What Will You Give?

Every year at Christmas two prominent questions circulate through families: “What do you want?” and “What did you get?” If we aren’t intentional, the idea of giving takes a back seat to our own wish lists of toys and treasures.

After the celebrations are over, how often do we ask this question, “What did you give for Christmas?” And, how do we teach our children about the joy of giving when we bombard them with questions about what they want? Don’t misunderstand me. I love the excitement of surprising my children with things under the tree and watching their faces light up when I open a gift they’ve specially chosen for me. But, how do we, who have been blessed with so much, extend beyond our four walls and demonstrate to those who have nothing that we care? Jesus, the most costly gift ever given, came for all humanity, including the poor and downtrodden. If we do nothing to reach out, what example are we setting for our families? Will that not perpetuate self-centeredness?  

Most years we purchase gifts for children through the Salvation Army Angel Tree program. Every year, with a deadline looming, I frantically shop for gifts with minutes to spare and lug them to the drop off site. The announcement at dinner, “Hey, I bought gifts today from our family for a little girl who wouldn’t have any presents under the tree,” falls flat evidenced by their impassionate, uninvolved nods.

Like the contests that require one to be present to win, so children must participate to learn the inestimable value of giving. So this year for the first time, my daughter, Maddie and I trudged through stores searching for just the right things for two girls. How much better to have my daughter with me to save these girls from some serious fashion faux pas had I been shopping solo!

After delivering the bags of gifts, the field trip experience began to impact Maddie’s mind. She asked, “So, you mean, this is all these girls are going to receive for Christmas?”

“Yes, Maddie.”

“And, they won’t know we gave it to them?”

“Nope.”

“Wow! That’s really cool, Mom. They can’t even repay us or say thank you.”

“No, it’s just like what Jesus did for us when he came as a baby. He gave with no strings, and we can never repay him.”

After a bit of silence, my 12-year-old wistfully whispered, “I sure wish I could see their faces when they open those gifts.”

“Me too, Maddie. Me too.”

I know the One who gave us Himself sees those young girls open the small gifts we gave in His name. And now, my daughter sees as well—that we can impact the world around us—one gift of love at a time.

What will you give this Christmas?

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Dealing with Disappointment

Last week, while out of the country with my hubby, I received a distressing email from a colleague removing me from a writing project. It wasn’t her decision, and while she tried to spill the beans as gently as possible, the news still wounded, inflamed jealousy, and incited anger. My head understood the reasons why, but my heart felt that I deserved more for the hours logged tapping keys. Ill-timed in the middle of a glorious trip in the Serengeti Desert, perhaps the earth-shattering update could’ve waited for a face to face conversation. Still, there's no such thing as perfect timing for painful news, is there?

Life is filled with the unexpected, isn’t it? We never anticipate what is around the next bend in the road. Most of the time, we truck along without thinking about any potential head-on crashes or side swipes. We don’t anticipate someone or something interrupting our smooth sailing, and in a split second, life changes.

The surprising diagnosis of breast cancer, startling death of a loved one, abrupt end of a marriage, miscarriage in late pregnancy, estranged family relationship, unplanned pregnancy, loss of a writing job can happen as sudden as it takes to send an email across the world. Unfortunately, I know real live people, including me, who have been the recipients of such devastating reports in recent days.

Unfortunately, sucking in breath on God’s green earth equates to facing disappointment at some point. I can’t press the escape or delete key when it comes to tragedy. Because I live in a broken world, unforeseen events come with the territory. I can choose, however, how I respond to these unplanned catastrophes.

My human nature cries, “Unfair!” I certainly deserve better than this, right?! The very phrase I spout so quickly to my children comes ringing back in my ear, “Life is not fair.” It’s so much easier to say than experience. The two year old in me emits its ugly self as I pout and stomp my feet in rebellion against this unpredicted bend in the road. I didn’t ask for this interruption, and the world will know it.

Yet, there is another way to handle these crises that crash into my life without warning. I’ve coined it, “But…God,” simply because when I frame the disruption of my plan in the light of His purpose, my perspective changes. Down deep, I am convinced God desires the best for me, so I know He will somehow work good in even this out of the blue predicament. And yes, the Enemy lurks, evil abounds and life happens, so I shouldn’t be surprised that my journey feels like a roller coaster that jumped off the tracks.

Still, God promises His presence always, in every situation, no matter how ugly. And I’ve witnessed that truth firsthand—through divorce, single-parenting, financial pressures, parenting teens, difficult family relationships and now this writing obstacle. I don’t understand God’s plan and purpose, but He sees what I do not see. His vision is perfect; mine is flawed. Thus, while I deal with disappointment and specifically this setback, I trust God to work more of His character in me and reveal my new direction.

What disappointments have you faced? What has been your typical response?

“We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.” Romans 5:3-5 NLT

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Going Offline

Thirty years ago, media encompassed television and radio. That’s it. Nothing else. No one owned personal computers. The internet lived in someone’s head. Al Gore’s, so I’m told! IPhones and iPads didn’t exist. Responding to a phone message might take days instead of minutes. No one Googled anything or Facebooked anyone. And a “pin” was something you wore on a sweater not put on your Pinterest board.

Giving up media for seven days might have been a bit easier than it is today. Approaching this week in The 7 Experiment, by Jen Hatmaker, gave me anxiety. Thus far, I’ve fasted a week in food, clothes, possessions, and now this tough area. Unplug completely? Very tough in this age of texting, emailing, internet surfing, and Facebook stalking.

My plan for the week seemed doable. NO Facebook; no Words with Friends or Dice Buddies (sorry, friends); necessary texts only; use of computer only for sending and responding to necessary emails, writing and homeschool purposes; one hour of television a day.

Sigh. I failed miserably. All texts became vitally important. And, movies don’t count as television, do they? How about watching the Colts beat the Broncos? My husband told me neither was “technically” television, and since I must submit to his leadership…Well, you know the rest of the story, folks. Then, before I realized it, I read someone’s blog post. Oops! I wasn’t supposed to do that. It reminds me of the few times (almost nonexistent, in fact) I’ve eliminated sweets from my diet and remembered right in the middle of eating a piece of chocolate cake. Unexplainably, however, the one area I did not cheat was Facebook even though 14 notifications taunted me.

So, what’s the point of all this besides realizing that I’m a failure at a full-blown media fast…and I’m not sure I really want to do this ever again?

Creating space for quiet, contemplation and communication is important. If I’m always plugged in, how can this possibly occur? When family moments are dominated by texting, viewing television and surfing the internet, true connection can’t happen. I’m just as guilty as my children at letting media distract me from truly being with people. When I hear the ding of a text message while conversing with my hubby, I’m distracted and driven to read it promptly. Finishing an email or reading an article on the computer becomes more important than my child’s concern. I too often let the media device displace the person present.

This week, I was less preoccupied with gadgets and more engaged with my family and friends. The Facebook world interacted without me, and quite honestly, I didn’t miss some of the emotions that rise from posted statuses, like political rants and inappropriate public displays of affection. And, since my status stayed silent, I didn’t intermittently pop on Facebook to check my “likes”.

This morning marked the end of my fast. Immediately, after clicking on Facebook and scrolling through the newsfeed, jealousy flashed like Fireworks on the 4^th of July. While Facebook employs positive community elements, it also exacerbates a few emotions with which I struggle. This short absence from Facebook gave me a reprieve from the daily flaring of those ugly feelings.

The most significant lesson I grasped during this absence of media (except for my propensity to justify cheating), is the misplaced priority I’ve given to some modes. Because Facebook was removed from my diet, I looked for different ways to interact. I took opportunities to meet with local friends, and focus undistracted on my family. My multi-tasking excuse—I can play games on the Ipad, talk to my daughter, search the internet, and text brilliantly at the same time—becomes a poor attempt to rationalize time management. However, I realized that I haven’t handled my time well, because I am distracted.

So, what if I didn’t return to media as usual? What if I ignored my phone’s chirps in order to be present with people? What if I checked Facebook once a day instead of sporadically all day? What If I determined to control my time, not let the call of media waste it?

Jen Hatmaker writes, “But I think if we shut down some of the noise and static, we might find more God, more neighborly love, more family, more life. May we be only under the control of Jesus who fills our minds with hope and truth and grace unending.”

Are you ready to shut out some noise, and be present with your peeps? 

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Broken and Unqualified

Several years ago I sat facing Claudia, our women’s minister, with tears welling up, threatening to trickle down my face, making a mess of my mascara. Not a pretty sight to behold. The visit wasn’t what I expected. I had entered with an agenda in mind but received something entirely different.

For a few years, I had been involved in a women’s Bible study called Roof-Crashers, the name based on the Bible story in Luke 5 in which the friends crashed through the roof for the paralytic because they knew Jesus could heal him. I began as a participant, graduated to a table discussion facilitator, and most recently led the Connect team, which was created to provide a welcoming and warm environment for all attending the study. To say that I felt uncomfortable, inadequate and unqualified in these leadership roles is an understatement. Most of the time, I felt like a bunny living at the North Pole. Completely out.of.place.

The words that came from Claudia’s voice, however, were not those that questioned my ability, my talents, or my qualifications. She simply proclaimed, “You have leadership gifts. You are a leader. Will you help lead Roof-Crashers?”

I’d have turned up my hearing aids if I had any. Thoughts pinged in my brain like a pinball machine. What in the world is she talking about? Me, a leader? Me, lead Roof-Crashers, a Bible study of over 100 women? She must have me mixed up with someone else, because I wouldn’t even know what to do!

I would’ve looked around to locate the woman she was talking to, but I knew we were the only two in the office. What do you do with words that bring hope to a dying dream? Words that breathe life into a desire that was buried? Words that infuse soul into a subconsciously held belief that you nixed greater leadership opportunities due to a failed marriage? Let me tell you what happens.

You wake up from the lies the enemy has whispered to you. Oh, it’s not like I thought I was completely washed up or relegated to a bench warmer. It’s just that down deep in my heart, I figured that my failures limited my usability factor. After all, once people saw the big “D” on my sweater, they would fling me to the bin of botched break-ups, where I’d be relegated to behind the scene, second hand roles. Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with that, but I certainly couldn’t serve in any greater capacity. I imagined whispers behind my back. “Why is she leading when she’s been divorced? If she couldn’t make her marriage work, why should we listen to her? What right does she have to be in this leadership position?”

When Claudia looked at me, however, she didn’t envision my past failure and write me off as unusable. Instead, she perceived that which even I did not see and spoke it into existence like God calling the sun, moon and stars into being. Her voice invited me to take a position that I thought reserved for the faultless and flawless.

Yet, if we look at biblical history, Jesus chose the broken, battered and beaten down to carry His message of unfailing love. Because they experienced His forgiveness and mercy, they were perfect examples to the lost. Who better to tell the message of grace than the woman at the well with five previous husbands and a live in boyfriend, or the woman caught in the act of adultery? Their culture rebuffed and rejected them, but Jesus spoke life-giving words into their souls, and they were filled with hope.

It’s when we recognize our brokenness that Jesus can breathe life into those painful places, and we can be used to spread His light to others who need a resurrection. When we realize that leading anyone is not about reaching a state of perfection, but about God working in and through our messy lives to reach a broken world, we rise up in His strength and power—even when we don’t know what the heck we are doing! 

Our qualification to lead comes from Him calling us to use our broken pieces to summon the shattered to shine in a dark world.

In the middle of your muddled mess, let God renew your soul with His words of life to lead right where you are, right now!

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An Ordinary Day

It's Five Minute Friday once again where many of us write for 5 minutes straight...the word is ordinary:

Ready? Go!

Devastating words can turn an ordinary day upside down.

It was an ordinary day, an ordinary trip to Taco Bell for the girls in the office, an ordinary drive back—almost 16 years ago. Until I walked in the door. Until my co-worker said that the pastor wanted to see me. Until I stepped into his office where my husband sat waiting.

Why was he here? What was going on? Thoughts breezed through my head like wind whipping through the trees.

Then the painful, heartbreaking words flew out. Words that flipped an ordinary day into the hardest in a matter of seconds. Words that ripped deep into my soul and made me feel less than, not enough and definitely ugly. Words that overturned my marriage in one instant.

Oh, how I longed to return to an ordinary day.

Stop!

True!

Linking up with Lisa Jo today for Five Minute Friday. The word is 'true'. 

Ready…Set…GO!

“You’ll never be able to make a man happy.”

These words pierced my soul. After twelve years of marriage and two children, he slings these words like David flinging rocks at the giant Goliath. Not good enough. That’s what I hear.

Yet, I know these are not true. I know my God is enthralled with my beauty (Psalm 45:11). He calls me his masterpiece, his workmanship. I’m created for good works. These carelessly thrown words by a man no longer my husband are lies, all lies.

Yes, I know these are not true because the man I’ve been remarried to for over 13 years proves that to me every day.

“I love you,” he says.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m so thankful God brought you into my life.”

Satan wants us to believe lies, to doubt our value, to believe we are insignificant.

God, on the other hand, counteracts all of those lies when He calls us His treasures. Believe it, sister!

Stop!

The timer gonged, so the official 5 minutes of writing stopped. However, my thoughts continue to ruminate about this broken, painful time in my life.

Truth:

God brings beauty from ashes.

God has given me two beautiful children from a failed marriage.

God continues to work his forgiveness in me. It’s a Long.Hard.Process!

God gives me grace and compassion for others who are broken by life.

God is present in every storm.

God is able to do immeasurably more than I can think or imagine.

God restores what the enemy steals—joy, peace, life.

God is faithful when others betray us.

Growing in Generosity

Being generous is not always easy, but this year I am being challenged to become more giving in a variety of ways. So often, generosity is associated with money, but it’s much more than that. We can offer more of our time, be gracious in relationships, or sacrifice our desires for the sake of someone else.

I first grasped this thing called “generosity” when was in elementary school, about 100 years ago, with an experience that is engraved on my mind forever. My mom was the leader of a group called Campfire Girls which is similar to Girl Scouts. On this particular day, our group had visited the elderly in a local nursing home. Each girl was paired up with another person with whom we exchanged gifts. My sweet lady gave me an Uno candy bar, so wildly popular it’s no longer in existence today. As we were dropping girls off at their homes in our white hippy van, this chocolate marshmallow bar called my name repeatedly asking me to partake. Mom ordered me not to open it in front of everyone else unless I was prepared to share.

The temptation was too great; I ignored her instructions, unwrapped it and bit off a morsel. Mom immediately pulled the van over to the side of the road and demanded that I exit and walk. Shocked, I stumbled out and watched as she drove AWAY. Can you even believe it?! I should’ve recalled her knack for follow through! Ambling aimlessly, I hoped she’d return to give me a ride home. Eternity stretched out giving me time to ponder my disrespect, my lack of generosity. When the van returned, it was empty except for Mom

If she lectured me, I don’t recollect. It doesn’t really matter, because I will never forget the lesson etched on my heart about the importance of sharing with others. And, she believed it was so important that leaving me on the side of the road to ponder my actions was insignificant compared to me thinking of those less fortunate—even when it involves sharing a silly candy bar.

Think about how you can be generous, even when it seems insignificant, with your family, friends, the grocery store clerk, the waitress, or the Starbucks coffee server. Offering a kind word, the last bite, a bigger tip, a bit of understanding for a hard day, a gentle response can go a long way and just may change someone’s day!

Be Wary of Weeds

My nickname at the gym is “No Sweat, Annette” for obvious reasons. Aside from a bit of dampness on my shirt, I simply don’t perspire. Until a few days ago, that is, while weeding in the flowerbed overgrown with weeds staging a coup. Water coursed down my face as I bent over repeatedly to yank weeds bigger than the size of Texas, soaked shirt sticking to my skin.

Most annoyances pulled out easily despite the dry ground until I encountered the Big Daddy of all weeds. I tugged, wrenched and pulled. It was immovable, roots clinging to the dirt underneath. Planting my feet on either side of the massive growth, I heaved. Nothing. What was holding this down?! Trying a different strategy, I grabbed ahold of the mass and began to twist closely to the ground. It finally gave way catapulting me flat on my behind. I felt like I had won a significant battle. A few hours later, the bed was cleansed of its ugly impurities while I, drenched with sweat, looked on with satisfaction.

Working in my garden and among my flowers, I am reminded often about the status of my heart.  Weeds spring up quickly and become large obstructions to beauty similar to what occurs in my heart if I leave it unattended. What I think is just a small matter can become huge if I ignore it. When I ignore the weeds in my garden, they threaten the growth of the beans, cucumbers and peppers I’ve intentionally planted for my family’s benefit. However, it’s easy to see the problem because they have become colossal obstructions. A few hours of work and the nasty weeds are eradicated.

 Sometimes foul issues lurk beneath as when weeds sneak in among flowers. I must move away some beauty to get to the roots. Just like the hidden weeds, I might not even realize what is concealed in the inner recesses of my heart. It’s fairly simple to recognize when I struggle with gossip, jealousy or anger. Even others can see those glaring faults. But what about those that I don’t even recognize? Could there be matters simmering in my heart that I am unaware of, that are hindering me from receiving all the bounty of God’s blessing?

This summer a beautiful honeysuckle vine choked the life out of my blackberry bush severely limiting the berry crop. How can such a pleasant, fragrant plant be an agent of death? And yet, no matter how many times I pulled life-sucking vines from the bush, they continued to wrap and thread their way through fruit laden branches. Does it work the same with me?

Perhaps my heart is capable of both at the same time: the hostile veiled from my eyes stunting my growth and the seemingly good twisting its way through my heart, choking out the bountiful fruit that God desires to bring forth in me.

Just today I was reminded of Psalm 19:12 which says, “Who can discern his errors? Forgive my hidden faults.” God knows what’s buried in our hearts; we just need to ask Him to reveal it so we can receive healing. We can pray with the David in Psalm 139:23-24, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” It might be that the offensive way in me is something crowding out the best God desires to show me.

Will you be courageous with me and ask Him to search your heart? When He reveals the mystery, let’s commit to yanking that ugly thing out by the roots!

 

When My Heart Leaves

“You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.”  ~Frederick Buechner

 

It’s mind-blowing how a year and a half of planning for a huge event stretches on interminably and yet is over in a blink. When our son, Nick, and new wife Kyla were engaged two years ago, the wedding date June 29, 2013, seemed as far away as the moon. A lot of living happens in two years, and the distant date seems more like a fairy tale. People ask a lot about how preparations are going, and my standard response sounds a lot like, “I don’t really know; I’m the Supporting Actress.” A few months before, the action picks up. I’m ordering tuxes and organizing a rehearsal dinner complete with homemade centerpieces.  (This, incidentally, is a feat in itself for a non-crafty person like me.) And then, in a matter of hours, it’s completed.concluded.kaput. The anticipation and excitement of 9 family members camping in our home for 10 days comes and goes like a streak of lightning.

Actually, when my parents arrive, it feels like it’s going to be forever—like going to Disney World not enduring an Italian opera. It’s important I clarify that. My brother’s family joins us the next day along with my aunt and uncle. We stuff people into three cars to various venues for the rehearsal, wedding and reception. Hours later, after all the posing for pictures, saying “I do”, and dancing of the bride and groom, we crash on couches exhausted yet content. A perfect day complete with the promise of more fun in the ensuing days. I count in my head seven more days of memory making. I open and shut my eyes aware that the days fast forward like a cassette player. Memories of  Lake Monroe in a storm, Kings Island rides and 4^th of July bonfire and fireworks imprint on my mind.  Family start dropping off like flies. First, my aunt and uncle, then my brother and his beautiful family. Finally, I drop off the sole survivors, my parents, at the airport. I hate saying goodbye. Unbidden tears flow threatening to ruin my makeup. Not a surprise for such a stoic person as I!

The silence is deafening on the way home, even with magpie Maddie sitting beside me. We feel the letdown of two weeks of nonstop activity. The only word I can think of is one that I hate to hear coming out of my own kids’ mouths—BORING! Now, what will we do? I walk in the quiet house that once held the clamor of 13 voices. I’m not liking it one bit. I text Mom, “It’s too quiet here. Come back.” She’s already flown away, cell phone silenced.

Mess is everywhere, but who cares enough to clean? I don’t even want to get up to pull leftovers out of the frig. Lethargic and listless, that’s what we are. The world stopped for two weeks, and now we can’t figure out what to do with ourselves. Between dad making breakfast and my mom and aunt fixing dinner, I’m pondering how I can approach Tony about hiring a cook. I’m sure it’s a necessity. Even with new pots and pans in the cupboard that the four of them conspired to purchase (something about my old ones being completely inadequate), I’m not compelled to pull out a recipe.

And, who knew that two retired men could fix my oven broken during the self-cleaning cycle and repair a dryer that has been taking an average of two cycles to dry? No wonder I’m crying when they all leave! The bottom line is I pretty much love hanging out with my family that lives a million miles away from me. And, no matter how much time we have together, it’s never enough. I’ve heard horror stories of the family that tolerates each other, overstays their welcome and is skedaddled out the door.

Glad those folks don’t belong to me!

Moving Out

My son is a bit too giddy as he packs his things into his car to move into the apartment he will soon share with his bride. He’s leaving our home for good and shows no glimmer of sadness or tear-stained cheeks. Shouldn’t he at least appear to be despondent at moving away from me, the one who bore him in pain and agony, changed his blowouts, helped him with his math (at least until 4^th grade), washed his grass-stained jeans, listened to 14 billion choir performances  and watched  all those boring baseball games? At least he could do a little acting and pretend like he will miss take and bake Papa Murphy’s on Friday nights! To him, this is just like moving to college four years previously. To me, this is for.ev.er.

To Nick, it’s just another move to add onto the 10 previous over the span of 3 states. One more is nothing to him. His new wife, in 15 days to be exact, definitely has a more appropriate response departing her family. Apparently, she loves them more deeply. I’m sure it has nothing to do with her being a girl or the fact that she’s resided in her home, well, ALL of her life, and the myriad of memories, mementos and moments that are plastered on the beams of her home and in her heart. Living in one place can certainly make one a bit more sentimental about sifting through and packing up belongings collected over 21 plus years. Living like a gypsy, however, allows one to not bat an eye when the door slams shut.

Perhaps, he might shed one tear when we dance to Rascal Flatt’s, “My Wish,” during the Mother-Son dance as he looks into my eyes and ponders my terrificness. Fond memories like lunches with fruit snacks, mounds of clean laundry unfolded on the couch (another wrinkled shirt to wear) and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner again will bring a drop of water to one eye. Or, maybe it’s just my heels stepping on his toes. Whatever; a tear is a tear, and I’ll take it! 

Finding Wings

 

 

 

 

I notice something sitting stationary in the middle of the entry to the bluebird house and grab binoculars. As I focus in on the baby bluebird peering out, I realize this is an auspicious occasion, the day when little ones leave the nest to venture into a huge world of gigantic trees, large fields of green grass and miles and miles of flight space containing evil predators waiting to scoop them up. Settling on my back deck, I silently sit and study.

Papa bird, donned in brilliant blue coat, perches nearby along with mama bird in her drab blue. Does it bother anyone else that males get to wear the bold colors, or is it just me?  The birds chatter constantly as I envision daddy chirping, “You can do it, child. Don’t be afraid. Just push off and start flapping your wings. Mom and I are right here, and we’ll keep you safe. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re keeping laser sharp eyes on all the surroundings.”

Time clicks on, and baby appears to summon courage then slips back inside the safe confines of the tiny house. Fear of the unknown pulls it back from the door to new adventures. Rousing its confidence, the bird fluffs its wings, placing tiny feet on the outside of the small hole. Then, it disappears from view again. To fly or not to fly, that is the question. Maybe this little one argues back to dad like Moses did with God, “I can’t do it. Maybe I can just stay here and you can keep bringing me worms and bugs. It’s kind of scary and really, really big out there. I’m little and I might fall.”

Fifteen minutes, and I’m still stuck to my chair. I can’t miss this, since my own firstborn is finding his wings right now—getting married in a few weeks and soon to be out of my nest. I’m here to learn how birds do this empty nest thing. I observe the baby edging out again. Looking right and left, peering way out to see the male, it pushes out and away, flapping furiously until it precariously lands on top of the swing set. Shew! First flight not pretty, but successful. The baby is absolutely still, yet I’m certain its heart is pumping a million beats a minute.

I swing the binoculars back to the nest where a second baby is peeking out. I wonder how many comprise this family and how long it will take for each of them to gain the courage to flap into the world. I wait. And wait. This baby looks about ready to take off, then chaos ensues. Birds squawk and swoop. Mama and Papa bird sense danger and chase off crows and others who threaten the successful flight of their baby. The parents depart and return about a hundred times while the baby looks like a statue in the middle of the hole. It does not move a feather.

At least 30 minutes pass before the baby moves. I can only surmise that he’s been given the all clear signal. Examining the surroundings, head straining far out of the nest, this next bird begins flapping towards his mom and dad and safely lands. Papa flies to the seed feeder a few feet from me, pecks a bit, zips back to the newly flown bird and plops food into the open mouth. Did this dad just bribe his son to fly with food? I wonder. Didn’t I just do that last week urging bites of broccoli with the enticement of ice cream? 

I look once again to the nest and wait for another head to pop through. The hole remains empty. No more birds. I guess they really are empty nesters now. Sigh. I ponder how they feel, if they are sad when they look at their cozy home with no babies left. Siting the family of four alighting on top of the trampoline I watch as the parents pause for their babies. They don’t fly off as soon as the babes are out of the nest but stick around for support and encouragement. They wait for the babies to practice using their wings more, and yet the tiny feet seem stuck like glue. Wings flap but feet fix tightly to the trampoline. It’s hard to fly that way, feathers fluttering but feet not letting go. Yet, the only way for these birds to find their wings is to let go of their comfort zone.

My firstborn is also finding his wings. A two and a half hour trip north to college began his journey four years ago. Split between home and dorm during holidays and summers, his wings fluttered the distance between both. But, he always came home. This summer—in three short weeks—he flies away, not returning to the nest. Just as the baby bluebirds will eventually, he is creating his own place with his bride. This journey to his new life outside familiarity began gradually years before and culminates with wings fully spread soaring smoothly to bright skies.  He’s excited and ready to go.

Unfortunately, a son finding wings causes a mom to find a few boxes of Kleenex!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

New York City Makeover

Pinky, Reesie, La La, Noica—these are some of the names of women my daughter,  Alix and I encountered last week in a New York City women’s shelter. Women broken by life and some by husbands. Women mentally ill in some cases. A group of 55 women traveled from Indiana to share the love of Jesus by washing dirty feet, massaging stressed hands, helping them choose a new outfit, styling straggly hair and putting makeup on tired faces and seeing smiles brighten once dark countenances.  As we encouraged this women with the words, “God loves you; you are valuable to Him,” we viewed visible changes. Shuffled feet became springy steps. Loud laughter replaced angry words. God visited this place where broken down, discarded women live. 

What did I learn on this trip to beautify women who feel ugly and unnoticed?

1.      Makeovers can change a person from the outside in. When you feel ugly, you act ugly. It works the same in my own life.  The day I throw on my shabby sweats and glasses sans makeup to make a quick trip to the grocery is one in which I prefer to remain incognito. Slink in and slink out because I’m feeling unkempt. These women, however, experience day upon day feeling forgotten and frumpy.  As ladies bounced from station to station, whether choosing a new outfit or sitting for someone to apply their makeup, a visible transformation like Cinderella emerging from her cinder-stained face and garments took place. Worn out, lackluster women began to believe the words each station worker voiced. “You are beautiful to Jesus; He loves you; you are not trash.”  

2.      Even homeless women desire to be heard and touched. I caressed hands and paid attention to some who had lost their identity, values and families. I listened to women speak with foreign accents and others mentally bewildered with stories a mile long. While tragic circumstances and even poor decisions had landed them in this place, my purpose lay in feeling their pain, hearing their cries and conveying that God sees them and knows their names.

3.      God doesn’t want me to be comfortable. It’s scary to step out of your comfort zone and do something you’ve never done before. Yet when I feel unqualified, He promises to equip me; I just need to be willing and available. Fear can hold us back from doing things God wants to do in and through us to impact the world around us. It’s the first step that’s the scariest! As I began to massage the first hand, heart thumping in my chest, I felt completely lost. Thoughts swirled in my brain, “What can I say that would make a difference to this wounded woman? How do I help and encourage her?” I jumped in with both feet, like Peter jumping out of the boat to walk on water to Jesus, and each conversation became easier and more comfortable, as God gave me His words and His strength.

4.      Serving brings great joy. By the end of the day, I was tired and spent, yet filled with joy because God had used me, in spite of all my fears and feelings of inadequacy. Not only had the women’s spirits brought me delight because of their physical transformations, but also the simple act of pouring out spilled gladness everywhere. Excitement and laughter filled the room as women departed in joyful thankfulness. The act of serving blessed me far more than it did these women.

5.      God is in the transformation business, not me. The word says, “Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord Almighty.” (Zechariah 4:6) My job this particular weekend was not to judge these women or force and cajole them to be different. Too often, I try to manipulate others through guilt trips or other methods. During this experience, my role was to listen, love and pray for these women and allow the Holy Spirit to work on their hearts. After all, Jesus is the only one who can create a clean heart in anyone. How freeing it is to know that someone’s transformation is not up to me yet realize that I have a vital part in relaying the message of love and everlasting life to those living in dark and desperate circumstances.

Perhaps this last lesson hit me the hardest as I reflect on the way I treat my family, my friends and others I encounter daily. My micro-managing and manipulation of others is ineffective and a poor substitute for the mighty power of God to change a life completely.  I am to be a vessel God can use, a conduit of His love and grace to those around me, so they can infected with His Spirit. In my willingness for God to work in and through me to impact my children, my church, my community, I pray that God pours out His Spirit in magnanimous ways, that I am not a hindrance to the work He wants to do in someone’s life, and most of all, that I always give God the glory for the changes that occur!

A Tween's Example

Every night when we tuck Maddie in, we take turns praying. For the past several years, on Maddie’s night to pray, she talks to God about Uncle Tim’s back. Every.single.time. One particular night, she asked me, “Why doesn’t God answer my prayer? How come Uncle Tim’s back is still hurting?”

“I don’t know, Maddie. I just know God is not like a magician. He doesn’t simply wave a magic wand and make everything the way we want it. Sometimes, He wants us to learn to trust Him in the midst of our unanswered prayers.”

Through the years of modeling prayer, we’ve prayed about school, friendships, sickness, bad attitudes and everything else in between. This little girl is grasping the importance of talking to Jesus about everything. A few weeks ago, she heard that her dear friend’s mother was experiencing some health issues. She immediately created a card, mailed it and began praying for her. Everyday, she’d ask, “Do you think she got my card yet, Mom?”

One day, I received a text from this sweet friend relaying thanks to my daughter for the card and the request she had placed in the prayer basket at church. My friend just happened to be on the 24 hour prayer chain that particular day and cried as she read Maddie’s heartfelt request for God to heal. It moved me too knowing that my daughter is realizing the importance of crying out to Jesus for every need.

I am often proud of my children for their school and sports accomplishments. But this particular day, Maddie’s developing prayer habit for those in need surpassed any champion medal she could’ve received. Her commitment to bring someone suffering before the God of the universe caused me to ponder my own passion to pray. What a beautiful reminder that God desires that our first impulse be to bring our concerns before Him, large or small.

In fact, a few days later, Maddie rattled off her own prayer request before boarding the school bus. “Hey, can you pray that I’m nice to Clay today and that I do well on my test?” How grateful I am that God hears our sincere petitions for kindness to that person who is difficult to love. Maddie’s example reminds me to bring all my concerns to my Savior who hears me whenever I call.   

Endings and Beginnings

A week ago I watched my firstborn walk across a stage, shake a few hands and receive a degree he’s worked for four years to obtain. With watery eyes and sniffles, I slipped back in time to my own passage across a platform to receive my English degree about a thousand years ago, yet I remember it like it was yesterday. Now, I’m my parents and I know what it’s like to be on the other side of the stage, sitting prouder than a peacock, watching my tall son go through his rite of passage with honors. I glance at my husband whose eyes are also brimming and red. Our eyes express our feelings. No words needed. 

We’ve watched this boy grow from child to man. And though we felt a smidgen of this ending of things four years previously at his high school graduation, it doesn’t compare to the finality of this ending. How could it? He still came and went, summer and fall, holidays and weekends. We’d play games, watch movies and he’d sleep in his bedroom in our home. But now. Now?! It’s different. He’ll be home long enough to save a few more dollars, move into his own place, marry, make his own home and eventually raise his own family. An extension of us, but nevertheless, his own. On his OWN. Without us.

Bittersweet, yet isn’t this what we as parents are supposed to do? Raise our little ones to manhood or womanhood so they can step out on their own?   Raise them to know the One who is present with them always even when Mom and Dad aren’t? Raise them to know that no matter what, no matter what, Jesus can be trusted through any situation they may face? Many times as a mom, I’ve wished for do overs. I’d have handled many situations differently, but one thing I’d never change is sharing Jesus with my son. Because the one thing I do know is that if my green-eyed boy knows the One to go to in any circumstance, it won't matter where life takes him, he’ll be fine.

So, life right now feels strange. I’m sad and happy rolled up together. I’m Jesus’ mother, treasuring all these things in my heart (Luke 2:51), holding onto that boy for just a few weeks longer, until he truly flies away. In my mind he’s still mine. Always will be. Yet, I know another has taken his heart, as it should be. Nevertheless, I carried, cuddled and corrected that kid for 22 years, and if I’m like my own mother, I’ll feel compelled to continue even when he’s 40! So, even though he’s moving out, establishing his family and career, giving his heart away to another, I will hold him close in mine forever.