Tears

This morning I read in Revelation 7:17 "And God will wipe from their eyes every last tear." 

We all know that scripture. And I've always thought it was comforting to know that God cares about me so much. I picture a loving Father dabbing away my tears. And that's a great picture to have.

But it is almost a sad picture...almost like  "You poor thing. I see your pain. I'm dabbing your tears and comforting you, because I care." Which is nice. But wait...

This morning, I read that the Greek word for "anoint" is "to wipe" or "smear" and this verse can be translated "He will anoint every tear shed from their eyes."

Wow!! 

We feel weak when we cry, but actually, our tears are powerfully anointed!! 

And I love that picture because I also believe that our places of influence and anointing are birthed out of the places we have suffered and felt pain. Which makes perfect sense if our tears are anointed. 

There may be power in the blood, but I see now there is also power in the flood of tears. And it is nice to see tears not as weakness, but as anointed power! 

Carry on, Warrior Bride... 

Addiction

 Meeting new people is often tricky. I dread the question "How many children do you have?" probably much like anyone who has lost a child must dread it. They must make the choice to say either "I have 3 but one passed on" or just leave it at "3"...or maybe "I have 2 living children" but that seems to just invite more inquiries.

For the parents of an addict, this question only brings pain. Because often the next question is "What do they do?" and you know where that's heading. Do you brag about how well your other kids are doing, then drop the bomb? Do you just ignore the question as if you never heard it?

Being the parent of a junky, an addict or alcoholic is beyond hard. I imagine it must be a lot like being the parent of a child who has disappeared for years. Were they kidnapped? Did they run away? Are they alive? Dead? Happy? Tortured? Never getting the answers to those questions, and never being free to grieve the loss of that child, living in a kind of tortuous limbo somewhere between grief and hope. But hoping is a dangerous practice which can cause even more grief...best to stay away from hope. Yet how can we not hope...hoping for a happy ending to the nightmare story we have been dropped into?

All of the grief and hope and scenarios manufactured in our minds certainly wears on us. The pain is constant, never ending, and very cruel.

If we answer the above question honestly it usually causes an awkward silence from the one who asks. Probably because they don't know what to say or didn't really want to know the truth, they were just being polite. So we usually just lie and say our kids are doing well, in order to spare their feelings. But sometimes the truth does leak out, like on a particularly difficult day when that question seems the cruelest and we are just too raw and we can't ignore the elephant sized heartache inside of which we live every day.

Perpetually waiting for someone you love to love themselves enough to choose life takes a toll on your sanity. It stretches your capacity to love further than can be imagined. And it tests your faith in a good God to the very limits.

The waiting also teaches so many things, grace being a real biggie. We learn how to extend grace to others, recognizing pain is behind their harsh words or actions. We learn compassion for broken humanity. Our eyes become open to the "other" people in life, those whom we might not have noticed or felt compassionate towards without our hearts being broken. We learn that life isn't about some self-inspired standard of perfection or any sort of end goal. 

Life is fragile. It is a gift, no matter the wrapping. We learn to cherish the lessons, while we reside in the sacred space of the unknown. We press on, addicted to hope.

Life in Ditches

 Sometimes I watch animal rescue videos. You know the ones, where the dog is lying half-dead in the ditch and someone comes along and picks it up and takes it to the vet where it gets treated and lives?

I find them encouraging. It seems like the dog doesn't just lie there wanting to die. It opens its eyes, it laps a little water. But it has been so beat up by previous owners, or sickness, or pain...that it just can't find the energy to get up. But still it's hanging on. Maybe just waiting for a rescuer to find it and...care?

At any rate, I don't know what the dogs are thinking, but whatever it might be, I'm pretty sure I can relate. I can relate to wanting to live, and not wanting to die, yet not having the energy or strength to stand up and fight.

I'm tired...so tired...of lying in the ditch. I'm tired of feeling so broken and useless and void of anything but the basic intake and expel of oxygen. 

How do we choose life, when it seems that life has been our abuser?

There is a story in the Bible, book of John, chapter 5, about a man with an infirmity, who lies by a pool that is known to have healing powers when an Angel stirs the waters. The man has been lying by that pool for 8 years. Every time the waters stir, he can't make it to the water in time, and nobody will help him. 

Jesus comes along, sees the man (finally, someone SEES him!!) and asks if he wants to be made well. The man says he has no one to help him into the water. Jesus says to the man "Stand up and walk" and immediately he does, and was healed.

Like that man, I want to know Jesus sees me. I want to hear his voice of encouragement telling me to stand up and walk. 

But let's face it. If I'm being honest, today I just want Him to pick me up and rescue me...like the dog...in the ditch...

I'm pretty sure that's OK too.

Homeless

When I opened my blinds the other morning, there were a few homeless young people across the street. She was sitting on a swing the neighbor hung from the tree in their front yard. He was standing talking to her. There were backpacks and garbage bags on the ground at his feet.

I'm not proud of my initial thoughts, which were "I need to wake my hubby up! The homeless are moving in across the street!!" My initial reaction was fear. Even worse, my fear wasn't actually fear of these 2 young people, black guy, white girl. My fear was that our street would become...well, like the streets downtown...full of trash and undesirable people begging for money on every corner.

So I sat here a bit, with that fear. I watched another homeless black young man walk up and join them, carrying a trash bag full of cans.

As I sat here alone with God and my thoughts, love began to wash over me. My son is currently homeless. He isn't scary. Sheesh. How silly my reaction to these young people outside!

Soon more love entered into. my being. And in that moment, everything changed. Now I want to make breakfast sandwiches to take across the street. I want to meet them and hear their stories. I want to share with them the love I am now experiencing.

OK...so why didn't I? How could anyone say that wouldn't have been the right thing to do? The thing most like Jesus?

I have a dear friend who took a homeless woman in and attempted to help her. She realized through this experience, and others, that our compassion isn't always helpful. The woman was so used to accepting "help" that she wasn't one bit thankful...or kind even. It was expected, and when it was time to let her go, she was angry. She wasn't ready to change, or to help herself.

If I had fed these "kids" what then? Now they know where I live, and might decide to camp in our yard...bringing their friends...and now what? Do we continue to feed them hand outs? Is that helping them? Feed a man a fish, or teach a man to fish and all that.

Anyway, this was such a clear picture (to me) of all that is going on right now in our country. There are a lot of people who, like me, want to help other people who are suffering...black people, homeless people, immigrant people...so many people who need help! And I see that one political party is leading with their compassion. They are tired of the way things have been, and want to see a change. Their hearts are in the right place (like mine was) but maybe their methods aren't exactly the answer.

On the other side, I see a lot of people who love our country, and know that in comparison to a lot of other countries, we are winning in the area of finances, freedom, etc., in their experience. So, they don't want the boat rocked. I get it.

I have another dear friend who has Irish ancestry. Her love for America seems to stem from her roots, that when the Irish were being starved by the English, America was their saving grace. They came here, still poor and starving, but they had a chance to build a life. And this was (and still is) the case for so many immigrants. This country has their undying loyalty because they found a place of promise, where they could be free to practice their religion, and live in relative peace.

That is not the history of many black families. For many, this country wasn't their saving grace. We have to acknowledge this fact and somehow deal with it. I'm not sure what the answer is, but listening to people's stories, without judging them for their experiences, might be a start.

In hindsight, I wish I had just gone across the street and had a conversation with the young homeless ones. I wish I had acknowledged them, and their humanity. That is my wish for all of us in this time,. I wish we could listen, learn, truly "see" other people and try to hear their hearts, lay down our sides and our judgments, and be human beings again.

The take-away for me is this...I didn't physically "do" anything to help, nor did I actually speak to them in person. But...the love in my heart grew that morning. And if love truly is the point of our existence, which I absolutely believe it is, then ultimate good was achieved...changing me, and those around me. Love expanded and grew and materialized within me. Awareness grew. Awareness of our connectedness, which is so very needed in these times of hate and war. Maybe the ultimate "goal" was achieved after all. Maybe it wasn't about their need, but mine. 

4th of July...

don't talk to me about letting go

don't silence my pain

to preserve your comfort

at your family BBQ

with your games and sparklers

laughs and love all around

we are in a constant state of 

what? dread? wonder?

we wonder where our addict is

wonder where he spent the night

Wonder if he's alive

wonder when he'll be arrested

or worse...can this get any worse?

while you are sticking marshmallows on sticks

we are trying to block out the visions of needles 

sticking into the veins

of the one we love

in so much pain

when your phone goes off

with a text or call from your 

son or daughter

wishing you a happy 4th

remember us...

avoiding our phones

because when we hear that chime

our hearts sink one more time

dreading the news we can't avoid forever

so don't talk to us about tough love

there is nothing tougher than the hell we are in

no greater test of love than the test we've been given

and don't think we've lost faith

during this nightmare we're livin'

just need a minute

don't get me started

the flag we wave

over the home of the brave

brave means so much more

to the broken-hearted

I See Color

Recently I heard someone, a white someone, use the phrase "I don't see color" to a black man. He laughed at how ludicrous that phrase is. While I realized she was trying to make the point that she sees people, not skin color, I laughed with him...because it sounds so pious, so ignorant, for a white person to make that statement.

And since then I have realized how very much I do see color. It isn't that we are supposed to be "color-blind"...it's about the lens through which we see color. That makes all the difference.

From the time I was a very small, my mother taught me that people are all basically the same...we all eat, sleep, laugh, cry, love, etc. She taught that there are good and bad people of all races and colors. She would tell me stories of how she worked in the kitchen alongside a black woman who became her very close friend...doing the very same work she did. Equals. She sang me a song about a two little girls on different sides of a fence, one black and one white, who wanted to play with each other. It always touched my heart and made me wonder they couldn't?

Growing up, Rosemary Gonzales lived across the street. I used to love going over to her house (except for her little Chihuahuas who would nip at my heels) because it was so colorful. It was immaculately kept, her mother spoke broken English, her father didn't speak any at all. He had lots of friends who would come over on a summer evening, and they would crank up "Sunny" on the stereo and hang outside while Rose and I played.

I was 9 years old when the riots in Watts took place. I remember it was scary seeing all of those angry people on the television, breaking into stores and turning over cars. I would talk with my mom about it and she assured me that there were violent people in every race and walk of life. While she didn't approve of their methods, she pointed out why they were so angry.

When I was a little older, I had two Asian friends...Nancy and Jill. I was fascinated watching Jill's twin brother eat rice with chopsticks. It was kind of the coolest thing I'd ever seen. Why oh why didn't we eat with those fun wooden sticks at home?

By this time I was in love with "soul" music. My dad always had a thing for jazz, and he loved many of the old black singers...Satchmo, AKA Louis Armstrong, was a favorite.The music mesmerized me from a very young age. I watched Soul Train every week, anxious to see the newest dances. I loved to dance, and spent many hours in my room or the room of a girlfriend, dancing to our 45's of The Supremes, The Temptations, or whoever else was making that sweet soul music. It seemed to me like rock music missed the boat when it came to dancing. I didn't have much interest in The Beatles at the time. Give me The Jackson Five! (In 8th grade I got to go with my friend to see them with her older brother. I think I screamed myself hoarse.)

High school was full of diversity. There weren't as many black students as there were Hispanic, Asian and otherwise. But it was still a melting pot of sorts. I was amazed by intense eye makeup the Hispanic girls wore, with their hair teased up so high I wasn't sure how they got into those lowered cars their boyfriends drove.

I remember around this time, my brother brought a beautiful black woman home with him. They were friends, and she was very sick. To this day I have no idea what her ailment was, but my mother made her up a bed and she stayed with us while my Mom nursed her back to health. It seemed completely normal to me. Looking back, I'm so thankful that it did.

After High School, I hung out in Hollywood a lot. Talk about diversity!! I still loved to dance especially at a hot disco called The Starwood. I remember one night Jermaine Jackson came in. My friend introduced us and I got to dance with him! He made a comment that I didn't "dance like a white girl" which I carried in my heart for a long time afterward.

I worked with a black girl who had become my friend. One night her car wouldn't start and she needed a ride home. I was happy to take her, even though she seemed to hesitate a little. She lived in Compton, which at that time (maybe still) was a black community. I dropped her off and was promptly pulled over by a black police officer who questioned what I was doing in that neighborhood, told me to lock my doors, and get myself home! 

Years later, hubby played on a softball team that included a diverse bunch of men, with whom we became close. Our boys were small, and when they referred to one of the black guys as "the browned guy"...I loved it. So did he!

After moving to a small town, our world became very "white bread." I often lamented this, wondering if my sons would grow up with the same prejudices that I noticed among some of their classmates. During this time the church we attended had a sister church in Harlem New York. Two of my sons got to travel there to play against their basketball team. They stayed at a school in Harlem. It was quite an experience for them...their introduction to true diversity and a needed lesson.

In those days I became quite ill. I used to have women's meetings in my home, but had to stop because I was almost unable to get out of bed. Well, one week the ladies insisted on coming anyway. My dear friend showed up first with two black sisters. They immediately came to me and sat at my feet...and sang and spoke life back into me. They spoke encouraging words about my future that have all come true. They will forever be my dear sisters.

My hubby and I got to visit that same Harlem church for a conference years ago. It was a fun-filled weekend. But one night the fellowship went late. We were with a group of other white folks and had to walk out of Harlem to catch the subway back to our hotel. The ladies at the church would not allow us to walk alone. One of them volunteered to escort us through the streets of Harlem at night. She called out to folks sitting on their stoop, and they hollered back to her, quite curious as to her white entourage. She delivered us to the subway safely. Did she believe all of her people are prejudiced? Of course not! But she knew that some were, and she wanted to take precautions for our safety. She saw color...we were very white! And she knew in that situation we might not be safe.

I have always had a deep love for black culture. There was a big part of me growing up, that wished I was dark skinned. Seriously, I love the music, the passion, the life that seems to emanate from my black sisters and brothers

I believe that hatred is the purest form of evil. And I also believe that this is our time...all of us...to admit our prejudices one to another, and to open up a dialog. It is the time for change. We may not be prejudiced...not most of us. We need to be able to realize that not everyone is safe, not everyone is good, there is goodness and evil in every race. But one thing is sure...we have to own our part in the mess we are in. We must learn to do better, and be better, for future generations.

I want my children and grandchildren to know the story of my colorful life. I am so thankful and proud that they have open hearts full of love and acceptance, without prejudice and hatred. May the love and acceptance my mother taught me continue to live on in each of them. And may they always see color...and appreciate it.

Masks

Let's get real. We all like masks. We feel safe behind them, less vulnerable. We like hiding who we really are.

Comic book heroes always have masks. Remember Zorro? "Who was that masked man?" Good question! They wear masks to hide their true identities...hmmm.

Women wear the mask of make-up. We don't want anyone to see our flaws, so we hide them with carefully applied masks so we can feel more comfortable with ourselves. Really, that's all it accomplishes. Because other people don't care much about what we look like. They are too busy being concerned about what they look like. But, we don't like to go out without our masks in place. It feels way too vulnerable to be exposed. Scary even.

Men wear the mask of being tough...macho. Don't show your true feelings, you might look weak. Survival of the fittest. Keep your guard up, or the others will attack.

We wear religion like a mask, hiding behind it whenever things get too messy...too real...for our comfort. God deals in hearts, but we prefer staying on the surface of people. When it gets messy, we throw up a Scripture quote to try and calm things down. We have these quotes at the ready...so we can "fix" whatever might be coming up around us. We don't like messy. We don't like real. We feel a sense of security that our way...our religion...our interpretation of God and the Bible...is the right way. If we could only convince everyone else how "right" we are, they might not have to get so messy. "The Bible says..." and there you go. Stop crying. Stop raging. Stop feeling. I have just fixed you.

Perfection is the goal behind masks, isn't it? Our perceived perfection is what we want to present to others. We are afraid of our humanity, so we choose to hide it behind a mask.

I wonder what this new masked world of ours is going to teach us?
I wonder if the masks will ever come off? I hope they do.

I Am

In love

I want to buy a box

A beautiful expensive alabaster box...

I want to break this box of fragrant oil 

Over you

In worship

And you say to me

That I am the broken box of perfume

The alabaster box that

I thought would please you

The box that seemed so beautiful

The box of religion

In which I dwelt

The perfect box

The box that had to break...

The beautiful box which must be broken

To release the beauty and fragrance

This box of alabaster

A stone soft enough for carving

Yet not just carved and shaped...

But completely broken

Releasing the fragrant beauty

The aroma came forth

From the spikenard within, bringing

Relaxation and and joy

Releasing me from the confines

Of the alabaster box

This is the beauty of you

The fragrance for you

The fragrance of you...

And this is my beauty

This is me

And in my brokenness

The aroma of worship is released

I am...that box

Confessions of a Baby Killer

She was at the age when she was starting to physically "blossom" but had no idea what it meant. She had been a bit of an Ugly Duckling up until the summer after 8th grade, when she started to grow into her long legs and gangly features. It was about this time that her older brother began paying attention to her. A kind of attention she didn't fully understand. But it felt good to be noticed and since she had always admired him, she wasn't sure what to do about it. She began to feel disgusting. She couldn't tell her parents because she had allowed it to happen. She put a stop to it, but didn't know know to put a stop to her thoughts of being dirty and suddenly not as delightful as she once was.

She was barely 14 years old, and a freshman in high school. She was a very small fish in a very big sea. She wanted what every single teenager wants, to somehow fit in and feel safe. She began to hang out with a group that her best friend's boyfriend hung out with. They were a few years older, so it was pretty exciting. At that time she also became introduced to pot, along with a lot of alcohol and anything else she could get her hands on. She loved it all. It made her forget about her deep dark secret. She could dull her mind, and dull her memories, and she was all for this dullness.

One guy in the group started paying extra attention to her. He would walk her home from school. It was a very long walk, maybe a mile or two, and they had lots of time on the way to get high and "mess around" on a lawn somewhere. She had never experienced the physical feelings he was able to stir up in her. She didn't like him at all...he was nice, but there was no attraction. Still, she allowed him to continue making her feel these strangely wonderful things. After all, she was already dirty and disgusting. Maybe this is what adult love is like?

At some point things went too far. She wasn’t raped, but she was out of control and didn't make him stop. All she could do was determine to get her hands on more alcohol and drugs to numb her guilt and shame. So she did.

A few weeks after the "incident." Her "friend" was late in coming, and she didn't know what to do. She told the guy and he said he knew where to take her. They ditched school, and went to a clinic. He had to take her, she was too young to drive. She has no memories of it, other than feeling absolutely sick and like she was watching from outside her body. The doctor examined her. She had never had a vaginal examination. She was alone when she heard the news that she was pregnant.

She was assured that they could "solve the problem" and she would be back to "normal" in a day or two. The guy had the money for the "procedure" and so it was done. 

She stayed out as late as she could, then went home to her loving parents. She was terrified, and made the excuse that she was having a really bad period, and went to bed. Oh if only for some alcohol or pot or something to numb the agony she was feeling. No, not the physical agony, she deserved that pain! The horrible agony of being such a disgusting and dirty person. Will this pain ever go away?

She continued into her early 20's numbing herself to the pain that had become absolutely unbearable. She was promiscuous in her attempt to find love...the kind of love that would heal her, and wash her, and make her feel delightful again. It didn't happen.

Finally, she met a man and fell instantly in love. They married and she became pregnant on her wedding night. She was 21 years old at the time, still trying to numb herself and forget that she was dirty and disgusting. When she gave birth and he was healthy and whole, she felt such relief...for surely she deserved something bad...a baby with some horrible disfigurement or disability to punish her for the child she had murdered. She continued to have these thoughts with her 2 succeeding pregnancies and she waited for the other shoe to drop for years.

God met her in her pain, and waiting until she was ready...He loved her there. She discovered that His grace truly is amazing. 

If there were protests outside the clinics that day, she still would have gone inside. Did she know that she was pregnant with a baby...not a just a lump of tissue? Yes. But she denied it...just like she had learned to deny other bad things in her life. If abortions had been illegal then, would she have still gotten one? 

Yes. 
She would have gone to Mexico...she would have figured out a way. Or she might have done any number of other stupid things to try and become "un-pregnant"...because she was a broken, hurting, desperate and terrified young girl who didn't see any other "choice".

Knowing what she knows now, would she do it again? Never. 

But...she only knew then what she knew then. 

I don't think protests, or Facebook posts condemning women for having abortions, are very effective. I also don't necessarily think making abortion illegal is the answer. Putting desperate women in danger just can't be our best solution.

Am I against abortion? Absolutely. The womb is supposed to be a safe place. The emotional damage to the mother is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. 

So, what do we do? How do we save these babies? How do we save women from making this horrible "choice"? If we've learned anything...it's that the law doesn't "save"...

I believe that like everything else, change happens within relationships. The more we are able to love and support each other...the more babies we can save. One on one. Person to person. By offering to help with child care for someone who is considering abortion because she has to work and can't afford a baby. By making adoption and open adoptions easier and less expensive. By sharing our stories. By offering love instead of judgment.

Maybe we could truly influence this world, one person at a time. I really believe we could.

I know we can save babies this way. I remember years ago, my husband worked with a young guy whose girlfriend was pregnant. He shared over lunch that they were considering abortion. My husband simply said "Oh, you can't do that! That's your baby, man!" No judgment. Just from his heart. A few years later, this young man came into work with his son. As he was introducing the little boy, he said "Thank you. We wouldn't have him if it wasn't for you" and he reminded him of that conversation in the lunchroom years before. My husband came home and shared the story, and we both cried. This is the power of love.

This is Kingdom. This is how God designed it. Person to person...relationship...mercy, grace and love. We think it isn't enough. We think we need a bigger, bolder, larger platform. Maybe because it's easier?

There isn't much required of us to make public statements, share a meme, and show our outrage. But if it isn't doing any good, if we aren't saving babies...and if we aren’t offering love instead of shame to our sisters, mothers and daughters, is it time to consider another way?

Karma

Definition of Karma: the sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existences. 

It is a term some religions use to keep people in line...meaning "what goes around comes around"...if you do something wrong, it will come back to bite you. 

The thing that bothers me, is that many professing followers of Jesus seem to believe in karma. They make comments like "Karma's a bitch" when someone does something mean or wrong. I think they mean it will come back on them at some point, and they take comfort in that. But wait...aren't we supposed to be extending grace? The grace we were given, meted out toward others so that they can know how kind God is?

I guess karma comes from the principle of sowing and reaping. You know, the teaching that is given  before the church offering is taken. Therefore, if we sow a lot of money, we will receive a lot of money back. And if we don't we can expect financial ruin (kidding, not kidding, I've heard it taught).

I believe that grace trumps everything! I have watched God pour out blessings on people who have messed up so badly that if they reaped what they sowed theirs would be a horrible life. And honestly, I am thankful all the time that I have not gotten what I deserve, based on what I have sown.

In some sort of twisted way, we always go back to works, don't we? We believe in working hard to get what we want, like a farmer plowing his field and planting good seed hopes for a bumper crop. Yet even the farmer knows that ultimately his crop yield depends on the weather and other things which are out of his control. So there is a faith element there. God loves our faith.

I don't know about you, but I do the right thing mostly for selfish reasons. Because I can't live with myself if I do something mean or intentionally wrong. I think it would be very tiring to believe that God is keeping score of the good things I do, so I will "get" something good. Just as it would wear me out to think that if I do blow it, karma is gonna ruin me. 

If we believe that when we sow bad things we will "get what we deserve" that would also mean that if we sow good things we will get what we deserve...and of course we would "deserve" only good things, right? But what if that doesn't happen? I mean, good things happen to bad people, and certainly a lot of bad things happen to good people. 

So our "works" theory gets blown out of the water all the time...the water that Jesus walked on...to remind us that God is God and we are not, and He is doing something amazing and new in us and for us, always.

Which leads me back to grace. 
Every time. 
Always grace.

The Angry Man

I met a man the other day, an angry man it seemed. He had a scowl on his face as he approached me in the grocery store. He said something about Moses and how nobody believed him and they all died. OK...

Then he said nobody believes Jesus rose again either. I said "I do! And He lives in me, and I love Him!"

He wasn't satisfied. In fact, it seemed to make him angrier. He harrumphed and said "There's a lot of work to do." OK...

I told him I am from Oregon. He said "What church? Because there's a lot of work to be done and nobody's doing the work!"

At one point he changed the subject to how nice the weather is here in Arizona. I said yes, it is beautiful. He said, "I come for the weather, not the people!" I was so surprised. I said "Really? I love the people!" He said he loves them, and God loves them too. So He's sending them into the lake of fire and hell. 

I'm not sure he knows the same God I know.
And I'm very sure he shouldn't be out trying to tell people about the God he knows. 

When he walked away I was sad...very sad...for the angry old man who created an angry God..just like himself. 

If I Could Teach a Man

If I could teach a man...if a woman could speak frankly and honestly to men...this is what I would say:

You are not walking in your power, brothers. I see you hiding...behind a remote control, or a game controller. I see you checked out with a beer in your hand. I know you feel hopeless, like a failure. I know it seems easier to just go with the flow...instead of making waves of your own. But we need you. The world needs you to stand up, rise up, and walk in your power. Because the battle rages on...whether you are disconnected from it or not...the battle is real...and right now some of us feel like we're fighting alone...like you've abandoned your posts.

I see you there, hanging around not sure where your place is. I think you are aware of the need, but afraid you don't have what it takes to fill it. You have backed away. You have believed a lie...a lot of lies...and you're no longer sure what is true.

There is a place for you, my Brothers. There is a place on the battle field...where you will feel alive and purposeful and like the men you were created to be. You have so much power. You hold the power to steer your wife and children in the right direction. You have the power to right the ship and to hold off the attacks of the enemy who has been unleashed against your loved ones. As you kneel, you will be given all of the power to stand. Your words can move mountains in the hearts of those whom you love...who are waiting to hear you speak.

By seeing and appreciating her and pursuing her...you have the power to make your wife blossom in beauty...in strength...and in the safety of your love. She holds her breath and her tears, just waiting and hoping you might take her hands and pray with her.

You can speak of God to your children, my brothers. You can share your hopes, your dreams, your failures and regrets...and teach them of the miraculous grace of a God who loves them...the God you love. You don't have to avoid the conversations. You have been given all that you need...and all that they need from their father.

Oh dear men...there is so much for you to do and so much of you to be...
If I could, I would tell you these things.
If I could teach you, I would remind you of how amazing you are...and how very important you are to your families.

Faith or Denial?

I have a friend who never goes to the doctor. Doesn't even have insurance. She determinedly trusts in God to take care of her health. And He does. She inspires me. She also makes me ponder.

What is faith? Is it something I can muster up? The Bible says God gives faith to us. So if I don't have it, does it mean He isn't coughing it up for me?

I have recently realized that much of what I thought was faith was actually denial. It was like if I didn't acknowledge something, then it wasn't happening or going to happen. Hide under the bed, close-your-eyes-and-wish-it-away...faith. Is that even a thing?

For years...I've had issues that I've lived with. They come and they go. Episodes. Bad days. Hours filled with pain...darkness...strange symptoms. Then as suddenly as they come, they go and I am back to normal.

I try to do everything right. I eat right. I sleep right. I walk daily. I pray. I believe. I really do believe in God's ability to heal people. I have seen and even experienced His healing touch. When I haven't experienced His healing touch, I believe anyway. Isn't this faith?

Today I am aware of how hard I've tried...and the little scared place within me that's been hiding under the bed with closed eyes. I have heard diagnoses...but somehow they have gone in one ear and out the other. It's been like if I don't acknowledge what a doctor says, it isn't true. Their diagnosis won't land on me. It won't be real. Is that faith? In choosing to not go there, am I a stronger, better, more faithful Christian? 

It is a good day. I am pain free. My brain is functioning fairly well. Maybe the bad days are over. Maybe there's nothing wrong with me after all. Do I step out in faith and test it? Do I eat the things that have caused me so much pain in the past? Would that be faith, or foolishness?

I have decided on a different path. I've decided to make peace with pain. I am learning to have greater grace for myself. I am discovering a new way of being calm in the storm. I'm no longer fighting, always feeling like I'm losing the battle. Instead of holding my breath and resisting, I'm breathing deeply in the midst. I refuse to think I am a failure...to God or to myself. In coming to terms with my own suffering, I realize that maybe it just "is"...maybe it's not something I can believe my way out of...or deny into non-existence...or fix. 

Maybe my path isn't around the pain.
Maybe the path is straight through it.
I see light on the path...and I sense that I am not alone.
And today, for me, that is faith.

A Mother's Secrets

you're going through life 

you don't know what you're missing 

but you think you're OK 

(cause that stuff ain't real anyway)

then your eyes get opened get opened real good 

you know what love feels like...it's better than good

you don't know what you're doing

don't know the way 

learn a lot of rules while you're finding your way

and you pray and you pray

do everything they say

to do...believing that it's true

teaching what you know

trying to show

them the way

then one day

your kids start to stray

soon running away

from this love that you've found...

you can't understand how so much pain can stay 

around

and injure your heart

tearing you apart 

when you've been trying

so hard

to do it all the right way

now you're feeling ashamed 

you weren't right after all 

and of course it's your fault 

and you just hit a wall of confusion and doubt 

so you back away from it all

but something inside of you knows that it's real

something bigger than you 

and all of your trying 

to get something right 

so you cry out loud 

and get real in your gut 

and you scream for help to get out of this rut 

cause you feel like you're dying

then it happens and love breaks through 

(it happened to me it can happen to you)

suddenly you know something more than before

you know that you know that you know that there's more

still hurting inside because everything's broken

with all of your mess-ups 

and wrong words spoken

you wonder if anything ever was real 

and you try not to feel 

and you're not gonna kneel

and you're not gonna pray

anymore because well what good does it do

he's just gonna do 

what he wants to do

...anyway

so you go back to living 

but now that you know 

that you know what was missing 

you can't get away from this knowing inside

that love is alive 

you just wanna say

there's a much better way

of living

today

out of the blue hope rises back up 

and you dare to believe 

that the thing you messed up 

he will retrieve

 

and those whom you love so much that it hurts 

will some day wake up to the love that you've found

and you hope deep inside that you'll still be 

around...

Guns and Jesus

Let me start by saying I don't know. I don't know and I'm OK with that. Now let's move on.

It seems to me that there are a lot of fearful and angry Christians. I don't blame them. It is scary and awful when we don't feel safe. Especially scary and awful when we don't feel like our kids are safe. We want to feel safe. Secure. Sure of tomorrow. That is how we live in peace, right? But is this truly a peaceful existence? Should our security depend on our exterior circumstances? Is that what Jesus taught?

Christians seem to be all about guns and our "right" to carry them. In basic Christianity 101 (no class, just life lessons) I learned that as a follower of Jesus, "My life is not my own". This is a very tough lesson to learn, but when I began to get it I experienced such freedom. When I learned how to let go of things, and what I planned, and how I wanted everything to happen...and I learned to trust God, even when awful, scary, bad things happen to me or my loved ones, freedom came. When I learned I could still trust in His goodness...freedom came. I was no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop, or fearful of the boogie-man (or a devil that I had made bigger than God.) Peace came. Inner peace came and remains today.

Many Christians want to see teachers carrying guns in schools. To keep our kids safe. To ensure safety. To feel secure again. Not being on board with this popular opinion makes someone like me very unpopular. But it's OK. I don't know anything. I have read my Bible (Bibles...because I read them a lot and they fall apart) for many years, and I especially like to read about Jesus and His teachings. I don't know much of anything, but I don't see where He teaches us about our right to carry guns or even our right to defend ourselves. I do remember reading somewhere how He taught us that if someone slaps us, to turn the other cheek and let him slap it too. Radical. That Jesus, He's such a radical. 

I think about Martin Luther King and others whom we admire, and name streets after. So many of our heroes became such because of their radical ideas and principals. Ideas of fighting hate with love, and violence with peace. Stuff like that. Jesus stuff.

Where does this leave us? I was asked a question about Hitler...and what should the allies have done in WWII against him? I think about that. I think about a lot of things...and I talk to Jesus and ask lots of questions. It seems to me that He already gave me so many answers in His teachings. He taught about losing my life to gain it. Then He showed us by example. When the religious and political nut jobs formed a lynch mob and went after Jesus, He went along with them. He didn't pull out a pistol and defend Himself. He so powerfully showed us that there is a better way, and even if we die believing that love is the better way, we don't really die...we live forever.

So, when I think about Hitler and all of the Jews being herded up and taken to camp, I wonder what we (Christians) could have done? I wonder what would have happened if instead of believing that our only recourse against evil is to shoot and kill it with guns and weapons...we acted on what Jesus taught? What if we truly believed Him? We believe so many other things we read in our Bibles. What if all of the Christian people insisted on going with their Jewish friends and neighbors to these camps. What if we stood with them, demanding to be taken too? "If you take my brother, neighbor, friend...take me too!" What would Hitler's men have done in that situation? After all, they were trying to create a "perfect" race...what if we didn't allow them to have their evil  illusion? What if we were truly willing to die for what we believe? 

Is God's love, and grace, and mercy what we believe? Are we so fearful of death...our own or a loved one...that we will arm ourselves and take the life of another? Have we become the judge of the world? Is who gets to live and who must die...all up to us? Is the life of a mentally deranged and grieving young man of less value than another? 

Maybe the problem goes all the way back to the beginning. Remember the two trees in the garden? 
There was the "tree of life" and the "tree of the knowledge of good and evil."
Maybe we're still eating from the wrong tree...

Silence

We watched a film last night that was so unusually deep I'm still thinking about it.

The movie is called Silence. It is the story of 2 Portugese Jesuit priests who travel to Japan to search for another priest. I won't give any spoilers here. But I will say that the underlying story is the story of my journey...and hopefully the story of all of us and our journeys into true faith. It is the story of what Christianity is and isn't. But at first, you might miss the story because you might think you know where it is going and you might think you know what Christianity is. You might be someone who thinks you have it all figured out. You might even be thinking a little bit deeper and still you could be missing the point. I know for years I did and I was. But at the time, I didn't know it.

At first we believe that our current "experience" of God is exactly who He is. The God inside of our church is the true God. No one else has Him figured out like we do. And we go along following all he rules and thinking how well we are doing in our "Christianity"...and then God sneaks up on us. Jehovah Sneaky shatters our paradigm. I think that's where true Christianity starts. Because at some point we become disillusioned or disappointed when we realize what we were hanging our hats on was just a tiny fraction of his personality. We realize that we didn't have Him all figured out...that He is way more than a shallow scorekeeper or a strict taskmaster or a genie who gives us what we want. At this point we might dare to step out of the boat to seek Him for ourselves.

I have not been part of a Sunday morning place of worship in a long time. And at first I felt wrong, bad, and worried as if somehow I was going to slip out of God's sight if He didn't see me in pew on Sunday mornings. As time went on, I began to discover a freedom I had yet to experience...the freedom to explore with God and discover more about Him. I discovered He is so much more than a list of dos and don'ts. My prayer became "Jesus, I want to know You. Not who other people think you are, or say you are...but I want to know You!!"

Then my prayer expanded to "Lord, what do You say about this? What are Your thoughts on that?" It was exhilarating and liberating to be outside of the confines of what a certain Pastor taught was truth. I discovered that Truth lives in me and I can rely on him/her to teach me. Scripture says we have no need of another teacher. Yet we believe the Scripture more that warns us of being deceived. So we live in fear of having a thought of our own, or of searching Him out on our own with only the Spirit to help us. And it's very sad to me. I don't believe it's how relationship grows.

Anyway, Silence reminded me how intensely aware of us our God is, every little detail of our lives. He is fixed on teaching us, and revealing Himself to us. His true self. And He never, ever gives up.

The question the movie asks is deep. It is the same question He asked of me a few years ago.

The question is not would you betray God? 

The real question is: "Would you betray religion to find Him?"

God Is Good

I ran into someone I know at the grocery store. She was getting out of her car, wearing a large back brace contraption. I asked what had happened? She shared that she'd fallen, and broken a vertebra. I responded with "Ouch, I'm so sorry." and she replied quickly "God is good!" I was taken aback at first, and in hindsight wish I would have said "I never said He isn't! But broken backs are painful!!" Instead I moved the conversation along and walked away...pondering.

Why do we think we have to defend God? Like if we feel pain or any type of suffering, and anyone else knows about it, we have betrayed Him? Why are we so quick to try to appear strong and perfectly faithful? Why are we ashamed of our humanity? Humanity which includes weakness and frailty and brittle bones as we age? Why did her comment make me feel the opposite of the warmth of God's grace and love for her? Why did her "faith statement" bother me?

I came into "Christianity" or whatever the current term is (got saved...came into the knowledge of Christ...whatever) later in life. I was in my early thirties. I was a mess. I'd lived a lot, and been through a lot of ugliness and heartache. Fair to say I was a really broken woman who had denied her heart in order to survive. After being welcomed into a wonderful church family, I continued to deny my heart and my past and my pain and my wounds...because I was so thankful to find grace that I didn't want to mess it up. As if I could...ever...mess it up. But what I was being taught said to not be ruled by my emotions, to pray hard and God would answer, if He didn't I was doing something wrong, I was given a new life and the old had passed away (even though thoughts came up to torment me)...all of the usual good Christian teachings. Just praise God and power through.

This all worked perfectly for me for a few years. Until I started to have anxiety attacks (even in church) and one day found myself screaming in the shower (at first not knowing where the sound was coming from...)

Up to this point, following all of the rules and being a good Christian girl had worked. Until it didn't.

A couple of years of sickness, tears, brokenness, submitting to SOZO (deep healing ministry) and getting to all of the pain so that it was dragged into the light instead of hiding inside me in darkness, brought me to a place of understanding who I am, and understanding I Am in ways I never had. This healing empowered me to endure even more tragedies and pain in my life. But now I was different. I was able to feel the pain, to cry the tears in the appropriate moment, and to trust that even when I am a complete mess God isn't. And He loves me!

I prefer this kind of testimony. I prefer the real, sometimes snotty...angry...weak...broken yet leaking glory kind of faith I have come to know.

Yes, God IS good. And even when we are hurting He remains good. He doesn't need us to defend Him. He's OK with our weakness and pain and transparency. His goodness shines anyway.

Not Every Hour is Happy

Well, it's been almost one month since we left our beautiful home behind for motor home life. It has been great so far. We have stayed in some beautiful RV spots, had some great Happy Hour food. But lest you think that retiring in an RV is all wine and roses...there are some things you should know.

THERE ARE YAPPING DOGS. DOGS THAT YAP FOR NO REASON. AND THEY WILL LIVE NEXT DOOR. ALWAYS.

Sometimes your neighbor might work swing shift. And when he comes home anywhere from 11:30-1:00 and decides to talk on his phone...outside...loudly, he quickly changes from "that nice guy next door" to "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THAT GUY NEXT DOOR?"

Other animal noises can be expected. Or the occasional skunk roaming around outside your rig. There is currently a bullfrog living in the wet area behind us. He is a loud croaking bullfrog. He is quite proud of his croak, and likes to share it all...night...long. If I had a BB gun and could find him we'd be having frog legs for dinner. (OK, maybe not because that would involve frying. I don't do frying in the RV "kitchen" and I use that term lightly.)
I love all of God's creatures, so I really wouldn't shoot a frog. It's just that living in an RV could possibly turn one into a sniper. (Yeah, that's right. Better stay off your phone at night, noisy neighbor. Never know when I'm gonna snap!)

It is interesting hearing people's conversations so clearly...even when we are in our home and they are in theirs. The whole illusion of personal space and privacy quickly gets thrown out the window. (No, don't actually throw anything out the window, it could very well land in your neighbor's living room.)

The RV is smaller some days than others...depending on what activities are going on inside. If hubby and I are both home and both trying to do different things, it is a true test of marital endurance. I find that my quick wit and loving nature are true assets.

Other days, when the weather is nice, are lovely. Sitting outside in lawn chairs snoozing has become a favorite past time. We aren't lazy, mind you. We are relaxed. We have no lawn to mow, yard work to do, home repairs, painting, cleaning or any of the myriad of chores which keep the homeowner busy. We laugh with sinister delight at the thought of the busyness of others. Then we clink our wine glasses and toast "the good life." Then we nod off again until we wake ourselves up with a loud snort.

We really do appreciate the perks of living in this frugal manner. We are thankful for our vacation home in Arizona and look forward to wintering there. We look forward to other adventures which might not be affordable at this stage of life.

As I type this, I realize that phone-talking neighbor hasn't gotten the "no yell-sneezing" memo. And I'm smiling to myself...

We do love to go to Happy Hour though...is it 3:00 yet???

What Do You See?

I'm thinking this morning about Portland's most recent violent murders. Men who came to the defense of 2 young girls who were being harassed and terrified by some wacko's fearful prejudice, were stabbed and killed..

When I first heard of the incident I was rocked to my core. I have 3 sons and a husband who each would have done the same thing. And I became thankful in that moment, realizing how beautifully amazing it is...that these men whom I love so much, are each men of deep character.

In Christianity, at least the stream in which I was taught, there is a huge focus on praying a prayer and asking Jesus into your heart, or inviting Him to be Lord of your life or some such thing which must be done in order to secure one's place in the hereafter. I'm not saying this is bad. I just wonder, all these years down the road, if this has become the "thing" taking our eyes off of seeing Jesus in the people all around us? I can even imagine conversations regarding these Portland heroes, where Christians might be thinking or saying to one another "I wonder if they were Christians? I hope they were saved..."

And it causes me to pause. Scriptures say, "There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends." What kind of love then, would quickly jump in and lay down its life for a stranger? Wouldn't this kind of love, the life-risking kind, have to originate from a source outside of itself? Doesn't this kind of love originate in God and flow from God?

Some of the men in my life, whom I love so dearly, do not openly profess Christianity. Some have potty mouths, or drink too much, or party too hard. To many on the outside, they would be judged "ungodly." Yet I know them as loving sons, husbands, fathers, and friends. And I take great comfort in the certainty that each of them would quickly jump in to defend any woman, man or child who is being abused or mistreated. I know each one would lay down his life for a friend or stranger.

And I certainly see God in them all...

RV Life

Now that we are back living in an RV, we thought we might share some tips for anyone who is considering this lifestyle.

1. First off, get rid of anything you haven't worn in a year...(better yet 6 months)...because you will find out quickly how very little storage space you have. You will end up packing the storage space you do have with so much clothing that you will never see the things that end up toward the back of cupboards and drawers anyway. Most of your previous wardrobe will become lost forever. You will quickly adapt, learning to wear the same things over and over. Having no washer and dryer, you will also learn how many times an item of clothing can be worn before washing. (This number varies between the male and female RV'er.)

2. You will soon find you have a lot of extra time on your hands. With such small living quarters and no yard maintenance, the hours in your day seem to multiply. This can be a good or bad thing, depending on where you are parked, and what there is to do nearby. You will also find looking through your cupboards and closets to locate things takes up a lot of your newly discovered time. Your mantra soon becomes "I know it's in here, somewhere..." and rarely will you locate the searched-for item on the first try. Do not despair. You are sure to remember where you put it at some point, usually during the night when you no longer need it.

3. We like to come up with little nick-names for other people in the park. We don't do this to be mean, it just helps identify the people around us in conversation. Example: Instead of saying "The people in the Airstream" we simply refer to them as "the Twinkies." You will find there are "Twinkies" at every park. Different people...yet very similar...and they seem to have their own secret club. (This is a club in which we will never belong, since one of us cannot even stand up in an Airstream.) We do admire their shiny metal exteriors from afar.

We like to call the people who have the nicest RV, matching outdoor chairs, BBQ, matching rugs, canvas hats, canvas vests, matching shorts..."the Patagonias." You will often find them (when they aren't out hiking) cleaning up around their RV. Mr. Patagonia can usually be seen on a step ladder cleaning the windows of their $100,000 rig, sometimes daily. We find the Patagonias to be friendly, but not overly. I choose to believe that it isn't because they are judging us...but only because they have much to do keeping their beautiful new RV sparkling.

4. There is always one person in the RV'er relationship who rises up as the "leader." Some would call him bossy, but for the sake of keeping the peace, let's say "leader." This person is very helpful with many suggestions about how things should and shouldn't be done, throughout the day. Especially anything in the kitchen or cooking realm. I have found ignoring the "leader" can be helpful in maintaining one's sanity.

5. Learning to sneeze without yelling is something that can be practiced before setting out on your RV adventure. If not, you might alienate any possibilities for future pleasantries with your neighbors. You may even alienate your co-RV'er to some extent. Yell-sneezing and RV life just simply don't mix.

6. Showering is an art, depending on your RV amenities, such as size of your hot water tank. If it is on the small side, your best bet is to get wet, turn the water off, soap up, turn water on and rinse. Be warned that the water usually turns back on cold, and has to heat up again. Yelling after being caught under a cold tap is frowned upon. Shampooing hair is also tricky, but it can be done applying the same method as above. Go easy on the conditioner. The hot water tank isn't that large, and remember yelling is frowned upon.

7. Bugs can be an issue. You will find different bugs at different locations. It is nice to have 2 fly swatters, so each person has their own. Keeping the screen door closed is most effective. Reminding your other RV'er to close the screen is a fun activity that can help to utilize the extra time.

8. Cooking is a learned experience also, depending on your particular set up. The more of your cooking that can be done outdoors, the better. Whatever you do cook indoors will likely permeate your towels and clothing with it's sumptuous aroma.

9. It is nice to have an ice chest to fill with beer and other drinks you would like to stay icy cold, since your RV refrigerator won't be too spacious, and also won't keep things quite as cold as you are used to. This might surprise your co-RV'er the first time he tries to drink a less than ice-cold brew...and complaining will ensue. Better to be prepared with that ice chest than to endure this...for the next half hour.

10. Finally, resist the urge to begin drinking early in the day. The danger of RV life is that cocktail hour becomes the focus. It is a nice and relaxing part of the day, but if abused you can leave the realm of full-time RV'ers and enter into the realm of "old homeless drunks" in which case RV life will lose its glamour. Self-control and restraint must be used in the area of alcohol and also snack foods. It may take some time to find your perfect balance. Resist the urge to monitor your co-RV'er in these areas, your loving suggestions could cause animosity. Remember, tight quarters require tight-lips.

This concludes today's tips. We are less than 2 weeks in, on our current adventure. We will revisit this subject as we grow in greater knowledge and experience. Please feel free to contact us with any questions, and the one of us who knows everything and is always right will be happy to help.