Monday, September 3, 2012
Choices
I haven't been here in a while. Too much of life tumbling around to stop and write - what a bummer. Today is Labor Day, and I'm doing exactly the opposite of that. I'm being lazy and spending quiet time with just me and God. No labor, just rest. Sweet rest.
So here's my Word for today...
Regarding deliverance from the onslaught of the enemy, I get to choose. I GET TO CHOOSE.
I can live under the raging battle, or I can stand up, take my place, and fight like a girl - like a girl who's covered by the blood of Jesus, which, by the way is pretty badass.
My goal is to live under the cloud of God's anointing. But what does that mean? I want to make decisions based on how God would make those decisions for me. From what I eat to how I spend my day, I want God's direction. And that works great... until the Enemy comes in like a flood. Oh, but I was told he would do that, yes? So what is my natural response? I wallow under a blanket of yuck. I look at the circumstances, blame others for my pittiful condition, and wallow somemore. Oh, and I eat. I eat a lot.
And then I talk with my daughters. Both of them. And in essence, they are the catalyst that brings me back to focus. They tell me that I'm better than this, and they are praying for me. One talks about a book she recently read that reminds her that she can do better than she is doing. The other says that she's going to be my drill sergeant, and stay on my case until I get it together. They remind me of who I am called to be. (Badass Warrior Princess - apparently, just like them.)
So I get up, and I fight. And I win. The cloud of the anointing is back. I still have flaming arrows all around, but they're not hitting me. Because ultimately, people aren't at the hub of my pain. It is the Enemy of my soul at the helm, "... seeking whom he may devour" (1 Peter 5:12). And I can fight him. And win.
"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that He may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you" (1 Peter 5:12).
I have a choice today. I have choices everyday, for example, of whether or not I'm going to steal from a store. I chose long ago not to do that, so it never crosses my mind. I need to make that same choice today when it comes to my eating and to how I spend my time, how I discipline my son and what I allow to be the focus of my mind. I choose today to follow God's direction. Let my yes be yes, and my no be no. If I have to think about whether or not it is a correct choice - even for a moment - then I already have the answer.
I've made a choice. I'm going to win.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Defining My Space...
So my most recent art journal prompt was "SPACE." I was late getting it done (for more reasons than I choose to remember), but for one reason in particular: I couldn't land on a track to follow. There are so many directions one could turn when considering that word. And then my first week of school began and I was off in a million directions. However, one event this week kept replaying in my head, which brought me back to the "SPACE" word, and here I am. (I do see a trend in my life of circling about, much like a bird of prey... something to ponder at a later date.)
In several of my education classes I am surrounded by students in their final year. These seniors are what the military folks call "short-timers." They are simply covered up in being "short." Stick a fork in them, people, cuz they are DONE. Who can blame them, really? They've been cooped up in classrooms for a whopping four years and are ready for the big leagues. Heads full of knowledge, binders packed with papers and reports, they are ready to go out there and teach the masses.
As I entered one class, there were 6 or 8 female students already at the tables, quite frustrated with their circumstances. It seems that they just discovered a new rule requiring them to take one additional course before graduation. This was causing quite a stir and a kink in their well-laid plans. I took a seat and listened to them discussing the ridiculousness of the additional class. As they talked, it was as if they had been asked to add another year to their agendas. Several were close to tears.
Now, don't get me wrong. I completely understand their aggravation... this is a bit late in the game to spring another class on them. However, it was their attitudes that had me intrigued. These twenty-something girls were acting as if they were somehow above it all. They had enough education, thank you very much. This new required class was all well and good for the underclassmen, but leave the rest of crowd alone, please. We're doing just fine on our own... go back to sleep.
Later that day I entered the classroom of the course that had been the center of the earlier debate. And yes, there sat the same girls, complete with their "I SO don't need to be here" faces. I sat at their table... just for grins. They kept rolling their eyes and commenting on how BIG the class was, and that they "don't know HALF the people in this room." (Said in a kind of sing-songy voice.)
Here's the best part: The class is going to change their lives and they don't even know it. The prof is a Dr. of some sort who has written books and teaches doctoral classes and has been sent straight from the throne of heaven to knock us off our complacency and bring us into some actual TRUTH. Isn't that fun?
During the first part of class we were asked to take some notes on a fill-in-the-blank page. When we got to the area that discussed "regrets" one of the chatty girls said (to no one in particular), "Oh, I don't have any regrets." She was quite proud of her statement, and impressed several sitting around her. My knee-jerk reaction was to look up at her and kind of snort. She was a bit surprised - but hid it well - and quickly looked away. She knew for a second that I knew something she did not and could not understand.
A bit of LIFE.
So what has this to do with SPACE? So glad you asked!
Here's the quote from my art journal page: "I find myself currently in the process of defining my SPACE." Ready For Lift Off.... Walking It Out...
As I parent my son and learn what it means to have adult children and a grand-fabulous, as I attend college and teach elementary school children, as I coordinate a special needs Sunday school and sit under incredible teaching in church... I am being defined. I am coming up with my definition. I am finding my own space - and I like it.
I no longer roll my eyes at the authorities in my life when they throw me a curve ball. I'm on a path that is being directed by Almighty God. I'm thinking He's in charge of the course. When it gets a bit bendy, He's got my back. I just breathe - sometimes it comes out in a bit of a gasp - but I'm pretty good about settling down and watching how it all plays out. Interesting. I like my space.
So I will attend my classes and watch my fellow students. I will pray that they quickly learn to breathe in the spaces where they currently live. I certainly hope it doesn't take them long to learn this lesson... I'm staring 50 in the face next month. Maybe those girls will catch on sooner. Maybe our shared "required" class will be what they need to get them a bit closer to more than just their degree. Maybe they will learn to love their SPACE as much as I do mine. Or maybe I'm just a silly old lady making all this up.... naahhhh. We shall see.
In several of my education classes I am surrounded by students in their final year. These seniors are what the military folks call "short-timers." They are simply covered up in being "short." Stick a fork in them, people, cuz they are DONE. Who can blame them, really? They've been cooped up in classrooms for a whopping four years and are ready for the big leagues. Heads full of knowledge, binders packed with papers and reports, they are ready to go out there and teach the masses.
As I entered one class, there were 6 or 8 female students already at the tables, quite frustrated with their circumstances. It seems that they just discovered a new rule requiring them to take one additional course before graduation. This was causing quite a stir and a kink in their well-laid plans. I took a seat and listened to them discussing the ridiculousness of the additional class. As they talked, it was as if they had been asked to add another year to their agendas. Several were close to tears.
Now, don't get me wrong. I completely understand their aggravation... this is a bit late in the game to spring another class on them. However, it was their attitudes that had me intrigued. These twenty-something girls were acting as if they were somehow above it all. They had enough education, thank you very much. This new required class was all well and good for the underclassmen, but leave the rest of crowd alone, please. We're doing just fine on our own... go back to sleep.
Later that day I entered the classroom of the course that had been the center of the earlier debate. And yes, there sat the same girls, complete with their "I SO don't need to be here" faces. I sat at their table... just for grins. They kept rolling their eyes and commenting on how BIG the class was, and that they "don't know HALF the people in this room." (Said in a kind of sing-songy voice.)
Here's the best part: The class is going to change their lives and they don't even know it. The prof is a Dr. of some sort who has written books and teaches doctoral classes and has been sent straight from the throne of heaven to knock us off our complacency and bring us into some actual TRUTH. Isn't that fun?
During the first part of class we were asked to take some notes on a fill-in-the-blank page. When we got to the area that discussed "regrets" one of the chatty girls said (to no one in particular), "Oh, I don't have any regrets." She was quite proud of her statement, and impressed several sitting around her. My knee-jerk reaction was to look up at her and kind of snort. She was a bit surprised - but hid it well - and quickly looked away. She knew for a second that I knew something she did not and could not understand.
A bit of LIFE.
So what has this to do with SPACE? So glad you asked!
Here's the quote from my art journal page: "I find myself currently in the process of defining my SPACE." Ready For Lift Off.... Walking It Out...
As I parent my son and learn what it means to have adult children and a grand-fabulous, as I attend college and teach elementary school children, as I coordinate a special needs Sunday school and sit under incredible teaching in church... I am being defined. I am coming up with my definition. I am finding my own space - and I like it.
I no longer roll my eyes at the authorities in my life when they throw me a curve ball. I'm on a path that is being directed by Almighty God. I'm thinking He's in charge of the course. When it gets a bit bendy, He's got my back. I just breathe - sometimes it comes out in a bit of a gasp - but I'm pretty good about settling down and watching how it all plays out. Interesting. I like my space.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
TRUST
......................I put the photos above... you even get to see my sweet Kaliope Kitty!
In pondering this word, I discovered that I do not have an issue with trust, and it's primarily due to my daddy. (Yes, I'll always and forever call him daddy.) I have an amazing picture of a trustworthy "daddy-God" because of the love of my natural father. He was always - and will always be - loving and accepting and forgiving and THERE. Not perfect. Just there. If I wanted, I could still sit in his lap. Wouldn't even have to ask, just walk right up and move in - his arms would open and there we would be.
{Unfortunately today, that would probably result in his untimely demise, so I won't be actually sitting in his lap, but you get the drift here, yes? Metaphorically speaking and all that...}
This leads me to a similar picture of God. Open. Forgiving. Accepting. There.
Which brings me back to the topic of TRUST. (See how fun that little circle was?) I've had my share of moments in life that would want to create a heart of mistrust inside me. I'd wager the same is true for you. But somehow, trust is there.
I wrote a list of questions that have been floating around in my head. Then I stamped the word TRUST right on top of them. After TRUST, I placed a ginormous period. That's right - a giant dot that ends the word. TRUST {that's all}.
Then I covered the questions with a swirly white pretty thingy. Here's what I put on the opposite page: I'm not interested in burying my questions. {After all, they're a part of who I am.} However, I do want to cover them in a swirly blanket of TRUST in the One who will bring me to the answers {in HIS time}.
The scripture on the side bar reads: "The praises of our fathers surrounded your throne; they trusted you and you delivered them. You heard their cries for help and saved them; they were never disappointed when they sought your aid." Psalm 22:4-5
I choose today to trust that God has it all figured out. He'll share it with me little by little... and just in time. Selah.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Anesthesia
More stuff that I wrote in the early days of my divorce... still applies. Don't you just love how God's truths are universal? Pondering....
ANESTHESIA
Praise God for the person who invented anesthesia. When we have to face the trauma of surgery – whether minor or major, we get a visit from a wonderful person who injects a drug into our I.V. and asks us to count backward from one hundred. Before we get to ninety-eight, we’re in La-La Land while our body is being opened and invaded. We wake up several hours later not remembering anything of the ordeal, just feeling groggy, if not a little goofy. If we are in pain, we’ve got a little button to increase the dosage of meds that will allow us to drift away again.
There is a point after surgery, however, when we wake up riddled with pain. Most of us don’t remember this period, because the recovery nurse is there to add yet another drug that will numb the hurting and put us to sleep again. I had surgery several years ago, and for some reason the recovery nurse was not quite so “on the spot;” I remember waking up. I was still in a hallway on the gurney and no one was around. I remember crying out in pain, “It hurts, it hurts!” I have a distinct memory of body contortions and flailing arms. It didn’t last long, but long enough to be branded forever on my brain. I can’t recall the actual pain, but I definitely remember the results of the pain.
I think I have created my own form of anesthesia to cover the anguish of my life. My therapist is the one who pointed it out, as I mentioned briefly at the beginning of this writing. (Fran’s so great… that’s why we pay her the big bucks!) I’m not interested in dealing with my aching heart, so I’ve come up with a coping mechanism to dull my senses and move forward without sorting out how I feel. Unfortunately, when we don’t allow the feelings to come, they don’t magically disappear like socks in a dryer. Just the opposite; they cling to us and continue to pile up, burning and smoldering slowly until a massive volcano has been formed that is set to blow at any given moment.
A surgeon cuts us open because there is a problem, a disease, a mass to be removed. The end result is healing and restoration. The ugly part of this healthy course of action is that the good doctor must first cut into the sickness before he can take it away. If Jesus is our Master Healer, the same must be true of Him. There will be some amount of pain felt as our Lord takes us through the process of removing the hurt and bringing us to wholeness. Sometimes we get lucky enough to opt for laser surgery. That’s the less invasive choice and is available for somewhat minor conditions. Regrettably, this option is not always available. The larger the hurt, the more intense the operation will be.
It all comes down to a mater of trust. As a Christian, I have trusted God to take care of me, but somehow I’m in this mess anyway. Do I trust Him enough to get me through the agony I’m facing? It’s easier to ignore it and go make myself feel better by spending money or eating or (insert addiction here). Once again, I’m my own savior, relying on physical crutches and bandages to heal a spiritual wound. P.S. Not gonna happen. If I allow God to move His hand, I will have to face the facts that I made some poor choices along the way. I’m forced to look in the mirror of my life and see myself for who and what I actually am: broken due to my own inabilities and lack of trust in God. It’s a cycle the Father wants to rescue us from, if we will only allow Him.
As the Israelites in the Bible wandered in the desert, they needed a receptacle to wash their hands in as they presented their sacrifices to the Lord. (Check out the book of Exodus for further details) Someone came up with the brilliant idea of melting down their mirrors to create what they called the Laver. God’s lovely sense of humor shows up a bit here; as they washed to prepare themselves for spending time with God, they first came face to face with their own image in the bowl of washing. As we allow ourselves to come to God with our stuff, we are compelled to “look in the laver.” When what we see is not so desirable, we have a choice to make. Do we continue into the presence of God and allow Him to perform the necessary surgical treatment, or do we look away into our own stew pot of solutions and make things worse?
Anesthesia is a wonderful tool when used in proper doses. Conversely, even if we choose to live our lives under a state of sedation, there will be a day when we are forced to wake up and answer the pain. Agony of the heart will not remain tranquilized forever. We must allow ourselves to feel the pain. How very unfortunate. My flesh would rather remain dulled to the torture, thank you very much. In renewing my mind daily, I am reminded that feelings are not what we live by. Feelings are fluid and temporary. (You might want to underline that one.) There’s an old saying about some days feeling like the windshield, and some days feeling like the bug. Either way, there’s a nasty mess to deal with. Some days I feel like pizza – that can’t be what I use to plan my life. Feelings come and go. We have to allow them their time, then release them to the One who can put us back into perspective.
So I’ve begun to allow the feelings to surface. This is so very ugly. My chest gets heavy and it’s literally hard to breathe. My limbs go weak and I can’t move much. Crying comes out in uncontrollable sobs and moans from the depths of my soul. I am driven to look eye to eye at rejection, remorse, guilt, hatred and sorrow, and they come tumbling at me all at once like a filthy snowball wanting to crush me into its frozen, foul existence. Somehow, though, I survive the ordeal. Breathing becomes easier and I’m not quite as paralyzed as moments before. I wipe my face, get something to drink, and realize that I feel lighter. There are still scars – surgery always leaves its mark. But I’m hopeful that the blemish will fade somewhat in time. Will the next bout of “feelings” be easier? Probably not – at least for a while anyway. I’ve got a lot of years stuffed into this volcano of mine; it’s going to take some time and work to get it all out. But I will, and I’ll be healthier on the other side. That’s not trite talk or cute empty words – it is truth. God has promised me a hope and a future, and I’m not going to allow the enemy to steal it from me any longer.
ANESTHESIA
Praise God for the person who invented anesthesia. When we have to face the trauma of surgery – whether minor or major, we get a visit from a wonderful person who injects a drug into our I.V. and asks us to count backward from one hundred. Before we get to ninety-eight, we’re in La-La Land while our body is being opened and invaded. We wake up several hours later not remembering anything of the ordeal, just feeling groggy, if not a little goofy. If we are in pain, we’ve got a little button to increase the dosage of meds that will allow us to drift away again.
There is a point after surgery, however, when we wake up riddled with pain. Most of us don’t remember this period, because the recovery nurse is there to add yet another drug that will numb the hurting and put us to sleep again. I had surgery several years ago, and for some reason the recovery nurse was not quite so “on the spot;” I remember waking up. I was still in a hallway on the gurney and no one was around. I remember crying out in pain, “It hurts, it hurts!” I have a distinct memory of body contortions and flailing arms. It didn’t last long, but long enough to be branded forever on my brain. I can’t recall the actual pain, but I definitely remember the results of the pain.
I think I have created my own form of anesthesia to cover the anguish of my life. My therapist is the one who pointed it out, as I mentioned briefly at the beginning of this writing. (Fran’s so great… that’s why we pay her the big bucks!) I’m not interested in dealing with my aching heart, so I’ve come up with a coping mechanism to dull my senses and move forward without sorting out how I feel. Unfortunately, when we don’t allow the feelings to come, they don’t magically disappear like socks in a dryer. Just the opposite; they cling to us and continue to pile up, burning and smoldering slowly until a massive volcano has been formed that is set to blow at any given moment.
A surgeon cuts us open because there is a problem, a disease, a mass to be removed. The end result is healing and restoration. The ugly part of this healthy course of action is that the good doctor must first cut into the sickness before he can take it away. If Jesus is our Master Healer, the same must be true of Him. There will be some amount of pain felt as our Lord takes us through the process of removing the hurt and bringing us to wholeness. Sometimes we get lucky enough to opt for laser surgery. That’s the less invasive choice and is available for somewhat minor conditions. Regrettably, this option is not always available. The larger the hurt, the more intense the operation will be.
It all comes down to a mater of trust. As a Christian, I have trusted God to take care of me, but somehow I’m in this mess anyway. Do I trust Him enough to get me through the agony I’m facing? It’s easier to ignore it and go make myself feel better by spending money or eating or (insert addiction here). Once again, I’m my own savior, relying on physical crutches and bandages to heal a spiritual wound. P.S. Not gonna happen. If I allow God to move His hand, I will have to face the facts that I made some poor choices along the way. I’m forced to look in the mirror of my life and see myself for who and what I actually am: broken due to my own inabilities and lack of trust in God. It’s a cycle the Father wants to rescue us from, if we will only allow Him.
As the Israelites in the Bible wandered in the desert, they needed a receptacle to wash their hands in as they presented their sacrifices to the Lord. (Check out the book of Exodus for further details) Someone came up with the brilliant idea of melting down their mirrors to create what they called the Laver. God’s lovely sense of humor shows up a bit here; as they washed to prepare themselves for spending time with God, they first came face to face with their own image in the bowl of washing. As we allow ourselves to come to God with our stuff, we are compelled to “look in the laver.” When what we see is not so desirable, we have a choice to make. Do we continue into the presence of God and allow Him to perform the necessary surgical treatment, or do we look away into our own stew pot of solutions and make things worse?
Anesthesia is a wonderful tool when used in proper doses. Conversely, even if we choose to live our lives under a state of sedation, there will be a day when we are forced to wake up and answer the pain. Agony of the heart will not remain tranquilized forever. We must allow ourselves to feel the pain. How very unfortunate. My flesh would rather remain dulled to the torture, thank you very much. In renewing my mind daily, I am reminded that feelings are not what we live by. Feelings are fluid and temporary. (You might want to underline that one.) There’s an old saying about some days feeling like the windshield, and some days feeling like the bug. Either way, there’s a nasty mess to deal with. Some days I feel like pizza – that can’t be what I use to plan my life. Feelings come and go. We have to allow them their time, then release them to the One who can put us back into perspective.
So I’ve begun to allow the feelings to surface. This is so very ugly. My chest gets heavy and it’s literally hard to breathe. My limbs go weak and I can’t move much. Crying comes out in uncontrollable sobs and moans from the depths of my soul. I am driven to look eye to eye at rejection, remorse, guilt, hatred and sorrow, and they come tumbling at me all at once like a filthy snowball wanting to crush me into its frozen, foul existence. Somehow, though, I survive the ordeal. Breathing becomes easier and I’m not quite as paralyzed as moments before. I wipe my face, get something to drink, and realize that I feel lighter. There are still scars – surgery always leaves its mark. But I’m hopeful that the blemish will fade somewhat in time. Will the next bout of “feelings” be easier? Probably not – at least for a while anyway. I’ve got a lot of years stuffed into this volcano of mine; it’s going to take some time and work to get it all out. But I will, and I’ll be healthier on the other side. That’s not trite talk or cute empty words – it is truth. God has promised me a hope and a future, and I’m not going to allow the enemy to steal it from me any longer.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Cadence
Images of drummers and majorettes... memories of uniforms with white pants & tennis shoes. Crowds. Concentration. Keeping the rhythm. Watching the line. Marching in place. Stepping in horse poop. (There were ALWAYS horses in front of the band.) Pride that I was representing something. Satisfaction in a job well done. Exhaustion. Being part of something bigger than myself.
Friend Donna recently shared some facts with me that she heard regarding marching bands. It seems that when the troop approaches a bridge, the drummers stop their beating of the cadence. The band simply walks across the bridge, then picks up their march and continues on. Apparently, the cadence, the continual beat and timbre and marching has been known to cause structural damage to bridges. As the cadence continues, the stability of the bridge is compromised. The bridge could fall. The band's unity of purpose could take out the structure... the underpinning... the stuff holding the constitution of the bridge in place. The cadence could cause the bridge to collapse. Interesting.
As women of strong faith, Donna and I were relating this information to prayer. We happened to be praying together for our little friend Olivia, who recently underwent her second liver transplant. What if we saw our prayers as the cadence? And what if we understood the plans of the enemy as the bridge? What if we continued the cadence of prayer and stood on top of the bridge and continued our outcries to God as a barrage against the underpinnings of the enemy? Would the same hold true? I believe any engineer would have to say yes. I say yes. The Word of God says yes.
However {there's always a catch}... this is not to say that it will come easy. I was in a marching band in high school. Remember the horse poop mentioned earlier? Parades offer up a variety of characters. {Pictures of life here.} Beautiful ladies in snazzy cars. Ridiculous clowns. Flowing band music. Obnoxious air horns. And horses that poop as they walk.
Amid all of this clamoring for attention, the band is somewhere in the foray. Keeping cadence. Fighting the other noises. Individual members who act as one body. Straining to stay in tune. In line. Keeping step... even when it's through the yuck that has passed before them. Never going around it, always through it. Maintaining cadence. Hot and sticky and needing a break. Keeping to their purpose. Maintaining cadence.
I want that determination, and not just when I pray over something as critical as Olivia's healing. I have the ability to pray for a season and stick with an emergency need until it is completed. But what about my daily routine? What about keeping that pattern of prayer just for communion with God? How would my life be different if there were a continual cadence of worship?
I have recently come across several women that are living this way. Donna is one of them. There are a few others that I am watching. I want to be like them - not when I grow up, but now. I want a cadence of worship over my life. I am creating a cadence of worship over my life.
There are still the un-touchable beauties waving around me (sigh) and the goofy clowns running past (another sigh). But I must keep my focus on the One who is directing my destiny. I must maintain a cadence of worship. Even through the yuck. Even when I get tired. Will I slow down? Yes. Will I get weary and lose a day or two? You betcha. Will I get back up and go again? Absolutely. Because I'm surrounding myself with those women. I'm watching them and they have been invited to watch me. We will hold each other up and give an elbow in the ribs when the step gets off or the notes go a bit out of tune. We're in this together.
We're keeping the cadence.
And we look fabulous in our uniforms!
Friend Donna recently shared some facts with me that she heard regarding marching bands. It seems that when the troop approaches a bridge, the drummers stop their beating of the cadence. The band simply walks across the bridge, then picks up their march and continues on. Apparently, the cadence, the continual beat and timbre and marching has been known to cause structural damage to bridges. As the cadence continues, the stability of the bridge is compromised. The bridge could fall. The band's unity of purpose could take out the structure... the underpinning... the stuff holding the constitution of the bridge in place. The cadence could cause the bridge to collapse. Interesting.
As women of strong faith, Donna and I were relating this information to prayer. We happened to be praying together for our little friend Olivia, who recently underwent her second liver transplant. What if we saw our prayers as the cadence? And what if we understood the plans of the enemy as the bridge? What if we continued the cadence of prayer and stood on top of the bridge and continued our outcries to God as a barrage against the underpinnings of the enemy? Would the same hold true? I believe any engineer would have to say yes. I say yes. The Word of God says yes.
However {there's always a catch}... this is not to say that it will come easy. I was in a marching band in high school. Remember the horse poop mentioned earlier? Parades offer up a variety of characters. {Pictures of life here.} Beautiful ladies in snazzy cars. Ridiculous clowns. Flowing band music. Obnoxious air horns. And horses that poop as they walk.
Amid all of this clamoring for attention, the band is somewhere in the foray. Keeping cadence. Fighting the other noises. Individual members who act as one body. Straining to stay in tune. In line. Keeping step... even when it's through the yuck that has passed before them. Never going around it, always through it. Maintaining cadence. Hot and sticky and needing a break. Keeping to their purpose. Maintaining cadence.
I want that determination, and not just when I pray over something as critical as Olivia's healing. I have the ability to pray for a season and stick with an emergency need until it is completed. But what about my daily routine? What about keeping that pattern of prayer just for communion with God? How would my life be different if there were a continual cadence of worship?
I have recently come across several women that are living this way. Donna is one of them. There are a few others that I am watching. I want to be like them - not when I grow up, but now. I want a cadence of worship over my life. I am creating a cadence of worship over my life.
There are still the un-touchable beauties waving around me (sigh) and the goofy clowns running past (another sigh). But I must keep my focus on the One who is directing my destiny. I must maintain a cadence of worship. Even through the yuck. Even when I get tired. Will I slow down? Yes. Will I get weary and lose a day or two? You betcha. Will I get back up and go again? Absolutely. Because I'm surrounding myself with those women. I'm watching them and they have been invited to watch me. We will hold each other up and give an elbow in the ribs when the step gets off or the notes go a bit out of tune. We're in this together.
We're keeping the cadence.
And we look fabulous in our uniforms!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Renewal
I've been reading through some of my old journals recently and came upon one that struck a chord today, so I thought I'd share. "Renewing my mind" seems to be a theme for me right now, and this little gem was all about that lovely topic. It's a bit of a read, so grab a coffee and settle in. (I never suffer alone...)
A Bumpy Ride
Victory… defeat… victory… defeat. Up and down the see-saw goes until my bottom is numb and I just want off this blinkin’ ride. Who came up with this, anyway? We move up and down and up and down—getting nowhere fast and risking splinters from the wooden seat. But we get on the ride anyway, of our own accord. We decide to listen to and follow God’s voice which brings us to victory. We glory in the joy of the Lord, hallelujah, until the warm fuzzy feelings start to fade. Then we get lazy; we slack off and allow life to get in the way of our godly focus. The ride of life comes to a walloping “thud” as we hit defeat once again. It’s a pattern we’re all too familiar with. So how do we stop the madness?
Renewing our minds daily... that's what the Bible tells us to do. It’s that simple and that complex all at once. The human condition: knowing what will save us and choosing something else. I suppose that’s why we need God. We can’t do this thing on our own, so He has sent a Savior to come to our rescue. Ah, but here’s the rub: depending on the depth of our relationship, God chooses to show up at different times in our crisis. For new Christians, God likes to show off, so He’s there pretty much at every turn. Babes in Christ are all atwitter with stories of answered prayer. (Note to self: find a new Christian fast and ask them to pray for me.) Not so for those of us who have been in this thing for awhile. Unfortunately, when the teacher is giving a test, the teacher is silent. Teacher wants to know what student has learned. Student must have faith in what Teacher has taught and walk in it. Something about building character and being a witness and stronger on the other side… Truth is, the bigger the destiny, the harder the struggle. Yeah, we’ve all heard that one before, and it’s a small comfort in the middle of the junk.
But consider the Bible story of Joseph & his colorful coat. Things were going pretty well for him for his entire life – up until the ripe old age of, what, twelve or so? Sold into slavery – the kid probably hadn’t worked a hard day in his life. Then it was on to bigger and better things, up until it wasn’t quite so big & great anymore. Then there was prison. During this portion of his life, Joseph was trusting God and learning to listen. Okay, where’s the catch? How did this kid get through it? Where did that kind of faith come from? And I want to read the pages that tell about the days that he was depressed and in the pits of despair because he could see no way out. Sure, God was there and able and all that. But what about the days that our able God chooses not to move His mighty hand? What about those days of pure hopeless hell? What about MY days of pure hell? How do I hold on when I’ve come to the end of holding and just want to let go? Joseph got through it and an amazing reward was waiting for him. He not only achieved material blessing, but he became the salvation of his people. I’m not so much looking to be a queen anywhere – I just want to survive today. So I renew my mind on the good days – the days I am able to focus. On the not-so-good days I depend on what I did the day before, and on the prayers of my beloved family and friends. I know I will come out of this as more than a conqueror. Someday. Today, I settle for surviving through lunch… now there’s a victory!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
A Fresh Canvas
New Mercies Every Morning... that's what we're promised and that's what I'm grabbing. With both fists. Sometimes with teeth gritted and that really scrunchy determined look on my face. (Pretty, I know.) Then I realize it's not supposed to be that hard because the new mercies are already mine. Why do I make it so hard on myself? Who knows...
I'm starting new today - even though it is 10:35pm and I will be climbing into my cozy bed quite soon. "It's a new season, it's a new day. Fresh anointing coming my way." (Thanks for those words, Israel.)
I paint with oils. They take a blue forever to dry... That's probably what God says when He applies a new stroke to the "me" He's designing... "Will she ever be ready for the next coat, fresh colors, new life?" And I'm thinking, "When will this layer EVER come off and reveal what's underneath?" Quite the paradox, yes?
So here's to a Fresh Canvas... a new way to paint and craft and create and blog and journal and ramble on... And breathe. And heal. And minister? Perhaps. Hopefully. Thankfully.
Thanks to Barb & Donna for your encouragement. I want to be like both of you when I grow up. Here we go!
I'm starting new today - even though it is 10:35pm and I will be climbing into my cozy bed quite soon. "It's a new season, it's a new day. Fresh anointing coming my way." (Thanks for those words, Israel.)
I paint with oils. They take a blue forever to dry... That's probably what God says when He applies a new stroke to the "me" He's designing... "Will she ever be ready for the next coat, fresh colors, new life?" And I'm thinking, "When will this layer EVER come off and reveal what's underneath?" Quite the paradox, yes?
So here's to a Fresh Canvas... a new way to paint and craft and create and blog and journal and ramble on... And breathe. And heal. And minister? Perhaps. Hopefully. Thankfully.
Thanks to Barb & Donna for your encouragement. I want to be like both of you when I grow up. Here we go!
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