With Thanksgiving approaching, I am feeling thankful for the gift of prayer. I thought it was worth posting this devotional I wrote 12 years ago.
The other day my husband was holding our daughter Hannah while he was visiting with his aunt and uncle. She's only two and a half, and had apparently been clamoring for her daddy's undivided attention, as children are apt to do when their parents are trying to having a conversation with anyone other than them. As he held her, something caught her attention. It was his necklace, specifically the gold cross which dangled from the chain. Gingerly, she to took in her chubby fingers and began a conversation of her own in a voice so quiet that only her daddy could hear. It went something like this:
"Dear God, Thank you for this whole day. Thank you for Daddy and Mommy and Sissy and Uncle Jeremy. In Jesus' name we pray. Aaa-men."
Did I mention that Hannah is only two and a half?
Her daddy may have been the only one standing there who heard it, but you can bet someone else did, too. There's no doubt in my mind that God was listening and he had to have been smiling!
At her very tender age, Hannah is learning to talk to God. She's talking to him on her own, without prompting, at times other than bedtime. She has even made the connection that the cross is something significant, something much more than a shiny piece of trendy jewelry.
Her innocent prayer has taught me volumes about my own faith and the legacy I leave my children. I may not always be there for them (as much as I would like to be), but God promises to be there. I believe that God has given me a responsibility to teach my children how to find him. I can't think of a better way to do that than by example...taking them to church, teaching them to pray, praying together as a family.
The Bible instructs us to pray without ceasing, and that if we present our requests to God with thanksgiving, then the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard our hearts and minds. Amid all the turmoil that life can hold, what a relief to know that when I ask, God will protect my heart and mind with a sense of peace. How wonderful to know that same peace is there for my children, too, as they learn to go to God in prayer.
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:6-7)
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Tweeting, Texting, and, Oh Yeah, Talking!
Last Spring I horrified my children by joining the Twitterverse. "Mom," they complained. "Twitter is the only place left that isn't patrolled by parents!"
"Exactly," I replied. "All the more reason for me to set up an account!"
The truth is, my girls were the ones who led me to Twitter, even though that wasn't their intent. It was one night when they were all abuzz over a nasty Twitter-fight because some older girls were bullying some younger ones with ugly "sub-tweeting." For those who are still in the dark about Twitter, sub-tweeting is posting a comment directed towards a specific person or group, but without mentioning them by name so that if someone were to call you out on it, you can use the excuse "oh, that wasn't even about you!" It's basically saying what you really wish you could say to a person to tell them off, or to make them look or feel foolish, but would never have the nerve or the indecency to do in person.
So what makes it any less indecent to do in cyberspace? When did passive-aggressiveness become acceptable behavior? What is happening to open and direct communication? When I can say to someone "when you do this it makes me feel (fill in the blank: hurt, rejected, angry, etc.)," I am offering them the chance to make things right, to fix the situation and mend our relationship. I am letting them know that I regard them highly enough to even want to mend our relationship in the first place. It creates a starting point for clearing the air.
I believe it works the other way around, too. I see people who "like" and "retweet" and "favorite" comments on the various social media, but struggle with offering apologies or forgiveness in person. Just like with the ugly subtweets, cyberspace offers us the ability to hit and run. In other words, to say "I'm sorry" or "I forgive you" electronically and quickly move on to the next post, text, or tweet without really even giving it a thought. Where is the sincerity in that?
What happened to getting face to face to say those things? There is character development in looking someone in the eye and summoning the courage to say what needs to be said. And what about taking it a step further and following up with a handshake or a hug? Eye contact, voice inflection, touch. So important in conveying our sincerity and truly clearing the air and breaking through hurt and anger.
As for Twitter, I very rarely tweet anything, I follow very few people and have even fewer following me. I'm really only on it for the purpose of keeping up with my girls. Please don't be disappointed by my lack of tweets or retweets. I am really not that interesting or fabulous that you need to know my every thought or what I'm eating at every meal. But if you really have a burning desire to know those things, please call me. I'd love to chat, or go to lunch.
"Exactly," I replied. "All the more reason for me to set up an account!"
The truth is, my girls were the ones who led me to Twitter, even though that wasn't their intent. It was one night when they were all abuzz over a nasty Twitter-fight because some older girls were bullying some younger ones with ugly "sub-tweeting." For those who are still in the dark about Twitter, sub-tweeting is posting a comment directed towards a specific person or group, but without mentioning them by name so that if someone were to call you out on it, you can use the excuse "oh, that wasn't even about you!" It's basically saying what you really wish you could say to a person to tell them off, or to make them look or feel foolish, but would never have the nerve or the indecency to do in person.
So what makes it any less indecent to do in cyberspace? When did passive-aggressiveness become acceptable behavior? What is happening to open and direct communication? When I can say to someone "when you do this it makes me feel (fill in the blank: hurt, rejected, angry, etc.)," I am offering them the chance to make things right, to fix the situation and mend our relationship. I am letting them know that I regard them highly enough to even want to mend our relationship in the first place. It creates a starting point for clearing the air.
I believe it works the other way around, too. I see people who "like" and "retweet" and "favorite" comments on the various social media, but struggle with offering apologies or forgiveness in person. Just like with the ugly subtweets, cyberspace offers us the ability to hit and run. In other words, to say "I'm sorry" or "I forgive you" electronically and quickly move on to the next post, text, or tweet without really even giving it a thought. Where is the sincerity in that?
What happened to getting face to face to say those things? There is character development in looking someone in the eye and summoning the courage to say what needs to be said. And what about taking it a step further and following up with a handshake or a hug? Eye contact, voice inflection, touch. So important in conveying our sincerity and truly clearing the air and breaking through hurt and anger.
As for Twitter, I very rarely tweet anything, I follow very few people and have even fewer following me. I'm really only on it for the purpose of keeping up with my girls. Please don't be disappointed by my lack of tweets or retweets. I am really not that interesting or fabulous that you need to know my every thought or what I'm eating at every meal. But if you really have a burning desire to know those things, please call me. I'd love to chat, or go to lunch.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Staring Down Anger
Five months have passed since I got the call. "I want to make sure you're sitting down," my friend said. "I have some really bad news." What an understatement that turned out to be. Shocking, tragic, gut-wrenching news would have been a more accurate description. How else could you possibly begin to describe the suicide of a beautiful, vibrant, 17 year-old girl?
The girl she was telling me about was the daughter of a mutual friend who was my former roommate and work colleague. I hadn't seen the girl, or her mother, in a couple of years. Like so many relationships, it had become more about keeping up with each other on Facebook, family Christmas cards, and once in a blue moon phone calls. Nevertheless, they are people I care a great deal about and Jocelyn's death has shaken me deeply.
Yesterday, I spent some time perusing her Facebook wall. There have been daily postings from family members and friends telling her how much they love and miss her, how certain songs bring her to mind, and how they wish she was there to do certain things with them. My own daughter, who is the same age and just started back to school, posted how she wished Jocelyn could experience her senior year, too, and all the excitement that goes along with it.
Interestingly enough, no one seems to have expressed any anger. Yet, anger is exactly what I'm feeling at this point. I barely knew the girl, but I'm mad, even though I probably don't have any right to be. I'm mad at the people who were apparently subjecting her to cyber-bullying. I'm mad at her for what I'm betting was an impulsive decision borne from her own anger and pain. I'm mad that she didn't stop and think and pray it through. I'm mad that God didn't do something to intervene. I'm mad that her little sister doesn't have her big sister to look up to and share life with anymore. I'm mad that she didn't tell her parents about the bullying, and instead robbed them of the opportunity to watch her finish growing up, graduate, go to college, get married, be grandparents to her children. They adored her and I know they would've moved heaven and earth to help her!
There's more, but it's all wrapped up in my own junk that seems unfair to dump on her. Junk like guilt for feeling mad at a hurting, emotional, 17 year-old girl. Junk like reading her mom's blog about her own pain while I was at the beach with my family, crying my eyes out over the raw grief she was pouring out and feeling angry that she had to suffer that. Junk like the tentacles of fear that have started creeping in and tugging at my psyche when my own teenage daughters let their emotions get the best of them. "Is it just a rant? Do I need to worry? Should I check on her in her room?" Junk like the anger that has resurfaced towards my father-in-law for taking his own life 17 years ago, three months before the birth of his first grand-child, my oldest daughter. Remembering the hurt in my husband's eyes when he said "Dad's never been there for anything else in my life, I don't know why I would've thought he would be here for this," and desperately wishing I could take that pain away from him. So much junk...
I really needed to write this because writing is therapeutic for me. It's the best way I know to sort out my feelings, to name them for what they are, stare them down, and hopefully move past them. But I debated this time whether to do it in this public forum. I love this girl's family and the last thing I would ever want to do is cause them anymore pain. I pray that if my grieving friend reads this that in her own writer's heart she will understand.
I decided on the public post because I believe that sometimes we think it's wrong to feel and express anger over tragedies. Suicide, especially, leaves us all feeling awkward and helpless and unsure of how to respond or what to say. Maybe what we need is permission to acknowledge and voice those feelings, and if that's what this blog gives to someone else then I can feel good about that.
And should someone considering suicide happen to stumble across this post, know that you would be leaving a trail of pain and heartache and confusion that reaches much farther than you can even fathom. There are so many resources available...ask for help! And please, please, please remember that where there is life, there is always hope.
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
The girl she was telling me about was the daughter of a mutual friend who was my former roommate and work colleague. I hadn't seen the girl, or her mother, in a couple of years. Like so many relationships, it had become more about keeping up with each other on Facebook, family Christmas cards, and once in a blue moon phone calls. Nevertheless, they are people I care a great deal about and Jocelyn's death has shaken me deeply.
Yesterday, I spent some time perusing her Facebook wall. There have been daily postings from family members and friends telling her how much they love and miss her, how certain songs bring her to mind, and how they wish she was there to do certain things with them. My own daughter, who is the same age and just started back to school, posted how she wished Jocelyn could experience her senior year, too, and all the excitement that goes along with it.
Interestingly enough, no one seems to have expressed any anger. Yet, anger is exactly what I'm feeling at this point. I barely knew the girl, but I'm mad, even though I probably don't have any right to be. I'm mad at the people who were apparently subjecting her to cyber-bullying. I'm mad at her for what I'm betting was an impulsive decision borne from her own anger and pain. I'm mad that she didn't stop and think and pray it through. I'm mad that God didn't do something to intervene. I'm mad that her little sister doesn't have her big sister to look up to and share life with anymore. I'm mad that she didn't tell her parents about the bullying, and instead robbed them of the opportunity to watch her finish growing up, graduate, go to college, get married, be grandparents to her children. They adored her and I know they would've moved heaven and earth to help her!
There's more, but it's all wrapped up in my own junk that seems unfair to dump on her. Junk like guilt for feeling mad at a hurting, emotional, 17 year-old girl. Junk like reading her mom's blog about her own pain while I was at the beach with my family, crying my eyes out over the raw grief she was pouring out and feeling angry that she had to suffer that. Junk like the tentacles of fear that have started creeping in and tugging at my psyche when my own teenage daughters let their emotions get the best of them. "Is it just a rant? Do I need to worry? Should I check on her in her room?" Junk like the anger that has resurfaced towards my father-in-law for taking his own life 17 years ago, three months before the birth of his first grand-child, my oldest daughter. Remembering the hurt in my husband's eyes when he said "Dad's never been there for anything else in my life, I don't know why I would've thought he would be here for this," and desperately wishing I could take that pain away from him. So much junk...
I really needed to write this because writing is therapeutic for me. It's the best way I know to sort out my feelings, to name them for what they are, stare them down, and hopefully move past them. But I debated this time whether to do it in this public forum. I love this girl's family and the last thing I would ever want to do is cause them anymore pain. I pray that if my grieving friend reads this that in her own writer's heart she will understand.
I decided on the public post because I believe that sometimes we think it's wrong to feel and express anger over tragedies. Suicide, especially, leaves us all feeling awkward and helpless and unsure of how to respond or what to say. Maybe what we need is permission to acknowledge and voice those feelings, and if that's what this blog gives to someone else then I can feel good about that.
And should someone considering suicide happen to stumble across this post, know that you would be leaving a trail of pain and heartache and confusion that reaches much farther than you can even fathom. There are so many resources available...ask for help! And please, please, please remember that where there is life, there is always hope.
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Winds of Change
My heart just walked out the door. It's Kaelie's LAST first day of school, which means first day of senior year for her and first day of freshman year for Hannah. To mark the occasion, I thought I would post something that I wrote 12 years ago after Kaelie started kindergarten.
I must have spent the entire summer in a state of denial. My firstborn was about to start kindergarten and it didn't bother me in the least. My husband practically broke down in tears at every mere mention of it. "Oh, but she's so excited and so ready for it," I would say.
Then it hit me, about a week before school was to start. All the carefree time I had had with her for five years was about to end. FOREVER. That's when the guilt set in. You know the kind, typical mommy guilt that you know is silly but you just can't help feeling because after all, it's one of the requirements of motherhood. "Oh, I didn't do this with her. Oh, we didn't get to do that or go there." No matter that I had given up a successful and rewarding career and traded my designer wardrobe for spit-up-stained and sticky finger-smeared t-shirts. I was going to feel guilty about not doing enough because doggone it, I was a mother and I was entitled to all the guilt I could muster.
I got over that. It was the morning her daddy and I walked her to the bus stop in front of our house. It felt like walking a plank. Suddenly all guilt was gone and the only thing I felt was raw fear.
"What if the bus driver is a maniac? What if she gets lost? What if she drops her lunch tray or dawdles too long and doesn't get to eat? What if her TEACHER is a maniac? What if she breaks her neck on the playground? What if someone hurts her feelings and I'm not there to take the hurt away? What if, what if, what if..."
There she was, looking so small and sweet in her little blue and white checkered dress with the red appliqued apples ("because teachers like apples, Mommy"), the bow in her hair and the pink Barbie backpack.
And suddenly there IT was, that very large yellow bus looming before us. She started to charge up the steps before I could even say goodbye. She wasn't even looking back. I had to yell her name for one last kiss and "I love you." Then she was gone, and so was my life as I had known it for the last five years. I hugged two year-old Hannah a little tighter and blinked back the tears.
In the days since the fear has subsided. She comes home from school beaming with joy, and charges down the bus steps to my waiting arms as eagerly as she charged up that first morning. She's still my baby and every day I thank God for the love we share and the arms that He's given us to wrap around each other.
Through this, God has also taught me a lesson in loosening my grasp. Even though the winds have changed and for seven hours during the day she sails off in a different direction from me He is still with her, watching over her and guiding her all day long.
We're reminded of this in Hebrews 13:8. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever." What a comfort, Just as He is there for her at school all day, He's there for me and for all of us, whenever we loosen our grip on our lives and let Him be.
I must have spent the entire summer in a state of denial. My firstborn was about to start kindergarten and it didn't bother me in the least. My husband practically broke down in tears at every mere mention of it. "Oh, but she's so excited and so ready for it," I would say.
Then it hit me, about a week before school was to start. All the carefree time I had had with her for five years was about to end. FOREVER. That's when the guilt set in. You know the kind, typical mommy guilt that you know is silly but you just can't help feeling because after all, it's one of the requirements of motherhood. "Oh, I didn't do this with her. Oh, we didn't get to do that or go there." No matter that I had given up a successful and rewarding career and traded my designer wardrobe for spit-up-stained and sticky finger-smeared t-shirts. I was going to feel guilty about not doing enough because doggone it, I was a mother and I was entitled to all the guilt I could muster.
I got over that. It was the morning her daddy and I walked her to the bus stop in front of our house. It felt like walking a plank. Suddenly all guilt was gone and the only thing I felt was raw fear.
"What if the bus driver is a maniac? What if she gets lost? What if she drops her lunch tray or dawdles too long and doesn't get to eat? What if her TEACHER is a maniac? What if she breaks her neck on the playground? What if someone hurts her feelings and I'm not there to take the hurt away? What if, what if, what if..."
There she was, looking so small and sweet in her little blue and white checkered dress with the red appliqued apples ("because teachers like apples, Mommy"), the bow in her hair and the pink Barbie backpack.
And suddenly there IT was, that very large yellow bus looming before us. She started to charge up the steps before I could even say goodbye. She wasn't even looking back. I had to yell her name for one last kiss and "I love you." Then she was gone, and so was my life as I had known it for the last five years. I hugged two year-old Hannah a little tighter and blinked back the tears.
In the days since the fear has subsided. She comes home from school beaming with joy, and charges down the bus steps to my waiting arms as eagerly as she charged up that first morning. She's still my baby and every day I thank God for the love we share and the arms that He's given us to wrap around each other.
Through this, God has also taught me a lesson in loosening my grasp. Even though the winds have changed and for seven hours during the day she sails off in a different direction from me He is still with her, watching over her and guiding her all day long.
We're reminded of this in Hebrews 13:8. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever." What a comfort, Just as He is there for her at school all day, He's there for me and for all of us, whenever we loosen our grip on our lives and let Him be.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Gettin' Sappy
If anyone had told me that a trip to the Snappy Lube for an oil change would inspire a blog post, I probably would've just laughed. But that's exactly what has happened, so here goes...
Let me begin with just a bit of background. In just three more months, my Honda Oddyssey will be 10 years old. It's the longest I've ever driven one vehicle, but it's also the first I've ever purchased brand new. When my husband and I bought it the day before Thanksgiving in 2002, it was after weeks of waiting to see if the Honda dealer near us would ever get a red one. The day I saw it through the showroom window was the day we brought it home. But it didn't stay there long because three days later we strapped in our girls, then ages 4 and 7, and took off on a road trip to Disney! It was the first of many trips and adventures in that van, and I guess that's why the unexpected question from the Snappy Lube service technician sent me on a sappy trip down memory lane.
"You've kept that van in good shape. You gonna be looking to sell it anytime soon?"
"Should I be," I asked? "Well no, those Hondas will run forever if you take care of them. I just wondered since you've gotten some miles on it if you might be getting ready for something new."
"Nah, with a daughter starting college in a year I don't want a car payment," I replied. "I'll probably drive this one until it's falling apart around me!"
I paid my bill and left, and as I began to pull out of the parking lot the realization of what I had just said hit me full force. I braked and turned around to look behind me, half expecting to see two little girls coloring or playing with their Polly Pockets. I blinked at the empty seats, knowing full well that Kaelie was hundreds of miles away on a youth group mission trip and Hannah was hanging out with a friend. How has the time gone so fast?
For the rest of the drive home, I was flooded with memories of time spent in that van. Countless trips to visit grandparents at opposite ends of the state, to Georgia to visit family and friends, beaches in the Carolinas, twice to NYC and again to Disney, Thanksgiving in Pensacola, and more trips to volleyball, softball, and soccer games and tournaments than I can even begin to count.
So many good times, so many wonderful memories. As I drove I found myself smiling as I reminisced over all the travel games we played to keep young children occupied. The songs we sang and the laughter we shared. And yes, even the "don't make me pull this car over" moments! I thought about the day we got our puppy, Ginger, who turned 9 years old last spring, and the joy on the faces of those two little girls as they climbed into their seats to bring their new friend home. I pictured the van during the many times that it has been filled with kids, and laughed again at some of the funny conversations I've overheard from behind the steering wheel.
I also let my mind wander to more diffiuclt times. Heated arguments, driving to and from funerals, sitting numbly in the passenger seat as Joey drove me home from the doctor's office after learning I have MS, wondering if our lives would ever be the same. Tearfully worshiping on more than one occasion as music from my favorite contemporary Christian radio station came through the speakers to soothe my anxious soul.
As my mind continued to wander, I noticed the places on the steering wheel that my hands have worn smooth. I remembered watching Kaelie's hands nervously gripping the wheel in the same spots as she learned to drive, all the while nervously gripping the passenger door armrest myself! Now she drives her own car, and she's not in the van with me nearly as often. I've realized just how much good conversation has taken place with her there, and the need to work harder now to create those opportunities. At the same time, I'm also appreciating the one on one time with Hannah, and the conversations that we get to have. That vehicle has been the scene of a lot of good talks...and tears...and laughter.
Of late, the van has been transporting us to various college tours. In another year we'll be loading it with all of Kaelie's stuff. It will take my baby girl away to some dorm room on some campus somewhere, and it will carry the rest of us tearfully home without her. And very soon after, Hannah's hands will take their place on the smooth spots of the steering wheel, and I will once again nervously grip the passenger door armrest while teaching her to drive.
Yes, a lot of life has happened in that red 2003 Honda Oddyssey. But God willing there's oh so much more to look forward to, and I'm determined to savor every moment.
Wow. All this from an ordinary visit to the Snappy (okay, "sappy") Lube. Who knew?
Let me begin with just a bit of background. In just three more months, my Honda Oddyssey will be 10 years old. It's the longest I've ever driven one vehicle, but it's also the first I've ever purchased brand new. When my husband and I bought it the day before Thanksgiving in 2002, it was after weeks of waiting to see if the Honda dealer near us would ever get a red one. The day I saw it through the showroom window was the day we brought it home. But it didn't stay there long because three days later we strapped in our girls, then ages 4 and 7, and took off on a road trip to Disney! It was the first of many trips and adventures in that van, and I guess that's why the unexpected question from the Snappy Lube service technician sent me on a sappy trip down memory lane.
"You've kept that van in good shape. You gonna be looking to sell it anytime soon?"
"Should I be," I asked? "Well no, those Hondas will run forever if you take care of them. I just wondered since you've gotten some miles on it if you might be getting ready for something new."
"Nah, with a daughter starting college in a year I don't want a car payment," I replied. "I'll probably drive this one until it's falling apart around me!"
I paid my bill and left, and as I began to pull out of the parking lot the realization of what I had just said hit me full force. I braked and turned around to look behind me, half expecting to see two little girls coloring or playing with their Polly Pockets. I blinked at the empty seats, knowing full well that Kaelie was hundreds of miles away on a youth group mission trip and Hannah was hanging out with a friend. How has the time gone so fast?
For the rest of the drive home, I was flooded with memories of time spent in that van. Countless trips to visit grandparents at opposite ends of the state, to Georgia to visit family and friends, beaches in the Carolinas, twice to NYC and again to Disney, Thanksgiving in Pensacola, and more trips to volleyball, softball, and soccer games and tournaments than I can even begin to count.
So many good times, so many wonderful memories. As I drove I found myself smiling as I reminisced over all the travel games we played to keep young children occupied. The songs we sang and the laughter we shared. And yes, even the "don't make me pull this car over" moments! I thought about the day we got our puppy, Ginger, who turned 9 years old last spring, and the joy on the faces of those two little girls as they climbed into their seats to bring their new friend home. I pictured the van during the many times that it has been filled with kids, and laughed again at some of the funny conversations I've overheard from behind the steering wheel.
I also let my mind wander to more diffiuclt times. Heated arguments, driving to and from funerals, sitting numbly in the passenger seat as Joey drove me home from the doctor's office after learning I have MS, wondering if our lives would ever be the same. Tearfully worshiping on more than one occasion as music from my favorite contemporary Christian radio station came through the speakers to soothe my anxious soul.
As my mind continued to wander, I noticed the places on the steering wheel that my hands have worn smooth. I remembered watching Kaelie's hands nervously gripping the wheel in the same spots as she learned to drive, all the while nervously gripping the passenger door armrest myself! Now she drives her own car, and she's not in the van with me nearly as often. I've realized just how much good conversation has taken place with her there, and the need to work harder now to create those opportunities. At the same time, I'm also appreciating the one on one time with Hannah, and the conversations that we get to have. That vehicle has been the scene of a lot of good talks...and tears...and laughter.
Of late, the van has been transporting us to various college tours. In another year we'll be loading it with all of Kaelie's stuff. It will take my baby girl away to some dorm room on some campus somewhere, and it will carry the rest of us tearfully home without her. And very soon after, Hannah's hands will take their place on the smooth spots of the steering wheel, and I will once again nervously grip the passenger door armrest while teaching her to drive.
Yes, a lot of life has happened in that red 2003 Honda Oddyssey. But God willing there's oh so much more to look forward to, and I'm determined to savor every moment.
Wow. All this from an ordinary visit to the Snappy (okay, "sappy") Lube. Who knew?
Friday, May 18, 2012
Would Someone Please Stop This Treadmill?!
We knew it was coming all year long. The dreaded 8th grade Community Service Project. And now here it is, only one week of school left to go, and my darling daughter is still trying to get it done. Is it just me, or do the last few weeks of the school year drive everyone bonkers?
First of all, why should the community service project be dreaded at all? What's so bad about learning to do your part to help out in your community? Nothing, actually. In truth, I really love this project. I think it's wonderful in that it teaches kids that they are needed and that they are never too young to pitch in somewhere, somehow. It teaches them how to seek out opportunities for serving, and to maybe even get a little creative with it. It promotes empathy and compassion, and hopefully cultivates a desire to give back and to help others. No, nothing at all wrong with this project!
The problem, I hate to admit, starts right here at home. We are so scheduled, maybe even over-scheduled, that it is really difficult and even somewhat stressful trying to fill the required 10 hours. I was thinking the other day that it sure would be nice if the project could be stretched out over two of the 6-week grading periods instead of just one. Then I had to catch myself. Should it really be this hard to find 10 hours over the course of six whole weeks in which to help others? I mean really, it feels kind of shameful.
I'm happy that my children have been involved in athletics, church activities, Bible studies, the Young Life ministry, and all the other things that they do. They are all positive things which have helped them to grow and develop into wonderul young ladies. But I sometimes wonder if I have failed them as a mom by allowing them to keep their days booked to the point that it is difficult and stressful to fit in time for other worthwhile things, or those unexpected interruptions which often end up being the most meaningful moments of all.
I was just with a couple of girlfriends who were talking about the sense of entitlement that is prevalent among so many of today's young people. What better way to combat that than teaching them the value of community service? I don't want to send a message to my girls that doing our part to help our community should be low on the priority list, something to do only when it fits neatly into our jam-packed schedules, but sometimes I feel like we're on a treadmill that keeps getting faster. How do I slow it down??
First of all, why should the community service project be dreaded at all? What's so bad about learning to do your part to help out in your community? Nothing, actually. In truth, I really love this project. I think it's wonderful in that it teaches kids that they are needed and that they are never too young to pitch in somewhere, somehow. It teaches them how to seek out opportunities for serving, and to maybe even get a little creative with it. It promotes empathy and compassion, and hopefully cultivates a desire to give back and to help others. No, nothing at all wrong with this project!
The problem, I hate to admit, starts right here at home. We are so scheduled, maybe even over-scheduled, that it is really difficult and even somewhat stressful trying to fill the required 10 hours. I was thinking the other day that it sure would be nice if the project could be stretched out over two of the 6-week grading periods instead of just one. Then I had to catch myself. Should it really be this hard to find 10 hours over the course of six whole weeks in which to help others? I mean really, it feels kind of shameful.
I'm happy that my children have been involved in athletics, church activities, Bible studies, the Young Life ministry, and all the other things that they do. They are all positive things which have helped them to grow and develop into wonderul young ladies. But I sometimes wonder if I have failed them as a mom by allowing them to keep their days booked to the point that it is difficult and stressful to fit in time for other worthwhile things, or those unexpected interruptions which often end up being the most meaningful moments of all.
I was just with a couple of girlfriends who were talking about the sense of entitlement that is prevalent among so many of today's young people. What better way to combat that than teaching them the value of community service? I don't want to send a message to my girls that doing our part to help our community should be low on the priority list, something to do only when it fits neatly into our jam-packed schedules, but sometimes I feel like we're on a treadmill that keeps getting faster. How do I slow it down??
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| Hannah and her friend Genna conducting a food/supply drive at Kroger for victims of domestic & sexual violence. |
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Hot Water and Cold Reality
I squealed, loudly, as icy water invaded my scalp. The hot water heater had gone out overnight, and by morning, the water was downright cold. Shockingly cold, really, as it cascaded over my head and down my neck. "This is terrible, not the way to start my day," I grumbled aloud while leaning over the tub. I was much too wimpy to actually take a shower, and had decided to brave just a quick hair wash.
And quick it was! I almost opted to forego the conditioner once I got through the shampooing, but then decided that attempting to brush out the tangles that were sure to result would be more painful than a couple more minutes of cold water.
As I finished up and began twisting my hair into a towel turban on top of my head, the photo attached to the top of the mirror caught my eye. Sweet little Keily, the child my family sponsors through Compassion International, was smiling at me as always. I keep her picture there so that I will see her and be reminded to pray for her daily. But seeing her this time was different. It was as if the sweet little face smiling back at me was saying "I sure would love to have that nice bathroom in my house. How lucky you are to have that cold tap water!"
Isn't it amazing who and what God uses to prick our consciences? To make us see just how spoiled we are, and how much we take for granted? I mean, did I have to leave my house to hike for miles to the nearest filthy water hole to fill a bucket of dirty water to carry home on top of my head? Nope, I was right in the comfort of my suburban American home, simply turning a faucet for all the clean water I needed. And yet I grumbled because it was cold, which in itself is probably a luxury in places like Honduras where Keily lives.
Today I will be grateful for the luxuries in my life. And I think I will find one of those organizations that builds wells for villages in third world countries to have clean water and send a donation. One small gesture of appreciation for all the ways in which God has blessed me. Might I challenge you to consider doing the same?
And quick it was! I almost opted to forego the conditioner once I got through the shampooing, but then decided that attempting to brush out the tangles that were sure to result would be more painful than a couple more minutes of cold water.
As I finished up and began twisting my hair into a towel turban on top of my head, the photo attached to the top of the mirror caught my eye. Sweet little Keily, the child my family sponsors through Compassion International, was smiling at me as always. I keep her picture there so that I will see her and be reminded to pray for her daily. But seeing her this time was different. It was as if the sweet little face smiling back at me was saying "I sure would love to have that nice bathroom in my house. How lucky you are to have that cold tap water!"
Isn't it amazing who and what God uses to prick our consciences? To make us see just how spoiled we are, and how much we take for granted? I mean, did I have to leave my house to hike for miles to the nearest filthy water hole to fill a bucket of dirty water to carry home on top of my head? Nope, I was right in the comfort of my suburban American home, simply turning a faucet for all the clean water I needed. And yet I grumbled because it was cold, which in itself is probably a luxury in places like Honduras where Keily lives.
Today I will be grateful for the luxuries in my life. And I think I will find one of those organizations that builds wells for villages in third world countries to have clean water and send a donation. One small gesture of appreciation for all the ways in which God has blessed me. Might I challenge you to consider doing the same?
Monday, April 16, 2012
A Hokie Today
Sirens. Lots of them, all day, unrelenting. That's the first thing that enters my mind when I remember the events of April 16th, 2007. The sirens and the unsettling, anxious feeling of knowing something terrible must be happening. What was it? Where? Who?
I was sitting in my doctor's office hardly able to breathe for the sinus crud. Then the news on the waiting room television really took my breath way. "Would you please turn up the volume?" someone asked. Then, more emphatically, "turn it up, turn it up!" Frightening images of police officers wielding large weapons on the Virginia Tech campus, just a mile down the road. Sketchy details of a shooting, and a shooter still on the loose. Warnings for everyone on campus and in the town of Blacksburg to stay indoors. Lockdowns for our children in their schools.
By late afternoon we all found ourselves in a state of shock. Thirty-two innocent victims dead, others wounded, and a shooter who had taken his own life. Unimaginable horror. Here, in sleepy little Blacksburg. Could this be real?
Today I will renew my prayers for the families and friends of those who died. For those who were left injured and otherwise traumatized. For the police and rescue personnel who will always carry with them horrible, unspeakable images. For all of Virginia Tech and the town of Blacksburg. And I think I will make an effort to leave a little trail of kindness around town today. Like the person ahead of me in the Starbucks line did two days after "that day" five years ago, buying a gift card and leaving it with the cashier to treat others until the card ran out, just to show that there was still goodness in the world. A small gesture with a big impact.
Today my daughters have donned their Hokie attire for Hokie Spirit day at school. My husband wore his Virginia Tech golf shirt to work. As for me, this die-hard Georgia Bulldog is sporting a Hokie t-shirt. None of us have any affiliation with the university other than the fact that we live in Blacksburg. And if you lived in Blacksburg on that horrific day five years ago, you will always be a little bit of a Hokie in your heart. You couldn't live here and not experience the heartache, the grief, the anger. We all have a story of "that day." We all still get a little anxious when we hear sirens that go on a little too long. We all knew...someone. And by the grace of God, we all will prevail.
I was sitting in my doctor's office hardly able to breathe for the sinus crud. Then the news on the waiting room television really took my breath way. "Would you please turn up the volume?" someone asked. Then, more emphatically, "turn it up, turn it up!" Frightening images of police officers wielding large weapons on the Virginia Tech campus, just a mile down the road. Sketchy details of a shooting, and a shooter still on the loose. Warnings for everyone on campus and in the town of Blacksburg to stay indoors. Lockdowns for our children in their schools.
By late afternoon we all found ourselves in a state of shock. Thirty-two innocent victims dead, others wounded, and a shooter who had taken his own life. Unimaginable horror. Here, in sleepy little Blacksburg. Could this be real?
Today I will renew my prayers for the families and friends of those who died. For those who were left injured and otherwise traumatized. For the police and rescue personnel who will always carry with them horrible, unspeakable images. For all of Virginia Tech and the town of Blacksburg. And I think I will make an effort to leave a little trail of kindness around town today. Like the person ahead of me in the Starbucks line did two days after "that day" five years ago, buying a gift card and leaving it with the cashier to treat others until the card ran out, just to show that there was still goodness in the world. A small gesture with a big impact.
Today my daughters have donned their Hokie attire for Hokie Spirit day at school. My husband wore his Virginia Tech golf shirt to work. As for me, this die-hard Georgia Bulldog is sporting a Hokie t-shirt. None of us have any affiliation with the university other than the fact that we live in Blacksburg. And if you lived in Blacksburg on that horrific day five years ago, you will always be a little bit of a Hokie in your heart. You couldn't live here and not experience the heartache, the grief, the anger. We all have a story of "that day." We all still get a little anxious when we hear sirens that go on a little too long. We all knew...someone. And by the grace of God, we all will prevail.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
From Weary to Rest
Do people ever make you feel weary? I mean, I can feel annoyed or angry or frustrated with people sometimes, but weary is different. Weary is heavy. Weary says "I don't know if I can do this anymore," or at the very least, "I really need a break." Sometimes, it borders on hopelessness. I guess that's why Jesus said "come to me, you who are weary and burdened..." (Matthew 11:28) Weary and burdened go hand in hand, one dragging the other until they both collapse, exhausted.
There are all kinds of things that make us feel weary and burdened. Work stress, illness, financial strain, busyness, you get the idea. I'm sure we could add to this list all day long. For me, today, it's people.
And somehow, that just feels awful.
When God gives me tough situations, I'm trying to learn to look for the lessons he wants to teach me through them. Today, I think it's the next part of the verse, the dot-dot-dot that I left out above. "Come to me, you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." (italics added) I believe he's telling me to stop fretting and commit these people to him. There are some burdens I can't share or carry, and by trying, I will only become more weary. And there are some people who just need to find their rock bottom, and they never will if allowed to hop from one weary person's shoulders to the next.
Instead of weariness, I think I will cling to thankfulness for the offer of rest. It doesn't mean I will give up the praying or extending compassion, just the burden of worry and of trying to be the "fixer." After all, there is only one Savior, and it's definitely not me. We can all let out a big sigh of relief on that!
There are all kinds of things that make us feel weary and burdened. Work stress, illness, financial strain, busyness, you get the idea. I'm sure we could add to this list all day long. For me, today, it's people.
And somehow, that just feels awful.
When God gives me tough situations, I'm trying to learn to look for the lessons he wants to teach me through them. Today, I think it's the next part of the verse, the dot-dot-dot that I left out above. "Come to me, you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." (italics added) I believe he's telling me to stop fretting and commit these people to him. There are some burdens I can't share or carry, and by trying, I will only become more weary. And there are some people who just need to find their rock bottom, and they never will if allowed to hop from one weary person's shoulders to the next.
Instead of weariness, I think I will cling to thankfulness for the offer of rest. It doesn't mean I will give up the praying or extending compassion, just the burden of worry and of trying to be the "fixer." After all, there is only one Savior, and it's definitely not me. We can all let out a big sigh of relief on that!
Monday, March 19, 2012
On the String of a Blue Balloon
The flowers were vibrant, but the girl with the personality to match wasn't there to enjoy them. The high school choir sang beautifully, but the voice of the girl who should've had the solo was missing. The blue balloons drifted and danced against fluffy, white clouds. One strayed from the rest to go it's own way. The girl's dad said she must have been carrying that one, going her own way, doing her own thing as always. Tension was broken. People laughed through their tears. A final goodbye as the balloons disappeared from sight.Oh dear girl, you were only 17. So beautiful and talented. So much to live for. So loved. What kept you from seeing that? The children's rhyme says "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." It's so wrong. Who made that up, anyway? Broken bones heal. Words that are cruel or thoughtless or bullying can inflict wounds that last a lifetime. In your case, did they cut your lifetime short?
I went to your memorial service needing to make sure your mom was surviving. To give her a hug and maybe even try to shake her awake from what was feeling like a very bad nightmare. You see, your mom and I go back a long way. Roommates. Work colleagues. Double dates. We even became moms within just few months of each other, thanks to you and my Kaelie. It was fun the times we got to watch you girls play together, and then with your baby sister Julia and and Kaelie's baby sister Hannah. Four little girls with so much promise, so much to look forward to.
Let me tell you how proud I was of your mom at that service. I think you would be, too. You should've heard the letter that she wrote and had the pastor's wife read. It was beautiful, the way she described you, her precious girl. She acknowledged your pain as well as her own. But she did something else that to me was most extraordinary. Instead of allowing herself the luxury of anger and bitterness toward anyone who may have inflicted those wounds that hurt you most, she extended grace. She made it clear that no post, text, or tweet was responsible, nor could they have saved you or stopped you. You, dear, determined child, are the only one who bore responsibility for your final action in this life, and so she let you bear it. As your dad so eloquently put it in his own letter, you were a girl on fire, who felt things so deeply and so passionately. But ultimately, it was that fire that consumed you.
Grace. The unmerited favor of God that you chose at your baptism not so long ago. The one thing that can give those who hurt you another chance to get it right. The thing that encourages the rest of us to follow your pastor's advice to honor your memory by living better and loving better. The thing that I believe has so far kept your devastated family going because it has no doubt been showered on them through the loving acts and prayers of many, many people. The one thing that enabled your mom and dad to give hugs, wipe tears from the faces of hurting teenagers, and offer comfort to everyone else, like me, who was breaking down around them.
Grace. The one thing that I am certain allowed you, sweet girl, to be welcomed into the arms of Jesus even when, in your final act, you strayed from his plan and took matters into your own hands. Grace that is leading you home, perhaps swinging freely, happily, on the string of a blue balloon. Rest in peace, Jocelyn, forever in the arms of Grace.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Call Me Mrs. Wishy-Washy
In case you haven't noticed, it's election season folks. Blah, blah, blah! When I was a reporter I hated covering politics and elections. Kind of ironic since I minored in political science, I guess the joke's on me!
The last few years, election time has been worse than ever. I suppose it's in large part due to the social media age in which we now live. For example, with a simple click I will send this into the blogosphere for anyone to read. And Facebook! Oh my gosh, it's impossible to get away from it if you dare to scroll through your newsfeed. Some people like to post their every opinion on every subject and every candidate, along with articles to support their opinions and bash the candidates they don't like. I'm not saying it's necessarily a bad thing, as long as those same people are also willing to get involved in the process, write or call their representatives, and go to the polls on election day. Oh yeah, and if they don't just assume that I share their views, or get angry with me if I don't.
The other day my daughter asked me if I was a democrat or republican. I told her that I am a moderately conservative/liberal independent. I honestly didn't know how else to describe myself. Some might say that makes me wishy-washy. Whatever. It's just the only way I've been able to figure out how to go about the process. It frustrates me when people who know me and know how much my Christian faith means to me just assume that I must be conservative and a rebublican. On the flip side, it is just as frustrating when others assume that because I spent my career as a tv news reporter that I must be part of the "liberal media," and therefore a democrat.
Really? Must we all have a label? Isn't it possible that some of us do try to consider the issues and the candidates prayerfully and conscientiously, without being expected to jump on a party bandwagon?
And while I'm on this little rant, must we publicly bash other people for taking a stand for what they believe? I'm going to go out on a limb here on behalf of Kirk Cameron, the actor who was asked a direct question on national television the other day and answered it. He didn't ask to be asked about his stance on gay marraige, but when he was, he spoke his conscience. He didn't launch a hate campaign against specific individuals or against anyone else who doesn't share his views. He was simply drawn into the public discourse on the issue by an interviewer. Now people who don't agree with him are trashing him and circulating petitions and doing everything they can to smear and discredit him. No matter how we feel about this or any other issue, part of what makes our nation great is the freedom to have public discourse at all. Shouldn't we be more about guarding and appreciating that freedom, rather than tearing down others who don't share our views? Can't we be open-minded enough to at least listen to what others have to say? Might we even pray and ask God to help us consider all sides of the issues and lead us in our conversations and decisions? What are we so afraid of, anyway?
This election season, I resolve to just relax and pray my way through it. I will try to live into what the apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans: "Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God." (Rom. 13:1-2) Because I trust that God is sovereign, no matter who is elected I will trust that that person is in office because God has ordained him or her to be there, and whether that person realizes it or not, he or she will be used by God to carry out HIS purposes. God's Word gives me a much more solid foundation on which to stand than a party line every could.
The last few years, election time has been worse than ever. I suppose it's in large part due to the social media age in which we now live. For example, with a simple click I will send this into the blogosphere for anyone to read. And Facebook! Oh my gosh, it's impossible to get away from it if you dare to scroll through your newsfeed. Some people like to post their every opinion on every subject and every candidate, along with articles to support their opinions and bash the candidates they don't like. I'm not saying it's necessarily a bad thing, as long as those same people are also willing to get involved in the process, write or call their representatives, and go to the polls on election day. Oh yeah, and if they don't just assume that I share their views, or get angry with me if I don't.
The other day my daughter asked me if I was a democrat or republican. I told her that I am a moderately conservative/liberal independent. I honestly didn't know how else to describe myself. Some might say that makes me wishy-washy. Whatever. It's just the only way I've been able to figure out how to go about the process. It frustrates me when people who know me and know how much my Christian faith means to me just assume that I must be conservative and a rebublican. On the flip side, it is just as frustrating when others assume that because I spent my career as a tv news reporter that I must be part of the "liberal media," and therefore a democrat.
Really? Must we all have a label? Isn't it possible that some of us do try to consider the issues and the candidates prayerfully and conscientiously, without being expected to jump on a party bandwagon?
And while I'm on this little rant, must we publicly bash other people for taking a stand for what they believe? I'm going to go out on a limb here on behalf of Kirk Cameron, the actor who was asked a direct question on national television the other day and answered it. He didn't ask to be asked about his stance on gay marraige, but when he was, he spoke his conscience. He didn't launch a hate campaign against specific individuals or against anyone else who doesn't share his views. He was simply drawn into the public discourse on the issue by an interviewer. Now people who don't agree with him are trashing him and circulating petitions and doing everything they can to smear and discredit him. No matter how we feel about this or any other issue, part of what makes our nation great is the freedom to have public discourse at all. Shouldn't we be more about guarding and appreciating that freedom, rather than tearing down others who don't share our views? Can't we be open-minded enough to at least listen to what others have to say? Might we even pray and ask God to help us consider all sides of the issues and lead us in our conversations and decisions? What are we so afraid of, anyway?
This election season, I resolve to just relax and pray my way through it. I will try to live into what the apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans: "Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God." (Rom. 13:1-2) Because I trust that God is sovereign, no matter who is elected I will trust that that person is in office because God has ordained him or her to be there, and whether that person realizes it or not, he or she will be used by God to carry out HIS purposes. God's Word gives me a much more solid foundation on which to stand than a party line every could.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
A Monumental Day...NOT!
Yesterday I heard an elderly gentleman from my church remark that he couldn't believe how fast 2012 is already whizzing by, that we're already into the second week of February. Then he looked at me with concern in his eyes and said "I think it's been a good while since I've talked to you. How are you getting along?"
By the look on his face and tone of his voice, I knew he was referring to my "condition." And that's when it dawned on me. January had come and gone and I hadn't even realized it! I mean, of course I knew January was over and we had moved full steam into February. But it's the first time in the four years since receiving my diagnosis of multiple sclerosis on January 23rd that the date had slipped by without me even giving it a thought. The date which was so monumental just four years ago had moved back to being a date on which I simply wished two special people in my life a happy birthday.
Ahh, God has been so faithful and good to me! Four years ago my life was turned upside down and I was left with a choice. I could dwell on it and let my days be all about me and my circumstances, or I could learn to truly step outside of myself and ask God to show me each day how I might be of use to Him. This blog chronicles many of those early days of my journey, and it's so amazing to me when I go back and read some of those posts to see and realize all that God has done in my life.
What I've learned is that our lives really aren't so much about us as they are about other people. I have complete trust and faith that the best life is the one that will come after my time on this earth. My days here are numbered just like everyone else's, but they are so much richer and more blessed when I commit them to the Lord for His purposes!
Does that mean every day is easy and wonderful? Of course not. Some of them downright stink. But I know where to find my joy, and it's not in my circumstances.
That's why when my elderly friend asked me so sincerely how I was getting along, as realization of the date dawned on me I was able to respond with the same sincerity, "I'm great!. Thanks for asking. I'm really great!"
Praise God, the One who brings you through what He brings you to!
By the look on his face and tone of his voice, I knew he was referring to my "condition." And that's when it dawned on me. January had come and gone and I hadn't even realized it! I mean, of course I knew January was over and we had moved full steam into February. But it's the first time in the four years since receiving my diagnosis of multiple sclerosis on January 23rd that the date had slipped by without me even giving it a thought. The date which was so monumental just four years ago had moved back to being a date on which I simply wished two special people in my life a happy birthday.
Ahh, God has been so faithful and good to me! Four years ago my life was turned upside down and I was left with a choice. I could dwell on it and let my days be all about me and my circumstances, or I could learn to truly step outside of myself and ask God to show me each day how I might be of use to Him. This blog chronicles many of those early days of my journey, and it's so amazing to me when I go back and read some of those posts to see and realize all that God has done in my life.
What I've learned is that our lives really aren't so much about us as they are about other people. I have complete trust and faith that the best life is the one that will come after my time on this earth. My days here are numbered just like everyone else's, but they are so much richer and more blessed when I commit them to the Lord for His purposes!
Does that mean every day is easy and wonderful? Of course not. Some of them downright stink. But I know where to find my joy, and it's not in my circumstances.
That's why when my elderly friend asked me so sincerely how I was getting along, as realization of the date dawned on me I was able to respond with the same sincerity, "I'm great!. Thanks for asking. I'm really great!"
Praise God, the One who brings you through what He brings you to!
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
O Christmas Tree
"What is the deal with this tree?!"
My husband was struggling to get the Christmas tree we had just chopped down into the stand and it just would not cooperate. That's when we noticed the crazy trunk. From the base to it's 7 foot tall tip, it was as bent and crooked as it could be. It's amazing we hadn't noticed it in the field, but all we had looked at was the shape of it's lovely branches. It took some doing, but Joey finally managed to force the tree into the stand, and was able to adjust it so that it stood perfectly upright.
As I began to decorate the tree, I studied its trunk more closely. Somehow with every bend it had managed to correct itself with an upward turn. In places it appeared to have overcorrected, bending a little too much in the opposite direction. But nearer the top it had straightened out more and more, so that the angel only had to sit slightly crooked.
As I continued hanging lights and ornaments, I saw similar growth patterns in my own life, and a Bible verse came to mind. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)
I recalled how insistent I was as a teenager that I would attend a certain college, and then I didn't get accepted. So I went somewhere else and wasn't happy, still determined that I would get into my first choice the next year. Well, guess what? I didn't.
I did end up transferring, but to a school I had never even considered. It just kind of fell into place through a series of circumstances. Once there I loved it, and wished I had been there for my freshman year. Eventually I discovered my broadcasting major, again something I had never considered and that wasn't even offered at the school that had been my first choice.
Upon graduation, I decided on the cities I would go to in search of a job to launch my career. I put 1700 miles on my car driving to interviews, only to be rejected time and again. Finally, to appease my parents I sent my resume to a tv station in a tiny town I never would've considered had I not REALLY needed a job. Wouldn't you know it was the only place of the dozens I applied that made an offer? So off I went, again determining to bide my time until I could get where I wanted to be.
In the two years I spent at that little tv station I gained valuable experience, learning from people who were good at what they did and were willing to put up with my amateur mistakes and show me the ropes. And better still, in that tiny town I met the wonderful and amazing above-mentioned man, who, while forcing the above-mentioned tree into its stand caused me to reflect on all this!
Let me get to the point. You can be sure that all those changes to MY plans came with a lot of tears and anxiety. After all, I knew exactly what I wanted and had mapped out how and where I was going to get it. But never once did I ask God about HIS plans for my life, which turned out to be so much better than anything I could've dreamed up.
So back to the tree trunk. The way I saw them, every bend and twist reminded me of myself running off in my own directions, chasing after my own plans. I've heard it said that we're either growing or we're dying. Well, it's kind of hard to keep growing sideways. If that tree had kept growing in a crazy outward direction it eventually would've fallen over. Every bend required correction in the form of an upward turn.
As I look back on those events and other plans I made for myself, I realize the frustration and pain experienced when they didn't work out so well was a result of the Lord's correction, setting me back on course with HIS plan, pruning my branches, if you will. And those are the places I see true and meaningful growth, growth that is upward and stretches heavenward just like the tree, because it's been cultivated by the One who promised to prosper me and give me hope and a future.
I don't live with any regret over past failures. Rather, I chose to live with resolve to follow Proverbs 3:5-6: "Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight." If I can do that, I know that he will make my life beautiful in his sight, just like my Christmas tree looked to me!
My husband was struggling to get the Christmas tree we had just chopped down into the stand and it just would not cooperate. That's when we noticed the crazy trunk. From the base to it's 7 foot tall tip, it was as bent and crooked as it could be. It's amazing we hadn't noticed it in the field, but all we had looked at was the shape of it's lovely branches. It took some doing, but Joey finally managed to force the tree into the stand, and was able to adjust it so that it stood perfectly upright.
As I began to decorate the tree, I studied its trunk more closely. Somehow with every bend it had managed to correct itself with an upward turn. In places it appeared to have overcorrected, bending a little too much in the opposite direction. But nearer the top it had straightened out more and more, so that the angel only had to sit slightly crooked.
As I continued hanging lights and ornaments, I saw similar growth patterns in my own life, and a Bible verse came to mind. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)
I recalled how insistent I was as a teenager that I would attend a certain college, and then I didn't get accepted. So I went somewhere else and wasn't happy, still determined that I would get into my first choice the next year. Well, guess what? I didn't.
I did end up transferring, but to a school I had never even considered. It just kind of fell into place through a series of circumstances. Once there I loved it, and wished I had been there for my freshman year. Eventually I discovered my broadcasting major, again something I had never considered and that wasn't even offered at the school that had been my first choice.
Upon graduation, I decided on the cities I would go to in search of a job to launch my career. I put 1700 miles on my car driving to interviews, only to be rejected time and again. Finally, to appease my parents I sent my resume to a tv station in a tiny town I never would've considered had I not REALLY needed a job. Wouldn't you know it was the only place of the dozens I applied that made an offer? So off I went, again determining to bide my time until I could get where I wanted to be.
In the two years I spent at that little tv station I gained valuable experience, learning from people who were good at what they did and were willing to put up with my amateur mistakes and show me the ropes. And better still, in that tiny town I met the wonderful and amazing above-mentioned man, who, while forcing the above-mentioned tree into its stand caused me to reflect on all this!
Let me get to the point. You can be sure that all those changes to MY plans came with a lot of tears and anxiety. After all, I knew exactly what I wanted and had mapped out how and where I was going to get it. But never once did I ask God about HIS plans for my life, which turned out to be so much better than anything I could've dreamed up.
So back to the tree trunk. The way I saw them, every bend and twist reminded me of myself running off in my own directions, chasing after my own plans. I've heard it said that we're either growing or we're dying. Well, it's kind of hard to keep growing sideways. If that tree had kept growing in a crazy outward direction it eventually would've fallen over. Every bend required correction in the form of an upward turn.
As I look back on those events and other plans I made for myself, I realize the frustration and pain experienced when they didn't work out so well was a result of the Lord's correction, setting me back on course with HIS plan, pruning my branches, if you will. And those are the places I see true and meaningful growth, growth that is upward and stretches heavenward just like the tree, because it's been cultivated by the One who promised to prosper me and give me hope and a future.I don't live with any regret over past failures. Rather, I chose to live with resolve to follow Proverbs 3:5-6: "Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight." If I can do that, I know that he will make my life beautiful in his sight, just like my Christmas tree looked to me!
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