Do Not Bar the Door

Ask anyone of a certain age, and they will tell you where they were when they heard President Kennedy had been shot, or the Twin Towers had been attacked, or Michael Jackson had died, or the Birds had won the Super Bowl. Depending on our interests, these are things that mark us, that have an impact on our lives or what we think about the world; these are things that can still evoke the same feelings, years or months later, that we felt the moment the news reached our ears.

In 2009, I had one such moment. I was sitting at my desk, writing and thinking about all the wonderful and redemptive events God had orchestrated throughout my life. He had always been at work, pursuing me and protecting me, despite my rebellion and apathy. I prayed that whatever He had for me, whatever He wanted to do in me, I was on board. A few months ago, same thing. Only this time, I was driving to work. As I twisted along a dark airport back road, I prayed, "I will not bar the door to tragedy or sickness or poverty or persecution or whatever other thing You might use to bring glory to Your name."

I know someone who lost her husband. A husband she loved desperately; a husband who was young. They had the "perfect life," and wonderful plans for retirement. Her loss -- her inestimable loss -- touched me deeply; her ability to forge ahead and find the joy in every day thereafter is a testimony to the God who sustains her. I know someone who has been battling cancer for years. Not even the terrible, disabling, set up a GoFundMe page cancer that draws support and encouragement from all over. This is the wearisome PET Scan that just never seems to come back clean; the ongoing, raise your hand and ask for prayer month after month cancer in which her hair falls out, and grows back, only to fall out again and again. The cancer that never roars, but insidiously lingers to mock our hope and certainty. But not hers! She inspires us all to keep walking when the road is long. I know a woman who died penniless. She'd served in the Peace Corps, earned multiple degrees, ran several businesses, and lived a colorful, adventuresome, selfless life. I met her when she was a client at a food bank, crippled and unable to do some of the simplest things for herself. She knew, though, it had never been about her. Is this the kind of life I would choose? Is this the destiny, the response I would seek in turning all I have, all I am over to the God of Creation?

No, absolutely not. But, here we are. We have suddenly become parents to two small children. Small children who have needs stretching beyond the normal potty training and food challenges. As if that wasn't enough, it requires we navigate the state foster care system. Our home, our health, our financials have become subject to the strictest scrutiny; our life has been in perpetual metamorphosis since August, and our living quarters look like something out of an episode of "Hoarders". Change. Chaos. Powerlessness. Things not in Scott's or my DNA. But I will not bar the door.

Whatever discomfort or confusion or difficulty or heartache I encounter is momentary. It will not mark me or impact my life; it will not evoke feelings of failure or fear a moment longer than it takes me to turn them over to the God Who Sees Me. What remains are those moments of surrender, those moments I asked God to show me what He wants to do, what He will use to bring glory to His name. Those moments provoke me to forge ahead, walk the long trail, and serve others that God might receive the glory -- glory that will ring forevermore!

Open your ears, open your eyes, open your doors and join in its song!

Someone Worth Writing About

At 10:30 last night, I sat down at the kitchen table prepared to write. Ideas and events had been swirling around in my head through days of constant activity; and though it had been weeks -- maybe months -- since any part of me had seen such a late hour of the night, I figured I'd strike while the iron was hot. At 10:31, our fifteen-year old plopped down into the chair across from me and the deluge began. She is in her second year of high school; there were schedules and friends to discuss. Somehow that all became a trip down memory lane filled with dozens of "do-you-remember-whens" -- many of which I did not. But she remembered. And, I hope, it is this night she will remember as well.

When Olivia and I first met, I and my children were a family of three; she, her dad, and her siblings made us a family of seven. I loved the noisy dinners and crazy bedtimes. I loved taking up pews and rows at the movie theater and SUVs and two lanes at the bowling alley. I loved the constant motion in our home; the hum of life. Olivia was a huge part of that hum for me; she and I bonded instantly. Her easy-going temperament and her transparency were a rare treat in one so young. Olivia, too, seemed to thrive on the excitement and activity of a full house; but she was, at the same time, her own person.

Only a short time later, my son, the oldest left our home; her brother and sister followed suit shortly thereafter. For the remaining few years my daughter remained in our home, she and Olivia never truly bonded. But Olivia was always there, hanging with me in the kitchen, talking on our rides home, and weathering the emptiness that came whenever others moved on. With Olivia and I, it was never blood or biology, but the moments we spent laughing and talking to one another that made us family.

So, this is it; this is what I have to offer my readers. Not much to speak of with regard to profundity or motivation. Just gratitude. For an incredible daughter, a strong and truly courageous young woman, and nights when writing is not nearly as important as living. I'm gonna remember this.

There Came a Season

Seasons. To most of the world, seasons revolve around weather or dates on a calendar or festivals or even birthdays. At the beginning of this year, I developed a "four-year plan." In four years, my company is making some changes to its pension plan, and my plan was to get out before that happened. My prayer with regard to my goal went something like this:

"Dear Lord, I can't see the logic in staying past the proposed revision date. I would like to be out before this change takes place, and I believe to do so would be to be a good steward of all You have given us; so I am going to work toward that end. I know You can do anything, and if it is Your will I stay longer than than the four years. I know You will make that clear, and You will care for us. Whatever Your will."

I started getting things in order. And it began to look like my plan was in agreement with His plan. Until...

...there came a season. In this season, this 50+ year old woman and her same age husband immediately became responsible for two very young lives. In this season, our lives have become an open book to any state agency with a microscope. In this season, we lose sleep and square footage. In this season, we comfort and console only to be told how much the people who hurt them so badly are missed. In this season, we repeat over and over, rules and lessons and reassurances. In this season, we repeat over and over, rules and lessons and reassurances. (See what I did there?) This season is not what we had planned. This season was supposed to be past. This season was not on our radar -- at all!

Exodus 15:22, tells us the Israelites spent three days in the Wilderness of Shur, unable to find water. Now, I am not sure if this means they hadn't actually had anything to drink, but they were, at the very least, watching their water supply dwindle to nothing. In verse 23, they arrive at the bitter waters of Marah. "Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink." After days of God's faithfulness regarding their water supply, they were certain they'd found "real relief" at Marah. But God wanted them to trust Him more; He stretched them a little further. It wasn't until Moses cried out to God on behalf of the people that God made the water good to drink.

In this season, we are discovering the gift of God's grace and His strength. In this season, we are discovering that God can do amazing and supernatural things through us and for us, provided we are following His plan. In this season, we are finding the impossible becomes possible when it is ordained and brought to fruition by God. In this season, we are learning that stretching and molding are part of the Christian life -- and they are much less painful when we surrender to them. In this season, we are reassured that God's ways are higher than our ways, and His plans for His children are always good.

Waves of Grace

Grace. An ever-unfolding, never static, bounteous, interminable dance of breath and life. Or so I am finding.

There were days when I knew about God. Two-dimensional stories slumbering on pages of dusty books. Prayers that gave way to grocery lists, or awakened offenses, or haphazard thoughts of wooden pews. Familiar and traditional, but lifeless and religious. Sunday dresses and smiles; Bible covers and Aqua Net; waxed floors, tiny wooden chairs and the smell of crayons; hymnals and liturgy; fresh air filling my lungs, emancipating sun warming my face after reverent benedictions. Sermon after sermon left behind as we pulled from the parking lot each week.

And then there are todays. Days when I know not so much about God as what God can do. I see it, like leaves rocking with the wind in the tops of the trees. It is grace. Grace that emerges more in the eccentric and broken than in the appropriate. Grace that bears us up through storms and chaos more than through peace. Grace that draws us closer to the Giver rather than launching us out onto the precipice of self-sufficiency. Grace that fills and refills and overfills us with life and hope and grace for others; that never seems to end even when I'm certain I need no more of it. Grace that takes me to places I've never been and whispers sweet, sweet comfort deep within my soul; grace that comes when I feel inadequate or look rumpled or smell of sleeplessness or have tasted defeat. Grace that releases me from doing it all and being enough; grace that allows me to release others as well. Grace that comes to us in the kindness of others; or the Living Word of God; or the refrain I hum as I try to quiet a restless child; or the simple words "praying for you" that appear as a text message just as I begin my day; or the matchsticks in an old jelly jar that remind me of pizza eaten on the tailgate and fireworks reflected on the faces of my blessings only hours before; or the sun on my face as I bid momentary "goodbye" to our church family, the sermons and worship we share lived out, by God's grace, in our neighborhoods, in our homes, in our lives until we meet again.

Grace that I thought I would only find in rightness and order and good grammar has been deluged upon me in the ugliest, most difficult, most disorderly and unexpected of circumstances. Wave upon wave.