself. Especially when you know others will get in trouble for trying to help you.

As the next generation of the abuse, you have a choice. You do one of two things, you go along with the charade and perpetuate the culture of negativity by painting a rosy picture that’s false or you get really honest with yourself and start dealing with it, realizing you can be the one to turn the tide. It takes true courage not only to step out of it, but do a 360 and break the pattern yourself. You also have to be ready when the abuser turns around and labels you as the problem.

It starts by replacing denial with the truth and facing some facts about yourself, that’s painful. It’s about stopping the blame on others and beginning to see your part in it. It’s about refusing to go along with all the negativity that breeds like a cesspool. It’s about letting it all go so you can start the healing process and making sure you don’t carry on the legacy. And it’s about recognizing that painting a rosy picture doesn’t change the situation, it only masks it to the outside world.

I think the letting go happens differently for everyone. Sometimes it takes a whole lifetime. Sometimes the final healing doesn’t take place until they die, or go into a place where you can leave the barbs and negativity behind after you walk out the door. It’s then that you realize you have been given back the reins to your own life. It’s much like being born again. And with every load you take out to the curb, you realize your mind is a little bit clearer. Lighter.

This abuse has not been my experience, but it has been played out over and over for many people, some I care about very much including my own Dad. So today, I dedicate this post to all people everywhere who have walked out, who have made a difference, who have been courageous enough to not only do an about-face, but be a light to others who need to get out of that dark tunnel, some of whom by so doing have put themselves in danger.

You died on a Saturday morning. And I had you placed here under our tree. And I had that house of your father’s bulldozed to the ground. Momma always said dyin’ was a part of life. I sure wish it wasn’t. Little Forrest, he’s doing just fine. About to start school again soon. I make his breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. I make sure he combs his hair and brushes his teeth every day. Teaching him how to play ping-pong. He’s really good. We fish a lot. And every night, we read a book. He’s so smart, Jenny. You’d be so proud of him. I am. He, uh, wrote a letter, and he says I can’t read it. I’m not supposed to, so I’ll just leave it here for you. Jenny, I don’t know if Momma was right or if, if it’s Lieutenant Dan. I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it’s both. Maybe both is happening at the same time. I miss you, Jenny. If there’s anything you need, I won’t be far away. Forrest Gump 1994

I dedicate this also to my best friend Elaine, who has not been afraid to stand alone. To lead others out. To make a difference. To start her own legacy of hope. If there is anything you need, I will be happy to stand in for “Forrest” and throw some stones with you.

I have a pretty good aim.

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