Feeling like Mary today

I thought maybe the ocean had taken my words out with the waves, never to be brought back again, but I was wrong. I will always have more words, because there will always be more life.
I smile when I say this, because I get a vision of all the writers in Heaven going for that corner spot in the patio….quills in hand.

And I think of everyone else doing what each of them have been made to do each in their own bright respective corner.

In many ways I am still processing vacation……..still reliving moments that I know I will never forget, like that iridescent pearly residue left behind after the waves wash over the shore, some things remain. And sometimes I feel like Mary when she pondered in her heart all that the angel had told her, all that God was still telling her.

And in case I don’t, I have the evidence the ocean did not take back. It never gets old, walking for miles on the beach stooping to exclaim over treasure the sea leaves. “Now don’t show me yours until we get back and then we will compare” I said, feeling the wonder. Feeling like a kid.

As I picked up my new devotional book this morning, I remembered Mom saying, “I’ll buy that for you, I didn’t buy you a Birthday present.” As if she needs to, she has given me her whole life already, ever since I was born.

I remember the tears I cried that first sunset at the beach all alone, flipping back to all the events of the past week. How I wished everyone I loved could be sitting right there with me to see it.
And how the next night, E. turned to me and said, “Are you going to cry again?” And then I said, no and we laughed.

Finding that starfish on the shore and me feeling squeamish as a girl scooping enough sand around it so that I wouldn’t feel it move, and yet knowing I had to save it. Seeing the waves take it back…….

The feel of Lauryn’s hand in mine during Sesame Street live, what a gift when a child offers you a hand, it is something almost Holy. It means they trust you to keep them safe.

And everyday, God tells me to do the same. Live with my hand in His. And I do. It’s the best way I know how to live. Really, it’s the only way.

Sometimes the benefits of time off remain long after you get back.

The Ocean sings a love song

I don’t know why, but each time I come here I am moved to tears…..and yesterday when I plopped down in the sand and watched dogs playing and owners losing themselves in the moment it happened again.

Last night as I watched the sun dip into that vast ocean I wished that everyone I cared about could be right there with us. Tears flowed as everyone gathered with cameras and IPhones aimed at the horizon to watch what God does each and every night, and yet here it seems even more Holy.

The events of the last few days replayed again and I called my brother just to tell him I wished he was there to see the beauty. I just really wanted to hear his voice. I am thankful I still can.

This post is short…..WIFI keeps going in and out and really, it’s okay.

I have one more day here and I intend to savor each and every Holy moment.

The ocean has another love song to sing and God is singing too.

With every crash of the wave upon the shore…….

I dreamed a dream

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go fill in one more blank on my sermon notes. I couldn’t listen to one more sermon. Not this Sunday. I felt full to the brim of being edified, pumped up, praised up. I thought……what if. What if I devoted that hour to going out and asking God who He wanted me to help that day. Who he wanted me to pray for.

What if I gave Him full permission, power, control. What if I gave Him his authority, his Lordship. His rightful place in my life. I wonder how different my walk with Him would look?

I dreamed of what would happen if I stopped doing church and took the church out to the world. I dreamed of thousands of people spilling out onto the streets. Churches set up in parks feeding the homeless, and places where the lost and lonely gather.

I dreamed a dream of empty pews.

And then I dreamed of people streaming back into church with new purpose. Remembering why they were there. I dreamed that churches would look more like hospitals and a place where you could always feel welcomed, loved, accepted.

I remembered how Jesus sent them out two by two. I imagine how excited they all must have been, buoyed up by a fresh dose of Holy Spirit power, looking forward to doing and seeing wondrous things, miracles. I wondered at Jesus’ timing when after he got done instructing them He added this dire footnote:

“I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves. Be on your guard; you will be handed over to the local councils and be flogged in the synagogues. On my account you will be brought before governors and kings as witnesses to them and to the Gentiles. But when they arrest you, do not worry about what to say or how to say it. At that time you will be given what to say, for it will not be you speaking, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.”

“Wow, Lord…..I can’t wait to go now!” Jesus can be a little scary. And honestly? A bit of a wet blanket at times. But He’s also never boring. Following Jesus is anything but boring. And follow is just what He asks of us. No matter where that road leads.

There’s a time for everything in its season, and sometimes you need to go to church and be built back up after the world has used you for its punching bag, I know, I’ve been there. There is a time for being mended, and I have had holes in my heart mended in church more times than I can count. But then I get comfortable. I get complacent. And I sense Jesus tapping me on the shoulder and saying, “Now that I have mended you, go mend someone else.”

Sometimes the best way to stay afloat yourself is by helping someone else.

I think if the gospels and Jesus are not just a little disturbing then I wonder if you have really grasped the full message. If Jesus is not just a little unsettling then I wonder if I really know what he requires of me. Follow Me. Follow me even though you are afraid of where I might take you.

That is scary for a clinging to the side of the pool person like me.

But Jesus is a God of His word. He said He’d never leave me and I believe Him. And in a way, I am thankful for my fear for it keeps me close to Him.

I dreamed a dream. But I think it may happen.

I have been reading about what it really means to follow Jesus in the book Follow Me by David Platt. I highly recommend it. Not very comfortable reading but sometimes we need that.

When everything gets loud

When everything gets loud and you can’t hear yourself think…….go to the Word. It will always lead you back home.

Let the voices within and without go dim.

Hear His voice only, and you will notice the clamouring voice of the world will be silenced into submission.

The clouds will part.

And the sunrise you feel will be the one in your heart.

When it breaks free.

Nothing matters except His giant presence filling your soul.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.” John 1:1-5

The Word started it all, and when it’s all over, the Word will still be standing.

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

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.

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

Calling a Truce

I tugged at my hair and frowned in the mirror. Then I remembered I couldn’t frown because that’s bad for the furrow between my eyes. I lift my eyebrows as if to iron it out. I can’t look too close at the things that are changing more with each passing year.

I apply makeup furiously and with a vendetta against the things I am trying to cover up. I do my usual squint in the mirror, my usual way of addressing mirrors ever since I was in fifth grade when my Mom let me start using pancake makeup to cover up my early acne.

In many ways, I am still the girl behind the curtain of hair on my first visit to the dermatologist office, all these years later. I look for the seat against the window, not facing it. Those visits lasted years and took me to some dark places.

I thought I could make myself disappear if I lost enough weight.

When I finally emerged at 25, by God’s grace and healing and my parent’s prayers, I entered into a foreign and wonderful place I had never been before. It was my own personal Woodstock. I waded in at first, then I plunged in with both feet. I exulted, I danced, I splashed, I reveled in my new-found joy and freedom.

I got my hair cut and looked out at a new and wonderful world. I ran my fingers over my face and down my neck where there were no more lumps. Praise God. For the first time in my life I felt beautiful.

It was a pretty good run from then on. Until lately that is.

At 50 I was all confident and unafraid, ready to take on the next phase of life. At 53 I am entering into a peculiar stage. It’s not so much fun anymore. Gravity and years are tugging at me. Simple tasks result in stupid injuries.

But from today on, I am calling a truce with myself and my body. I will forgive it for aging. I am going to fall in love all over again. With myself. Cause God said I could.

This….day….I….will….remember.

Each time I get angry at the extra pounds pressing at my clothes, I will remember this post. I will not think of it as my body betraying me, but reminding me that I have to work a little bit harder. When I look at my upper arms I won’t pinch angrily at the extra flesh, remembering how firm and muscular my arms used to be.

And when I look at the wrinkles on my skin, which to me are looking more like trenches, I will try not to dream of winning a trip to the plastic surgeon or running to get laser treatments. I will not hate my extra sun spots and think of them as defects but friendly freckles, and I will let my arms go free from sleeves and I will wear shorts and enjoy it.

I will love my legs, knowing that underneath they are the same legs as when I could point a toe and see muscles pop like a ballet dancer. I can still use them to walk fast and even run when my back doesn’t give out.

I will not dread the swimsuit season. I will not allow it to give myself permission to hate my body or berate myself for how lazy I have gotten over the winter, I will use it as extra motivation to improve and make better food choices.

I will remember my re-birth, both of them. And live the truth that God has called me wonderfully made, and good, and yes, beautiful. And when I love myself, I am not only praising what He made, I am praising Him too.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:14

I will from this time forward, look to my beautiful older sisters who dress young and act young. I will see their radiant faces in my mind when I am tempted to pick up the barbed chains of self-flagellation.

And last but not least I will let my inner beauty shine so bright it’s the first thing people notice about me.

And starting today, I will hug myself in the mirror instead of frowning or squinting.

Because I love the me God created.

Evening Benediction

I end the day with a bit of watering…..summer is coming and the desert is already thirsty, almost as if it’s in anticipation of scorching relentless merciless rays it drinks. I watch the ground soak it in and it makes me thirsty too, so I pause to tilt back the Dasani. I drink it in as greedily as the plants. I guess this is what you call puttering in the yard. And it’s a good way to end the day.

I go in and pull shades up to let a bit of the sunset in and turn on the evening lights and then I go back outside and watch the birds do their nightly crisscrossing to and fro across the sky. Silently the sky speaks volumes.

I sit and watch the show and I can’t seem to stop.

A day ends, a life ends, both quietly, both almost without notice.

One last glory in the sky, one breath you’re there, the next you’re gone. I marvel at how quickly the earth swallows up our memory.

Almost as easy as crashing waves washing away the castle you just spent an hour building.

Some go with fanfare, headlines, processions and some go quietly but none go unnoticed by God. Ever.

I watch the sky bleach color, first gray and now one last splash of pink before darkness swallows it up. The birds are silent now. They know the proper way to bring an evening in. I wish I could see them tucked in their boughs. Not for the first time, I wonder if any of them lose their balance and plummet to the ground as they drift off to sleep, like I do sometimes sitting upright.

I close the cover of my Ipad as well as my eyes and say a prayer for all the heartache in the world, for loved ones near and far. It’s what I do when I can’t do enough.

It’s my benediction, my way of honoring a man I knew for twenty-four years. A man who liked to wear cowboy boots and stetson hats once upon a time, and was known to have a temper, but could fix anything as long as he had a can of WD40. And he always had several.

And who also was known to have a soft heart when you least expected it.

Feeling a bit like Jesus

Yesterday, I felt a little bit like Jesus must have felt. I felt an ache for humanity. I’m not sure why I feel this way some days more than others. I think it must be because I am watching someone slip away and it’s not pretty. It’s not slipping away quietly, it’s more like hanging on for dear life. I have never watched something like that before.

Lately every time I turn around, something else stands as a reminder of how quickly this life is passing by. A memorial service on Saturday……and then this week, my Mom lost two more friends. My brother said when he heard, “Well, now he can see his son Royce again.” I had forgotten that his son had passed away at 16, the same age as my brother was. So many years ago now.

As I went about my day yesterday, I somehow felt people instead of just seeing them.

At the car wash, I saw a man checking the trash cans. When he caught my eye, he looked a little sheepish and I looked down, embarrassed for him, saddened. I wondered what led him to this point. When he passed me, he gave me a smile and said, “How many people look at your car and yell Slugbug?” I said, “Many…..” and gave him a smile. There was so much more I wanted to say.

That’s one of the reasons I want to keep my car.

And then I had a wild urge to ask the person next to me pumping gas if he knew Jesus. So what if he thinks I’m crazy?

Maybe being a little bit crazy and saying something is more sane than knowing people are going to hell all around me and acting like it’s no big deal.

My Grandpa used to go up to strangers and ask that all the time. He died when I was 2. Oh how I long to meet him in Heaven. I hope he will be one of the first I see.

At the store I saw a really, really big lady in one of those ride-around carts. I am not happy to say my first thought was tinged with judgment. Then I said a silent prayer of forgiveness and gave her a smile. I have a feeling maybe she doesn’t get many. She gave me a beautiful smile back. My heart panged.

And my heart kept panging all the way home. And I finally cried because of what we are going through right now with Elaine’s Dad. I hadn’t until then.

The truth is, none of us knows when God will call us to hang up our hat for good on this earth, but what I do know is that this life lasts about as long as a daffodil, here today and gone tomorrow, and hopefully with Him.

Let us treasure what we have.

Let us treasure who we have.

Let us bring Heaven to earth by putting aside all our disagreements and hurts, our disappointments and failures to love each other well aside.

Because it’s all just too short.

“I, even I, am he who comforts you.
Who are you that you fear mere mortals,
human beings who are but grass,

Isaiah 51:12

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

Reflection