Ripples

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This morning I was having a difficult moment. We've all had them from time to time, right? I was feeling a bit discouraged about my purpose in life. I mean what exactly am I suppose to be doing right now? I'm not working, my kids are grown, and keeping house has lost its appeal. You'd think at almost 50 I'd know by now how to find my niche. Then I began to wonder how much of a difference I have made on this huge planet; have I simply been a taker rather than a giver? Have I have been obedient to the call of the Lord or simply gone my own way? Has my life made an impact or am I simply camouflaged in this world? Do the daily activities I walk through make a difference? And so, I began to pour out my most vulnerable thoughts and feelings to the Lord. In a way that only He can, he gave a sweet answer, that I trust is for all believers. He revealed that some are created for Great things, while others for Simple things. Yet both are of the same value to Him. Why? Because we have the Father's touch; and though we may not see how he has chosen to use us, we can rest knowing that our lives do have an impact. For some his purpose may be one humble act that is like a ripple gently flowing into a might wave. When discouragement comes our way, we can remember that sometimes its the humble things that have the greatest impact. So I may not be a missionary in Africa, or on the front lines fighting world hunger or other important causes, but I can rest knowing that He does indeed have a plan for each of us and I can trust him to direct me on the path he has carved out for me. As we listen to his gentle voice guiding us, we may never know how our obedience through faith can change the course of history, one simple act at a time.

Watermelon Slices and a Whiffle-ball Game

                                                   

When I was a small girl, the world was very exciting and frightening. Like many children, I was full of energy and imagination. The world was my stage.  At the beginning nothing was unreachable for me. I loved drama and excitement, and I could see the extraordinary in the simplest of things.  There were times that I believed the world had a place waiting just for me. Yes, I will admit, I was a dreamer, and I could not wait to conquer those dreams one at a time. Yet, to those around me, I was a skinny rowdy little girl. I loved climbing trees as much as playing with dolls, exploring the woods and walking the corn fields. Life was to be lived big, but I was forever reminded of how small I was. Looking back, I can see that I was desperate for attention and complete acceptance. What I did not know was that I already had it. And while I would go through some difficult moments in my life, the Lord had a plan for those moments, a plan that is still to be continued.

I was “who I was,”, and I often wondered why it was so hard for those around me to accept me, to love me, to actually enjoy me.  Still, I believed that somehow in some way I had to be special, created for a wonderful purpose; just what it was I did not know.  I think every child feels that way when they are small, having no inhibitions, full of hope and promise. And make no mistake about it, God makes no mistakes, we are each unique and special in our own way. Sadly, we lose sight of that when others around us teach us differently, and I had some great teachers.

I lived with my mother, sister and step- dad and spent most of my time in my bedroom playing with my dolls and imagining being on a grand stage somewhere.  Every evening, around dinner time, I could feel the tension rise as tempers escalated on the floor below. Sometimes I could even hear chairs being thrown and glass breaking. Often I would try to intervene but to no avail. I would be glared at by both of my parents and sent back to my room where I was left for hours to entertain myself and create my own safe haven for the dog and I. The demon of alcohol ruled our home, and I was its youngest victim. My sister was much older and many nights she was able to find her own refuge with her friends away from the chaos. Yet, even though I did not know it, God was with me. It was he who helped me to hold on to life when the depression and hopelessness began to rise within me.

It has taken me time but I have learned to forgive my parents for the dysfunction and the abuse I received while growing up. I now have a greater understanding of their pain and weaknesses.  Each one had their own demons they were battling in some form or another. One thing I have learned over the years is that our experiences determine much of our perception about the life around us. If we have experienced much pain we can become skewed, bitter, angry, made to feel like a victim, and walled off. We can judge life and others according to the place and the intensity of our pain; OR we can allow our wounds to be healed, our minds to be transformed and our hearts to forgive. Only WE can make the choice of which mindset we will carry and what reality will be ours. I have chosen to forgive and to love.

 When I was three years old, my mother, whom I adored, remarried a man ten years younger and she spent much of her remaining life trying to make that marriage work. In a way she was stuck. She had no work skills and could not support my sister and me.  My step-father, whom I called, Dad, had taken on a huge deal of responsibility when he agreed to care for us girls.  He was young and just starting out in his career. He wanted success and became part of an elite circle in the Banking world.  Part of his “duties” was to wine and dine clients, which he knew far too well. Both he and my mother made many poor choices and it took a toll on our family life. The loneliness I felt was overwhelming at times and I am sad to admit  but sometimes death looked like the only way out, and then God sent an angel.

During the summer of 1971 in rural area outside of Springfield IL, a loving angel showed up. Though she was not adorned with feathers, she became an angel to me. Her name was Cathy. She and her family moved into the house across the road from us. Cathy was a young mom with lots of spunk and a great laugh. There was always a twinkle in her eye and a kind word on her lips. Her boys, Brad and Jeff were rowdy and loved the outdoors. Her husband, Kingsley, was tall and handsome and resembled my own biological father whom I had grown to miss deeply.

The first time I saw Kingsley, I must have been a sight.  I was small, skinny and had long blonde hair that always fell into my eyes.  I squinted up and studied his strong features. Unaware of how it might sound I said, “You look just like my ‘real’ daddy.” Cathy looked at Kingsley and back at me. She smiled and asked about my father. I explained he lived several hours away and I got to see him once or twice a year. It was not long before she shared that she wished she had a daughter of her own, and how she loved my long blonde hair. She came over and fixed my barrette and put her arm around my shoulder. Cathy bent down and pointed across the way to a watermelon which sat on top of a cooler in front of her garage. It was far too big to fit inside the metal box. She asked me if I would like to come over later for a slice or two. I accepted politely (hoping it would be okay) and ran home, excited to have made some new friends.

The thick evening air was beginning to cool as the sun went down.  I skipped barefoot across the hot country road to their house.  Afraid to knock, I sat on their back step trying to be quiet. It was not long before the boys came out and we began to play. Soon Kingsley and Cathy came outside with plates and a knife. To the average eye there was nothing magical about that moment.  But I could see it. We sat around the picnic table laughing and sharing stories and enjoying the sweet taste of the sweetest watermelon ever. I even learned the art of spitting seeds.  The laughter of the boys as they aimed and fired was contagious. For the first time in a long time I felt at home. I could actually breathe freely. Though we did not know it a the time, it was God's invitation that I had accepted.

Afterward they began to play Whiffle-ball. I  never had played the game before then and was a bit shy. No, I was a lot shy, and much too scared to try something new; afraid of failure and condemnation. You see, at home the tension was so thick that it was like walking on eggshells. I never knew when the next blow would come by something I said or did. These blows were not physical ones.  But to me the blows I received were much more painful. They were blows to my spirit.  Step by step they began to crush my soul. The sad truth is that when there is emotional abuse, the scars are hidden deep inside and very seldom recognized by others.  And often children learn how to smile through the pain. But if you look closely you can see down into the sadness of their soul. Thankfully my tears did not fall in vain; they were all part of God’s greater purpose.

Apparently, Cathy could see the fear in my eyes at the invitation to play Whiffle-ball and she encouraged me to play. She showed me how to hold the bat and swing at the ball; her gentle arms wrapped around mine as she bent down to help me make my first hit. At first the boys laughed and I wanted to quit, but she encouraged me to not give up. Soon, I had the hang of it; and before long we had games going a couple times a week. I remember thinking how great it was that Cathy was actually out there playing with us. My mother did not play much sports other than an occasional game of golf. I could see the spark in my mother’s eyes had begun to dull also. She did her best to keep life as normal as possible for us girls,  but just as spoken words has hurt me they too had left her wounded. So to be with Cathy, Kingsley and the boys,  was a slice of heaven. Soon I was invited to help make homemade ice-cream and sleepovers at their house. Cathy loved to fix my hair, though at nine years old, I didn’t care much about hairstyles. The boys and I laughed and fought like siblings. We shared in mischief and laughter; and even tears as we said good-bye to their beloved dog who was hit by a car.

One of my favorite memories I have of them is driving in the evening just a short distance from the house to the “crick” as they called it, and having campfires and roasting marshmallows. We would sit around and tell spooky stories. I'd be scared to death while the boys laughed knowing their tales weren't real.  Life became so simple, innocent and fun during those times. In a way I had become a part of their family.  And although Cathy had tried many times to befriend my mom and dad, they chose to stay simply neighbors. Cathy and Kingsley were different from my folks.  They were a different period.

After a short time, Kingsley was given a position in Southern Illinois.  I was so sad and wished they would stay.  Before they moved, after their many invitations, I finally agreed to go to church with them; the 'final frontier' to be explored.  It was years later before I understood that Cathy and Kingsley simply saw me with the eyes of Jesus, unconditionally loved and accepted. Cathy’s arms that had wrapped around me that first day were an extension of the arms of her Lord. The feast of the watermelon is like the feast that Christ offers us each day, a feast of love and peace; of fullness and joy. In the smallest of ways that family simply loved on a small scared broken little girl. But to her, it meant the world.  I honestly do not know if they even realize the impact they left on me. Through their simplest acts of love they changed my life forever, they gave me hope. They touched my heart.

I can look over the course of my life and see God’s thumbprints all along the way. And though other’s words may have cursed me, it is Word that heals me. It heals others.  His presence has been with me each step of the way; even in the darkest of times when I decided to go my own way and rebel against his great love for me; and his call to forgive others. Forgiveness is the key to freedom. Freedom allows us to live life Big, to love big, to hope big, to see big.

My journey has been difficult at times and forgiveness has been a process. But I can honestly say that I no longer hold hate in my heart for my parents. I love them and I forgive them.  The Lord has never given up on me because he sits not only here with us but he also sits on the other side of un-forgiveness and knows what power love holds. It is in Him where we find the greatest purpose of all, love.

The seeds of love that have been planted in my life have created a new heart in me. Nothing is ever wasted. Nothing.  There have been several angels along my path, each one touching me with a simple and yet profound love.  It is through the love of Jesus, which we can find healing from our wounds, freedom from our shame and a hope for our future.

I pray that with the remainder of time I have left here the Lord will use me to touch the lives of others the same way the Bennetts have touched mine, even among the simplest of things, like watermelon slices and a whiffle-ball game. 

No Spring Chickens Here

                                                                       

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As I began a new exercise program not long ago, I was once again reminded of the things I am not... and one of those things is being in shape! While my thighs screamed as I did my third lunge I remembered days of old when I was strong and limber. Still while I was trying to keep up with the instructor, I heard a still voice say, "it's not about perfection, it's about direction, so slow down if you have too." Somehow that gave me the grace to take it a bit easier and to be kinder to my 'older' self. (Not that I am old, I am just not as young as I once was.) I slowed down knowing that with each day I exercise, I WILL get stronger. Once the session was over, I gave God thanks that I didn't give up and that he gave me the courage to take it one push up at time. I thanked him knowing that with his guidance and strength I can do all things including those stupid squats and lunges! Does anyone really enjoy those??

Then another day, I was reminded of a recent picture taken of me that was not at all flattering. A voice seemed to whisper, "Girl, you ain't no spring chicken." My first reaction was "Ouch, let me crawl under a rock!"
But then with a renewed sense of reason, I thought, ' Well, I'm NOT a spring chicken...I am not the girl I was at 27, 37 or even 47 for that matter, and so what if I'm not! I may not be a super model, but I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet either. I am what I am by golly.'






I am me- a unique design of the Creator; the one he still adores, flab and all, and that is good enough!

A gentle reminder of these facts seemed to settle deep in my soul; an instant rebuttal to the initial accusation. It was accompanied by freedom to enjoy my slow but steady progress. Then it hit me that God calls himself the "Great I AM." My acceptance had now turned to excitement. . .

Yes indeed... I am WHAT I am because He is WHO He is.
I am the daughter of the Great I AM.
I am secure in his love.
I am chosen by him.
I am washed by his blood and carried in the palm of his hands.
I am blessed with his righteousness (there is none within me).
I am given grace and mercy, not because of what I am, but because of who HE IS.
I am redeemed.
I am a sinner whose sins are forgiven.
I am full of his peace.
I am strong in Him.
I am safe in his purpose.
I am seen through the eyes of my creator, adored and cherished by him.


I am precious.
I am being transformed by the renewal of my mind through HIS Word.
I am learning to be like my Father God... my Dad, who is STRONG.

I may no longer be a spring chick, but what I am is so much better.

I am HIS Child, forever young.


And you know, His strength is FAR greater than anything I could ever muster up.


In the joy of the Lord, I will find my strength.





And now I think I even feel a few more lunges coming on.

Won't You Accept This Cup?

                                        

                                              

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The difficulties of life are challenging. Each of us experiences our own unique challenges each day. The choice of how we respond is our own, and only ours to make each moment of each day. Will we receive what has been given us (even if it is not what we would have chosen for ourselves)? Or will we reject it, and go about our day working and striving to “receive” a better cup, one of our own making?






Life is to be celebrated and not conquered and fixed. It is in the “accepting” that we can come to that place of celebration, celebrating it all, the good with the bad, understanding that ALL is a gift. Never in striving or rejecting are we capable of accepting or giving thanks. A heart that is made hard cannot fully embrace and celebrate all of life, especially the challenges.






Not long ago a friend of mine asked me about a cup she could not find. She was staying with us and it had turned up missing. I told her I had not seen it but would keep my eyes open for it. Not once but twice again she inquired about the cup. I promised I would ask my family if they had perhaps seen it. They had not. It was a small clear plastic cup that you frequently see at various stores, nothing fancy or expensive. However, it had become clear to me that it was important to her. I felt bad that it had turned up missing and wondered if perhaps one of us had misplaced it after all? So I decided to get her a new cup.






Unfortunately the store I went to did not have the exact cup so I chose another one to give her; one that was larger and more brilliant in color, but I did not pay much for the gift.






When I approached her with it I could see that she felt bad that I had bought her a new cup. I could see the guilt in her eyes as she said it was not necessary and that she had not asked about it for that reason. She refused to take the cup. I explained it was a gift and she need not feel bad because it was not expensive. I told her it would bless me to bless her. I insisted she take it and handed it to her little son.






Not long afterward I received a text from her saying she would not accept it and I needed to take it back. I was angry and hurt. I ranted to my husband who couldn’t understand why I was so upset over an inexpensive cup. “It’s just a cup,” he said. But it was so much more than that. It was the refusal of a peace offering, a gift from the heart.






A few days later as I sat alone I began to complain to the Lord. I went on and on about one thing or another, clearly recognizing my grumbling quota for that day had been more than met. Still I continued on. In between breaths, I could almost hear him say, “Why do you refuse my cup?”






A pang hit my stomach. Just as my friend had refused my cup, I also had refused his cup. How many cups has the Lord given me each day that I refuse to take or acknowledge? When life did not line up with my perfect plan, how many cups have I tossed back at him with one excuse or another?






When Jesus was getting ready to be crucified he called out to God, the Father, and in his own humanity he asked if the cup of suffering which he was about to receive could be taken from him. But he quickly added to that, “Not my will, but yours Father.” It was because of the cup that Jesus embraced that we can fully live, truly celebrate life. Unlike my inexpensive cup, his cost him everything.






He received all and he gave all. Who am I to not receive the cup set before me?






Each moment is be received, embraced; the good and the bad. When we can come to that place of gratitude then we truly live.






Life is to be celebrated not conquered and fixed. Gratitude and acceptance is the path to the Father’s hand.









Won’t you accept this cup?

The Circus is coming to town

                                             

                                                                  

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When I was a little girl, my mother and I took a trip to see the Three Stooges in a circus event in St. Louis. Once at the Arena we stood in an ocean of people waiting in line for tickets. My mother insisted I hold her hand. I was not one to hold still and stood in awe at the colorful clowns who paraded throughout the crowd. Still I held my mother’s hand. Anticipation and excitement rose as I spied all the decorations and the smiles of all the children. I never have figured out when but somewhere along the line I let go of my mother’s hand. With my back to her I stood staring at the high ornate ceilings surrounded by windows; the sounds and colors almost too much to take in. A little boy next to me began to chat and we laughed and jumped up and down at the idea of finally getting to see the circus and the Three Stooges.


As I continued to talk to my new friend, the line began to move forward and like a good little girl I reached for my mother’s hand, my back still to her. I’m not sure how much time passed before I heard my mother’s voice call to me. I turned and to my horror I wasn't holding my mother’s hand but that of a stranger; a lady with a kind face. Thankfully Mom wasn't very far ahead of us in line and she turned and saw the expression on my face. The lady whose hand I held looked down at me, only then realizing I was not her daughter (who had also become distracted by the clown’s antics). She and my mother exchanged smiles and my mother took my hand. I remember my mother gently scolding me to pay attention or I could get lost in the crowd.


Isn't it strange how a memory will suddenly creep up on us at the craziest of times? I was flooded by this particular memory yesterday as I drove about town. I could not have been more than 4 or 5 years old at the time. Strangely, I can’t recall the circus at all. As I pondered on what had occurred I was thankful of the outcome that day. There is a spiritual lesson here as well.


Just as children we can be distracted by the things of this world. Our eyes divert from the safety of our Heavenly Father's hand and onto the things that dance about for our attention. Often times it is things that appear to be good and innocent that draws us away from the hand of our Father. And before we know it, we’re in the hand of the enemy. Thankfully our Father, just like my mother did, seeks us. He is faithful to seek his lost ones. How different the outcome could have been for me that day.


And so let us fix our eyes on our Father and abide in his safe embrace. When we lose sight of our Heavenly Father and his loving hand, danger lurks ready and willing to take our hand and lead us elsewhere.


1 John 2:15-17


New King James Version (NKJV)


Do Not Love the World





15 Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. 16 For all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father but is of the world.17 And the world is passing away, and the lust of it; but he who does the will of God abides forever.




2 Corinthians 4:18


New International Version (NIV)


18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.


Psalm 63:8


I cling to you; your right hand upholds me

The Golden Thread

                                            

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She sat with the Lord one morning and stared at the shadows casting at her feet. No words came at first; they seemed stuck in the pit of her pain. Looking up with defeated eyes the words began to slowly spill along with her tears. To her amazement his unexpected reply gave great healing and peace. All that she had expected and all that she had experienced up to this point in her life did not prepare her for this sweet moment; honey to her mouth, a balm to a broken and defeated spirit, a refreshing of the driest of bones.


The words she poured forth were mere questions. Questions given throughout all generations, yet hers were personal and she hoped it would mean something to his listening ear. Her “whys” and “hows” had reached him times far too numerous to count. Yet in his unconditional love and mercy he was faithful to hear.


“Why have I been so defeated over and over again? No matter how hard I try, it seems that this same sadness and frustration has followed me since early childhood. You of all know even in my crib there was a great sadness. I cannot rid myself of it. I’ve tried, Lord, you know I have tried!” Boldness found its way into her heart as she continued her plea.


“I have worked hard, I have strived, I have even surrendered; and yet the victory never seems to stay. Pockets of time there was joy, but like a whisper it eventually fades. As I look back through my life, I see it is as this choking rope running through each phase of my life, choking the life right out of that chapter. I have fought and fought, but there is no more fight left, I am tired. I am defeated now Lord, I am overwhelmed; I cannot go on like this any longer. Some days are filled with such joy and hope and others this great sorrow creeps upon me and sucks the strength from me. Surely you can take this common thread and remove it from me?”


She could almost hear the sound of a tear running down his cheek. A breeze flowed over her and there was a smile in the sound of his reply. “Child, this thread has been a gift to you. What you see as suffering, I see as grace. What you see as defeat I see as a final victory. This thread is not just any thread but a Golden thread. I am purifying you to become more like me. It is a beautiful thing, not to be gotten rid of, but to be embraced. You see the now, but I see the results. You see the pain, and I see the final healing. You see the defeat, but I know the Victor. What you want to rid yourself of is the very thing that I will use in your life to bring beauty into the lives of others. So stop striving, and simply believe.”


Instinctively and unavailable to words, she understood. What she had prayed to be taken from her was the very thing that would become the story of her life, a beautiful tale. Though she had not recognized it, in her suffering and pain was great beauty, a golden thread; part of a greater story, a greater purpose. It was through His grace that she was always able to continue. No longer would she ask for it to be removed, instead only to be found faithful. Through it all, she recognized that in the pain and the joy she always ended up pointing to him. And in a new strange and miraculous way, that was enough.

Flight Instructions

                                           

                                                   

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Yesterday my son, Noah, was at his girlfriend’s house when he heard a thud on the window. When he went outside to investigate he saw a small bird sitting on the ground under the window. It was stunned when he tried to scoot it away. It gave him a puzzled look, spread its little wings and gave him its best effort to fly, only to run straight into a metal fence. Noah was baffled until he saw a momma robin swoop down and land next to the little one. It became apparent that 'little bird' was learning to fly and when he first jumped from the nest he hit the window. Momma bird chirped and danced around him as if to say, “I’m right here with you, try again. I know it’s hard but don’t give up. Look at me, I’ll show you how to do it.”






I began to wonder how birds communicate flight instructions; do they have a language that lays out a "step by step" procedure for their young? Are there flying drills before the little ones leave the nest? Or do they learn to fly through the process itself? Of course I've watched enough birds to come to the conclusion they don't get much, if any, instructions before its time to leave the nest. I bet that baby bird wished it had some better instructions beforehand; perhaps he would not have hit the window. Learning to fly can be dangerous. Yet, I must admit that I don’t see many birds that would rather walk than fly. Many even soar.






It made me think back to when I was on an airplane early one morning making my last trip to see my sister, Susan. For weeks I had struggled with the idea of having to say goodbye. I sat praying, feeling very emotional. Tears trickled down my face as I hoped other passengers would not notice. Along with the sadness there was great fear of the unknown. During that time of prayer as I looked out at the billowy clouds the sun began to rise. I could sense the Lord’s presence. It was tangible. My prayer seemed more like a two way conversation as I could hear him whispering clearer than ever before. I even asked him why I was able to hear him so clearly. He responded, “You are in my presence, far above the clouds of your uncertainty.” He went on to say, “You are going on a very difficult journey, but do not be afraid. Do not fear for I am with you.” I knew instantly he was not talking simply about the trip to see my sister, yet I was uncertain what he was referring to exactly.






Recently, I have had some challenges and wished I had some clearer instructions on what to do about them. I will admit that often I feel like that baby bird trying to learn to fly. I can only imagine what he must have felt like when his momma told him it was time to leave the nest. I’ve not been down this particular road before, and often wish that I knew where I was going long before I take my next step. I want flight instructions.






Yet God calls us to live by faith and not by sight. He tells us his grace (unmerited favor and power) is enough for us. He says that his presence is truly all we need. He wants us to learn from him, to know we can trust him. Just as the little bird learned to fly by watching its mother, God calls us to keep our eyes on him and him alone. He holds the flight instructions for our every need. And unlike that momma, the Lord promises to never leave us nor forsake us. “Don’t be afraid, I am with you always."


This spring when we see a momma bird, I hope we will be reminded to keep our eyes on the Lord because it’s in his presence that we learn how to soar.