Finding peace begins when we stop trying to figure it all out.

In the hushed silence bare light of morning, I kick the walnut Sydney loves to bat around and it skitters across the floor. The air outside is heavy with heat….too hot to pray out there, so I sit here reading Holy moments between the pages of Emily’s book. It’s here that He meets us. In the quiet, in the background of two cats snoring and my tailbone sore from sitting here on the floor by the bed.

Behind the peace, behind happy and content there are flickers of fear being tamped down. It seems to be a by-product of living this life, the wondering how long anything settled, sure and peaceful will last. But I have learned the secret of culling His peace here and now, for the Heaven on earth moments Jesus talked about are found in the miracles of each day. Real faith is found in between the everyday wrangling of trying to figure it all out; wondering how in the world the pieces are all going to come together.

Peace begins when we figure out God doesn’t expect us to figure it all out, but to trust that He already has.

My dreams are restless…..night before last, everyone was ready for the party except me, everybody lined up ready to go, polished and looking their best and I was late. I could find nothing to wear, even my underwear disappeared.

Last night it I was in my Grandmother’s old house on 501 South Lee with a black panther, I was thankful for those two pocket doors between the kitchen and living room and the kitchen and the den. I slipped those closed as the panther prowled beyond them.

And then I threw a party where everyone wanted to leave early.

Across the 600 plus miles between here and there, I feel my Mom’s burdens as she struggles with things that are difficult and things she can’t do at all. The sand in the hour-glass I see in my mind is pouring through faster with each passing year. A daughter understands a Mother’s burdens more than anyone and we both know it.

I also see my Dad longing for the peace that comes from not being able to do as much, fix as much, be as much in his own eyes, but not in mine.

It’s these in between times where fear nips at our heels at the uncertainty of life that our faith grows. It learns to live and breathe when we swim to the surface and break free, to stop thrashing about and see the ring God throws over the side of the boat.

I am so grateful for the peaceful rhythm that flows through these days. It’s what I have right now and I don’t want to miss anything by worrying about what will happen tomorrow. For God already has that.

He holds us all in His palm. He says: “Look behind you and see everything I have brought you through……..that’s your future!”

“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength,
but you would have none of it. Isaiah…..30:15

When it’s easier to label someone than help

Hey you, man on the side of the freeway with a sign.

What are you?

A fake, a phoney?

Are you playing us for a fool or are you really homeless?

Really poor?

Really a disabled veteran?

I want you to know, you haunt me.

Driving by later at night, I see you are no longer at your usual post by the freeway exit and neither is your friend.

The one whose turn it is to hold the sign while you wait in the shade.

I wonder, where do you sleep?

Where are you right this minute?

And is it my job to judge whether you are really what you say you are?

You shame me.

You teach me how far I still have to go in my faith journey.

I see you everywhere, and everywhere I wonder.

What…..who…..how you are and how you ended up there.

I just want you to know……

You haunt me.

And I am thinking that Jesus probably haunted a few people too.

Matthew 25:35-40

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what’s coming to you in this kingdom. It’s been ready for you since the world’s foundation. And here’s why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.’

“Then those ‘sheep’ are going to say, ‘Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?’ Then the King will say, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.’ Matthew 25:35-40

photo credit: creative commons via flickr Ed Yourdon

The grace that leads us home

Every now and then, when I think that maybe I’ve come to the end of my words; where I think I might even quit blogging, I have a morning like I had yesterday. For no particular circumstance or reason I could think of, I felt bouyant. I didn’t walk, I floated. I said, “Good Morning” to most everyone I saw and I really felt it. I looked in their eyes and I saw that my joy ignited something in them. It was infectious.

I call this feeling resting in God’s sweet spot. The Bible defines it as the “Hope” that lies within us. Hope with a capital “H.” He gives me those days, those moments when I least expect them, and that’s when I know that there is no possible way I could ever stop writing about it. The Bible says always be ready to give an answer for the hope that lies within us. This hope is what the world needs more than ever “………but sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts, always being ready to make a defense to everyone who asks you to give an account for the hope that is in you, yet with gentleness and reverence; 1 Peter 3:15

When you are awash in gratitude you want to tell everyone why; so much so that you can’t keep it from flowing through your fingertips. It’s a natural reaction of the hope that comes from the assurance of knowing that ultimately, it’s Grace that will lead you home. Nothing can replace that sweetness. That hope gives way to torrents of gratitude that become the backdrop of a life walking hand in hand with our Savior.

As I went down to get coffee I thought, here I am all these years later in this good job where God has placed me when I had no clue what to do with my future. A small town girl with no degree who long ago had her life drastically rearranged by sorrow has now been here 18 years. All those times when I had to duck into the bathroom stall to pray, to even get in the door, he heard me.

It’s amazing how He’s provided for me. Even when I made bad decisions……veered wildly off His path, given way to fear, despair and worry. All along the way, He has been by my side. He has taken those little seeds of faith and watered them with my tears along His own mixed in and grown a garden path thats vibrant and rich.

It’s only with a little bit of distance that we can see that our road has truly been paved with grace. And it’s that grace that will lead us Home.

It’s the fruit that the Apostle Paul talked about, the fruit we reap if we don’t weary and the knowledge that none of heartaches were in vain and that to your surprise is the knowledge that you’ve overcome the world right along with Jesus.

And He’s given me a best friend to laugh with, share with, walk along this path so I don’t have to go it alone. Someone whose own life has been paved with grace as well. The Bible places a high value on Godly friendship:

A man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother (or sister). Proverbs 18:24

I am feeling this grace today, friends and I want to share it with you. Call upon the Lord today, and begin your day with gratitude. Before you know it, the counting with become a way of life that will stay with you no matter the circumstance.

The Me I See

Sometimes, when I am outside of myself looking in, I see the real me not the one I have imagined or invented. And sometimes I don’t recognize that person talking, smiling, interacting with others. But there is someone else I see, just on the fringe of my consciousness, just outside the ring.

Sometimes she hides in the shadows waiting for me to find her, but sometimes she dances into the light just long enough for me to get a glimpse, then she jumps back, ripples of laughter in her wake.

She beckons me with a wave of her hand and when I finally join her, that other me, the one that happens when I am still, or creating, or caught up in catching the stream of life, or praying, that’s when I get in touch with who I really am. I guess when I lose myself is when I find myself. Jesus said something along the same lines. He said, whoever tries to save His life will lose it and whoever loses His life for His sake will find it.

The real me is the one I find without trying. That’s the me I want to be all the time. The me that’s not afraid to bloom, right there in the open.

I most like myself when I stop thinking about how others perceive me and just be the me God created. In doing that, I enter into Creation with Him and agree that His plan is good, and that I am good the way He made me, doing what He created me to do.

That’s when I can almost hear the stars sing.

Living starts to be authentic when we let our masks drop. From ourselves…….from each other……and from God. When we no longer have to be afraid to speak for fear of not being loved. Cradled in the circle of grace…..that’s where we all want to live.

When I stop trying so hard to be what this world wants me to be and be the me that God made, there’s a resurrection that happens. In finding the real me, I discover that I am fearfully and wonderfully made by a God who loves me. Running into myself, I can’t help but collide with God too.

This is what Jesus said about that:

I am the door; if anyone enters through Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly. John 10: 9

“For he who finds me finds life And obtains favor from the LORD. Proverbs 8:35

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me. John 14:6

When we find Jesus, my friends, we find life the way it was meant to be lived. We find life, hope, truth; everything that has ever or will ever be good. We find it all when we find Him.

Prayer today: Thank you Lord, for loving me, the real me. Help me to see myself the way you see me. Help me to fall in love with me each and every day, for it’s only when I love and accept myself that I can love others the right way. Help me to forgive myself fully every day for failing myself…..You…..others. Help me to love more. Thank you for the joy I find in creating, for it’s where I can find You. Cover everyone in my circle with Your peace and grace today. Bind us together in love, Lord. Amen.

On remembering why we’re here

The things we take away, the joy makers, that stand out moments of any particular day are so often not the big things, but those small simple moments in between. The ones that let us catch our breath when we have forgotten just why it is we are here.

Living for the weekend is tiring. I leap frog, stagger from one to another and even now, I am pausing inside because I know that once my week starts tomorrow, there will be little time for pausing until Sunday.

Some days you just have to stop. Today my stop was turning on Phil Keaggy and baking cookies to send to my Mom, who has baked for others for years and now it’s hard for her. The box will go out today or tomorrow.

And yesterday, E and I went out to find a frame for the pictures I took of Lauryn that will go in the box too. As I finished framing them, I stood back and smiled.

One day those little hands will be grown but I hope she will never lose the joy of making sand castles……small moments that turn large looking back.

Reach for the stand out moments today. When your little one grabs your hand, cherish it as if it were the last. When a furry body climbs into your lap looking for love, don’t get irritated at the fur. See their eyes, see the God who made them.

Made us all.

Remembering He’s why we’re here, why we’re all here for each other.

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.

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.

When you don’t fit in and it’s okay

I grew up in a church that was somewhat legalistic. I didn’t think much of it until the first time I went to an Assembly of God church where people clapped and raised their hands, and not just shoulder height, all the way up! It was like a whole new world opened up to me. You see, in our church we weren’t even encouraged to clap. I am not sure what’s wrong with clapping. Maybe they thought it would lead to other outward expressions and then God forbid where would you draw the line? There has to be some control after all. Otherwise you might have people jumping over pews and rolling in the aisles.

I say that tongue in cheek, but looking back I always felt somewhat restricted there. One false move and you might be visited by two men in dark suits. I will never forget the time we had an outstanding musical performance and someone must have forgotten the rule because there was a burst of applause. It started strong, but then the Pastor raised his hand in admonition……”No, no clapping please.” The people (us) being properly chastened, it quickly died down.

I remember never quite fitting in. Don’t get me wrong. I have many good memories of church and I am thankful, so thankful my Mom insisted we go. I have to say, I got a wonderful Scriptural foundational knowledge there. People that love the Lord with all their hearts still go there. And yet, when I got out. I remember feeling a profound sense of freedom that I had never had before and it was a little bit of Heaven.

My joy was no longer contained……I felt like a balloon taking flight for the first time. I could feel totally comfortable lifting my hands to the sky, or equally comfortable going down to the altar and planting my face to the indoor outdoor carpeted step. I finally felt I could express my joy over being forgiven, being redeemed properly.

I have taken part in all different types of church services, and I am glad I have. I consider myself bit of a church mutt. I have been immersed in liturgy and felt extremely moved by its beauty. I have been to services where people felt totally free to kick off their shoes and dance in the aisle. And what I have come away with is this:

There is no right way or wrong way to praise God and as soon as you start making people believe they have to do worship a certain way, then you are excluding those who don’t quite fit your mold.

There is room, my friends. Room for all of our individuality at the Cross. And as long a congregation is true to Scripture, it’s all good. Just because I lift my hands in church doesn’t mean someone else has to. Their hearts might be bursting with praise within. God knows hearts. He knows each thought, each feeling, He hears whispered praise as well as praise that shouts to the sky.

He is big enough to contain it all.

Ring of Fire

Last night I stayed out on the patio long. I was feeling what my Grandmother would have called “a bit blue.” Lately, I have felt out of step with the world around me. Like I am a few beats behind everyone else. Sometimes it helps to go outside and sit very still, to listen to the bigger rhythm. It’s like putting your finger on the earth’s pulse when you can no longer trust your own.

I lay my head back in the chair and was surprised by the moon directly overhead. I don’t know why it surprised me but I didn’t expect it to be there, it was too high in the sky, but who am I to argue with the moon?

This morning I stumbled over both the previously frozen peas and the ice pack that I use at night to beat back the flames that rise like coiled snakes that come from nowhere. I picture a cartoonish Satan in a red suit, shoveling coals, stoking the furnace within me with a gleeful smile on his face. I am up about 3 times a night exchanging the frozen peas with the ice pack and vice-versa.

My Doctor recommended a place that sells things that may help but she told me it was cash only. What does that even mean? She is into a more “holistic” approach to medicine and I agree, I don’t want to take synthetic hormones. Someone told me about Black Cohosh so now I am taking 540 mg a day. I can’t be sure it’s helping but I will keep taking it for now.

There is an upside. If sweating is healthy, I can’t have any toxins left in my system. I am my own mini-sweat lodge.

I move heavily through most days with a leaden soul. I miss the old me. I miss the self I used to be. I have fleeting moments of happiness and then it’s back to the dull gray wash. I have learned that sometimes all you can do is move through the moment obediently and grab onto the joy when it comes.

I feel like a bit player in my own life and an imposter at work going through the motions. Like on “Seinfeld” when George Costanza got that job that he didn’t really get and went in to work everyday making up things to do in the office that wasn’t really his.

I joined a gym to beat back the ravages of time as well as all these symptoms and it does make me feel better, but I haven’t lost a pound. Most of the time I want to eat whole pies and plates of cookies. It seems, the same furnace that stokes the flashes, stokes my appetite as well. If I am at home I look for things to graze on continually. I have sunk to dipping cookies in frosting, I am worse than an alcoholic.

And attached to everything else in this new phase of life, I feel a profound sense of shame that I am becoming “less than” “diminished” “devalued.” Being shown the back seat by the universe. I know that what I am feeling is temporary, and I know that God still strives with me.

He brings me little things like doves and blooming flowers and the moon.

And people I love who are always there for me. Above all, I haven’t lost my gratitude because I still have so much.

Despite it all, He remains my well that never runs dry. I will come through this, victory is mine. It always has been, through Him.

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

Grace moments