Loving the Low Life

I’m not allowed to dance. Not in public, anyway.

My friends and family discovered, long before I did, that I was not blessed with the grace or ability to dance. It seems that while my knees function just fine during walking and bending, my knees completely fail me when I dance. I sort of look like a stiff robot. This makes onlookers quite uncomfortable (or so I have been told.) So, I usually just sit on the side and sway in my seat and tap my toes.

There is one dance that I have not given up on, however. It may be the competitor in me but I cannot say no to the Limbo. You know, that Hawaiian concoction using a rapid drumbeat and a bamboo pole. Whenever someone starts one up I just have to see “how low can I go?”

As you might predict, given my ungraceful knee issues, I have never “gone very low” in a limbo dance. (One time I fell out of the dance so early I snuffed out a nearby tiki-torch for revenge. For which I was soon escorted from the event. But that’s another story.)

The limbo is interesting to me. Most competitions, be they dance or athletic, measure and reward the winner for lasting the longest, running the farthest, jumping the highest or achieving the most. It's one of the few challenges with a prize for going the lowest. And I think that is what appeals to me. The one who goes the lowest is rewarded for his or her efforts.

Jesus would have been great at the limbo. Here He was, the Son of God hanging out in Heaven on high but that was not the life for Him. Heaven, it seems, was too high a place for God’s Son to teach the world. So, the King left His home and got low.

Jesus was not sent to earth with all the power and prestige that rightfully belonged to Him. No, He was striped bare of all His position. He could have come in any form. As a full adult if He so chose. But instead He entered our world an infant with all the helplessness that brings.  He chose to go low in order to woo us.

Jesus’s birth was anything but what I would expect when a King is being born. There was no celebrating with extended family. We are not told of any of the usual birth celebration rituals of the day taking place for Jesus as they did for his cousin John born six months prior.

Mary and Joseph were not with family when they brought their son and the Son of God into the world. Joseph was a mere carpenter. They were teenagers. They were alone. In a stable. With hay for their son’s first bed.  Having to feed and change the Son of God.  In fact, the first ones to visit and celebrate Jesus were lowly shepherds. Nothing high and mighty there.

God is a big God and I expect Him to act in big and mighty ways. But when it came to arguably one of the most important events in the history of the world 1, God went low. And Jesus spent His entire life on earth “going low.” He didn’t call attention to Himself. His message was all about loving and helping other people, not yourself.

Loving through living the low life.

And people flocked to Him. He was approachable. He was humble. His heart was open to everyone – peasants and princes – alike. If God had sent Jesus to us in His true form and rightful position I don’t think it would have worked. Some would have been intimidated by His majesty; some would have been put off by a princely arrogance. Others would have ignored Him completely. But because of the way He arrived and the way He lived and the way He died (like a common criminal) He changed hearts, minds and lives. For all eternity.

Low was the only way to go.

Therein lies the challenge. How low can I go? It’s tough I admit. I don’t feel like livin’ “la vida low” sometimes. Because some days I get in the way of me. But when I do go low I love it. I find such peace in the low life. When I am able take my focus off myself and put it on others my spirit soars. That’s when I feel closest to My Savior – loving and living.

The dance is hard and I bump my head a lot on that bamboo pole because I’m not going low enough. But the good news is is that each day I get another chance at the dance and another chance to see how low I can go.

And the best part is no graceful knees required for this limbo dance.
_________________

1 - Big statement but every thing in history is divided into two time periods – before Christ’s birth and after it.

~

My Fortress

My fortress is mighty
Strong
And tall

The walls hold back the winds
The rains
And the storms

A mighty fortress
Whose protection is solid
Fierce and true

The rain seems relentless
The storm appears endless
The night feels bottomless

I do not fault the storms for coming
I do not fault the waves for raging
I do not fault the darkness for falling

A wall becomes mightier when fortified by rain
A fortress strengthened when buffeted by wind
A foundation solidified when christened by waves

My fortress is mighty
Strong
And tall
~

Inspired Wisdom

"Can't doesn't live here."  ~ Kelly Sumners

~

Wing Man

Let’s get one thing straight right here at the onset, I have a bit of an independent streak running through me. I realize we’ve talked about how we are created to live in community and I agree with that. However, at times I find that I know what’s best better than the community.

I know you do too. Don’t even sit there and try to deny it. It’s the reason we constantly find our selves in troubling situations, we, the know-it-alls of the world.

Take Maverick, for instance. His know-it-all, can-do-it-all attitude got him far but it could not get him all the way to his goal. In the movie Top Gun, Tom Cruise played a Navy pilot nick-named Maverick training to be a top jet-fighter pilot. He got his nick-name because of his independent attitude.

In a key scene, Maverick and his navigator, Goose, were in a simulated dog-fight with another trainee jet against two faux enemies. The pilots were trained to fly together for protection. Maverick was the wingman for the other pilot, protecting him. However, Maverick believed that the pilot had his confrontation with his enemy well in hand so Maverick left to go after the other enemy jet.

Of course, things went terribly wrong. The first pilot was “shot down” by his enemy but things went far worse for Maverick and Goose. They flew through the exhaust of another jet, stalled and had to eject. Goose was killed. Maverick could not fly for weeks.

Like jet fighter pilots, I have a wingman as I make my way through life. He is with me everyday protecting my backside. He is there giving me guidance. He is there showing me the way. He is there helping me through. And He is there showering me with love.

But like Maverick, there are many days when I ditch my wingman and fly off on my own. I feel strong and don’t need His protection. I am smart and don’t need His guidance. I am experienced I don’t need HIm showing me the way. I am capable I don’t need help. I am happy I don’t need love.

Greatfully, I have stumbled and fallen like Maverick and like him I am learning the error of my ways. At the end of the movie, Maverick has become a real jet-fighter pilot and finds himself in a real dog-fight with real enemies. Several times he gets nervous and cannot shoot. But then his strength comes as he asks his friend Goose to “talk” to him. As one enemy flies away Maverick's new navigator implores him to chase after it. Maverick says “No.” And he stays flying along with the other pilot.

The enemy turns around and has them in its sights. Again his navigator shouts to pull out and Maverick says “No, I’m not leaving my wingman.”

Maverick has learned the value of keeping the faith in what he has been taught and that it will keep them safe. The first enemy gets shot down then Maverick pulls off his signature breaking maneuver and shoots down his trailing enemy. Staying with his wingman, Maverick ensured all enemies were defeated and both jets made it home safely.

It’s no easy task, staying with my Wing Man. Faith asks a lot. My independent streak is strong. The harder things are and the darker the night the stronger the pull is to strike out on my own. To say, “God, must have forgotten about me. He obviously doesn’t care about me anymore. So, it’s all up to me now.” That is exactly when I must fight the hardest to stay with Him. I must do what Maverick did and ask my Wing Man to talk to me and give me strength to hold tight. You see, even when I’m grounded and cannot fly, my Man’s got the wings to help me soar.

Come hell or high water, I’m not leaving my Wing Man.

~

To Catch A Dream Thief

Once upon a time I had a dream. It was a big dream. Bigger than any other I had. But I dreamed it anyway. I dreamed I was elected student-body President of my high school.

You might think that as I was Vice President the year before that my dream was not such a big dream. That my dream was easily within my grasp. I’d say “Ha!, you’re wrong.” I was running against our Valedictorian, the smartest girl not just in my class but in the whole school. I was also running against several faculty members and teachers, as I soon learned. Fulfilling this dream would be a mighty task.

Even before I announced my candidacy people tried to thwart me and my dream. I was told in no uncertain terms by the Head of the Upper School, Sister C., that I was to strongly consider my run for the presidency. And that I really should not run. That, among other things, she and other faculty members didn’t find me committed enough for the position.

I was flabbergasted. Sister C and I always got along really well. I responded in no uncertain terms that I was, indeed, committed beyond expression. I thanked her for her concern and set about my task of campaigning.

That’s when I learned that forces that one day like you can really not like you really quickly. I put up campaign posters – Sister C. tore them down for alleged misspellings (she was wrong). I put up big posters – Sister C. instituted a new rule as to the size poster that could be put up. I cut my large poster in half, and put them up really close together – Sister C. instituted another new rule as to the number of posters, one.

Sister C. was not the only one who wanted my dream to fail. Indeed, there were other teachers and faculty who didn’t take to the idea of my presidency. I even learned Sister B., the Headmistress, was one of them. But I did have teachers and faculty on my side. Seemed I had created quite a stir with my little campaign. And the people who noticed didn’t think it was all bad.

Election Day finally came. Valedictorian and I gave our speeches to the Upper School. Votes were tallied. Candidates’ were called into Sister B’s office for the results. I won in a landslide.

Dreams are funny things. We have to hold on tight to them. Really tight. There are evil forces in the world that will try and take them from us if we are not vigilant.

Dream stealers are sent in all shapes and sizes. Some dream stealing soldiers are obvious, like mine was – a person who is visibly trying to keep us from our goal. But other soldiers are more subtle – busyness, that makes us move our dream to the back burner; lack of confidence, that tells us we don’t have any business striving for that goal; lack of contacts or resources, that tells us we will never get there from here; or repeated failure, that tells us we’ve tried and tried but this dream belongs to someone else. And so many more.

Lies. Each one of these dream thiefs is a lie sent by the evil one to ensure we do not reach our goal. Why? Because he knows that if we reach it what joy we will have and what glory God, the dream giver, will have.  The only true way to thwart the thwarter of dreams is to trust in God to get us there. When there seems like no way, there is a way. God is the Way. Even when we can no longer see the dream God can and does. We must do our part and remain in faith. God put the dream in us and God finishes what He starts.

What business did I have beating the smartest girl in school? On paper I should have lost big time. The only way I win that election is with God’s help. And I think satan knew it and that’s why he tried every trick in the book to stop it. Now, I’m not saying my opponent didn’t have God on her side, but perhaps God had a bigger dream planned for her. Something that would bring her even more joy and Him even greater glory.

The dream thief is sneaky and we must remain ever alert and focused to catch him. When we can no longer see the dreams, goals and desires we have set out for our lives we must keep our eyes on God.

He is the one, true way to get there from here.

And that is no dream.

~

Q & A

Hell? No!

Sticks and Swords

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” How many times did I sing that little rhyme when I was a child? Whenever someone would say something that hurt my feelings I would turn to that familiar refrain and say it to them and then say it over and over to myself.

Trouble was it never did make me feel better. Whatever hurtful thing was said to me had a tendency to stick with me. I would find myself mulling over it for hours or even days. All the while trying not to let anyone know that my feelings had been hurt.

I don’t know who came up with that ditty but someone needs to let the author know words can indeed wound, sometimes even more than a stick. The nice thing is, is that words can also build up and repair.

Words matter.

We have said and written many words in an attempt to express the thoughts, feelings and desires we hold inside. Every song on the radio is a singer’s words put to melody in an effort to express an idea or create a feeling within the listener.

Throughout history lovers have devoted reams of paper and gallons of ink to the inexpressible idea of love’s rapture and heartbreak’s devastation.  Words can alter the course of history. 

The Declaration of Independence, The Constitution of the United States, The Bill of Rights – words that form the foundation of our country.

Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address and Emancipation Proclamation – words of freedom.

Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf – words of hate.

Martin Luther King, Jr.’s I have a Dream speech – words that inspire and encourage.

Words have power.

Words can give, “You’re hired.” And words can take away, “You’re fired.” Words can soothe, “How can I help?” And words can heal, “I’m sorry.”

In Genesis, we learn that God created the heavens and the earth and God separated the light from the darkness. How did He do this? Did He use modeling clay then wave His hand over it? No. Did He throw a lightening bolt across the cosmos? No.

“And God said…” (Gen. 1:3) That’s all it took. Words. No further action required. Merely by uttering words God called all things into being.

God created us in His image which means our words matter. Our words have power. We can use our words to hurt, kill and destroy or we can use our words to help, love and lift up.

There is another saying, “the pen is mightier than the sword.” The fellow who penned this phrase was a man of wise words.

So the next time someone does or says something to hurt you, instead of picking up a verbal stick or sword, try using 3 of the most powerful words ever spoken, “I forgive you.” I bet it will make you both feel better and it just might alter the course of your history.

It worked for Jesus.

~

3-Dimensional View

I love optical illusions. Those drawings and creations that look like one thing at first glance but if you keep looking at them they morph completely into something else. You’ve seen them. The drawing that looks like a curvy vase but if you look long enough the vase disappears and the silhouettes of two lovers kissing appears.

Some of the craziest optical illusions have to be those 3-D posters which were popular in the early nineties. “Magic-eye” posters were brain splitting. Standing in front of one they looked like nothing special, just a bunch of crazy colorful computer generated lines or colors. Pretty, but nothing great.

But if you waited patiently and focused properly suddenly a 3-D image would appear before you eyes. Instead of a field of green a grasshopper becomes visible. These posters were really fun. For example try: Grasshopper 3-D Stereogram

As neat as these posters could be, it was hard to get the hang of seeing the hidden image. My friends kept telling me to “look through” the poster, don’t look at the poster. Yeah, right, what does that mean? I was told to “soften my focus” or “cross my eyes slightly” and then the image would be revealed. One friend even traced the 3-D image with her fingers for me so I knew what I was looking for – big help that was (not).

The thing is no one can help me see something that is hidden. All the coaching, helpful tips and pointers are nice but it's not going to do any good. You cannot see it for me. I have to do it for myself.

When I decided to tune out my helpful friends, relax, walk away from it for a bit and then try not so hard to “not look AT the poster” the craziest thing happened – I saw the 3-D image suddenly appear – it was a ship and lighthouse. (Slightly crossing my eyes did help.)

It happened so quickly and the ship and lighthouse were so clear and 3-dimentional it kind of startled me at first. One second there was nothing and the next – boom – the thing I was looking for was right before my eyes. The first time took a while but from then on whenever I looked at the poster I saw the ship and lighthouse right away. I learned a new way to see things.

You know God is like that too. He hides Himself from us at times. But like the ship and lighthouse, just because I cannot see Him does not mean He is not there. Someone can explain Him and point Him out and tell me how to “see” Him but they can’t see Him for me. God is someone (something depending on your point of view) that must be experienced personally. And that is exactly the way He wants it.

There were times growing up when all my friends seemed to have this knowledge and relationship with God that I didn’t have. Despite what I thought were my best efforts God and I were not close friends.

During college and after I attended bible studies with my friends, I went to church, had many deep discussions on God and faith but something was missing. I could not see the God that others did. I tried mightily but just could not get there. Then I tried a different way. Perhaps “try” is the wrong word; essentially, I gave up on God and I ever getting close.

And don’t you know it, as soon as I tuned out all the well meaning advice and tips, relaxed and walked away from Him and tried NOT to see Him, God suddenly showed up. That was Him suddenly showing up for the first time bringing my vine back to life, which I wrote about in my last post. Never would have thought to look for Him there!

I can’t see God for you. I can’t tell you how to get close to Him. I can’t reveal Him to you. And you can’t do those things for me. We have to do those things for ourselves – with His help. And sometimes it takes learning a new way to “see” before God reveals new things – of Himself and of ourselves – to us.

Like that ship and lighthouse, He is always there even when He seems hidden from view. But unlike them God is no illusion. He is as real as the paper the poster is printed on. The next time you’re looking for God try to relax and let Him reveal Himself to you. You might be amazed at what suddenly gets revealed.

And the best part is He won’t make you “slightly cross your eyes” to see Him.

~

Pruning Season

It’s Autumn and that means its harvest time. Harvest time is a time for celebration. The hard work is over and the bounty is here. I suppose that’s why there are so many harvest parties and festivals this time of year. (Not to mention the ritual of the crowning of the many varieties of Harvest Queens complete with fancy sash.)

If we look only to the harvest, we would think it all so easy – all this bounty-gathering. But alas that is not so. Sowing is the key. But along with the sowing there is a step of even greater importance to the harvest – the pruning.

I am not a farmer and I am not a gardener. But none of that stops me from desiring a bountiful and beautiful garden. Several years ago I attempted to beautify my home and garden by planting many shrubs, caladium bulbs and plants.

Of particular interest to me were these lovely vines I planted along my wrought-iron fence. The vines were to grow up and along the fence and flower in Spring and Summer. I tended mightily to my garden and vines. Watering, weeding, fertilizing and mulching. To my dismay everything began to grow and flourish as planned. It was wonderful.

However, the vines were getting a bit out of control. There were branches going in directions that I did not want. Pruning was needed. I got out my hedge clippers and began pruning away unwanted branches. And encouraging other branches.

The vine looked so much better after being pruned. But as I more closely inspected one of the vines I noticed that I had cut the main stalk. I had pruned so much that I had cut clear through the vine’s base. Now the all the branches growing from that vine would die. Crushing blow.

I did not dig up the stalk base as I was hopeful that I could get it to grow again. However, my hopes for that were dashed when my “helpful” neighbor was pouring weed killer on the sidewalk and poured some in my bed (and on the vine stump) to kill weeds in the bed. The vine stump showed no signs of life for months on end. It just turned grey, brittle and lifeless.

About eight months later God lead me, for the first time in my life, to a passage in the bible. Sitting in my bed, I felt compelled to open the Good Book and read. Never really had that compulsion in the past but I went with it. The scripture I went directly to was John 15:1-8:

1) I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. 2) He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. 3) You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. 4) Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

5) I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. 6) If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. 7) If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. 8) This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

I instantly began to laugh as I thought of my job at pruning. I hoped that when God pruned He was much more adept at it and didn’t kill what He set out to help bear more fruit.

The very next morning as I let my dog out I glanced at my errant vine stump wishing that I had the skill of an expert that could have helped it to bear more flowers. And I almost passed flat out at what I saw. The vine was growing! Eight months after getting cut within inches of its life and then that life gets poisoned to death – the vine was sprouting new branches. And as my Heavenly Father as my witness, that growth was not there the day before.

The vine grew into a beauty with long, lovely branches with dazzling flowers. Its harvest was bountiful for many years. What took place with my vine, God does for me. As I have been sowing God has been pruning. He has been pruning me the for last few years. And it hurts more than anything I’ve ever experienced. The good news is the pruning does come to an end. Pruning lasts only for a season.

Harvest time is nearing. And when it’s time there will be a celebration fit for a harvest queen. I just hope it comes complete with a fancy sash.

~

Thought for the Day

You have to face the clouds to see the silver lining.

~

First and Last

I have fallen in love for the last time in my life. That’s a pretty heady statement I realize but it is true. Before I tell you about my last love, let me tell you about my first.

Oh, how handsome he was. He was tall, dark, had this mane of thick magnificent hair. He had a dazzling smile framed by a devilish mustache. And had strong hands to hold me. I ran to him every time I saw him and could not wait to fly into his lap.

There was a problem though. Our love was not meant to be. Although I was single, he was not. He was married. He had children. And then there was the age factor. Not that I cared a bit about it but I’m certain he did – he was 30ish, I was 6ish. He was my Sunday School teacher.

I still recall sitting at his feet as he sat in one of those tiny chairs and read to us. He read stories of Noah and his Ark and Jesus and the loaves and fishes. My Mother still teases me to this day when ever we run into him in town. “There’s Mr. So-and-so. You were so in love with him,” Mom will say to me as if I could ever forget.

The heart never does forget its first awakening. It’s like a flower awakening from its bulb underground on its first full day of spring. And it seems like for the rest of our lives we are constantly trying to recreate that awakening.

We pursue new people, new hobbies, new careers, new interests all in search of that elusive thing that will make our heart sing like it did that very first time we fell in love. And for a while we think we have it.

As we drive that shiny new car off the lot for the first time we are filled with excitement and pride. We wash it every week. Won’t allow eating or smoking in it. But once it gets its first ding from the clumsy driver parked next to us, the bubble is burst and we start our search anew.

I have spent my life searching for that thing, that awakening of the heart that will never leave. I have come so close and missed each time. I thought I was destined to be one of those people who would live without love. I would be content but unloved. My heart would beat but lie unawakened. I was just about to accept my fate until fate stepped in.

My Last Love is a Writer. Some call him a story-teller, some call him a song writer. I call him a poet. He has me written the most beautiful love poem you will ever read.

He wrote it to me years ago. In fact, I’ve had it in my possession since I was a little girl. I just never took the time to sit and really read it. I read it from start to finish and then even read it out loud – it’s really even more stunning that way. This is as true a love poem as anyone will ever write. And it was written directly with me - and you - in mind.

When I read my love poem, I fell head over heels passionately in love with my Love. You will too when you read it. My Last Love and my first have a couple of things in common – both are attached to others besides just me and both have children. The difference is my Last Love shares His love with all of us who are His children and His Beloved. Everyone is His Beloved. No one is left out.

Just when I thought I was alone and unlovely my Beloved sent me the Song of Solomon (aka Song of Songs). It is the most stunningly beautiful work of art of love you will ever read. My heart was awakened far beyond its wildest dreams. And the best part is I know my Beloved is with me forever. The awakening is only beginning.

My lover spoke and said to me,
"Arise, my darling,
my beautiful one, and come with me.
See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me.” Song of Solomon 2:10-13

This is just a snippet, so I hope you grab your copy of our love letter and I hope you fall head over heels too. I hope your heart awakens in ways you never knew possible. Mine continues to everyday. Our Beloved is like that.

He may not have been the first, but He sure saved the best for last.

~

Keeping Promises

A few weeks ago I was driving to a friend's birthday party. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a giant rainbow appeared directly in front of me. It was huge. I could see almost the whole thing from end to end. The road I was driving on was centered right in the middle of it. If I could have I would have driven through the very heart of it.

The rainbow stayed there in the sky above me the entire time I drove. Which was unusual as rainbows in my experience appear but can fade sometimes quickly. This one stayed 15-17 minutes or longer.

And the whole time it was directly in front of me. If I turned left there it was in front of me, if I turned right there it was again.

But the most incredible thing about the rainbow was the fact that it appeared without rain. It had not rained that day. There were no rain clouds in the sky. Just the giant rainbow.

We have been promised that there will always be a rainbow after the rain as a sign of God's promise to us. (Gen. 9:13-15) But a rainbow without the rain is new for me.

I like it. It was beautiful. Clearly, it has stayed with me. I take it as symbol of God's love and continuing word that He is indeed keeping His promises to us - rain or shine.

~

Grace Really is Amazing

Grace. I really need it. God gives it to me more than I deserve it. I imagine He gives it even more than I realize too.

There is an amazing hymn about Grace. We've all heard it, sung it, hummed it. It was my grandfather John C.'s favorite hymn. He requested that it be sung at his funeral, which we did back in 1988. I still recall how beautiful the church sounded with all those broken hearts lifted up in praise at his request.

This song is on my heart today. Perhaps I'm needing an extra dose of my Lord's grace today. Maybe you are too. Here are the words to that special hymn. The words are even more amazing when read as they are when sung in praise.

Have an Amazing day.


Amazing Grace
John Newton (1725-1807)

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

When we've been here ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we've first begun.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

~

Encore: Dodge Ball

Here now is a re-post of an earlier post on one of life's favorite little games. I do hope you don't have to play today.


I hated rainy days in junior high. First off, my 8th grade class - of 14 people - was housed in a temporary building. You know, the kind that never survives a hurricane, tornado or lightening strike. There was no covered walkway from the classroom to the main building; we were always getting soaked as we puddle jumped through the parking lot to go eat, use the "facilities", etc. Secondly, the rain made it impossible to hear in that tin-can rainy death trap (on second thought maybe that should go in the plus column).

But what made rainy days the worst was the fact that P.E. was held indoors in the gym. That meant a boys and girls "co-ed" activity must be found and that meant Dodge Ball.

Let me clear this up right now - Dodge Ball is not a co-ed game. No 8th grade girl has ever thrown a red-rubber dodge-ball that an 8th grade boy could not A) dodge, or B) catch and then C) throw right back at her at the speed of light hitting her squarely about the head, chest, neck, gut, legs, arms or face.

The girls were mercifully knocked from the game early leaving the boys to duke it out for supreme being of the gym. If we were lucky the games lasted long enough that we only had to play 2 or 3 games in a given P.E. period. But with a class size of 14 the games went pretty quickly and I was exposed to sudden death and danger more times than I would have liked on any given school day.

What is it about the rubber they use in those red balls? Man, it stings when it hits you - no matter where on the body - even when covered by double-knit polyester gym clothes.

Even though I played my last real game of Dodge Ball 30 years ago, there are days when I am so sure I am still back in that gym fixed in a fierce battle of life and death.

From the moment I get up and start my day the red balls start flying:
- Bad hair day a-comin' and no amount of gels, sprays, polymers or shellacs is going to make it look presentable (whizz red ball right to the face);
- Out running errands and every crazy with a license is going where I'm going, driving slow, no signal, cutting me off, stealing my parking space (slam red ball to the chest);
- Check my mail and I get a bill I wasn't expecting - forgot about that stupid insurance co-pay (clunk red ball to the legs);
- Had an argument with a salesgirl over nothing for no other reason than I was in a bad mood (direct red ball punch to the gut);
- Checked my email and found a "Thanks but No Thanks" email response to a resume (2 red balls right to the solar plexus);
- And probably the biggest hit of the day - just needing some comfort after such a rough day/game of life I grab a bag of Oreos and a glass and (BIG WHAM red ball to the neck) no milk in the fridge.

White flag. Surrender. I give up. Dodge Ball you win.

Or perhaps not so fast...

Thing about Dodge Ball is both teams get to throw red balls and I haven't thrown mine yet. And as it turns out, I only need to throw 1. Actually, I'm not going to throw any - I'm giving it to my Teammate to throw for me. He can throw lots farther and harder than I ever could. First though, I'm going to take a Sharpie and write down on my red ball all the hits I took today before I hand it to my Teammate. Now all I have to do is let go of the red ball, let Him have full contol of it and stand safely in His shadow and watch while my Franchise Player makes the comeback of the day for the Team.

And tomorrow my Teammate and I get to start fresh - and hopefully it won't be raining.

The Original Boy Scout

I love this time of Summer. The days grow later and the shadows grow longer.

As I sit here on my patio the squirrels are busy hunting, gathering, and burying their pecans. The birds are busy gathering berries from the trees. The mud-dauber is busy building his mud hut on my ceiling fan. (And the sports page is happily full of pre-season college football again.)

The world is preparing itself for the coming fall.

This preparation is instinctual. No one has told these creatures colder days and darker nights are ahead – get ready. They have no calendar warning that there are only 29 more days until Autumn.

No, what they do they do because they know in their hearts they must be prepared for whatever lies ahead.

Boy scouts know this. In fact, they know it so well they have it ingrained as their motto “Be Prepared.” They learn everything from archaeology and archery to citizenship, climbing, emergency care to plumbing and soil and water conservation to traffic safety.

It takes a lot of dedication, sacrifice and work to learn all a boy scout needs to learn and be fully prepared. Which makes being one so great. There is a great deal of unknown out in the world but the boy scout, especially one who has earned the First Aid badge, is well able to handle what is ahead and help those in trouble.

I know a boy scout who has earned His preparedness badge. In fact, He didn’t earn it for Himself, He earned it for each and every one of us. It’s a badge we all get to wear. This boy scout, the Original Boy Scout, knows there is an uncertain future for us dead ahead but He has prepared for it. And the twist here is that He doesn’t prepare for Himself. He prepares for us.

Jesus knows exactly what lies ahead for us and He knows we don’t. He knows that it will be scary for us. So, like a proper boy scout, He calms us. He tells us not to be “troubled.” That He has gone to His Father’s house which has many rooms and has gone to “prepare a place” for us. (John 14:1-4)

I don’t know about you but I love knowing that I’m prepared – and prepared for. That when necessary I just pick up and go. My place is prepared and ready. My Father is waiting for me.

Our Original Boy Scout did all the heavy lifting of the preparing, the sacrificing, the merit badge earning. We just do the receiving, the believing, the trusting, the loving.

It really is a remarkable trade considering we do so little in the equation to get our preparedness merit badge.

Just ask the hard working squirrels, birds and mud-daubers.

~

A Community of Trees

If Barbara Walters ever interviews me I am ready for her. Bring on the questions, well, bring on the question. Specifically, the question which prompted Katharine Hepburn to respond by saying which type of tree she thought she was. Because I know the answer I'd give.

I am a Redwood.

I know what you're thinking; I must think of myself as tall, strong against the winds, sturdy and old. Actually, aside from old, none of those things come to mind when I compare myself to the Redwood. Yet, I am a Redwood.

I am also an Aspen.

Now you are probably thinking I think of myself as tall, sturdy, beautiful in fall and old. Again, aside from old none of those characteristics come to mind when I compare myself to the Aspen. Yet, I am an Aspen.

The Redwood for all its height, strength and longevity has a simple design quirk - its roots don't grow deeply enough to allow the Redwood to stand on its own. A Redwood standing alone by itself will fall down. The root system is shallow and too close to the surface. Big trouble for a tall tree.

Good news though, the roots are wide spreading and intertwine with the roots of the Redwoods around it. They grow with each other and hold on to each other. Through this mutual system of support the community of Redwoods is able to stand tall, to flourish and live for centuries and spawn new communities of Redwoods.

The Aspen too has a simple design fluke - there is no such thing as a single Aspen tree. If you see a single Aspen it is because someone has removed its brethren. Aspens grow in colonies. The entire grove/colony derives from a single seedling and spreads its roots which grow new seedlings for the other trees which you see in the grove. But the entire grove is indeed a single organism.

Aspens can live long like the Redwood. They can do this because of the community support they receive from each other in the colony. There is one such community in Utah thought to be 80,000 years old. Aspens can survive forest fires because their roots grow deep and are protected from the heat.

Yes, I am a Redwood and I am an Aspen. And so are you.

Like the trees, we all live in community. We are in community with our family, our friends, our co-workers, our neighbors, the people we routinely interact with at the coffee-shop, the cleaners, the pharmacy, the hardware store, our childrens' school, the post office.

Like the Redwood, we could not survive alone without the support, friendship, companionship, correction, joy and love being a part of community provides us.

Like the Aspen, we were not built to live alone and are indeed not a single unit.

In Genesis, God made a lot of things and after each one said "it was good." Then God made Adam and said "it is not good for man to be alone." Here Adam was in perfect Paradise, walking and talking and hanging out with his Creator everyday and God said Adam was still alone. Alone!

So, God gave Adam a little community. (We won't discuss what happened to the community next, but Eve didn't win Woman of the Year.)

First and foremost, God wants to be our priority. He created in us a God-shaped hole only He can fill. But He does not want us to be alone and created in us a human-shaped hole that only we can fill with each other. Only community can fill.

When we live in community we live tall, strong against the winds, sturdy, beautiful all year round, old lives. Indeed we live Redwood-Aspen lives.

That's a tree I bet even Katharine Hepburn would like to be.

~

Encore: "I Didn't Always Like Sushi"

In the spirit of summer re-reuns, this is a re-post of an earlier post. It's one of my first and one of my favorites. Enjoy the read, as for me, I'm heading out for some sushi.


Sushi. It used to scare me. I was scared the first time I tried it. In fact, the first time was an accident. I ordered off the wrong side of the menu. The left side was cooked fish, the right side was raw fish. But what I saw was described in such an attractive yummy way - and the name Philadelphia Roll - didn't sound off any alarm bells. But when the tray of odd looking pieces of raw salmon (I was not focusing on the cream cheese or the fact that the salmon was "smoked" at that moment) and SEAWEED wrapped around the whole thing was delivered, I felt clearly out of my comfort zone.

What was I to do? I was the only one in my group who had ordered from the "right" side of the menu. Everyone else was sitting safely with their sauteed whatever. And all eyes were on me - "what is that?" Not wanting to be a goober or worse - flake out in front of my big brother and his roommate (I was a junior in college and had gone to NYC to visit with a friend over Spring Break) I acted all casual like I ate this stuff all the time.

But here's what was really happening: my heart was racing and butterflies the size of 747s were flying crazy patterns in my stomach. I was going to have to eat this stuff! Would it be slimy? Would it be gross and fishy? Would I gag on it and spit it out? (Not cool in front of big brother). And how does one eat a "roll"? And what is Wasabi? (Figured out what that was really fast - wow). Okay, here goes . . . hey, not so bad. In fact, it was pretty good.

That first sushi experience was not bad, in fact it was fun, even invigorating. Over the years I have stepped out and tried other types of sushi rolls and nigiri - sushi on a bed of small rice. What I like most is that sushi is fun. Its a fun food. I never have a bad time when I go out for sushi. And sushi is sociable. I can go with friends or alone but I am never lonely. When I sit at a sushi bar there is always a conversation to join - whether it is with the sushi chef or the fellow diners, the experience is almost always different and enjoyable. And there are so many varieties of sushi; there is something for every palate.

I decided to try something new but was scared I would make a fool of myself in front of my friends. I didn't. To think all I would have missed out on if I didn't take what I considered to be a risk.

I know somebody who is like sushi - seems kind of scary if you don't know Him but really great fun and totally worth the risk. And who will introduce you to wonderful new flavors and varieties - of yourself. You've always known they were there but maybe just needed a Buddy at the sushi bar to help you go from the safety of a California Roll to the excitement of an Unagi-Eel Nigiri to get there.

Next time you're feeling a bit out of your comfort zone think about asking your Buddy to go with you. It just might open your world to all sorts of new taste sensations.

He does it for me. Who do you think prompted me to order the sushi in the first place?
~

Teachers and Friends

I thought you should meet some of the friends I met along the way...






























I am part of all I have met...and that includes you.

~

What I Learned on My Summer Vacation

I have been away. Sitting on a mountain; pondering the view. I have a lot to ponder and it was a beautiful view upon which to do my pondering.

What I have found is that at times when I seek answers I end up with more questions. But the new questions take me past the old questions but on to new, higher horizons.

I was very much looking forward to this summer’s trip because my trip last summer simply blew me away. I had encounters and conversations that changed me and challenged me and to which I returned in my mind and heart all year. I was hopeful this trip would be equally energizing.

But God doesn’t do things the same way twice. He may do it again, but it’s never the same. He’s a creative guy and likes to express that side of Himself to us.

Last year I got nature and lots of it, this year I got wildlife – or what I’ll call nurture. Animals and birds of all kinds were my constant companions. I could not seem to escape them. At times I felt like Cinderella or Snow White with all the forest animals following me (deer, elk, chipmunks, humming birds, finches) and chirping (humming birds, finches, hawks, blue jays, magpies) and barking (chipmunks, picas, marmots) at me.

It’s funny how I can sit by myself and find myself in the middle of a love-fest. Little creatures can teach a big creature so much. It occurred to me while sitting there that this wide expanse of earth exists solely for love and to support love. Being loved in return doesn’t seem to be on it's agenda. (Well maybe it is if that love comes in the form of sweet sugar-water or a banana chip left on a rock.)

Love. Its bigger than I give it credit for. It covers more than I let it. Its more than just romance. It’s about a Sacred Romance. And that makes all the difference. The One who invented love did not just give it to us. He gave it to all He created. He had to, He is love and that just rubs off on all He touches.

The longer I sat there all week the more I felt love coming from all I could see and hear and touch. And the more I relaxed the more I let it in. I mean really let it in to my bones. And once that kind of deep, abiding, ain’t-never-gonna-leave-no-matter-what love got in, the more I wanted to give it away.

Love doesn’t do me any good if I just absorb it like a sponge and keep it in my storehouse. It only feels like love when I give it away. It only feels like love when I pass on the gift that was given to me.

I get lost sometimes and think I can’t step out, I can’t step up; I’ll let someone else walk through that door or carry that load. But love, sacred love, is not like that. If I accept it I have to be willing to feel it, let it sink in and get all over me. And when that happens I’ve got no choice. This kind of love takes on an energy and life of its own within me. And it wants back out. And it feels awesome.

Perhaps this summer’s trip was just as energizing as last years. Who knew tiny little humming birds had such big hearts – and liked to share them?

~

Thought for the Day

Today is not a dress rehearsal;
your Audience is watching.

~

Let Freedom Ring

Happy Independence Day! Today is the 233 birthday of these United States of America. Today we stop and celebrate the brave men and women who took a courageous stand against tyranny and evil and sacrificed their lives and livelihoods so that we can enjoy ours in prosperity, peace and freedom. Today we celebrate our freedom fighters.

But as the saying goes, “freedom isn’t free.” No, freedom exacts a hefty price. And that price is sacrifice.

Our country is only free today because the men and women back in the 17th and 18th centuries believed that starting a new country and government free and apart from England was important enough to fight for. (And still is.) And sacrifice they did. (And still do.) But signing that Declaration was too important to our freedom to let fear stop them.

Surely they lost touch with friends and loved ones back in England, they lost homes and fortunes during the revolutionary war. Some became prisoners of war. Freedom came with a hefty price tag. But I imagine if we were to ask them today, they’d say it was worth it.

Our founding fathers didn’t go into battle alone. They had a role model to look to for inspiration and guidance. They had on their side the first and ultimate Freedom Fighter. The One who gave the ultimate sacrifice for freedom.

Freedom. What a beautiful gift it is. John wrote that “if the Son sets you free, you are free, indeed.” (John 8:36). Meaning that if you get freedom from the Son then you get major freedom and nobody can take it from you. That’s some freedom.

Jesus came to set us free – free from strife, free from worry, free from pain, free from harm, free from death. That last one is a doozy. And to free us from that our ultimate Freedom Fighter made the ultimate sacrifice for us.

And what’s really cool is that He didn’t do it in a generic, general “I do this for everybody who comes after me” way. He did it in a “I do this for you [insert your name here]” way.

Unlike our founding fathers, who we rightly honor today, our Freedom Fighter is still on the job. Protecting us and keeping us free. And He knows each of us – by name.

So, today when we are celebrating with family and friends and enjoying our hard fought freedom, let’s remember to take a moment to say Thank You to those who traded their freedom for ours.

Sacrifice – it's how you spell freedom.

~

Thought for the Day

"The way it always was
is no longer good enough..."

~Nichole Nordeman
~

Catch a Wave

Summer is here and its time to play. One of the great things about living 45 miles from the Gulf Coast is living so close to the Gulf Coast. The beach, the sand, the surf, the sun – there is so much to do. It’s hard to pack all the fun into just 3 months of summer.

One of the greatest things to do at the beach is surf. Wax up the board, paddle out, pick out the perfect wave and then ride high and tall on a wild one. Well, I guess that’s how it’s done. I’ve never actually surfed.

For starters, surfing around these parts is really quite laughable. The waves are small – unless of course a hurricane is stirring up the Gulf. The water is a milky brown so it’s hard to see anything – even your feet in ankle deep water – and really unappealing. So the whole surfing experience never really called to me growing up.

I have seen real surfers in action though and it does look like a blast. A couple of years ago I was in Hawaii, heaven for surfer types. I happened to be on a bluff which looked out over an area where the currents came together and created these massive waves.

There were surfers all over the place. I could see beginner surfers just trying to get their balance and old pros that could take a wave as small as a ripple and make a ride out of it.

What a joy it was to watch. Everyone at the mercy of the ocean and what she had to offer. And as soon as a surfer rode a wave in or crashed out on one too early they all turned their boards back out to sea to try to catch the next big wave.

It is interesting to watch the anatomy of a wave. I have always thought of waves as something that begins out at sea and comes crashing into land. But high atop my bluff with the surfers participating as unwitting dancers in the sea’s waltz I noticed something new. The wave actually begins near shore and heads out before circling back in.

As I watched one surfer paddle out, the water he was paddling through suddenly got very still and shallow. It looked as though nothing was happening and this would be a dry spell for him. Actually, the water was being pulled out to sea instead of pushed to shore. Beneath him was created a trough; he was in a valley of water.

What was happening was the water that had been below him rushed out and became part of the wave forming slowly in front of him. But as he sat on his board he could not see this happening. This water helped create and build the high mountain of a wave that he so desired to climb. The lower his valley was, the higher and bigger his wave was going to be. And the bigger the rush he was about to experience once he stood atop his board and rode his wave back in.

So, as he sat there thinking nothing was happening a lot was happening – his glorious trophy wave was being created by the water that had also created his still valley.

The surfer’s deep valley made his best wave possible.

I can learn a lot from that surfer. He didn't give up when the water got still. He didn't paddle back in when the tide got low and it looked like the waves would not come. He stuck it out. He stayed with his board and with the gifts, talents and skills that brought him to that point. He had the patience to see it through. He may have gotten a little sunburned but in the end his perseverance was rewarded. And he got the ride of his life at the top of his mountain.

The top of the mountain is where I always want to be – whether that mountain is made of water or my wildest dreams. And with that mountain there will always be a valley. I can’t let the valley keep me from my mountain because the valley is part of the mountain.

I have never surfed but I feel a mountainous wave dead ahead. I am going to catch it and ride it high. And with all the joy and freedom that riding it is going to bring.

Are you waxed up and ready for a ride?

~

Thought for the Day

"If you want to make God laugh, tell Him what your plans are."
- Lou Holtz

~

Map Quest

I don’t like to brag but I am an expert map folder. (folderer? I fold them, I don’t file them.) Anyway, I can put the map back together in correct folded-order on the first try. Even while driving. Please don’t tell the DPS.

This used to be quite a handy skill in the days before GPS navigation systems. Now, it seems paper maps are headed the way of Polaroid film. I love maps. Spread one out on a table and you can see the whole city or state at one time. Can’t do that with the fancy, schmancy GPS navigation system.

Maps also are a great way to look into the past. The world is constantly changing. It has been for, well always, so maps have been updated for the same length of time. Antique maps are a wonderful way to see how our world used to look before we “improved” upon it.

I love looking at old maps of Texas. Did you know that Texas was originally so awesomely big that part of Colorado actually was apart of the State of Texas. Can’t get that kind of history with a GPS navigation system.

But what I like most about maps is that they show the world as it is. They mark the intersections, the valleys, the mountain peaks, the dead ends and the straight-away highways.

Whenever I drive on a long trip I like to get my maps, lay them out and highlight my route. That way I know where I’m going, how long it will take, what cities I should get gas in, where I think I will be by nightfall, and what sights I might pass along my way. (I am a sucker for historical markers and small town museums.) I have never had a boring journey.

Never, in all the many times I have mapped out my routes, have I ever highlighted a straight line. Can’t be done. No road, even when planned by the best city, state, civil planners or corps of engineers goes straight forever. Eventually, it will run into a rock formation, a canyon, a river, a housing complex, a forest, an ocean, a lake, a mole hill. There will be detours.

Maps are great and all when I’m driving but what I really need right now is life-map. They don’t sell life-maps at the gas-station. And there is for sure no GPS navigation system to help me. What in the world am I going to spread across my dining room table? Sure there are actual maps in the bible but really those are of no help here. (Well maybe if I’m going to the Dead Sea on vacation but I’ve no plans for that.) So, how do I get to where I need to go?

So? So, I'll follow the One who has the map.

I went on a trip once to a friend’s river cabin. A whole group of us went. Several carloads of people. We all followed each other. I didn’t know how to get there on my own. I followed the one who knew the way. And I got there safe and sound.

That’s what I’ll do now. I’m going to follow the One who knows the way.

I know that I won’t know what’s up ahead because I’m not the one holding the map. I won’t see that valley coming or that big, fabulous mountain peak either. I’ll just have to be surprised. The path is sure to have lots of twists and turns and probably even a few round-a-bouts I'll get stuck in (ever driven in Europe?). And I imagine there might be a few versions of the map in use, afterall the Map Reader knows my history and I do keep changing. But I know if I keep my eyes straight ahead on Him I will not get lost.

Jesus has the map and He’s been interpreting them a lot longer than I have. He will help me with the dangers and pitfalls I’ll encounter. And He will be with me when there is more joy than my heart can hold. I have every confidence that if I follow Him I will complete my journey and reach my destination safe and sound. And I know it will not be boring.

I just hope He likes to stop off at the historical markers and museums.

~

Roadkill

Roadkill – the remains of an animal that has been killed on a road. Dead, done, flat out gone, expired, Elvis has left the building. The longer the animal lies dead in the roadway the flatter, deader and less identifiable the animal becomes due to repeatedly being run over. You’ve seen them and may have even run over the remains of one a time or two.

Poor little animal. All it was doing was crossing the road on its journey when Wham! before it could even react it was all over but the crying. And now there it lies lifeless and alone. There are people whose job it is to drive around our highways and byways and do nothing but pick up roadkill. Can you imagine such a job? (I guess you really have to be the outdoorsy type).

I can’t imagine being in the roadkill-cleanup business but I can tell you it is a nasty job. And it is not for the faint of heart. In fact, I recently met someone who has this job. And I can tell you they are indeed very special and have been endowed with skills just for this type of job. You should see him cleanup roadkill; it’s an experience like no other.

While animals are the most visible and easily identifiable, animals are not the only creatures to become roadkill victims. I know because I am roadkill.

I am roadkill in every sense of the word. I am done, expired, laid out flat, completely run over - dead. The only thing alive about me at all, literally, is the beating muscle of my heart. That is all that has been left for the buzzards to pick over.

There is simply nothing left of me. Life has been beat out of me and I do not have the strength to get it back. I cannot pull oxygen into my lungs – that would require use of muscles that I do not have strength to work. I cannot smile or laugh – that would require joy that is too heavy to carry.

I try to think and focus on what to do next but there is no wisdom or discernment left to help me figure out my way and get up off the road. The only thing I have an over abundance of are tears – those I have in never-ending supply.

Sometimes death comes quickly to roadkill, sometimes the creature lingers, hanging on to life, struggling to live only to be hit repeatedly before dyeing. My death was like that. I didn’t know I had been hit at first, I only knew I was wounded. It was only after repeated trouncings did my body, soul and spirit expire. I have been down so long I no longer recognize myself.

How did I get like this? I always look both ways before crossing the street. As I lay here prostrate to the world I told God it was over. I told Him I was done. I was roadkill on the road of life and I, most seriously and literally, had no strength or way of going on.

I told God that if He had a plan for my life, if He had somewhere He wanted me to go or wanted me to see then He was going to have to get inside my body and be me and take me there. I surrender.

I told God He was/is going to have to be my muscles and my strength, He will have to be my wisdom, my joy, my love, my creativity, my energy, my will, my grace, my discernment. He will have to be all these things in me, with me, for me. He cannot just give these things to me because I no longer have the strength to hold them or receive them myself. His are much better than mine ever were anyway.

And that’s when I met the roadkill-cleanup specialist. God sent His Specialist to clean me up, restore me and bring me back to life. I am still by the roadside but I am able to sit up and breathe.

I am only able to write these words – tear free! – because I believe God is rebuilding me through His Holy Spirit. No other way to explain the difference in the last few days, not one thing has changed in my outward life. But really, I don’t need a worldly explanation, God already gave me His - He said He will always be with me in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. (Ps. 23) "Shadow of Death" - never really paid attention to that part of the Psalm before. I have now. (I sure am ready for those Still Waters).

Please remember to look both ways before crossing the street but if you happen to become a roadkill victim, don’t worry I know a great cleanup guy.

Sometimes death comes as a hit and run but sometimes death comes as a hit and restore.

~

Thought for the Day

The greatest hitters in the baseball Hall of Fame failed 7 out of every 10 times they batted.

"The Favor of Your Reply is Requested..."

What if one day you accomplished something really cool you had always wanted to do? And what if you decided to throw a party to celebrate? What if you threw the party in your parents' house because it could hold more people than your own?

What if you sat down and wrote out your guest list? What if you personally selected each person on the invitation list? What if you made sure your dearest, closest, oldest friends were included in your celebration?

What if you went out and bought decorations, food, and beverages for your fabulous celebration? What if you prepared the home so that your friends would have a marvelous time and feel warm and welcome?

What if all your friends called and said “Yes” they would love to come celebrate your big accomplishment with you? What if they said they could not wait; the party was going to be such fun?

What if on the day of the party you looked great, the house looked great and the food looked great? What if all that was needed was your friends to make your celebration really great?

What if at the time the party was to start the door bell didn’t ring? What if an hour after that there was still no knock on the door? What if an hour after that the phone rang and one friend was running late but soon would be there? What if that friend never would actually be there? What if the house stood empty and silent?

What if you threw a party and nobody came?

You might think back on it some twenty years later and though you laugh it off when you tell the story, somewhere deep in your solar-plexus it still smarts. You still love your friends all the same but the memory of THE party is still there. But, I tell you what, you learned a mighty big lesson that night.

You learned that invitations are important. Very important. They may not be all that important to you; in fact from time to time you might even seem a little burdened or weary of getting them. You learned they are important to the one who sent them.

You learned how rude it is to just brush off an invitation after someone went to all the trouble to include you in their party. For all you know they had to exclude someone else to include you. No, invitations should not be taken for granted.

That is not to say that you have to accept all invitations. For the sociable types they would never get a day’s rest, poor dears. But you learned if you do accept an invitation to a party then good manners dictates that you go.

What you want to know now is how well have you been putting these lessons to actual use in the intervening twenty years. So you apply it to any current invitations:

In fact, you have been invited to a party – a daily party. Well, a lifetime party actually. And you for one admit that you have been most inconsistent in your RSVPing. Some days you say “Yes” and show up, some days you say “Yes” and don’t show up. And then there are the days when you flat out RSVP with a big fat “No Thank You.” Turns out you're human.

You know what I’ve learned from your little no-one-came-to-my-party debacle? You are not the only one who is hurt by your not showing up to God’s party. Sure, you hurt yourself. You miss out on all the blessings God had in store for you that day. But God is just as hurt – if not more so – by your refusal to honor Him and your relationship. Just like you were, the host, when no one came to your party.

Everyday God offers us a richness of Himself that includes (but is not limited to) His love, mercy, protection, blessings and life everlasting. When that is turned down, even for a brief moment, He is hurt so deeply. When we don't show up and receive Him He is hurt.

We feel because God feels. He is not some mystical being that exists in the ether that has no tactile connection to us. We are created in His likeness, His image. We are creative because He is creative. We are joyous because He is joyous. And we get our feelings hurt because He gets His feelings hurt. Whatever happens to us - happens to our Heavenly Father first.

And that includes getting bummed out 'cuz no one came to the party.

The thing about parties is there’re easy. All a guest has to do is show up. Nothing else is required but mere attendance.

What if even one friend would have come to your party? What if just one person had shown up? My guess is you would not be reliving this nightmare scenario right now. Your feelings would not have been hurt. You would have had twenty years of joyous memories instead of twenty years of hurt.

What a difference showing up makes. Just showing up. How easy is that? There’s an invitation in the mailbox, will you be showing up to the party?

Hope to see you there. (I'll be the one near the queso dip, with the smarting solar-plexus.)

~

Halfway There

I am weary. Dead-dog, bone-weary tired. Putting that thought on paper and articulating it “out loud” seems only to increase my weariness.

I have been so busy lately focusing on the lives of others that it has been conveniently easy to overlook that I have been overlooking myself. But my world of duties has quieted overnight. That months’ long do-to list is done. And now I am left with me.

I have been looking so forward to this day; to the time when I could focus on my creative pursuits and my future. Engines revved and ready to go. What I didn’t plan on was the silence, the emptiness, the stillness. I stand at the door and look around and see a vast vastness.

Is the direction I’m heading the correct course? I think so but I keep travelling it and seem to be getting nowhere fast. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know which way to turn. But I know I can’t stop. This is exhausting. And I don’t have the energy to do whatever it is I am supposed to do. I need some help here.

One of my favorite movies is Where the Red Fern Grows from 1974. In it a young boy Billy saves up his money for two years and buys 2 coon-hounds. He loves these hounds. And these hounds love him and each other. He trains them from pups to track and “tree” raccoons.

One night Billy goes out hunting with his dogs – Old Dan and Little Ann. The dogs pick up the scent of a ‘coon and track it all throughout the woods until they “tree” it in the tallest sycamore tree in the woods. The only way for Billy to get the ‘coon is to chop the giant tree down.

It takes young Billy two days to chop down the tree with his ax. His family comes looking for him in the woods thinking something has happened to him. The family tries to get him to give-up, to find a smaller tree to cut down. He says “no.” His father offers to help him chop but he says “no.” He made a promise to his dogs that if they tree’d a ‘coon he would chop the tree down and that is exactly what he is going to do even if it takes him a year.

Billy is exhausted. Two days of chopping have him worn-out and bone-dead tired. The tree has a big chunk missing and it will eventually die and fall from the wound but it is clear that the tree is far from falling anytime soon. The ‘coon is safe.

Then Billy has a chat with God. He recalls something his Grandpa told him when he was working hard to save his money for two years to buy the dogs. That if Billy did what he could do, God would meet him halfway and do the rest.

Billy tells God that he has done his best. He has chopped as much as he can. He has kept his promise to his dogs. He has met God halfway. But he needs God’s help to bring the tree down; he cannot do it on his own. Billy needs God to meet him halfway.

Then suddenly a big wind stirs up. The tall sycamore starts waving in the wind and finally falls down, killing the ‘coon. The first thing Billy did when he got home with his prize and was asked how he did it was tell his Grandpa that he met God halfway.

Am I there? Have I tree’d my ‘coon? Have I chopped my tree halfway? I don’t know. I surely feel as though I have. I’m tired enough to have chopped a forest of trees. But as I stand here waiting to find out I will continue to chop. Like Billy, I will keep chopping even if it takes me a year. Through the weariness, through the tiredness and vast stillness I will chop.

Because one day God will meet me halfway and His wind will blow for me.

~

Awakening

I’m not much of a gardener. Plants do not last long in my care. My yard, small as it is, is a hodge-podge of errant weeds, patchy grass and hearty greenery that thrives on in spite of my best efforts to ignore it into oblivion.

Every so often I forget to remember my lack of Mr. Green Jeans’s talent and take a field trip to the local nursery. I always buy way too much more than I have the ability, strength or knowledge how to plant and care for. It’s like what happens when I go the cafeteria; I see all that delicious food. It looks so pretty I order a little bit of each dish. I’ll never eat it all – what was my stomach thinking?

Same deal at the nursery. My eyes glaze at the sight of all those lustrous flowers and bedding plants. The thought of my yard as only Martha Stewart could do it is too over powering. Soon I’m up to my arm pits in soil, flowers and fresh shrubbery – which will all die a slow and unceremonious death in the weeks to come despite my best efforts to keep it all alive.

This is back breaking work – no wonder I only do it during leap years, and happily 2009 is not a leap year. I love all that beauty but I want instant gratification. Patience is required for a gardener and that I have on short supply most days.

My paternal grandmother, from whom I received my middle name, was a fierce gardener. My grandparents lived on seven wooded acres in the heart of the city and she diligently maintained the gardens of about half of them - herself, with just one wonderful helper. I cannot begin to tell you the work that was.

Every fall she planted thousands of tulip bulbs all over the property. Tulips are my favorite. They are so delicate and so beautiful. And they require the utmost skill and dedication to grow.

My grandmother would gather her bulbs months in advance of planting and store them in a refrigerator. At just the right day and time in autumn before the first frost she would plant them. And planting the little brown rock like thing is not easy. The hole has to be dug just so deep, add at little fertilizer, cover with good soil, water and wait for spring. This is back-breaking work when you are planting thousands.

But the result was amazing. Each spring my grandparents’ backyard was a showplace. Tulips of all colors and variety bursting from everywhere. Acres of them – around trees, down in ravines, in every bed and along every walkway. I can’t see one today without thinking of her – and smiling.

I tried it once – planting tulip bulbs. Disaster. About 17 years ago (the shame has prevented me from trying again) I wanted that same look and feel in the spring at my home so I asked her advice and set about my task. I bought the bulbs early – 100 bulbs to be exact. I stored them in the fridge for the requisite amount of time. I prepared my bed and soil. I dug my holes and put in nitrogen-rich fertilizer. Covered them and watered them well and cared for them all autumn and winter long.

I could not wait for Spring and the first signs of the tell-tale green shoots sprouting forth from the bed signaling the tulips were awakening. But something was wrong. Spring arrived with no tell-tale green shoots. Weeks went by and still no signs of life from the bed. Neighbor’s tulips were blooming but mine were still in hibernation.

Finally, life! One yellow tulip sprouted in the dead-center of the bed. One. Out of 100 bulbs planted, one awakened and became a tulip. Crest-fallen I dug up its sister bulbs to see the problem. It appears that I had planted the other 99 upside down. Several showed signs of life – little green shoots came out but could not make the 180-degree turn north towards the sky. Tulip bulbs are indeed expert territory.

That’s the thing I find so amazing about them. Hold one in your hands. It looks like nothing special. Just this little brown lump. It looks dead. And in fact, it is dead or rather it is dormant with its life waiting to be released. Who would ever think by looking at it that if given just the right amount of preparation, care, attention, patience and love by an expert gardener that an odd looking little nothing could grow into the most beautiful thing in the world in a matter of months?

We can learn a lot from a tulip bulb, especially at Easter. The Master Gardener has taken what was dead and made it alive again. And I think it is not coincidence that we celebrate Jesus awakening and re-birth in Spring.

What God does for the tulip bulb and what He did for His son Jesus He does for each and every one of us. We may look like a little brown lump on the outside but God sees the beautiful tulip we are on the inside.

He makes us alive again. He makes us beautiful.

Happy Easter and may God Bless you and your family.

~

The Postcard

It all began so innocuously. I was just going through the mail. I almost didn’t read it, it looked like junk mail. It was a little white postcard no bigger than a 3x5 card. No fancy writing. No four-color graphics. But read it I did and things have never been the same.

We all have dreams and desires for our lives. We make plans when we are young and pursue certain paths that we think will get us to where our passion tells us we have to be. But like life does for most the path diverges, distractions come, reality sets in and passion gets put in a box, on top of a shelf, in the back of a closet.

I was blessed enough to pursue my passion in college and then continue the exploration of my dream after graduation. My path even took me out of my home town and to Tinseltown where I was going to set the world on fire. My life on the dream scale was squarely a 7-8.

Soon enough reality, distractions and diverges beset me. I still wanted my dreams to come true but they were not as visible as they once were. There was too much noise, too much confusion, chaos, and fear. Always that dreaded fear was tapping on my shoulder.

The thing about walking on our passionate path as opposed to the average, everyday path is that the passionate path cannot be walked alone. It is too fraught with danger. There are those who do not want us to live passionate lives and will throw all the fear, insecurity, guilt, shame, anxiety, you name it at us to stop us. Because with passion comes joy.

I was trying to live passionately but I was alone. And it was not working. So after a couple of years I decided I had a new dream and passion and I moved home. I packed up the old dreams and put them in that box, on the shelf, in the back of my closet. I never thought of them again. And I was fine with that - for the next 12 years. Really I was.

Or so I thought.

Here’s the thing about our dreams. We don’t put them in our hearts. They do not originate in us. They are created by God. And because that is so, dreams will not die no matter how much we try to ignore them, bury them, replace them, drown them or do any other of the myriad things we conjure up to kill them.

In the intervening 12 years God got a hold of me in a deeper way than He ever had before. It started slowly. He slipped in when I was looking the other way but once He was in my heart He was not giving up His ground and He was staking claim to more. I was no longer alone. Whatever path I walk for the rest of my life God will be with me. And that makes all the difference.

Apparently, during the summer of 2007 God decided that I had forgotten about that box in my closet long enough. It was time for a nudge. The postcard went to my parents’ house. It didn’t even come to mine. They were out of town I and was sorting their mail, otherwise they would have thrown it out with the junk mail. God is clever.

The card was an invitation to a meeting from an actor’s union I belong to but had long since put my membership on hold. I no longer received correspondence from them. Why this? Why now? God says my heart was strong enough now.

In the past, I would never have gone to the meeting - too insecure to walk into a meeting where everyone knew everyone and I knew no one. So, I put the postcard aside and went about my day. But I couldn’t. That card kept nudging me from my purse. That’s the thing about God; He’s rather relentless when He wants to be. The meeting did sound interesting. It was during my lunch hour. Why not just check it out? What could it hurt? I might meet some interesting people.

Boom. Box off shelf, out of closet, lid blown off and passion all over my heart. I had forgotten what true passion feels like. No matter where my life takes me I will never be able to get this back into a box again.

I walked into that meeting in the summer of 2007 and I have not missed one since. They embraced me, I embraced them and my path has changed forever. I made more money in 2008 following my first passion than I did my replacement passion. (I hope to write that sentence every year for the rest of my life.)

What’s the difference this time? I did not walk into that meeting alone. Now make no mistake, attempts to thwart me are being made. There are evil-doers (sorry about the Bush reference) at every turn trying to fill me with fear, insecurity, etc. But things are different as I pursue my dream this time. I am not walking my passionate path alone.

We are built to live with passion and pursue our dreams. God does not gives us dreams to have us ignore them. They are given to us for His glory. He wants us to live with a passionate heart for Him. The heart is a muscle for a reason and it needs to be vigorously exercised. What is God nudging you about?

Check your mail carefully. You never know what your heart might find.

~

Thought For The Day

"You haven't seen the last part of the best of me."
~ Serena Ryder

I'm riding these words all around my world today, and probably for some time to come.

How about you?

~

Cause Something to Happen

- I did not write the following words, but they I think they are some of the best words I’ve read lately. Maybe you will too.

You come out
of a meeting
and someone asks,
“What happened?”
And you answer,
“Nothing.”
You sit in a
legislative gallery
and someone sits
down beside you
and asks,
“What’s happening?”
And you say,
“Nothing.”

Maybe that
meeting room and
that gallery
should have had
the same sign
hanging on their
walls that –
so the story goes –
a college football
coach pasted in
his teams’ lockers:
“Cause something
to happen.”

He believed that
if you didn’t make
something happen
with a good block,
your runner would go
nowhere – and if
you didn’t tackle,
the other team would
run all over you.

He sure caused something
to happen. Bear Bryant
won more than 300 games.

- I hope you cause something fabulous to happen today.

~

The Survey

On the counsel of someone wiser and more possessed with awareness in these areas than me I recently took a test or survey, if you will, to determine my spiritual gifts. According to Romans 12 we all have them. We all have different ones and we all use the ones we have in different ways.

This survey consisted of 84 questions that I answered on a scale of 1 – 5; 1 being “almost never” and 5 being “almost always.” I have to say I was quite pleased with myself as I began to answer and I was able to answer with lots of 4s and 5s. Then inevitably the 2s and 1s began to creep in.

I won’t tell you the results of the survey – I am still deciphering what it all means and what exactly I am to do with my new found knowledge of myself. But I will tell you that I scored rather high in a couple of areas, err “giftings,” and much lower in other gift areas. (There are lots of spiritual gifts but this survey was geared towards identifying the strengths of Perceiving/Prophecy, Teaching, Encouraging, Showing Mercy, Serving, Giving, Admin./Ruling/Leading).

The thing that surprised me the most is not finding out what my gifts are but instead the freedom in finding out what they are not. I cannot tell you what a joy and a relief it is to know that I do not have a God-given gift for certain things. It so explains why I do not enjoy certain tasks. It explains why certain things are not on my radar. It explains why I get bored so easily when I do particular things.

God taught me about one of my non-gifts early in my working career. I learned a long time ago working in sales was not a talent I possessed. But, Lord love me I kept trying, I waited tables several different times, I worked in wholesale sales and retail sales. I just cannot make people buy something they do not need/want or sell something that I do not believe in or work for a company I know is not giving a fair deal to the customer.

Well, that pretty much rules out sales of all kinds – even waiting tables – as I was always selling the “daily special” or pushing dessert or the wine list. Just thinking about it now is creating all sorts of anxiety in me!

And that’s how we know we are not working in our gift. We get easily frustrated. We become bored with our task. Doing a particular thing causes us to become anxious or fearful. Now, there will be times that we feel these things even though we are working in our gifts and talents – life is what it is and frustration and anxiety come with the territory. But we can be aware enough to know the difference.

When we are in a close relationship with God, we are filled with the Holy Spirit and we become Spirit-aware enough to discern the difference between our area of talent and our area of “God-gave-this-gift-to-somebody-else.” And boy, we and God are happy when that day arrives.

Knowing what God has called us to do is vitally important. He has possessed us with certain abilities, talents and gifts so that we may live our lives to benefit others to His glory. If we do not know what those gifts and talents are we cannot do that to the fullest.

But at the same time it is just as important that we identify what we are not called to do. God does not want us wasting time serving Him in some capacity that does not suit us because that would not bring Him glory. Living our lives in frustration and boredom does no one any good – especially God.

So the next time I am buying shoes at Nordstrom I am giving my salesperson a big ‘ol hug – because I know that person has been called from a mighty high source to be putting that shoe on my foot.

And is there anything more glorious than a new pair of shoes?

~

Standing Up

It has been several weeks since I have written on this site. I have had a great deal on my heart and God and I have been working it out. He tells me that if I’m going to have a site in which I talk about my love for Him and His love for me then I have to tell my whole story; our whole story actually – His and mine together.

This is not easy. Telling my story is risky. It opens me up and exposes me and creates an opportunity for others to judge. I don’t like being vulnerable. But He has asked me to trust Him in this. If I stand up, He will stand beside me. So, I am standing up – for Him, for me and for His beautiful sons and daughters.

My name is Dee and I am gay and God says I am okay.

I have loved God ever since I can remember. My earliest childhood memories are of playing inside the sanctuary and on the grounds at St. John the Divine Episcopal Church. I grew up in that church. I continue to grow in that church. It’s where God first grabbed hold of my heart. God’s had a hold of me for so long I cannot remember a time when He and I were not holding hands.

While I hated getting up at eight A.M. on Sundays (the crack of dawn for a child) to make it to nine o’clock church, I really liked Sunday school, my church friends, my teachers, going on youth retreats and E.Y.C. as a teen. As a high-schooler we put on Godspell each year in the sanctuary for the congregation – what a blast to sing and dance all over God’s house.

I remember in the nave there used to hang the most glorious portrait of Jesus I had ever seen. It was huge, or maybe I was just small. The painting depicted Jesus surrounded by little children, like me at the time. He was smiling and His love was radiant. I just knew He loved me like that too.

I felt so safe in that church. So secure. So loved by God. That feeling has never left me.

I have also been a lesbian ever since I can remember. I have always felt a certain compulsion towards females. A closeness and bonding that is difficult to explain. I never told anyone about it until I was an adult, after college. But my homosexuality was there, always, and I knew it.

I have never been molested. I have never been sexually assaulted or abused. I grew up in a loving family with two devoted parents. My parents recently celebrated 48 years of marriage. My childhood was about as close to Leave it to Beaver as you could get. I had normal relationships with boys growing up. I always had boyfriends and I like guys – I find the male form beautiful and desirable. I don’t have the typical “societal-markers” for being gay – I just am because that is who God created me to be.

At no time in my life have I ever felt that these two constants – God’s love for me and my homosexuality were mutually exclusive. They are not. And society and the Church cannot make them so.

Let’s be clear on one point – being homosexual is not all about sex. It goes far beyond the merely sexual; that fact is something that is paramount for people to understand but many don’t try to or care to. Homosexuality does not begin and end in the bedroom. But it is that 1% of our lives that the world focuses on. What about the other 99%? Why does the world so easily try to throw us away?

Too many of us, my beautiful gay and lesbian brothers and sisters have had terrible and sad experiences with family members and/or with the Church. Some believe we can be loved by God or we can be gay but we cannot be both. (I use “gay” in a unified way from time to time referring to both gay men and lesbian women). Many believe that God does not love us for who we are, as we are. God has asked me to stand up and tell my story so that everyone will know the truth. So that the lies can be broken and the healing can begin.

Here is the truth as it has been taught to me and I have the God-given authority to pass it to you – God loves you just as you are, right where you are, just as gay as you are.

That is a truth many in society do not want us to believe. Make no mistake; there is a battle raging that means to stop us from knowing God and knowing who we are in God. However, our battle lies neither with misguided legislators nor with the far religious-right or others like them for they are but flesh and blood and know not what they do. No, our battle is with the Enemy which uses them and their weaknesses to do his dirty work. The Enemy is cunning and relentless. He knows how to hurt and how to inflict the most damage. His attacks are effective no matter how brave we try to be on our own.

I know the attacks had an effect on me. I took on a healthy, or I should say unhealthy, sense of shame for being a lesbian. Now don’t misunderstand, I didn’t intrinsically feel this shame or feel that there was one thing wrong with me. But I took in the shame that society laid upon my doorstep.

Tell someone they don’t measure up, that they don’t matter, that they are an embarrassment, that God hates them and won’t love them unless they are different from who God made them to be – they will eventually believe those lies. And those lies do so much destruction.

I have news for society, I am not an abomination. I am not the “greatest threat to America.” God does not punish the world because I exist. God does not punish what He created for He would be punishing Himself. God is a part of all creation.

I am not a trained theologian; I’m not a minister, priest or pastor. I don’t need to be. My religious and spiritual training comes from my life experiences. From growing up in the Church, being educated in religious schools, attending bible studies, and spending time in God’s word and in His presence. Which means I’m nobody special, I’m like everybody else; just a girl crazy in love with God who God is crazy in love with in return.

God has never withheld His love from me because I’m gay. God has never withheld His blessings from me because I’m gay. God has never turned His back on me because I’m gay. I cannot say the same things about people.

Because of the sense of shame I carried inside me for who I was, I prayed to God more times than I know to please “heal” me and make me different, make me straight. I prayed for this because I believed it would please my parents and family, it would please society and it would make my life so much easier. (I didn’t make that prayer because it would please me.)

God did answer that prayer and He did heal me but not in the way I expected. And God did make me different. He healed me from the shame I had accepted for being gay. He healed me from the guilt I carried for not measuring up to someone else’s ideal of who I was supposed to be. He healed me from the fear of living my life as He created me to be. He taught me who I am in His eyes. And what a difference that has made.

God has told me in no uncertain terms that He is not ashamed of me and I am not an abomination in His eyes but that I am His beautiful beloved. He told me loud and clear in a way I was sure to understand, “I am proud of you, Dee.”

Those are some of the greatest words a girl could ever hear from her Father. But they are words that so few of my brothers and sisters get to hear. The safe and loving feeling I felt as a child and continue to feel today is the feeling everyone (whether gay or not) should feel when they enter a church or approaching God. But they don’t and God is grieved by that.

Not all, but the majority of our churches are not safe and loving places for homosexuals. (Even right now my Episcopal denomination is in a life and death struggle within itself over how to deal with us.) In most churches we are welcome but only if we try to “change.” They say God wants and demands that we change. This prevents some of us from even entering the door of God’s house. Or others of us stopped seeking God long ago believing the lies that God does not love us because we are gay. These lies are heavy and can make a person question God’s very existence. These things stop so many of us right in our tracks from ever seeking our Heavenly Father.

Society and the Church have it all wrong. The reason they have it wrong is because they cannot know what I (and we) know. A straight person cannot tell me that God hates me because I am gay and that He demands that I change. First, God cannot hate – anything or anyone. Second, they don’t have the authority. I am the one who is gay. I am the one in my relationship with God and God has told me personally that He loves me “with all His heart and all His soul.” He has also told me that I am no surprise to Him, who created me. He has told me that “I know you are gay, and it’s okay.”

And He wants you to know that if you are gay, God says you’re okay, too.

That is not a message the world wants you to hear – but it is one God wants you to hear. Like every human, I am not perfect, far from it. I am a sinner and God leads me through my sins and from them everyday. But I have something no human can ever take from me and that is the never ending love and approval of my Heavenly Father.

God wants every one of His beautiful gay and lesbian sons and daughters to know that love and approval too. So many feel unworthy, so many are thirsty, so many are wandering. That has got to change. God wants that to change. He so desires a deep and abiding relationship with each of us.

When our heads and hearts are filled with lies, when we are kept from knowing and having a relationship with our Heavenly Father we are kept in a world of darkness, of shame, of guilt, of brokenness, of fear. Then we are weak, we will not put up a worthy fight – and the enemy knows that.

Luckily, we will not be denied by the God who loves us. Society can try and bar the doors and crowd the windows but they will not keep us out. Just as the four men carrying their paralytic friend had to go through the roof to get past the crowds to reach Jesus (Mark 2:1-5); so too God’s love will let nothing stand between us and our Heavenly Father and the life He died to give us.

Love will no longer allow me to sit down – my love of God, His for me, my love for my beautiful gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. My story is not a special story. It can be your story. God is waiting to sweep you off your feet and have an eternal love affair with you. You only have to ask Him into your heart – and you can do that right this second, sitting right where you are reading this. No fancy words required.

When you do your life will never be the same. That is one thing the world does have right. When you enter into a relationship with God you will be forever changed, but not in the way they think. You will be cleansed and freed from all the hurt, anger, bitterness, shame, fear and bad things that ever happened to you. You will be restored to the complete person God created you to be and you know you are.

When we are complete in Him and know who we are in Him we are strong. And we are filled with His abiding love – forever. That love is the most formidable force in the universe.

And love does not sit down.

~