giving good gifts

I recently found these words that I wrote my last semester of college. I am amazed at how they continue to ring true as different stages of life have come and gone.

I have touched a mountain. I have explored its terrain. I have eaten of its fruit. I have fallen. I have scraped my knees on the rocks. I have drunk of the cool mountain air that cleanses and refreshes. I have waded into the mountain streams with cool waters dancing around me. I have gotten lost. I have fallen at the feet of the one who saved me from death in the wilderness. I have fallen in love with the landscape. I have felt at home. I have come to know those who journey around me. I have tasted the bitterness that comes from being told that the road closes in a few miles. I have listened as I hear my name called from another mountain. I have come to the end of the path. And, as I turn to look back, I have seen the path that I once could not see; I have loved the landscape that I once did not love; I have touched lands that I once had not touched. And, I have loved it.

~ by funsize on December 30, 2007.

i have touched a mountain

I recently found these words that I wrote my last semester of college. I am amazed at how they continue to ring true as different stages of life have come and gone.

I have touched a mountain. I have explored its terrain. I have eaten of its fruit. I have fallen. I have scraped my knees on the rocks. I have drunk of the cool mountain air that cleanses and refreshes. I have waded into the mountain streams with cool waters dancing around me. I have gotten lost. I have fallen at the feet of the one who saved me from death in the wilderness. I have fallen in love with the landscape. I have felt at home. I have come to know those who journey around me. I have tasted the bitterness that comes from being told that the road closes in a few miles. I have listened as I hear my name called from another mountain. I have come to the end of the path. And, as I turn to look back, I have seen the path that I once could not see; I have loved the landscape that I once did not love; I have touched lands that I once had not touched. And, I have loved it.

road to perdition

In Road to Perdition there is a striking scene between Michael Sullivan and his son. At this point in the movie, the two have robbed a number of banks and now have a large amount of money. Michael Jr. asks his father if he can have a share in what has been stolen. His father asks him how much he would like. Michael Jr. thinks and then says “$200” as if he was asking for a large sum. His father agrees to give him the money. Had Michael Jr. been able to comprehend the amount of money that they had stolen, perhaps he would have asked for a whole lot more.

I have to wonder if we do the same thing. Often my prayers are simple, trite requests. If I really believed all that I say I do, I wonder if my prayer life would look different. If I was allowing the Word of God to inform my appeals, maybe I would be asking for different things. If I could comprehend the treasury of Heaven, perhaps I would ask for a whole lot more.

mighty acts of the Lord

I was reading in the book of Acts about Stephen the other day. I was struck by his recounting the events of the Israelites. As he walks through their history his focus was on the mighty acts of the Lord. I wonder if we were to tell our own history, might we recall such events such as this is when I went to college, and this is when I bought a car, and this is when I moved to another state, and this is when my mom got cancer. I wonder if Stephen was to recall the events of the Israelites in this way if it might have resembled this: “this is when Moses left Egypt, and this is when Moses got married, and this is when Moses was in a really hard place in leadership, and this is when Moses looked at the Promised land and couldn’t go in.”

In contract, Stephen seemed to say “this is when the LORD called this person, and this is when the LORD spoke directly with his servant, and this is when the LORD moved by parting the waters, and this is when God made this promise.”

I wonder how my story might differ if told from Stephen’s vantage point.

my dainty, little feet

Brown, leather wingtips. Six pairs of them. And, my dainty, little feet complete with totally toffee colored toenails and strappy black sandals. Though clearly the smallest in size, my feet were quite conspicuous amidst the others. We stood in a circle, held hands and prayed. Then the six of us entered into the sanctuary to lead the morning’s worship.

I’ve come to appreciate my femininity. I’m certain that God made me a woman because it brings Him more glory than if I were a man. I am delighted to be created in His image. I am thrilled that He wants to use me to build His kingdom. I am thankful that He forgives my sins, hears my prayers, and gifts me for His service. I am praising Him that my gender is a gift from Him and that it wasn’t a surprise that I was a woman, but it was a part of His perfect plan. No, it wasn’t a surprise that I would think like a woman, act like a woman, or communicate like a woman. No, it wasn’t a surprise that I would have dainty little feet, adorn my toenails with totally toffee polish, or wear strappy black sandals. That’s exactly what He intended.

in the silence

On a nametag that had been taped on my desk were the letters J-U-L-I-A. My desk was just behind Tara’s and next to me was J.P. I was a little girl of six years with more stories to tell than time would allow. I always had an answer or a question or a comment. So, when Miss Rood would look out at her class, often my tiny hand was waving about. When I didn’t get the attention I desired, I would try to sit up higher in my chair and sometimes little noises would slip out like, “uh, uh.” As if these utterances would help her to see my six year old figure that was frantically signaling to her that I wanted her attention. Lest you think that my teacher lived up to her name, she was kind and gave attention when appropriate. But often would teach in the silence.

As of late there are times when I feel like that six year old is trapped inside of me. I look at God and flail my hand trying to catch His gaze. “Uh, uh” are the syllables that are thrust from my mouth in a desperate attempt to get His attention. My heart feels as though He cannot see His child or as if He may have forgotten I am sitting here. But I am finding that He, too, is teaching in the silence.

mom's wisdom

Since my mother was diagnosed with cancer, our phone calls have become much more frequent. Since she has retired, often we email two or three times a day. With this increased communication, I have found that her pearls of wisdom often land in my lap. Today I was telling her about my day. Her comment follows:

“Sounds like you are busy. You are the only one who has control over that you know. As long as it is fun stuff, being busy is not all bad.”

I don’t know if I necessarily agree that being busy isn’t all bad…ok, so maybe it isn’t all bad, but often I feel like the Lord is telling me to slow down. Yesterday as I was driving to work, I felt the Lord nudge me and say, “Slow down. Look around. See all of these things? I want you to write about them.” When my life goes at warp speed, I don’t have time to drink in the world around me. And, when I’m not drinking it in, I’m certainly not writing.

It’s funny to me that when I was younger I would get so annoyed when my parents would “spout their wisdom.” Now, I treasure their insight so much, I blog about it. How life changes.

sitting in silence

A delicate red rose adorned the communion table. Its presence was to announce the birth of a little girl. It was a painful declaration of a tiny babe who lived a few short hours before she slipped away into the arms of Jesus.

A familiar voice asked me to call her back. I was checking my voicemail late at night, but knew from her tone she needed me. I quickly entered her speed dial number and then listened to the crushed voice on the other end of the line. She painfully shared her story of heartache and loss: the agony of loving while the other walks away.

Excited to have an email from my dear friend, I quickly opened it. As I began to read, I knew my heart was about to be broken. As she recounted the events of the last weeks, tears came to my eyes. Medical procedures revealed the abnormalities. Anguish crept its way into her life.

In my Sunday school class we are studying Job. Following class this week I was having a discussion with some friends of mine. We agreed that the implications of some of this morning’s comments were that with the resurrection hope that we have, we should rejoice always. I don’t. One of the hymns this morning implied that my life will be all sunshine when I believe in Jesus. It’s not. People have told me if I just try a little harder that I will be happy all the time. I won’t.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the grief that trickles into the lives of those I love. On this day I am very aware of the state of the world we live in. Nothing is as it should be. Creation has lost its luster and the effects of the fall have slithered their way into every corner. Eagerly we await the day when all things will be made new. The day when there will be no more crying, no more sorrow. The day when our Lord will tenderly wipe away every tear from our eyes, and we will be made perfect.

If you are hurting today, I will gladly sit in silence with you.

i'll sit with you

A delicate red rose adorned the communion table. Its presence was to announce the birth of a little girl. It was a painful declaration of a tiny babe who lived a few short hours before she slipped away into the arms of Jesus.

A familiar voice asked me to call her back. I was checking my voicemail late at night, but knew from her tone she needed me. I quickly entered her speed dial number and then listened to the crushed voice on the other end of the line. She painfully shared her story of heartache and loss: the agony of loving while the other walks away.

Excited to have an email from my dear friend, I quickly opened it. As I began to read, I knew my heart was about to be broken. As she recounted the events of the last weeks, tears came to my eyes. Medical procedures revealed the abnormalities. Anguish crept its way into her life.

In my Sunday school class we are studying Job. Following class this week I was having a discussion with some friends of mine. We agreed that the implications of some of this morning’s comments were that with the resurrection hope that we have, we should rejoice always. I don’t. One of the hymns this morning implied that my life will be all sunshine when I believe in Jesus. It’s not. People have told me if I just try a little harder that I will be happy all the time. I won’t.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the grief that trickles into the lives of those I love. On this day I am very aware of the state of the world we live in. Nothing is as it should be. Creation has lost its luster and the effects of the fall have slithered their way into every corner. Eagerly we await the day when all things will be made new. The day when there will be no more crying, no more sorrow. The day when our Lord will tenderly wipe away every tear from our eyes, and we will be made perfect.

If you are hurting today, I will gladly sit in silence with you.

it's not november

Time. It’s this strange thing that continually moves forward. In my experience it is constant though I have been told it is not. Every hour is 60 minutes, and every minute is 60 seconds. And, every second that passes is propelling me forward into the next second. Attempting to stop time is like standing on a beach trying to hold back the waves. The water just keeps pouring over you and disappearing just as seconds flood your life and then are gone.

It’s not November. It’s February. And, between November and February many things have happened. Some monumental. Some mundane. All working together to shape and form and change me. I am not who I was in November. It’s February, and I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to.

~ by funsize on February 11, 2007.

being in relationship?

I noticed that the crossing guard was gone again today. I don’t know her name. I don’t know what troubles swirl around in her life. I don’t know if she will be back. But, I missed her.

A friend of mine has been reading a woman’s blog for some time now. The woman passed away yesterday. My friend cried.

This morning on my group email we were updated about the baby growing in my friends’ womb. Words on a computer screen reported the size of the baby, about the heart, and mind, and physical appearance. I rejoiced with them.

What does it mean to be in relationship?

the treasure emerges

While walking through the sand it was as if our feet were withholding the mystery from us. We trudged along sinking deep into the sand with every step. As we approached the shoreline, the sand became more like a carpet spread before us. After walking a while the shoreline shifted directions slightly and rocks decorated the ocean floor. The brisk breeze cooled us as the sun shown down on our backs this rare winter day. The waves washed up all sorts of pebbles and stones. Pinks, browns, and whites. Some were strange combinations displaying stripes or specks of different colors. Amidst these was the treasure we had come in search of. I picked up my first find. It was about the size of a penny and was a soft lime green. The ocean waves, wind, and rocks had beat upon it until it was smooth though the edges remained uneven. What had once been shiny was now dull. What had once been whole was now broken down. What had once been thrown away was now a treasure.

I have finally given myself permission to read through my writing from the past year. This includes my mass-emails, journal entries, and prayers. As I am sure you have heard me say before, it has been a difficult year. I found it interesting to see the reprieve I had in May and June. After moving, having my parents here, and graduating within one week, the Lord knew I needed some time. And, I found my home to be a sanctuary out in the woods of Wenham. The Lord and I communicated often, and the tranquility brought peace to my soul. Throughout much of the rest of the year, it seems I was attempting to tackle one difficult experience after another. Some of my prayers were incredibly raw. Many of my journals reveal the brokenness I was experiencing, while my emails often painted in words the circumstances I found myself in.

Glass is thrown into the ocean. The rocks beat against it breaking it down while the force of the wind and crushing of the waves whittle down the sharp edges. As the elements continue to order its path, the seaglass begins to grow in beauty.

I do not for a minute regret the circumstances of my life in the past year. There have definitely been difficult days. The many broken dreams, the many transitions, the many painful circumstances…and yet, here I stand more and more convinced that all of these things have crafted me into something more precious to the Lord. I am ever-so-slowly learning that my joy, hope, contentment, and peace are not dependant upon external circumstances.

And slowly the treasure emerges.

what we are looking for

The instructions came in an email. He had laid out the spacing, the words, and the order they should be placed in; basically, he had laid out what he wanted. It didn’t take long to create a flyer that met his specifications. It looked like most flyers that you might find on a bulletin board. It was predictable and informative with a piece of clipart smack-dab in the middle. With a little bit of creativity, the designer began to create a flyer that was eye-catching. In a simple font, “It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing” was scripted across the top. She added filters and innovation to a photo giving the dancing couple a striking appearance. At the bottom of the flyer was all the information the viewer needed. This flyer still had the needed details, but followed none of the instructions for the design. I presented the first option to our client telling him this is what he had asked for. He seemed satisfied. I told him that with a little bit of time and creativity the second one had been created. And, it was clear this was the one he preferred.

Perhaps sometimes what we think we are looking for isn’t really what we are looking for at all.

red ruby slippers

I have been looking in my closet for this certain pair of shoes. I moved not so long ago, and I can’t seem to find anything. There are boxes upstairs in storage waiting to be sorted, and I am sure my red ruby slippers are somewhere in there. I want them not because they are the perfect complement to my outfit, but because when Dorothy tapped hers together she got to go home. And, somewhere within me, I guess I believe in the power of stories.

we cheer big

One my dear friends teaches children. She frequently attends basketball games, and because it is such a small school, sometimes the teams they play will be 2^nd-8^th Graders. She reflected on how you cheer for different things as a result of their age. For some little boys and girls it takes everything they’ve got to just run down the court. Now, if you add a basketball to that it becomes very difficult. One little girl with dark brown hair and deep brown eyes was in second grade. She was trying so hard out there. Dribbling took all of her concentration. The crowd cheered simply because she moved across the court. My dear friend used this story to remind me that we cheer big for great accomplishments. And, “great” accomplishments don’t always look the same.

Today I got groceries without being overwhelmed, called the electric company, and did all of my dishes. And, we cheer big.

something different

In the dimly lit restaurant, our waitress looked at us and said, “Are you guys Christians? I saw you praying.” A million thoughts ran through my head. We looked at her and nodded, “yes, we are.” She told us that she too was a Christian and seemed really excited that she had been blessed to wait on Christians. She asked about our lives and our connections. We asked about hers. As we finished our dessert we talked about the many ways that statement could be taken, “Are you guys Christians? I saw you praying.” We were sort of…taken aback. As we were leaving she said to us, “If I don’t see you again, I will see you again”

There is something refreshing about living here. I am not constantly surrounded by people who believe in God. I enjoy talking to my hairdresser and my dental hygienist about the Lord. Here something is different about me. Here I have something to offer. Here I have a story of good news to tell. I like that.

Colossians 4:6 ^“Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person.”

thought-giggles

I don’t remember who coined this term…if it is you, please remind me Sometime ago I was describing these random bursts of laughter that occur when I am alone. A few apartments ago, I was concerned that the incredibly thin walls would reveal to my neighbors that I frequently laugh to myself. And, that they would think I was crazy. Often as I would take off my makeup at night or prepare dinner or clean, my mind would be going. Things easily amused me. I would laugh at the thought of the way the girl looked at me after my comment, or the way the guy hastily walked across the street. Life humored me.

A few weeks ago I had a thought-giggle. I was a bit startled, and I realized that it had been a long time since these happened with any sort of frequency. Since then, I have been laughing in my car, giggling as I walk from place to place, and of course snickering at the events of the day as I get ready for bed. I’m so thankful the thought-giggles have returned.

~ by funsize on January 29, 2007.

worth the risk?

I had invested many hours in her. As I talked with her, I treasured her heart more and more. I saw something in her that not everyone saw. A drive. A desire to be authentic. A longing to change the world making it a better place. This world needed her. I needed her to challenge and change me. We discussed the possibility of a mentoring relationship. I was ready to love and accept her. I was ready to walk with her and fight with her. Simply put, in a sense I was ready to take on her brokenness with her. She decided against it, and I felt incredibly rejected. That something that I saw in her was valuable. It didn’t matter what mistakes were in the past; I wanted to see her through. What makes people pull away? What makes people so afraid of being in relationship? What makes people want to hide?

What does it mean to be in relationship with others? I feel like every relationship is dangerous. Every time we offer love, there is a chance that it will be rejected. But, I am fully convinced it is worth the risk.

I was praying about this. The Lord quieted my heart and powerfully reminded me that I do the same thing – only more so. He strongly desires to be in relationship with me. He wants to walk with me, to love me, to forgive me. He has in the truest sense taken on my brokenness. And yet, I pull away. I close off my heart. I hide.

Today I am struck by our rejection of Jesus.

men in a square

The sun was just beginning to hide behind the trees, and the grass beneath us was cool and inviting. It was a beautiful summer evening. About ten of us had gathered up blankets and chairs to sit at a concert in the park. We brought cheese, crackers, fruit and wine and enjoyed the music, but more than that the company. That was the summer following my second year of grad school. It was a rich year full of fun and fellowship, laughing and learning, progress and pleasure. That particular summer was a treasured time. The summers are usually quiet on campus, and a small group of us had begun enjoying much of life together as we shared meals, played, and studied.

The concert had ended. We still sat on our blankets, talking and telling stories when one of my friends full of energy and always thinking science spoke up. He suggested that the guys do this experiment where they each rest their feet on another’s back forming a square and then try to do a pushup. He said it was incredibly difficult and required strength. Four of them did it, and to be honest, it looked easy. They asked if anyone else wanted to try (I think they meant boys). I said I did. There was something in me that believed I could do whatever I set my mind to. And, that day I wanted to be strong. I wanted to prove that I could do this. I believe they warned me that I wouldn’t be strong enough, but none-the-less they humored me. I laid down in the square of guys with my face in the cold green grass and waited. One…Two…Three. Everyone pushed as if doing a pushup. Half of the square went up. I worked my muscles straining to push with my arms. Every bit of strength that I had gained by working out in the weight room that summer was pushing to accomplish the task before me. I couldn’t do it. Without much being said, the boys relaxed their strong arms falling back into the grass.

I wonder what happened to that little girl. Though her physical strength was weak, there was something about her emotional strength that was impressive. There was a fight and a drive that made her want to tackle the world.

am i a creampuff?

So I read tonight about the pastry chef who made his beautiful bride a wedding dress made of 1500 cream puffs that weighed twenty pounds.

Some things are better suited for one purpose over another.

I was talking to a co-worker today. She was talking about how some materials dictate how they are used. She has a hard time with the biblical analogy of the potter and the clay. As an artist she has used different materials to express herself, and sometimes their makeup has an influence on the finished piece. I have been contemplating this. Surely the substance of me has an impact on what I become.

For instance, I’ll never be a bouncer. And, I think a Navy Seal is also out of the question. Perhaps, as a woman, this also impacts what areas of ministry are open to me. However, the difference between a bouncer or a Navy seal and certain areas of ministry, is that I do not desire to do the former things. From the deepest depths of me, I desire to do ministry. The pleasure of God is lived out in me when I am leading worship. Could it be that the substance of me prohibits me from this activity? Perhaps I’m a creampuff attempting to be a dress. (c: