A Breath of Kindness

It's been a week of lasts. And it's been a week of firsts. 

This was the week that the last of the insurance money I was hoping for, came to me in the form of a check for the value of my youngest daughter's car before the crash.

This was the last week that I had to dread another car payment coming off my bank for that same car that I had co-bought with her (she in one province, I in another) ... a car in which she was killed a month and a day later. Every time that I had to record that amount in my check register, another piece of me died. Now, nearly 18 months after her death and some 35 payments later, the insurance company sent me a check to pay her loan in full. 

This was the last week that I had to pretend that it didn't happen, that she was somehow still with me, tied to me by that payment every two weeks. 

That is hard. And it's also a relief, which brings me to the firsts.

This week, for the first (and hopefully the last) time, and at the suggestion of my financial consultant at my bank, I ended up having an appointment with a bank employee from a different bank who specialized in estates. She heard me, expressed her condolences, and walked me through the process of paying out that loan. 

"I want to make this as painless as possible for you," she said. Her eyes said what her professionalism could not - "I know how I would feel if I lost my daughter." 

For the first time, I was grateful for this poky little Island with its rural mentality. It had always niggled at me a little bit that everyone has to know each other's business and heritage here. I'm a private person, and that kind of interest in family bloodlines seems ... almost incestuous somehow. But ... this woman across the desk from me remembered me from 30 years ago, remembered my name and remembered that we lived in the country, "down east" as she called it - referring to the east end of the Island and the part that (on the map) looks like it's on Island's underbelly. She was a bank employee back then too, working for a different bank, where we just happened to have our mortgage. And now I just happened to be sitting across from her, thirty years later. 

2009 Hyundai Accent

I don't believe in coincidences. I had prayed, before I left to go to my appointment, for God to go before me and to make the rough places smooth. I believe that He had been working ahead of time (even 30 years in advance!), knowing I would pray that exact prayer at that moment, so He did go before me, much more than I had even meant when I prayed. Thirty years more.

The bank employee even put a rush on the request and stopped payment on another auto-debit that was to come off next week, the day before the payment request was auto-initiated by their computer. (I just happened to mention to her that the next payment was due to come off next week so should I be concerned about it? A flurry of activity from her and it was taken care of. Just. Like. That.) 

She told me that the loan was thus-and-such amount of money, which meant that there would be some money left over after it was paid. And she made it possible for me to be paid the balance left over. In cash. WITHOUT filling out reams of paperwork and WITHIN the rules of the bank itself. I remember standing at the wicket, with her walking another bank employee - a teller - through the screens to process the transaction, watching as the teller counted out the money on the wicket counter and handed it to me - plus the loose change in my other hand. I had the sensation that this was happening to someone else and that I was just watching it unfold ... a curious sensation.

It wasn't the paying off of the loan or the payback of the remaining money that touched my heart, though. It was this lady's willingness to go the extra mile to prevent what could have easily been the beginning of an ordeal for me. 

But it wasn't. It was the beginning of a new chapter in my life instead. 

I kept remembering what my daughter had said to me the day I arranged the loan with the car dealership, and her sitting across from the dealer almost all the way across the country from me. She'd been homeless for a couple of days and she was highly motivated to get a job and "make something of herself" - (she was ALREADY "something", but she had to prove it to herself, I guess.) Anyway, she was on the phone with me and she said to me, "I'll pay you back someday, Mom. I swear." And she meant it.

Well. I guess, for the first time honey, you paid me back. I just wish it wasn't this way.

And besides ... you gave me so very much just by being you, taught me so much about life by the way you lived yours. And that can't be measured in dollars and cents. 

It just can't.

Backtracking

I was chatting with one of my kids this morning, about the changes that have taken place in the last four years, things I never thought possible, things that have become the norm for me now.

It came to me that the changes are never-ending (that's as it should be), and that there are certain principles surrounding change that are good to remember in any transformation of behavior, whether it be a physical or a mental habit, a belief, or a behavior pattern. 

Here, in a cursory attempt to gel my own thoughts, is a summary of those principles.

Life is a journey. In every journey there are forks in the road - decisions that we make - that will affect outcomes. When the outcomes aren't what we planned, in the majority of cases, that can be directly connected to the choices we've made at those junctures. The longer we stay on a given path, the longer it will take to get back on the right one.

We all make mistakes. We stray off onto a bunny trail, fail to set boundaries, or encroach on others' boundaries ... and we end up paying the consequences. Some of those consequences are pretty wrenching, and we wish we could have a "do-over." Or that we could be airlifted out of the situation and somehow end up on the right road for a change.

The reality is that we need to get back on the right track. The question then becomes - how do we do that? How do we get on the right path when we have been on the wrong one for so long that it seems like the only one we have? 

Sometimes, we will need to accept "what is." Acceptance is huge. 

And sometimes, we will need to change what we can. That takes courage. 

Change is never easy!!

Sometimes, God takes pity on us, and we can be delivered from the consequences of our own choices; it happens. Divine deliverance still does happen. Sometimes. 

"Arrows Choice Shows Options Alternatives or Choosing" courtesy of Stuart Miles
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Most times, however, the way to the right path is simply by stopping, fighting our way back to that junction at which we made the wrong decision or series of decisions, and making the right one or ones. And then ... sticking with it.

Backtracking is hard. It involves a lifestyle change, a paradigm shift in how we relate to God, to ourselves, and / or to others. Or a shift from just believing something to acting upon it.  It also involves a great deal of effort to overcome inertia - that tendency to allow things to carry on as they have been. If something is important enough to make that kind of a change, it's important enough to follow through on.

Nobody promised that it would be a walk in the park. The new way of thinking and behaving feels odd, uncomfortable, strange, unnatural. That's because it is.

Do it anyway. 

Backtracking, regaining lost territory, making things right again, learning a new way of thinking, believing and behaving, is like any new thing - it will feel awkward at first. It will take practice - and there will be times when we do it without the finesse that we would like - before it starts to feel a bit more "normal." Making mistakes is a given; however, it's okay to stop, rethink, go back, admit the mistake to those involved, and try again. 

Even if it's hard. 

It will take time. We will want to see results long before they happen. That too is normal. However, the only way to get those results is to consistently stick with the program, so to speak. Think of it this way - we reap what we sow. But sowing and reaping don't happen both at once: there is a period of time that is needed for the seed to germinate, grow, mature, and produce flower and/or fruit. This is the way of things. Instant results only work in the cartoon where Bugs Bunny puts a drop of water on the Instant Martian. Poof. 

The real world doesn't work like that. 

It does help, though, to have support and encouragement. We can be grateful indeed if we have friends who will help us, pray for us, and encourage us to keep the faith. And by far the best encouragement comes from that inner voice - - the one that is in our corner, the one that looks out for our best interests - even if it means that we are uncomfortable sometimes. Even if that voice might only be a whisper ... for now.

It will get louder ... if we keep listening to it.

An Almost Everything Week

So I guess those of you who read this blog know that my daughter dislocated her kneecap on November 30, 2012, and that she's been attending physiotherapy while being monitored by an orthopedic surgeon.

When she went to see him in January after five weeks off work, the knee hadn't come along as quickly in healing as the specialist had thought. We asked why he didn't order an MRI. "These soft-tissue injuries generally settle on their own," he replied. "In all my years of doing this, I've only seen one situation where the patellar dislocation was hiding a deeper issue in the underlying ligaments, and the patient needed surgery to correct it. Besides, we only have one MRI machine for the whole Island. When you see me again in three weeks," he turned to her and spoke directly, "if you are not smiling when you do, I'll order the MRI." 

On February 5, she wasn't smiling. He ordered the MRI. "When the hospital calls you with a date, ask to be put on the cancellation list," he advised her.  "In the wintertime, with people in the country not wanting to chance the road when there are 'a few flakes' and the forecast is nasty; it shouldn't take long."

It took a few days to get the paperwork in place. She called the hospital herself after waiting almost a week. "Oh yes," they said. Your date is June 19th." 

(Gulp). She immediately asked to be put on the cancellation list. They obliged! 

Then we began noticing how often we had storms on the weekend this year. When it wasn't the weekend, it was a civic holiday. We prayed. "A storm, just a little one, to discourage someone from making the trip? Please?" (Was this me, the one who HATES winter, praying for a STORM??) Yet, we'd seen her hobble from room to room. We knew she was going to need surgery. We knew in our guts, "The sooner the better." That was this past Monday - the civic holiday when it was storming and the Island shut down for hours.

"Kingdom of Cold" courtesy of Evgeni Dinev at
www.FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Two days later, (this past Wednesday) with freezing rain and snow forecast for later in the day, she and her father went for a few errands. She got a temporary handicapped permit so that it would be easier for us to park and get in and out of places while she was recuperating. She paid her insurance premiums for her work's health care plan. 

Then, when they got back home, there was a message waiting on the voice mail. "This is radiology calling. Can you come in for 3 pm?" Her heart sank; it had been left over an hour prior to her return. 

Forty-five minutes later, the phone rang. "Are you still interested in that 3 pm appointment?"

OH yeah. With bells on! 

She managed quite well, and soon afterward we were laughing and joking over how quick it all was and how the promised storm held off until we were home!

I also started deepening my understanding of how ironic and quirky God's sense of humor is - using the things I hate most about winter to our benefit, and after all the complaining I'd been doing this year about the cold! Oh, He's a witty One. ;)

Anyway, the next morning, Thursday, she called the surgeon's office. "Can I get an appointment? I just got my MRI yesterday afternoon." They booked one for March 8. Wow - about 2 weeks, not bad!

Yesterday morning, Friday, she got yet another call. "This is Dr. ____'s office. We have the results of your MRI. The doctor wants to see you as soon as possible. Can you come in today at 11:15 to discuss?" 

A quick exam to confirm the MRI findings was all that he needed ... and so he told her what the results were. Without getting all technical, when she dislocated her kneecap, (this happened three times after the initial injury, all within a week and a half of it!) three ligaments were stretched permanently and were now too lax, making the knee unstable and more prone to dislocating again. Those ligaments, every time she re-injured, got frayed against the back of her kneecap, which runs along a vertical trench-like groove, like a taut rope fraying against a length of wood. 

This needed to be repaired by shortening the now too-long ligaments and securing with screws. 

Surgery.

"While I'm in there, I'd like to shift the focal point of your knee because it's off-center," he told her. This involves operating on the tendon that goes from the bottom of the kneecap to the top of the shin-bone, separating it from the shin-bone and re-attaching it more toward the center of her stance. What this will do is correct that knock-knee problem she's had since she was a baby and prevent her from hurting it again. 

Once all her (and our) questions were answered, he wrote the requisition for surgery. Right on the requisition, he wrote, "Place on cancellation list." 

Before she even got a surgery date.

Of course, they'll send her information in the mail with her "if not before" date and instructions for pre-surgery... yes. But usually she'd have to wait for that information and THEN call to be put on the cancellation list. 

We got the impression he was trying to bump her to the front of the line. Just an impression, you understand. Perhaps he was feeling a little guilty that he'd waited so long? that she was the one exception in the last 20 years that he hadn't counted on?  Perhaps.

We're just so glad that the wheels are moving, that this will be over sooner rather than later, and that things can get back to normal and she might even be better than before she hurt herself! 

Was it only a month ago that someone (who shall remain nameless) turned to me at the kitchen table and said that he was not convinced that God cared about us? 

Hmmm.

That same person turned to me last night and said, "You know, I think I'll start a gratitude journal. I forget so easily."

*happy sigh....*

Getting Zapped

It happens, okay?  It does. 

Every once in a while (sometimes more often than others, and nobody can predict) God "zaps" someone.  He takes an intolerable and hopeless situation, and all of a sudden turns it around: heals someone instantly of crippling osteoarthritis,  miraculously gets someone their dream job out of the clear blue sky, drops a place to live into someone's lap.  

It does happen. 

But it doesn't happen often.  More often, He works the slow kind of miracles.  No less the miracle than the instant ones - but in slow motion.  Years of setting things up, months of preparation, weeks of rehabilitation and hard work, surgery followed by a painful recovery period. Working through people and/or process. Yet the miracle happens, sometimes without us even being aware of it.  And then we look around one day, and discover that the landscape has changed inexorably.  

Who knew?

We like the instant miracles. We eat them up! They get the most press, get the highest ratings on the Christian talk shows.  But the slow ones - the ones that work at a snail's pace in the background unnoticed - these are perhaps the greater miracles because they require even more faith... faith that even though it's slow, it will happen in God's time. Faith that the next right thing will lead to the following right thing, and so on and so forth until the goal that seems so far off today, is within reach.  

It's the faith that believes in the slow miracle that I think is the most heroic, the most spectacular - because it must endure the scoffing and the ridicule (or at the very least, the pitying indulgence) of the ones who got their miracle "just like that" (said while snapping their fingers.)  

I'm a firm believer in the saying, "God always gives His best to those who leave the choice with Him." (Written by Jim Eliot, missionary, 1927 - 1956)

This includes making peace with the fact that God has the right to say no.  For whatever reason, that possibility exists.  We ASK.  We don't demand.  We ask believing - and accept what God decides: fast, slow, or not at all.  If the latter, we accept that He has His reasons - and move on.  

In the meantime - we're allowed to keep asking.

Stretching

My back went out this past Sunday night - sometime before Monday morning. It was a flare-up of a chronic problem - degenerative disc disease.  Sometimes the vertebrae go out of alignment.  The muscles react - or should I say, overreact - and clench tightly to try and keep the back from going "out" further.  The problem with that is ... it HURTS.

One thing about being in pain - you really cut out the non-essentials. And it's surprising how many things you thought were essentials ... aren't.  

But I digress. 

I knew early Monday morning, as soon as I awoke and put my feet on the floor, that I needed to go to physiotherapy; I was hobbling around and every step I took was agony.  Even sitting was way more than uncomfortable.  The pain was so bad that I called in sick and made an appointment to look after what was essential. After a visit to the doctor to get a referral to physio (as well as a prescription for some pain medication), and going through my first treatment, the pain lessened to manageable levels and I was able to get back to work the next day.  I was rather pleasantly surprised because usually my back is slow to respond to any kind of treatment, be it chiropractic treatments or physiotherapy. 

Here's the site where I got this photo.

My therapeutic regimen involves moist heat, electrical stimulation of the muscles surrounding my back, a bit of acupuncture, and some deep massage to "release" the clenched-tight muscles that have gripped my spine like a vise to keep it from slipping out of alignment.

But there is a home regimen too - some of which I can carry out at work.  It involves 20 minutes each of a couple of different exercises to stretch those lower back muscles.  

And stretch those they do.  Feeling that "pull" is pretty uncomfortable - but I put up with it for the benefits that I know will happen.  Not pain - my therapist is quick to tell me that - but a pulling feeling that is uncomfortable. Very, at times.  But the exercises are teaching my back muscles how to behave, how to let go, so the joints can slip back into place.  

It's going slower than I'd like - well, face it, I'd like it to be immediate!! But I can see a difference, day to day.  And in time, I'll not only be better, but I'll have the knowledge that I need in order to help prevent another flare-up.

In the meantime, I'm learning a lot - about how important letting go is, for one thing.  The back pain seemed sudden, but it had been building for a few weeks - a little tension here, and little clenching there, and finally my back jumped the rest of the way to pain, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.  And "not letting go" can creep up on my inner life too.  Little things I hold onto, little things I think I can handle without God's help, tiny things that niggle at me and I ignore them rather than dealing with them as they arise. 

I  need to let those go and relax my grip on them. 

They'll only end up hurting me (pardon the pun) in the end.

Up in the air

It's been an interesting couple of days.  An opportunity arose a week ago, right in the middle of my interpersonal saga at the office (see previous posts).  This opportunity allowed me to apply for a temporary "acting" position for the summer months. 

I spent all weekend working on my application, making sure all my T's were crossed and my I's dotted.  And yesterday, I sent in my application; with no exaggeration, I must have read it through, edited it, added to it, and compared it against what was required three dozen times in the space of those six days.  I contacted people for references, and alerted them they might get a call before the end of the week.  

Here's where I found this photo

Yesterday morning as I was getting ready for work, I heard the still small voice of God probing my consciousness about this process.  "So.  How do you feel about all this?  How would you feel if you got the position?"  

I checked inside.  "Scared.  Excited of course, but scared... I guess that's kind of a good thing..." 

I could feel Him smiling. "And?  how would you feel if you DIDN'T get it?" 

This one kind of surprised me.  But I searched my feelings and discovered that although I'd be disappointed not to win, it wouldn't be devastating for me - and I wouldn't resent or be jealous of whoever DID get it. My response told me once more that I had grown in the last three years. 

When I got to work, I got the last of my "ducks" lined up, put a few tweaks into the application, read it through five or six more times and breathed a prayer.  "Your will, God.  Your will."  And I sent the application.

There have been times - many times - when there has been a huge question mark about something I wanted or something that might or might not happen.  In the past, I would stress and worry, and not let it go until I knew the answer. I'd not sleep, and I'd fret and stew about it, and eye suspiciously anyone whom I might see as my "competition."

But with this - and I hope this is the beginning of a new normal - the fact that the answer is (so to speak) "up in the air" doesn't make me lose any sleep. I'm perfectly fine with whatever happens.  

Go figure.

Off Centre

One of my favorite things to do with my school supplies when I was going to school was to play with my geometry set.  I'd trace around the protractor, the two triangles, and draw circle after circle with my compass.  

Drawing the circle was tricky on thin paper because it was so very easy to allow the central point of the compass to shift in the middle of drawing it. The result would be anything BUT the circle I intended. The ends wouldn't meet, and it would look sloppy.  It took practice to get it to stay put while the pencil went around and formed the circumference, touching exactly where it started. That central point was the anchor of the whole thing.  It was tricky to get it to work!

Spirograph art - here's the link

A similar diversion was my old Spirograph set. Yes, I had one!! I eventually lost the pins to hold the anchor bracket down to the paper, but that set of little plastic rings, cogs, pins and pens brought me more hours of "whoa-isn't-that-cool" than almost anything else in whatever free time I was allowed to have growing up.  

But the problem with the cogs and the ring was the same as with the compass. It depended on everything staying where it was supposed to stay.  I ruined countless Spirograph artworks because the cog - or the pins - slipped out of the anchoring ring.  The result - usually a dark mark bisecting the entire masterpiece - was not salvageable.  And that was in the days before erasable pens.  ;) So, I found the best way to do it successfully was to make sure it was all anchored well before starting, and to take my time while allowing the cogs to carry the pen - while I concentrated on keeping the pressure against the wheel steady.  Just as I had learned with the compass.  

Everyone needs an Anchor that won't slip away or shift.
I know Who mine is.
I wonder what - or who - is yours?

This far - no further

Lately I've been struggling with boundaries.  

Not so much with where they are - I am slowly getting a comfort level there - but how to set them .... and how to enforce them .... is the thing that's been occupying my attention the last few weeks.  

I know I have to set these boundaries, and the hardest ones to set are those that must be put up for the first time with people (especially members of one's family-of-origin, be they natural or extended) who not only don't have ANY boundaries of their own, it seems to be part of their religion to cross over others' borders too - and stomp all over the tulips while they're there.  So (this is a given) I know for certain that they won't understand. I used to think exactly as they do now.  I know that they will wonder just what the big deal is.  And that they'll judge me - and tell everyone they know how cruel and ungrateful I'm being, to get them to judge me too, so their own treatment of me seems justified.  I KNOW this. Yet I am feeling compelled to tell them why I'm setting that boundary, how disappointed I am that they wouldn't have had the good sense to know not to "go there".  How wrong their crossing it is.  How much it hurts.  And yes, a large part of me wants to stick it right back to them.


I can't lie about it.  But it doesn't make their trespassing on my emotional property any less wrong.  And here I sit.  And I question.  And I pray.  And I wonder.  

Image "Businesswoman Asking To Stop"
courtesy of imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

How much should I tell them?  How do I tell them?  Do I tell them ANYTHING?  I write stuff so ... should I write to them?  Hmmm... any of the rare times I've ever written to someone before about something similar - it wasn't pretty.  The fangs and claws came out - on both sides.  It was pretty ugly.  I hesitate before doing that again.  

Maybe I should just be quiet and not "go there" myself.  Say nothing, but refuse to play that game - and then when they ask about it ... keep it not only simple, but short.   Yet there's this big, empty ... whatever... out there which begs, no, demands to be addressed.  The call of that thing is so strong, perhaps irresistible.  Or is it really "out there"??  Maybe it's actually "in here" - maybe it's just my own desire for self-justification.  Or maybe, as people in the recovery circles I hang around in say, it's "the codependent crazies."  That desire to gain the upper hand, to change the other person's behavior - even though I know for sure it won't - and will probably make it worse...!  

One of the things I learned in a course many years ago just popped into my head.  The course was on decision-making - and I remember the instructor saying, "The decision to do nothing is still a viable decision.  Sometimes a problem needs to just stew for a while - as uncomfortable as that is - and come to its own conclusion." 

That is the only option for me right now that has any semblance of peace attached to it.  Everything else is rife with turmoil.  So - once again I turn the whole situation - and myself - over to God, asking Him to relieve me of the bondage of self-will run riot, and to make me an example of what happens in a heart totally in love with Him.    

Roll Call

John.         Here.
Andrew.     Here.
Marcy.       Here.
Brenda.     Here.
Linda.       Present.
Bruce.       Here.

This was a scene repeated so many times in my childhood in various school years that the names run together ... but the answer was always the same.  Either "here" or "present".  

There's a hint in that little scene.  A reminder that in order to learn in life, we must be in the moment - we must be here.  

Too many times I've gone round and round in the past.  There's been no escape; it's like I was trapped there.  I do believe that the past is useful to visit when it's done with the purpose of healing - or of reminding ourselves of the blessings we have known so as to encourage ourselves to keep believing, keep hoping.  But living there, wallowing in our pasts, leaves us sad, bitter, estranged from or entangled within our roots.  Either way, we cannot be present in the now.  Our energy is all tied up in what has already happened, what might have happened if we (or others) had only done things differently.  Emotionally and physically, we tire easily. So it was with me.  I held deep resentments against those who had injured me, nursed each new wound and compounded it upon the old.  I berated myself for not living up to my own expectations.  It sapped my strength.  

There've also been times when I feared the future: feared it so much that I would sleep poorly (if at all), fret and stew about things that might happen (most of which never did), and try to influence or manipulate the circumstances or the people involved in my own future so much that I would end up creating the very thing I feared.  It robbed me of many moments I could have enjoyed.  It stole away the present... so that I wasn't here for it.  I was in tomorrow.  Next week. Next month. 

In the last 3 years I have been learning to exist in the here.  In the present.  In the now. The struggle is never-ending: it is difficult to accept what has been, what is.  To not try to change what will be.  When I do live in the now, though, the weight of the backpack of yesterday and the chains of tomorrow drops from me like Pilgrim's pack when he gets to the cross.  I am freed to spend my energy in things that matter, right now.  Enjoying the moment, now.  Helping the person who is in front of me, now.  Hearing the still, small whisper of the divine, now.  Breathing the rarefied air in the presence of God, now.  Worshiping Him, now.  Not ten years ago.  Not next Sunday.  NOW.

If I carry anything with me into the new year, I wish for it to be this.  That when I am called upon, that whenever and wherever God will speak to me and give me that inner nudge - I will be "present."

Song in the Night

"All Your breakers and Your waves have rolled over me." - Ps. 42:7

That's what fear - that's what panic - that's what depression - looks like.  It's overwhelming, suffocating, destructive.  

King David struggled with these feelings on a regular basis.  He spent a lot of his youth running from the wrath of a royal madman obsessed with not losing his kingdom - to the point of living in caves even.  Even after he came to power, there were times when his life was horrible.  One of his sons raped his daughter, another killed the son who did it, and a third son tried to lead a coup take his kingdom away from him by force.  Talk about stress!  

Photo (via Google Images) :
http://allworldbest.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-waves.html

Read any of the psalms written by him (some weren't) and they will usually talk about the tumult he experienced inside.  Most were prayers.  Of those, most started out with some version of "God? Where ARE You??"  Then a whole litany of complaints - David didn't hold anything back. No "speaking in faith" for him! at least, not the way that folks today think of it. He was honest.  Brutally honest! Near the end, though, he would usually speak to his soul and tell it to remember God's goodness, to remember all the wonderful things He'd done for His people, to take heart from this, to remember to be grateful and to praise Him.  Over and over again we can see him struggling to believe in what were sometimes horrific circumstances - betrayal, loneliness, despondency, and waiting for God to do something when it seemed like the heavens were made of bronze. 

I quoted Psalm 42:7 at the beginning of this post.  Verse 8 says this:  "The Lord will command His lovingkindness in the daytime - and in the night His song will be with me, a prayer to the God of my life." The "song in the night" has come to me so many times as I have wrestled with God in the wee hours of the morning, wondering why this or that situation had to happen, whether things will ever be better, if I'll ever see the light of day in my heart again.  Everyone has times like that.  The "song" might have minor chords in it - at first - it's okay. The important thing, I believe, is to lift up whatever thoughts I have to God.  No matter what they are.  The important thing is that I talk to Him.  Even if I doubt.

David goes on to say that he would continue to be honest with God, to ask Him why He has forsaken him - and then after this outburst of emotion, he begins to ask himself why he is so disquieted.  He encourages himself to hope, to trust, to rest in God.  

The rest can't come for me unless and until I am honest with Him.  When my heart is heavy with grief or fear or depression, the singing isn't possible until the fists go into the pillow, until the shoulders heave with sobs, and the knowledge comes - usually afterward - that even at those times, He is holding me and letting me be who I am, feel what I feel, and that loves me in spite of it all.  

That kind of song is worth more than all the ones borne of denial and duty.  It is the song of Love.  

Strength in Numbers (SiN)

There's something I've noticed in society that has insidiously crept its way into the culture of faith.  It's even touted as honourable and desirable. People buy into it and play follow the leader, no matter how dangerous it is. 

It's a fallacy.  It's based on a complete lie. An age-old lie. 

Found this photo via
Google Images at:
http://www.picturethisgallery.com
/Artists/Terry_Gilecki.asp

It's the idea that human beings can change God's mind, can make Him do this or that or the other thing, just by joining forces, banding together, and overwhelming Him with requests by as many people as possible to do (or not allow) a certain thing.

It's based on the lie that we have been told since the very beginning: that we know better than He does and that we have a say in what happens to us and/or to our friends and family. 

We don't.  

You know, some folks think that's what prayer is about: getting God to do what you want Him to do.  Which spawns that other fallacy that more people getting on His case is going to get a faster and more acceptable answer.

But it isn't.  It isn't in either case.  

Prayer is about friendship with God.  It has nothing to do with getting Him to do something we want done.  Much as we might want it.  If He could be swayed by the number of people who ask for a particular thing, He would be no more than a glorified politician.  How unutterably disappointing that would be!  No, it's more about allowing Him inside of those lonely, parched places in our lives and letting Him take over and trusting His decisions.  It's not about us, it's about Him.  

Strength In Numbers (acronym: SIN - that tells me something right there) in what we call "prayer" is about making ourselves bigger, making God look smaller.  It's lobbying.  It's manipulating.  It's coercing.  It's imposing our will on His.  

It's ludicrous.  

It stems from a basic lack of belief that one person can matter to Him - that He would listen to one person and care about what matters to him or her.  It comes from a firm faith in the ogre-ness of God: that He's a killjoy, that He is a tyrant and needs to be appeased, placated, flattered, convinced to be good.  

Nothing could be further from the truth.  
He invites each of us into His heart .... and we break it by trying to twist His arm.

Winding down

When I was a child, perhaps about 10 years old, my family used to go and visit my mother's uncle who lived about two and a half hours' drive from us.  Aunt Sue was probably my favorite aunt.  She and Uncle Ernie lived in a quaint little house that reminded me of a doll-house.  The pantry-style kitchen spilled out into a parlor, and I spent my time in the large living room where they made up a bed at night on the sofa.  In that living room there was a clock - one of those old mantle clocks that chimed, and you had to wind up the chimes when you wound up the clock.  It would chime on the quarter hour, half hour, three-quarter hour and the hour.  

I loved it.  There was something comforting about knowing that every fifteen minutes this thing would just keep reminding us that time would pass at the same speed whether we thought it did or not.  

I could hear it ticking faithfully in the night as well, a soothing reminder that I was not alone.  Others in my family thought it quite annoying.  They weren't used to the sound it made, it woke them up.  That was part of its charm for me as a child who was terrified of the dark - it gave me something to focus on, something that was constant and reliable.  

Every so often the movement would slow down, the chimes would become lazy, and the clock would lose time. It would "wind down." Sometimes the ticking would hesitate - a sure sign of loosened springs on the inside.  So it wasn't long before Aunt Sue would get out the key and wind the clockworks up again.  She'd have to do that first, and then slowly move the minute hand forward, stopping at the 15, 30, 45 and hour positions to allow the clock to chime and keep track of where in the cycle it was.  It was such fun to observe her doing this - a little woman not much taller than I was at 10 years old - and so intent on keeping this valuable machine in good shape, crucial in the days well before cell phones were even invented, much less pick up the correct time from a satellite during or after a power outage.  

I guess I started thinking about this as I pondered the tendency I have to "coast" sometimes in my recovery and in my daily relationships with God, myself and others.  When I start to coast like that, I become less reliable, more likely to mislead myself or others into a false sense of security.  It feels "loose" inside.  My reactions start to hesitate - I become unsure, insecure, obsessive.  I wind down in my motivation to maintain those crucial relationships.  

So that is when I need to take out the Key of prayer, meditation and self-examination and tighten up the primary relationship (with God) and the secondary one (with myself).  Then it's easy to wind up the third relationship (with others) and before long I'm "keeping time" .... and the hesitation, the insecurity, and the obsession are all gone.

I can't ...

There are a lot of things I can do.  I can think, work, eat, drive, and so many more things.  But there is a sense in which I can do absolutely nothing.  That realm includes the area of my own ability to consistently say and do the right thing, or to not choose the wrong thing.  

I cannot control other people, circumstances, or outcomes, either.  Much as I want to.  In fact, there is very little over which I have control.  I like to think I do, but I don't.

For most of my life I tried to live life the way I was taught to.  I tried really hard: straining, striving, and forcing myself to behave a certain way.  Trying to get people to behave a certain way because that's what I believed that I had to do in order to be a good wife, mother, friend.  

Not until I started into this journey of recovery and healing did I even start to get an inkling of the secret of living life.

Source of this photo:
http://tammycloserwalk.blogspot.com/2009/11/
i-cant-even-walk-without-you-holding-my.html

I can't.  God can.

There's a line of a song that says, "I can't even walk without You holdin' my hand."  The longer I am on this journey, the more convinced I am that this is true.  In my own strength I have nothing ... but when I rely on God for His strength and direction - lo and behold - things work out.  

I can't count the number of times I have been in close touch with Him and things have fallen right into place, miracles (mini-miracles) have happened.  Being in the right place at the right time, especially if there have been delays just prior to that.  Humming a song to myself that someone else needs to hear who's within earshot, and not knowing it's what he or she needs or even whether the person is even there.  Not reacting in a situation where reacting would worsen a situation.  Instinctively knowing when refraining from speaking, or just giving someone a hug, would say more than words ever could.  It's uncanny.  But I've seen it happen, time and time again.  In my own wisdom and strength, I would have screwed it up, and royally at that.

I know because I've relied on my own wisdom and strength.  It's how I lived most of my life, including the majority of my Christian life.  And although it might work for a short while and in short bursts, it ends up with me feeling burnt out, used up, angry, frustrated, and exhausted.  Not to mention with a lot of egg on my face.  Pushing myself and allowing myself to be tricked into that whole "don't just stand there, do something!" mentality has been my downfall again and again, and in the midst of my delusion (before I hit bottom) it's led me to believe that I should be doing more, that I have to do, do, do.  I forget to be, be, be.  And every single time, it ends in failure.  I've proven time and time again that I just... can't.

When I rely on God, when I concentrate on my relationship with Him and live in the moment, life is an adventure with unexpected twists, unforeseen blessings. 

Even when the circumstances aren't the best. 

Every Little Thing Counts

I'm carrying on a silent conversation nearly all the time with God.  We talk about everything, and sometimes we even use words.  

A couple of days ago, a Baptist pastor, Pastor Nelms, prayed an opening prayer to 'bless' a Nascar event that was taking place, and his choice of words raised quite a few eyebrows.  Among the words he used were thanks for his "smokin' hot wife" (something I commend him for doing, since far too few men would say they are attracted to their spouse and especially not in public).  But it wasn't limited to that.  He also thanked God for the (insert brand name here) tires, the (insert brand name here) fuel, etc.  I was starting to wonder what god the guy was praying to because it sure sounded like an avid fan's endorsement of all the Nascar sponsors, rather than a prayer.

Photo courtesy of:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/07/25/
nascar-prayer-pastor-joe-nelms_n_908721.html

There was no question it was heart felt.  

There was no question he was truly thankful.

Yet - how did the watching world see it? 

Well-l, the reaction I've been seeing is one of tee-hees and snickers.  Equating Christians with red-necks who only think about their truck, their dog, and the next left-hand turn (a Nascar reference, for you non-racing folks like me ...) not necessarily in that order.  Religifying absolutely everything.  Even the tires on the race-cars.  

Well, I must say that it was amusing to listen to - and I laughed so very hard the first time I heard it, especially his references to his family and the way he ended the prayer, "In Jesus' name, boogity boogity boogity Amen!!"  I'm just hoping that the world doesn't think that every Christian worships Nascar any more than they would think that every single person who speaks arabic is a terrorist.  Neither is true.

Regardless of how I feel (or don't feel) about Nascar... or about the reaction of the folks who have an opportunity to bask in the stereotypes Christians get (some with good reason!) the incident raises some interesting questions.  One of them is the idea of being able to pray anywhere about anything.  And that, I believe, is where the expression, "Every little thing counts" is important. The apostle Paul said to pray without ceasing.  To always give thanks for all things to God.  (Okay - I guess that would include sexy spouses too....ya-hoo!)

Yes, I pray about parking spaces, people crossing the street, and the next file I pick up at work, as well as the bigger things like the health of the family pets, someone's sickness, a grieving family, and the people impacted by a natural disaster or a tragedy.  

I do it because I believe God hears and I believe He cares.  And when not praying I try to listen; God's voice comes in many ways and through any number of people with whom I interact.  He surprises me sometimes at the variety of ways, the plethora of circumstances through which He gets His message across to me.   If listening is hard, I listen to music or get by myself and read a Good Book, among other things.  

I'm learning not to put Him in a box and say that He only can speak through or use this thing or that thing, this person or that person.  Sometimes I can't see how that could be possible and He ALWAYS surprises me, as I fully expect Him to do with Pastor Nelms.  

He can - and does - use every little thing to speak to me, just as I am learning to speak to Him about every little thing.

Dead Air

One of the most common frustrations and complaints about prayer is that it doesn't work, that the prayers don't get answered.

There seem to be those who live a "charmed" existence, whose prayers are always answered and who are always getting great press because whoever they pray for gets healed, or a job, or whatever, - and whatever they pray for happens.

Hm.  Well, I guess I am glad it happens for some people.  I have to wonder what might happen to their faith if for some reason there was an "answer" that didn't come.

The term "unanswered prayer" is a red flag for those who consider themselves Christians. Yet ... I think this might have more to do with the idea that we have to protect God's reputation than it does about actually being honest.  

The truth is that prayer (and for the moment, let's keep our definition to the more accepted one of asking God for what you want) - carries with it the option of God saying "no".  And speaking as a parent, the more my kids hound me to do something with the attitude that I HAVE to give it to them, like it's their right or something, the more likely I am to either say no, or walk away and ignore them.  (They are starting to learn this!)  See, it works this way:  we ask for what we want, we say please, and God decides whether to say yes, no, or wait a while (sometimes a LONG while).  We DON'T demand.  We DON'T manipulate or "quote scripture" back to Him (after all, He knows what it says!!) as a way to get what we want.  We don't even have to ask Him for something that we know is His will!  if it's His will, He will find a way to make it happen because - well, because He is God and being Divine and all-powerful and all that, He can.

I'm beginning to see prayer in a different light these days.

Less and less I pray for "what I want."  More and more I see prayer as a way to develop and deepen my relationship with Him.  A conversation between friends, in other words.  

Okay, so if I am upset about something, I tell Him.  I don't hold anything back because after all, He made me, and He loves me.  But most of the time I'm inviting Him into my situations, to take control of them, to not let me grab the reins and try to do His job in my life or anyone else's.  I accept things, people, and circumstances the way they are in reality.  I try to remember that He's God and I'm not, and that He can do a far better job of running the universe than I ever could.  And I have discovered that for me - this leads to far more peace than I have ever known in my life. Before, I was so dissatisfied with the "way the world is" and what people "should" be doing.  I was constantly angry.  Nothing or nobody could satisfy me - and that included God.  He was too slow.  And then I prettied it up and turned it around to blame myself.  I'm not saying the right words in the right way.  I don't have enough faith.  I must have sin in my life.  It was all a smokescreen.  It was all "I - I - I."  I wanted things to change and change "now" like I was some old dog chasing its tail and never catching anything but a dizzy spell - what a waste of energy that was.  

I stumbled about a year ago on the only kind of prayer that always gets answered and brings the kind of peace I was looking all my life to find.

It took taking me through quite a journey for God to get me to the idea that prayer isn't about changing things.  It's about walking with Him.  It's not about me hanging on for dear life to Him - but about Him never letting go of me.  It's not about me getting what I want. It's about growing in my love-relationship with Him.  It's about Him freely and graciously giving me the one thing I need in life: the awareness of His presence.

Telling versus Asking

For a long time, I spent time endorsing and espousing the idea that if God promised a certain thing, then all I needed to do was "claim" it.  To "take authority over the enemy" and to "speak those things that be not as though they were." But the more I get to know Him, the less sure I am of that kind of attitude, which I once thought was "faith."  

I agree that Jesus has given us the victory.  I agree that He is more powerful than satan.  I firmly believe that He has all authority over the powers of darkness.

But more and more I am convinced that I don't.  That I am not more powerful than satan and that I win NOTHING, that if it wasn't for God, I would not even be breathing.  Moreover, I don't need to defend God on the debate battlefield, or to labor or travail as if trying to push Him through a keyhole into the world or reality I want Him to occupy.  It is a form of manipulation, even of self-aggrandizement, to "take" the authority that belongs to Him and use it to clobber someone or something.  He's far bigger than I am, far more powerful.  All I need to do is to ASK.  

Not TELL.  More and more I cringe when I hear people "command" God to do something for them (or satan to stop doing something).  They screw their faces up and strain and grunt and groan as if by their effort the supernatural could happen. Such faces would scare little children.  Heck, they even scare ME.  I need to be clear on this.  God is supernatural.  I am human. I am not supernatural, don't want to be, can't pretend to be.  

Asking involves saying Please.  Now THERE's a concept.  That God has the right to say no.  He is not obligated to do anything - at all!  I need to ask Him in a near-forgotten attitude called humility.  And leave the decision up to Him. And accept whatever He decides.

My primary concern must never be how much money I am giving to missions, or whether this hot political issue is right or wrong, or what I'm going to do with my rebellious teenagers... as tempting as that is for a recovering control freak (I was so deeply into judging people that I pushed people of all stripes, even my teens, away from me and robbed myself of having a voice with them.)  No - my primary concern needs to be one thing and one thing only: intimacy with God.

And I must make no mistake.  God, as much as He loves me, as gracious, merciful and forgiving as He is, is not "safe."  

There is an interchange in the book "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" when Lucy asks the Beaver if Aslan, the great Lion, is "safe."  The Beaver replies something like this: "Safe?  I should think NOT!  After all, he's not a tame lion.  No - he's not safe.  But he IS good."  That epitomizes the respectful closeness that I have with God.  

Intimacy with God is definitely not safe.  But in my relationship with Him I have found that He is good, He does what is good, and He seeks the highest good.  Not necessarily for me, but for His purpose.  

So when I ask Him anything now (and I find myself asking for less and less; I thank Him more and more) it is to know His will and to have the courage from Him to do it.  Or if for someone else - I ask for His highest good in their lives, trusting that He will do it, whatever that is.  The only thing I tell Him now is how I am feeling; He already knows it, but ... it helps me to get it out into the open.  I am learning to let God be God ... and to stop taking that role upon myself.    

Never Run Dry

When I was a child, one of the things I took for granted was this pipe sticking up out of the ground in my home town.  It was called the Booster Pump - an odd name which has a long history and which I didn't know then.  Basically it was a man-made artesian well.  The town had built a reservoir to catch rain water, piped it under the town but there were problems getting it to go over a certain hill to supply the rest of the town, so they built a pump to move the water over the hill.  In order to make it work properly there was an overflow well, which was converted into a pump-house.  The 40 horsepower pump was left on all the time.  In time the need for the pump no longer existed (with larger pipes underground) but the man-made artesian well remained.  In the 1940s the pump house was removed - and when I was a child in the late 60's, the pipe sticking up from the ground, constantly spouting pure water, had become a town landmark. Children and animals alike quenched their thirst from it; people would bring jugs to fill from it and take home, claiming that the "town water" didn't taste nearly as good as this.

They were right.  The water that overflowed was akin to well water on a grand scale, fed by rains and the winter snows and spring run-off.  It was clear, pure, cold, and breathtakingly delicious. It still is. It was also free to anyone and I hope that it still is.  I believe that now, another pump house has been constructed around it to honor the landmark.  

All I knew as a child was that the water was there, it was good, and it was free.

Like God's love - forgiveness - grace ... an endless supply offered freely.  Only His is on a much larger scale.  

Life doesn't get any better than that.
Anybody thirsty?

Talking and Listening - and Dancing

Much has been said about the topic of prayer.  Books have been written, entire doctrines have been postulated about the proper posture, format, attitude, and even the words used when  praying.

When you boil it right down, all prayer is, is a conversation between two people when one of them just happens to be God.


Yes, He is omnipotent.  Yes, He is holy.  Yes, He is the creator of the universe and the judge of our motives.  Of course!  But He's also a person.  He created us to be persons so that we could communicate with Him.  He desires to communicate with us.  So when we pray, we tell Him what is on our minds, thank Him for listening ... and then (something we may miss) we listen to what He has to say.  The better we become at listening, the longer the interaction lasts; it spills out into the day as He goes with us.  The prayer becomes a constant conversation.  Hearing His voice gets easier to do.  We get to know what His will is, and we do it out of gratitude to Him.  The more we let God do His will through us, relying on His strength alone, the fewer mistakes we'll make, and the more confident we become that He is listening and will do what is best: in us, through us, and for us as well as for those other people (whoever they are) for whom we pray.

It's like learning to dance.  You don't get it perfect the first time.  One person leads, the other follows his lead.  

I was talking to my mother yesterday and she reminded me of one of the activities that she and Dad used to do together - they used to go to barn dances.  There was a fiddler and a square-dance caller and everything!  They took me along once; I would have been about 12 years old, I guess.  It's one of my better memories growing up.  I even got to dance!!

At a certain portion of every barn dance, the group dancing (square-dancing) was over with and the waltzing would start.

Dad would ask Mom to dance with him.  And it was awkward for both of them.  She didn't know the steps; he didn't have the patience to teach her without getting annoyed.  She felt stupid and he felt frustrated.  Eventually he just took her to dances but danced with other people while she watched ... and then he just went and sat the waltzing part out. After a while they stopped going altogether.  She told me, "I didn't mind going to the dances at all, and I wasn't jealous of him dancing with those other women.  I just wished he would have told me what he wanted." 

I grinned at her.  "You know what the problem was don't you Mom?"  She shook her head.  I continued, more of a statement than a question.  "You tried to lead .... didn't you."  She kind of looked sheepish and I knew that was it.  Letting him lead was how she could have learned how to dance.  

One learns by doing - in dancing - in prayer - in life.  

Dad was a novice dancer and he didn't know what was wrong; he just knew that whenever he went one way, she went another. They ended stepping on each others' toes. And after a while that can be very discouraging.  Letting someone lead implies you trust  the person to never lead you astray.  Mom and I didn't go there in our conversation. She continued on to talk about other things.  But it got me to thinking.

I heard guidance described in this way before - it's a dance. The GUI at the first stands for God, U and I.  So God, you and I dance.  It is a great analogy for prayer as a life-conversation.  In connection with Him, close enough for conversation and taking cues and leading from Him.  (Of course when WE try to lead we get frustrated and end up looking and feeling foolish...)  But as we let go of our need to control every situation and let God do it - we get better at it.  

And God can take us places in Him we never thought we'd go.  All we need to do is accept His invitation ... and let Him lead.

Under the Armor

I like to read stories from the Old Testament.  It's full of colorful yet very profound examples of how God worked in the lives of the people who dared push past their preconceived notions and seek Him.

This morning I was reading in the book of Second Kings, and I came across a well-known story, one I learned in Sunday School.  It was of Naaman the leper, the one who had a little servant girl who told his wife (her mistress) about a prophet in Israel who could cure him of his leprosy. Yes, the photo to the right (above) is a fellow who has leprosy, a debilitating disease, and in those days, there was no cure. 

I relaxed and let the story pull me in.  I wondered what God was going to teach me that I didn't already know.  He's funny like that.

Naaman was a high-ranking military official, like a general in our culture.  He was second only to the king, and when he heard of a possible cure for this disease, he asked permission from his boss (the king) to go to Israel.  And he told him why.  The king (being a bureaucrat) heard what he wanted to hear and sent a letter not to the prophet, but to the king of Israel to have him either take the credit for the healing (or the blame in case Naaman wasn't cured.)  He sent plenty of money, obviously bribe money to try to entice the king of Israel to do as he was asked.  ("What's in it for me?" is a very old question.)  

When Naaman got there, the king of Israel read the Aramean king's letter and was very upset.  He thought it was a trick to get him to displease the sender, and worried that there would be an attack.  After all, before him stood the general of the foreign king's army AND his significant entourage, enough to attend to all the animals that carried the bribes he brought with him.

The prophet Elisha heard what had happened and he sent a message to the king of Israel.  "Send him to me.  Then you will know there is a prophet in Israel."  When Naaman got to the prophet's house, his servant came out with a message for him.  "Wash seven times in the Jordan River and your leprosy will be cured."  Naaman was furious!  The Jordan was a muddy river, prone to flooding, and there were rivers far more clean even in nearby Samaria.  He was about to leave in a rage, when his servants talked some sense into him.  "If this prophet had asked you to perform some great and difficult feat, you would have done that, wouldn't you?  How much simpler it is to just 'wash and be clean'!" 

How much simpler indeed.  It was the simplicity of it that offended the great man.  He had come looking to buy his way, to impress his way into the good graces of whatever god this nation served.  He expected to at least speak to the prophet in person, perhaps to have the prophet wave his hand over him and - puff of smoke and abracadabra - his leprosy would be gone.  But he hadn't counted on this.  This was too simple.  Yet his servants were so earnest - and what they said did have some merit ...

Naaman relented.  And this is the picture that struck me this morning.

General Naaman had to take off his armor to go into the Jordan. This armor was head-to-foot and up until now, he had been able to hide the extent of his deforming disease from all but his family and close friends. 

But this, this was different; this was humiliating.  He had to strip down to his underwear, and expose the repulsiveness of his disease to anyone who might just happen along, as well as to his entire entourage. He had to submit his will to the will of another.   He had to let go of his preconceived notions of a god who expected some give-and-take. He had to become vulnerable in his area of deepest weakness.

When he got up for the seventh time out of the muddy waters of the Jordan (excuse the artist's rendition) his skin was like that of a child.  All his leprous spots were gone, just as his wife's servant-girl had predicted! 

Better than that outward healing, a transformation had taken place on Naaman's insides.  He had come to know a new God.  A "God of his understanding" - one who met him at his point of need and touched him where nobody could touch him before, who was no respecter of persons and who cared about him personally.

Naaman made a decision in his grateful heart, right there and then.  He had to say thank you - not just to the prophet but to God - and for the rest of his life.  

He went back to the prophet and tried to pay him.  No dice, came the response.  This is free.  Overwhelmed, Naaman then made a request (which was granted!) and the request itself and his reason behind it is how we know his heart had changed.  

He wanted DIRT. (Dirt??)  Enough dirt to load up two mules with it - so he could carry it back to Aram with him.  Why in the world - ??  

He wanted it because he wanted to use it as a reminder, possibly as a base to create an altar back in Aram to worship this God, and NO OTHER god, for the rest of his life.  As I was reading the story, I noticed that he even asked forgiveness from God (through the prophet) in advance for his duty to fulfill a ceremonial function in the line of his work:  having to accompany his boss to the temple of his former gods - having to bow his head when the king of Aram worshiped.  He wanted there to be no mistake - his heart belonged to his new God and to Him alone. 

This new God had gotten under his armor.... under his physical armor and under his intellectual armor.  This God had touched his heart, had proven His power, had ripped away his prejudices and his objections in a simple, miraculous act of generosity.  

He would never be the same.