The Long and Winding Road

You can see for miles. Roads stretch out before you with very little to obstruct the view. Over the open prairie, the sky's big and the earth gently heaves and sighs. It's beautiful and I've grown to love it.

On our way to Gavin's Point Dam over the July 4th weekend, we drove over hills and through dales that actually twist and turn so you can't always see where the road leads. I found myself looking down the byways and wondering what was around the bend. One little road, for some reason, seemed magical. It looked lovely and mysterious and like it could only hold treasures.

In my younger years, I'm quite sure I saw my future through those same curious, hopeful eyes; anticipating the best kind of magic. But at some point in my life, I'm not even sure when or how it happened, my view changed. What lay beyond the bend became something I feared. Instead of hopefully trusting that life (or more aptly the Giver of Life) would be full of ups and downs and twists and turns that eventually always lead to someplace lovely, I started believing that danger lurked in the unknown places.

Maybe it's because not knowing what's next makes life not only unpredictable but messy. When Brad's feeling out of control over something in his life, he quotes Steve Martin from Parenthood: "I don't like messy." I don't know if any of us like messy, but at some point we all have to accept that it's part of life and we can either 1) live with it begrudgingly, 2) keep trying to manage and contrive and control and drive everyone-including ourselves- crazy or C) Look beyond the mess and enjoy the journey despite the uncertainty.

Storytellers

In no place emotionally to make small talk, I remember sitting in silence.
She didn't seem to care.
Every once in a while she asked me a question and smiled kindly at my brief, barely alive response. As we approached the end of the meal she started telling me her story. My mind racing but my face stolid, I listened.
I heard as she shared her story of addiction, depression, broken relationships and God's healing power experienced in her life.
The memory of her gentle voice but strong words comes back to me as I think about my own story.
At the request of a very worried mutual friend, she came, vulnerable and ready to risk for the sake of helping a struggling soul.
She didn't know me. Yet she spoke with transparency, honesty, authenticity and tenderness. She didn't ask for a response from me or expect anything from me.
And I didn't offer.
Out of a deep love for God, she reached out in obedience expecting nothing. And nothing was what she got. Well, from me at least.
What she didn't know or couldn't anticipate was the profound impact that hour long lunch around a mutual friends table had on me. I sought help and I stopped beating myself up mentally. Those were some of the deepest darkest days of my life, and she brought a glimmer of light into my dark tunnel to show me where to walk next.
She's a customer of mine now. She comes into my shop and we periodically have the opportunity to share joys, sorrows and prayer requests. But I don't think I've ever actually thanked her.
So, dear friend, thank you for being real. Thank you for being vulnerable. Thank you for being honest. Thank you for sharing your life with me when I had nothing to offer in return. God used you. You were His words to me that day.
Is there someone who needs to hear your story? Who needs to see a real person? Risk it--offer without expecting.

1994

Honestly, I don't remember 1994. A toddler and an infant filled my days with diapers, midnight feedings, messy kisses, sweet giggles, and lots of firsts. The year blurs into the rest of the decade. But half a world away, for an entire country, 1994 looms like an ominous cloud in history. Beginning in April of 1994, and continuing for almost 100 days, over 500,000 Rwandan's suffered death and persecution at the hands of their former friends and neighbors.
While I tucked my babies in at night, other moms quieted their starving babies for fear of discovery.
While we moved into our home, others escaped theirs in the night.
While I read Good Night Moon to my three year old, recently orphaned Rwandan children huddled in the marshes night after night waiting for rescue.
While I enjoyed the safety, blessing and comfort of a loving husband, women on another continent suffered the cruelty and brutality of merciless men.
While we lived in relative harmony with our neighbors and in our community, villagers in Rwanda terrorized, tortured, and murdered their neighbors.

Reading as we forgive by Catherine Claire Larson, opened my eyes and heart not only to the pain these fellow humans endured during the Rwandan genocide of 1994, but also to the tremendous capacity for humans to forgive the unforgivable. The book relates several true stories of forgiveness between victim and offender. Unbelievable tales of reconciliation that demonstrate that healing for a war torn country is possible, each personal story inspires me to practice true forgiveness in my own life on a daily basis.

I'm thankful for my life and that, for whatever reason, I've been thus far spared the pain these people endured. But I never again want to be so consumed with my own small corner of this planet that I'm completely blind to another country's suffering.

Our Father which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done in earth,
as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil:
For thine is the kingdom,
and the power,
and the glory,
for ever.
Amen.
Jesus prayer in Matthew 6
King James Version

Want to know more? Here's a few websites:

as we forgive

The Umuvumu Tree Project

The United State Holocaust Memorial Museum
Restorative Justice

*Please forgive the strange blogspot induced spacing.

Good Grief

Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his faithful servants. ~Psalm 116:15

The white haired organist played the old hymns. Flowers in shades of pink adorned the chapel. People spoke in hushed tones as they dabbed away tears. Friends and family gathered to say good bye and celebrate life.

It's a scene played out over and over again and yet, when it's your mother, father, brother or friend, it's no longer a common occurance because now...now it's personal.

She lived a long, full life. Sitting in the pew, listening to adoring sons and loving grandchildren, you might think it was a perfect life. But anyone who lives knows there's no such thing even for this lovely woman. Blessed, faith-filled and faithful yes; but not without hurt, tragedy and pain. And yet, through it all, she loved God and her family well. Passing on a legacy of strength, loyalty and trust in her Maker, her funeral honored her story but more importantly pointed everyone in the chapel to the Giver of that legacy.

Several thoughts struck me as I sat in the church during this sacred moment simultaneously mourning and celebrating.

What would she think of her own funeral?
What would my kids say about me when I die?
What would they laugh about?
Would memories spark hurt or anger about me or would love truly cover the multitude of my sins?
Would the funeral be more about me or the One to whom I belonged?

When I ordered flowers for the service, I told my talented florist friend that the most distinguishing trait about the deceased was her faith and trust in God. I couldn't think of hobbies she had or what she loved to do. I could only think of Who she loved (well, that and the fact that she regularly prayed for the Twins--yes, the baseball team--but I didn't want a Twinkies floral arrangment).

What would someone tell a florist about me?
At the graveside, the pastor asked the family to say just one word that described their mom and grandma.

Selfless.

Loving.

Faithful.

When I'm gone, what will those closest say about me? Will they struggle to find appropriate words or will the praises come out fast and furious like they did yesterday for this lovely, dearly loved woman?
What would I want them to say?

What do you want those nearest and dearest to you to say...

Marion R. Solfelt 6.27.1924~5.24.2011

Blank pages

Type a sentence.

Delete the sentence.

Type another.

Delete.

Stare at the screen.

Start typing.

Stop typing.

Stare some more.

Delete everything.

Hit "New Post" button and repeat the process.

Walk away and let another day pass.

A million thoughts run through my mind. None seem to stay long enough to be put into actual ideas. Flitting through my brain like a drunken butterfly roaming from flower to flower they never stay long enough to grow and develop.

Posts about rebelliousness. Posts about cancer. Posts about weariness. Posts about hardships and trials. Posts about beauty. Posts about things that upset me. Posts about my family, my kids, my friends. Happy posts. Hopeful posts. Depressing posts. Post after post after post half completed sitting in my "drafts" folder.

My brain's been thrown into a whirlpool spinning endlessly around.

Unlike writing, avoidance comes easily.
I avoid conflict.
I avoid dairy.
I avoid work.
I avoid people.
I avoid talking. yes...I do...believe it or not....

There's too much. So much of life feels like it can't be shared right now. Not in a blog. And not in person. For so many reasons, right now, at least one major part of my existence remains wholly private.
What do I write about when I can't share the thing closest to my heart and foremost in my mind?

The day after

The second I saw the kitchen I was angry. Not the sighing weary anger but real- from the gut want to commit acts of violence- anger. The remnants of a fun, late night of cards and food were enough to send me over the edge. This is what happens when your children grow up and stay up later than you. Add to that dirty and clean laundry all co-mingling on the floor, last nights dishes and a plugged toilet and it's a recipe for disaster.

Me stomping through the house...
NO one picks up after themselves *bang*
they treat me like a maid *slam*
no respect. I get absolutely zero respect *violently throwing clothes in the general direction of the laundry room*
Room and board. I'm going to start charging room and board *slam slam bang*
I have to go away to WORK now...where I cook and clean and WAIT on OTHER people *yelled as I grab my bag and slam my way out the door*

You get the picture.

Once at work I remember there's no milk. *slam* Oh yeah, nobody is here to hear me.
I make my list and run to get groceries and upon my return, I hit my head getting out of the car. *moan* I put the key in the shop lock and it won't go in.
What the what!?! This just worked-I just unlocked this 20 minutes ago *fuming*
Maybe if I push a little more *snap*
Oh crap *grumbled under my breath as the key breaks off in my hand*
The universe is against me *Tears well up*
I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry *huge lump in my throat*

Tears suppressed, I get in my van and tires squealing head back home for the other keys.

Note for the future: It would be a lot easier to ask for Brad's help if you haven't acted like such a jerk. But I have no choice; so I ask. He grabs his jacket and follows me in his truck (from a distance, mind you, I'm sure fearful of what I may do). Upon arriving back at work I look and hang my head in shame and humiliation; I put the key in the wrong lock...that's why it wouldn't go in and that's why it broke.

User error. My user error. What's wrong with me! I've been opening this door for 6 years *no tears now just more anger*
As Brad pulls up, I hastily tell him the news and retreat into my shop kitchen. I assume he retrieved the broken key, I didn't stick around to find out.

In my kitchen, listening to Beethoven (which, incidentally is good, socially acceptable, appropriate for the work place anger music) I continue slamming and fuming partly wishing someone was around to care that my day's crappy and it's only 7:15 and mostly grateful no one's witnessing my hissy fit.

After I get everything going, I check my emails and facebook and finally this blog. And what do I see? Living on Sunday. What an idiot I am. Why did I ever post that? Now I have to own up to it. Wasn't yesterday Resurrection Sunday? The day we're reminded of the fact that not only did Jesus die for our sins (which should have been enough) but He rose again so that we "may have life and have it to the full".

So far my Monday living was full. Full. Of. Crap.

Legitimate frustration with my family for not picking up after themselves spiraled within seconds to full blown anger, resentment, bitterness and more anger. But I was at work now.

It was a busy day at the shop. 20+ women came in and I was friendly and charming and served them with a smile. None of them would have guessed that I still harbored malicious thoughts towards my own flesh and blood.

I'd love to end this post by telling you that when I got home the kids apologized and I apologized and we all made up and had a big family hug. But the reality is, although I'm letting it go, I'm still a little miffed and trying to get over my pity party.

Will living on Sunday ever be easy?*

*that's a rhetorical question.
**both photos are Lois (Jane Kaczmarek) from Malcolm in the Middle

Living on Sunday.

Both videos are sermon exerpts from Dr. S.M. Lockridge.


It's not just the big things like disease and heartache, betrayal and loss that throw my heart and mind into a tailspin. It's small things like jealousy and envy and discontent.

It's Friday but Sunday's coming.
But why, oh why do we(read me) so often live in Friday, at times completely forgetting about Sunday?
I do. I camp out there, in Jesus death, in the darkness and seeming defeat of Friday and cry out with the Psalmist How long o, Lord? Will you forget us forever?

I stay there...in my frustration, anger and discontent.
But the story didn't end on Friday. And my life doesn't have to be lived on Friday.
I believe I Corinthians 15: “'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?' The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain."
You don't have to live in the Friday of life...in the jealousy, anger, bitterness and selfishness.

I want to, no matter my circumstances or surroundings, live on Sunday.

Ransomed.

Healed.

Forgiven.

Free.

To live on Sunday for My King.

New Song part b

It's amazing to me what some individuals and families are asked to endure.

a chronically ill child.

a terminally ill loved one.

perpetual financial issues.

the fallout of abuse.

addictions.

lifelong mental illness.

betrayals in marriage, work, family, ministries.

My heart breaks for people I know facing the day to day, exhausting grind of job loss, faithless spouses, wayward children, loneliness, addictions and despair. Like the Psalmist, I cry out How long to sing this song? How long? Yet, like Jeremiah I'm reminded that because of God's deep love for us, His mercies are new every day and His faithfulness is indeed great. And with Paul I can confess and cling to the fact that because Jesus became a sacrificial lamb for me, nothing can separate me from God's love. Nothing.

May you, who are exhausted, despairing and feel like darkness is winning and you can barely hold on, may you know the Truth that God's love never fails.

And if you're not sure, I'd love to talk to you about it...p.horstman@hotmail.com

New Song

Driving to work, I questioned my ability to make it through the day. Whatever I need to get through this day, God, I'm sure I don't have it. Whatever I need has to come from you. I made it through the day. Moment by grace filled moment every need supplied until I laid my head on the pillow. God of mercy, God of grace thank you for your saving sustaining moment by moment love.

Find a Happy Place

By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class.

~Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Feeling like I *need* something today that's not possible.

trying to trust...

Anything that hinders....

Obsessing. When something upsets me, usually relationally, I obsess. I stew. I ruminate. I can't stop thinking about it.

The other day I had a disturbing call. No, it wasn't one of those life changing, earth shattering calls. It was just a garden variety sucky call. Feeling defeated, attacked and generally harassed by life, it took all my mental and spiritual energy to stop replaying the call over and over in my head. The same thing happened on Facebook the other day. I'm not even positive the person was being mean, but it felt cutting and if I think about it for more than .5 seconds, I'm stuck there. Again consumed in a silly cycle of self deprecation and prideful blaming.

Thankfully, I've pretty much gotten over the adolescent notion that if someone is upset it usually has something to do with me. I know that most of the time when someone's not ok, even if they lash out at me, there's something deeper behind it. I'm merely the recipient of the emotional vomit.

So, I can know this and yet, I still obsess.

The apostle Paul encouraged the people of Corinth to ..."take every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ...". Capturing thoughts tonight feels like an impossible task; they come so fast and furious. How can they be reigned in? Tamed?

And yet I'm promised that God, who started this good work of salvation and new life in me back when I was just 7 years old, will be faithful and steadfast to complete it.

So, even though it feels like I'm chasing the fluffy seeds from a dandelion while they float ever higher in the air, I keep rounding up the thoughts giving them back to the One who started all this good work.

flashes

Flashes of lightening and rumbling thunder break through the silent dark night. Listening to the icy rain hit the window I'm reminded again of my smallness. Our smallness. For all our knowledge and technology we can't, with %100 accuracy, predict, plan or direct the path of a storm.

There's general calm in our home right now. Aside from a nasty flu bug, the sky's are blue. But even here in the mostly sunny spot, gray clouds threaten. They take the form of thoughts; my thoughts. Accusations form a menacing and dark and low hanging wall cloud. Some of the blaming words fall on me: what's wrong with you? why can't you be more thankful? you're not doing enough. you're not enough. And when my brain's ready to explode just to expel the stinging words, they shift from myself to others: you deserve more. what was she thinking treating you that way? they always have to be right. you've been wronged. Pride plays a ridiculous game with our emotions making us the victim and victimizer at the same time.

Then, when I step back and observe my thoughts instead of participate in them, there's another voice. No blame. No accusations. Only Grace offered up freely to this broken woman. And forgiveness breaks through and I'm off the hook and others are off the hook and the calm returns.

Life whispered to this weather beaten soul Be still and Know that I AM God.

**my daughter took this photo on her way to school last year**

Loved

"I am somebody cause God don't make no junk" ~Ethel Waters


The way he said it made me smile (well, smirk). Telling a story about high school he made sure to include the term "varsity" before the word basketball. Whether or not he played varsity ball in high school had zero bearing on the story he was telling. So why include it? I've done it a million times: feeling insecure for one reason or another, I name drop or include useless facts that somehow might impress someone. It's ridiculous. A group a adults turn into insecure 17 year olds trying to be accepted or noticed or one up someone else.
When we first moved here, to Iowa, I was 24. New baby, first time as a stay at home mom, only four years of marriage under my belt, I struggled with my identity. I tried to fit in to my little community but every time I opened my mouth about anything from politics to religion, music to decorating, faith to movies, I received either blank or incredulous stares. That's how I perceived them, anyway.


Then, as more babies came and I continued to struggle with everything in life, the realization dawned that I was depressed.


I read my Bible fervently, endlessly.


I prayed, begging God for relief and healing.


I sought counselling.


I learned coping skills.


I trained my thoughts so I was telling myself Truth.


I took meds.


All of it helped. A little.


After years of struggling with the ups and downs of both major and chronic depression,there's countless times I feel like God made a mistake. I was a mistake. He didn't want me this way. I didn't want to be this way. But try as I might, I couldn't/can't change it.

"I" couldn't...can't change it.
I can do what I'm called to do and responsible to do (basically the above "list") but only God can bring healing or change.
Only God.
And although He's granted times of reprieve, there's not been healing to this point.


He's also began to teach me that things I've seen as a result of depression, or things I hate about myself are simply part of who I am. They're not always good or bad, they just are. They're part of the personality He gave me.
We walk around (especially as Christians) and make value judgements about things that we have no business judging. Happy people=good people. Sad people=bad people. Happy, positive=faithful. Sad, melancholy=faithless. The thought process goes something like: If you're trusting God (reeeally trusting God) then you'll be happy (joy filled, positive, and probably quoting lots of scripture). If you're doubting, sad or depressed then you must not be trusting enough.
Yes, I've over simplified it, but there it is.


So what do you do? When you think God's made a mistake with you--at the core? What do you do? Keep trying to change it? Give up and give in? Accept it?


God doesn't make mistakes. I'm sure of that.


He also wants to keep stretching and growing us for His purposes. I'm also sure of that.


But beyond those two things, the only thing I'm sure of is Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so.

Perpetual Adolescent

Well...I....it's not-uhh bad...well...uhh... not the uhh ...north umm...roads...umm...well....
My brain was screaming Shut up! Stop Talking! What's wrong with you???!!!

It took a while to recover. To make myself feel better in the wake of my social suicide, I was self talking like Stuart Smalley in the SNL sketch's: "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!"
Why did I stumble and fumble over my words and act all goofy? It was a question about the weather for cryin' out loud!

No, it wasn't the question that left me verbally tripping and looking like a schmuck. It was the day and the situation...I blame it on my perpetual adolescence.

After a ball game, a group of parents stood in the hall. I was decidedly the outsider but I was with one of the "cool kids" so the others felt it might be safe to talk to me. Who knew that a simple query about the wind on the roads would unleash my inner awkward adolescent self.

But it didn't start at the game. The whole day was characterized by a massive identity crisis which in turn led to insecurity. If I wasn't inarticulate about the weather I was second guessing my words to a friend or feeling like a poser talking to the savvy woman about her upcoming Italian adventure or rethinking my vocation or obsessing about the alarming number of gray hairs adorning my head. Overloaded, I felt like my brain was on the verge of exploding--or imploding. Either way, it would have been nasty.

Calm, cool, collected on the outside no one would guess I heard "fail" in my ear every time I said something or wrote something or spoke to anyone.

I'm beyond being someone I'm not. I can't help but be me. But what about when me falls flat on me's face? I'd love to don an alter ego and escape from me once in a while. But alas, I've tried and it doesn't work. So I'm left with me. And most days it's ok. In fact I've learned that I like me. I've learned that as I grow and change and struggle and trust that God doesn't make mistakes, I see glimpses of the me He intends. But that fact doesn't make the identity crisis or insecurities any less a reality.

A few weeks ago someone near and dear to my heart wrote "Eat, sleep, work, repeat. Is this what life becomes?" I consider this young man a kindred spirit: pensive, reflective, analytical, searching, spiritual and discontent with good enough.

Eat sleep work repeat...

Is what we do who we are? work, cook, clean, eat, sleep, work

Are we what we feel? happy, sad, angry, jealous

Are we simply the sum of our roles? mother, daughter, wife, friend

Why am I a 44 year old who still feels like a teenager when I lose who I am and become insecure?

We all want to be liked. We all want to be important to somebody. We all want purpose. But you don't have to live long before eat, sleep, work, repeat takes over and you have no idea who you are.
Is this the life God intends? Or do we fall into identity issues and insecurities because of pride--because we don't think we're getting what we deserve from life or work or those near to us? I know that's at least partially true for me. Somehow I'm fooled into thinking I got gypped along the way.

Then I read this quote by Oswald Chambers and a light begins to dawn on the horizon and I see my pride and futility. "The tendency is to look for the marvellous in our experience; we mistakethe sense of the heroic for being heroes. It is one thing to go through a crisis grandly, but another thing to go through every day glorifying God when there is no witness, no limelight, no one paying the remotest attention to us...The test of the life of a saint is not success, but faithfulness in human life as it actually is...Our human relationships are the actual conditions in which the ideal life of God is to be exhibited."

Paul says to the Ephesians "God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago."

So, we're His, our identity is His and our purpose is His... awkward adolescent moments and severe insecurities included.

**Photo: yes, that's a young Sarah Jessica Parker in "Square Pegs"**

I'm a Needy Bleacher Sitter

We've never had cable but for Christmas, we got a Wii and upgraded our Internet so we could enjoy Netflix through our tv. It's been great. We're loving marathon sessions of Dirty Jobs, The Cake Boss, and Man vs. Wild. And let's face it, one or two episodes of Hoarders and the need to purge and clean overtakes me--so all this tv is a good thing--really.

Anyway, the other day I watched the movie "About a Boy". As the movie started I questioned my decision to spend an hour and a half watching yet another shallow Hugh Grant film. But a few minutes in I realized there was more. The basics of the movie: completely shallow, lazy self-centered man who doesn't think he needs anyone meets a troubled, loved but needy boy who realizes he can't count on himself and his mother. "There has to be three." the boy states early in the film. This isn't a romantic comedy, so his crazy mother does not end up falling in love with Hugh Grant--thank goodness. But through some tragic events, everyone in the film eventually realizes that they are not islands. We need other people.

Even as a little girl relationships took center stage in my life. I'm wired to seek out meaningful relationships. I need them. And although I know the last statement is true to the core, it seems hard to admit. You see, I like to think of myself as independent. Not an island, exactly, but maybe a peninsula. Desiring friendships but needing no one.

Yeah. That doesn't work.

When I'm honest, which happens once in a while, I know that I'm in constant, desperate need of soul contact with other people. Without it I whither up. Case in point: last month for at least two weeks I was close to despair over my lack of connection with those near and dear to me. Life got busy, schedules got crazy and community took a back seat to every one's kids, husbands, and obligations.
Referring to what her busy life with teenagers had become, someone recently said to me "I don't have friends, I have people I sit with in the bleachers." It wasn't true; she has friends. Real friends and I'm one of them. But I knew exactly what she meant.
Wednesday night I met with a few dearly loved friends. We talked, laughed, ate & drank...and reconnected. Honesty and authenticity abounded as we caught up on each others lives. I went to bed refreshed (despite the late hour) and content.
The next day, the next day, at my sons basketball game I arrived early and sat in the bleachers, alone. And that's how it stayed all night. The bleachers filled up. But around me, there was a 5 foot bubble. I didn't grow up here. I didn't attend this high school. I don't have family here. I'm not known here--or at least by this set of parents. So, I don't think anyone was being mean--they don't know me. But as I sat there, smiling at people, trying to seem warm and friendly, wondering if I had a booger hanging out of my nose or garlic-y breath that was clearly repulsive, I realized yet again that I need people. Whether it's the close, dearly loved family and friends and fellowship I experienced Wednesday night or the seemingly shallow contact at a sporting event. I need people. Even cheering for your kids means more if you're cheering with others.
We all need people. And if you think you don't, you're wrong. If you think you can handle life alone--or mostly alone--you're wrong. You can't. If you've been burnt in relationships and disappointed by people and think it's better alone, you're wrong. And if you believe in God and think it can be just you and God, you're wrong. He's given us others for a reason and purpose so that we can show His love to each other so we don't get swallowed up.

So, how will I handle the next basketball game? I'm not sure; maybe come late and find another lonely needy bleacher sitter.

**my posts of late are ramble-y. i thinks it's age. You may have also noticed that I use larger and larger font. Also age.

Laughing at the days to come...

If you read this blog with any regularity you know I'm always wanting more in this life...searching for deeper purpose and meaning...longing for more intimacy in relationships...striving to be everything God intends me to be.
Well, I'm not a New Years Resolutions kinda gal. Never have been and really don't know why. I just know I'm not. But when my friend Jennifer wrote about a "word for the year" my interest was sparked. Coming up with a single word for the year doesn't feel like a resolution to me but a focused call to more. Yeah, a focused call to more...I want that.
Thinking, praying, reading and trying to come up with the right word here are a few of the ideas traversed:

fearless
willing
kind
verbal
Integrity
silence

Reading through the book of Proverbs the other day, I inevitably came to the 31st chapter. The last part of the chapter is about "The Woman of Nobel Character". If you're not familiar with it, click here. Sometimes I read about this chick and I'm in awe. Sometimes envious. Sometimes convicted. But most of the time she completely annoys me. I mean, what's she doing making the rest of us look bad? She basically never sleeps, keeps a perfect home, is an amazing friend, savvy business woman and wise mother. Oh please. So, does the writer really have a wife like this? Maybe he combined all his different wives best traits and came up with this picture? Or was he observing someone elses spouse? Perhaps he's writing to one of his wives for some sort of ancient Mother's Day?

When I finally got over my annoyance with Little Miss. Perfect Proverbs, I started truly rereading the passage with an open mind. The phrase "she laughs at the days to come" struck me. Since turning 40 I don't laugh at all about the future. I worry about the days to come...that our society will collapse, that we'll be broke, that something will happen to my kids, that I'll experience pain unimaginable, that I'll have to work until I'm 80, that we as Christians will face growing persecution.
Why can she-this mythical, perfect, supermom/wife- laugh at the coming days and I cringe?
Because she won't lose her outward beauty? A few phrases later the writer says "charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting; no, wrinkles will crop up and everything else will drop down and she will, like the rest of us, succumb to the effects of gravity.
So why can she laugh?
Financial security? Maybe she's got enough in her 401K's to relax and travel in her old age?
The fact that both her husband and children love and respect her?
Does she throw her head back in abandon because she doesn't care what anyone else thinks anymore--is she an early version of a Red Hat--it says she's wearing purple.

The only indication of why she can laugh at the days to come* is implied in the phrase immediately prior: she's clothed with strength and dignity.

strength
physical power: the physical power to carry out demanding tasks
emotional toughness: the necessary qualities required to deal with stressful or painful situations source of support: a source of strength or support

dig·ni·ty [ dígnətee ]
self-respect: a proper sense of pride and self-respect
seriousness in behavior: seriousness, respectfulness, or formality in some body's behavior and bearing
worthiness: the condition of being worthy of respect, esteem, or honor

I know a lot of women who are clothed with strength and dignity as defined above but not all of them laugh at the days to come. Upon reflection, the ones who seem to face the future with a smile have two common denominators: they've accepted their age(or aging) and they're not worried about physical provision for the future.
That touches on something tough for me, something I have a hard time admitting and harder time writing. I feel so shallow. But somehow as I look at the future my fears boil down to aging and money. It's ridiculous, really. And I know it. All the money or physical vigor in the world doesn't ultimately lead to security. Just like more friends doesn't mean less loneliness.
When I dig a little deeper and get honest with myself, it's not really about looks and money, but security which in turn, for me, points to a serious lack of trust.
God's been with me before, but somehow I fear He won't be with me later or He'll be with me, but what He leads me through will be too much.

Ok, I'm starting to ramble.

Sorry. I guess I'm still sorting out more than I thought.

Back to the word for the year thing. I heard someone described once as being curious but not adventurous. That's an apt phrase for me, I believe. Curious? Yes. Adventurous, risk-taker? Ummm, not so much.

So, I think my word of the year will be "yes". To answer in the affirmative to whatever comes my way this year. To not just survive or put up with life, but embrace whatever Providence places in my path... without fear...in trust... in hopes that a smile or even a laugh might come along with it.


*The Message: "she faces each day with a smile."
New Living Translation: "she laughs without fear of the future."

artwork: Calvin & Hobbes by Bill Waterson

Breaking Point

depression
despair
anger
misunderstanding
law suits
bankruptcy
lost jobs
lonely women
hopeless men
broken marriages
struggling children
hurting parents
failing businesses

Over the last three days different individuals shared everything in the above list with me.
"God will not give you more than you can handle." Really? That saying is not actually in the Bible. It never says He won't give you more than you can stand. It says in Corinthians that you won't be tempted beyond what you can bear. But He never promises you won't be with faced with trials that are too much.
Job's trials (if you don't know the story of Job click here) seemed like too much. He lost everything. Everything. Children. Money. Business. Health. Friends. He lost it all, yet when his wife (oh lovely woman that she was) told him to "curse God and die", he refused. Why? Because he could handle or bear his loss and heartache? I don't think so. I think he said no to cursing God and uttered "though He slay me yet will I hope in Him" because he understood that the Maker of the universe didn't answer to him. I love when Job, toward the end of the book when confronted by the All powerful God in all His majesty, slaps his hand over his mouth and says "surely I spoke of things I don't understand." No, Job was given more than he could bear. And yet he survived.
God never promises you won't be faced with trials that are too much.
But He does promise His peace.
He promises that His grace will be enough.
He promises that He will never leave you.
He promises you love and mercy new every morning.
So much hurt. It would be easy today to either 1)give pat answers and lovely cliches to all the hurting people in my life or 2) tell them, yep, life sucks, it's hopeless.
But neither of those responses seem, well, adequate or Truthful.
As I sit here and look out at the beautiful blue skies and white frosted trees, I pray.
I pray for honesty and authenticity to meet people where they are in their hurt...
for relief and provision for the dad without work
for sustaining grace for each moment for the anxious mom
for healing and understanding for the marriage on the brink
for a glimmer of hope for the depressed
for a forgiveness and peace for the prodigal
for a friend for the friendless
for wisdom in life changing decisions
for patience between family members
for healthy responses to anger
for restoration
for peace...peace...peace...

"When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father, the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth. I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.
Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen." ~Paul to the people in Ephesus

**Portrait by Marc Chagall "Job Prays"

Arriving.

In my early 20's I naively thought I was almost there. I could see it and touch it and ignorantly (and arrogantly) assumed I'd reach it by 30. Delusions of spiritual grandeur filled my head. God was near; I was a tested, approved workman for Jesus and I was not ashamed. I knew I needed to grow some, but certainly I'd arrive within a decade.

In my 30's I came to the realization that I hadn't reached it but someday I would. It was out there--waiting for me. Struggling through ups and downs of marriage and child rearing, dealing with moves and job changes and all the stuff of life, I felt like a veteran. Surely a few more "life lessons" and I'd be there. There: at that magical place of faith where communion with God is easy, vibrant, natural and dieing to oneself is the norm. Sure, there would still be things to work on, but God would show me and we'd correct them and we'd keep moving ever forward.

Now, as I approach my 44th birthday (still 5 months away but looming in the near future) I don't think it's possible. I don't think we ever arrive. I think we're forever in the process of arriving...and by that I mean sometimes we're standing still.

In this life of faith, we never arrive. There's never a point of maturity in any area that won't still need growth. And not just tweaking, but full out growth. We don't/can't master anything. 10 years ago, I might have conceded to this idea but I know I would have assumed that if you don't "arrive" or at least keep moving forward at a steady, fast-ish pace, it's your fault.

But is it? Are we to blame for slow growth, stand-stills, detours and delays? Certainly, yes, at times we're the ones who inhibit growth. But always? I'm tempted to say that God holds us back knowing what we can handle and when we can handle it so He allows for growth to be slow or even at times non-existent. But I'm not sure that's true either.

Perhaps the fact that we'll never arrive is simply because we have an unlimited capacity for growth.

Who knows. All I know is that just when I think I'm pulling into the station I realize I'm actually pulling out.

Sometimes

sometimes...
when the silent world awaits the first glimmers of sunlight, I sense it.
when I hear a baby giggle or see her precious face-filling smile, it's near enough to touch.
when my heart is almost breaking but doesn't, I'm reminded of it.
when the music takes over my senses and I'm transported by the sound, it's right there.
when hurt, death and destruction loom heavy on the horizon but redemption and grace rain down, I know it's real.
when the full moon fills the night sky, I look for it.

when grieving parents hold onto hope, it becomes an actuality.
when surrounded by loved ones sharing life, I know it's value.
when beauty enraptures me, I'm reminded that I can't hold it like a greedy child with candy.

when Truth drowns out all the other voices in my life, I long for it.

when I'm caught up in the tangible, surrounded by the pressures of the present, I hears it's echos calling me away...
calling me to lose this world to gain it...

It's so close I can touch it, yet so elusive it feels impossible.
It's sings a song deep in my being and reminds me that this world is not my home.


"What do people really get for all their hard work? I have seen the burden God has placed on us all. Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. So I concluded there is nothing better than to be happy and enjoy ourselves as long as we can. And people should eat and drink and enjoy the fruits of their labor, for these are gifts from God.
And I know that whatever God does is final. Nothing can be added to it or taken from it. God’s purpose is that people should fear him. What is happening now has happened before, and what will happen in the future has happened before, because God makes the same things happen over and over again." Ecclesiastes 3:9-15

Captured

"Ye are not your own." Paul sold himself to Jesus Christ. He says - I am a debtor to everyone on the face of the earth because of the Gospel of Jesus; I am free to be an absolute slave only. That is the characteristic of the life when once this point of spiritual honour is realized. Quit praying about yourself and be spent for others as the bondslave of Jesus. That is the meaning of being made broken bread and poured out wine in reality. ~Oswald Chambers


Sitting at the computer this morning, tears streaming down my face, I'm struck once again with two facts about myself: 1) I am, at the core, self-centered, selfish and all about me and 2) I am, at the core, not my own.

When I found Christ -or more aptly- He found me, I was captured. I became a prisoner of His love, grace, mercy and forgiveness. A prisoner by choice. Drawn in by His love and grace, I surrendered my rights to self to not just emulate, but actually take on Christ's nature.

But, oh how I fight against it. Day after day sometimes moment after moment I have to fight to forget about my own rights and look out for others. Even perusing other blogs, sites and facebook, it's a constant battle against envy, jealousy, judgment, harshness... My self screams out for me me me and more me and what about me. But my soul yearns for Him Him Him and please, mercifully, more Him.

Why does it continue, after all these years to be so hard? Wouldn't obedience, trust, faith and following Him come more naturally after a while? I suppose for some it does. But for this strong willed daughter, nothing about surrender is easy.

Thank God, again, that it doesn't depend on me--but on Him.

Thank God He's got a hold of me because I'd never be able to hold tight enough to Him.


Captured by tobyMac
All I wanna do

I’m Your prisoner by choice
I will rest at Your feet
And I’ll only lift my voice
When You want me to sing
It’s the beauty of Your covering that’s stealing my heart
And it’s the mystery of You that tears me apart

If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take
And if I should get a peaceful sleep
I wanna wake at my Father’s feet

All I wanna do is get into You
You got me captured
By Your love
All I wanna do is stay here with You
You got me raptured
Can’t get enough

The sun’s on the rise
The sleep’s in my eyes
The dew’s on the ground
The night is disguised
There’s hope in the air
I’m fresh off a prayer
The blue mountain bean is clearin’ my stare
I make recompense
It’s all makin’ sense
Like blood in my veins
You’re my sustenance
A moment of trust
The “me” becomes “us”
The “we” become “one”
Your gift is my gust of wind
‘Til we meet again

So faith, don’t fail me now
If you touch my heart
You can feel it pound
So faith, don’t fail me now

You got me, and You won’t let go