When I think about the greatest blessings in my life, certainly my mom is at the top of my list. I often wonder where I would be without her sacrifices, without her nurture, without her instruction, without her wisdom, without her persistent prayers. In retrospect, I find myself wondering how she managed to be all that I needed her to be; well, actually, all that we needed her to be. There were six (including Dad) of us pulling on her, tugging her this way and that, committing her to our agendas, and never once do I remember her acting exhausted, having a mental breakdown, or complaining that enough was enough.
Yet she was the last to bed every night and the first to rise every morning. She ensured we started the day with a warm breakfast, clean clothes, completed homework, and packed lunches. Somehow, she managed to have dinner on the table when Dad came home from work after she had taxied us around all afternoon. She served as team mom, room mom, Brownie leader, Missionette leader, Sunday school teacher, last minute costume maker, and filled at least a dozen other volunteer positions.
I don't think it any coincidence that her name means "God is gracious." Grace is freely given, unmerited favor -- it's when we receive things that we don't deserve. That is who my mom is. She is a gift that I did nothing to deserve; and I am so thankful that despite my being me, God is gracious and He gave me a mom who reminds me how good grace truly is.
Oh, and today is my birthday... So thanks, Mom for the last 44 years of sacrifices. Thanks for choosing life for me and the four other ones too. This is birthday 44, right?
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Beauty of the Light
A few days ago as I was meditating on thankfulness, I received some heartbreaking news that jolted my thought pattern and made me look at people, situations, circumstances, and the blessings in my life a little differently. I am thankful for my family and my friends, every one of them; but if tomorrow I woke up and they were all gone, would I still have a reason to be thankful? I am thankful for my job, for a place to call home, for food in the fridge, for money in the bank, for clothes in my closet, for transportation that gets me where I want to go; but if tomorrow I woke up and it was all gone, would I still have a reason to be thankful?
I remember facing the reality of losing my dad and making the decision to walk away from a job that I loved, to relocate and be with Mom. I lived a year without a regular paycheck. Life was tough; and honestly, for a season, I was frustrated with God, so frustrated that I sat like a tightfisted Jonah in the corner with my arms crossed, refusing to have a real conversation with Him.
Then one day, I sat in a church service, and the worship team began singing, “How Great is our God.” Certainly, I paid my lip service and sang along. I dare not let anyone else see the inner battle I had waged. As I sang the words about His greatness, my mind was thinking, “Yeah, right, if He is so great, then why…” My thoughts yielded to the words upon my lips: “He wraps Himself in light, and darkness tries to hide; it trembles at His voice…” It was that moment that something broke loose. Uninhibited by those around me, my arms were outstretched and my singing turned to sobs. Despite my situation, I was free to worship the beauty of a great God. No longer would I begrudgingly hold onto the praise that was due Him. My situation hadn't changed, but my heart had.
Having a heart of gratitude isn’t so difficult when blessings are obvious, when the pantry is full, when the car is running, when the bank account is in the black, when our loved ones are healthy, when life is good. The question is: can we find the beauty of thanksgiving when we are rolling pennies to pay the bills, when the heater and hot water heater are out and the temperature is below freezing, when the car is in the shop again, when our spouse has left, our child is suffering, or our loved one has passed away?
And the answer: He is. He is the beauty of thanksgiving. He is the beauty in the bird that finds food in the dirtiest of parking lots. He is the beauty in the autumn leaves as they change color. He is the beauty in the sunrise and the sunset that never lose their uniqueness. He is the beauty in the giggles of little girls. He is the beauty in the excitement of little boys. He is the beauty in the eyes of an old woman. He is the beauty in the laughter of an old man. He is the beauty in the river stones. He is the beauty in the melody. He is the beauty in the hug of a treasured friend. He is the beauty in the smile of a stranger. He is the beauty of the Light.
Today, regardless of what/who we have lost, we know He is the Light in the darkest of moments. When devastation surrounds us, we can look for the Beauty. He is always there. I saw Him a moment ago in the cool autumn breeze.
I remember facing the reality of losing my dad and making the decision to walk away from a job that I loved, to relocate and be with Mom. I lived a year without a regular paycheck. Life was tough; and honestly, for a season, I was frustrated with God, so frustrated that I sat like a tightfisted Jonah in the corner with my arms crossed, refusing to have a real conversation with Him.
Then one day, I sat in a church service, and the worship team began singing, “How Great is our God.” Certainly, I paid my lip service and sang along. I dare not let anyone else see the inner battle I had waged. As I sang the words about His greatness, my mind was thinking, “Yeah, right, if He is so great, then why…” My thoughts yielded to the words upon my lips: “He wraps Himself in light, and darkness tries to hide; it trembles at His voice…” It was that moment that something broke loose. Uninhibited by those around me, my arms were outstretched and my singing turned to sobs. Despite my situation, I was free to worship the beauty of a great God. No longer would I begrudgingly hold onto the praise that was due Him. My situation hadn't changed, but my heart had.
Having a heart of gratitude isn’t so difficult when blessings are obvious, when the pantry is full, when the car is running, when the bank account is in the black, when our loved ones are healthy, when life is good. The question is: can we find the beauty of thanksgiving when we are rolling pennies to pay the bills, when the heater and hot water heater are out and the temperature is below freezing, when the car is in the shop again, when our spouse has left, our child is suffering, or our loved one has passed away?
And the answer: He is. He is the beauty of thanksgiving. He is the beauty in the bird that finds food in the dirtiest of parking lots. He is the beauty in the autumn leaves as they change color. He is the beauty in the sunrise and the sunset that never lose their uniqueness. He is the beauty in the giggles of little girls. He is the beauty in the excitement of little boys. He is the beauty in the eyes of an old woman. He is the beauty in the laughter of an old man. He is the beauty in the river stones. He is the beauty in the melody. He is the beauty in the hug of a treasured friend. He is the beauty in the smile of a stranger. He is the beauty of the Light.
Today, regardless of what/who we have lost, we know He is the Light in the darkest of moments. When devastation surrounds us, we can look for the Beauty. He is always there. I saw Him a moment ago in the cool autumn breeze.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Suffocating Beauty
I sat among the crowd of Christians gathered in such a beautiful place for one of the happiest of occasions, and what I saw broke my heart. What is this heaviness that brings division, that entertains strife, that wounds the weak, and that embitters the believer? The spirit of offense. It was written upon their countenances, carried upon their backs, and entangled in their conversations. Darkness has begun to overtake the Light, and my heart aches for resolution, for restoration, for revival. My eyes race across the faces looking for a flicker of hope, an authentic smile, or a shred of peace. I search for the familiar faces that have withstood so many battles, but even these have grown weary and show signs of defeat. How has this foul spirit of offense taken root here – here among the people that I love and respect, people who know better?
I can't help but think about that dewberry vine, the one among the azalea bushes, the Shasta daisies, the periwinkles, and the marigolds. I noticed it one warm afternoon as I rushed by the flower bed. I took a moment to pluck it from the bed, but the thistle pricked my finger, so I left it until I had a chance to get my gloves. It was a busy season, and I had much to do, too much to worry with finding my gloves. Yet every time I passed that bed, I noticed the vine was growing, getting stronger. Neglect.
It must have started as a small offense—something small and insignificant—something that was pushed away, ignored, and possibly even temporarily forgotten in the busyness of the season. Still, the roots are there and under the surface where others may not see it, it continues to grow. Sometimes it is just easier to let offenses go. We can postpone that uncomfortable confrontation to avoid the pricking of our flesh that brings the blood and the tears, where others see our weakness, our hurt, our humanity. So we leave it. Yes, we neglect it; and underneath the soil, the roots get stronger, and they grow.
That vine. That stubborn dewberry vine. By the time I remembered to find my gloves and attempted to pluck the vine, it was sprouting everywhere—all over the bed. I plucked, and I pulled, and I plucked, and I pulled. It was entangled in the roots of the flowers and the bushes. It seemed to be a never ending job and a losing battle. Some of the roots were just too strong, and I was running out of daylight. Alas, I put away my tools and called it a completed task. In my heart, I knew remnants of the roots were still there, and I would need to fight this battle again.
Offense confronted but not forgiven. Stubborn hearts, stubborn pride. It entangles itself in every good thing. It sprouts in the places of sunlight and the places of shade. The sprouts draw our attention, sometimes demanding confrontation, so we confront with gloves on or gloves off, and we remove the visible evidence. However, the root, that nasty spirit of offense, is a battle that is deeper, more difficult. It often requires too much time and too much energy. As long as we can’t see it and others can’t see it, we can avoid the bigger battle that continues to grow beneath the surface wreaking havoc among the roots of beauty.
Tragic how it suffocates the beauty. The unattended roots grew more sprouts. This time it was as if they grew with a vengeance, so quickly and so plentiful. They grew when I wasn’t looking, when I wasn’t paying attention, when I was distracted with other things. Then one day, I looked for the beauty, but the beauty wasn’t there. The garden should be full of beautiful blooms of the season, but something was wrong. The marigolds, the periwinkles, and my favorites – the Shasta daisies had all succumbed to the strength of the neglected vine. Even the azalea bushes had lost the battle with the vine.
I’ve seen it happen so many times. Sadly, I have even been a part of it, participated in it; truth is that I've even initiated it at times. I have offended, and I have been offended. I have ignored the offense. I have neglected the offense, tried to push it back, clip off the visible sprouts so no one else can see the ugly. Still it’s there. The root of offense continued to grow. I’ve seen people leave churches because of it. I’ve seen churches split because of it. I’ve seen thriving ministries destroyed because of it. I’ve watched as the spirit of offense has suffocated all of the beauty that surrounds it. I have witnessed joy turn into sorrow, goodness become wicked, temperance give way to indulgence, peace submit to chaos, faith yield to fear, gentleness surrender to tactlessness, longsuffering forfeit to unforgiveness, kindness replaced with cruelty, and love… well, to be honest, in offense, there is no love because love doesn’t offend, neither is it offended. So that’s it. That is how it started.
It wasn’t the root of the vine, the sprout of the vine, or even the seed of the vine that destroyed my garden. I destroyed it. I neglected it. I was supposed to protect it, guard it, tend it, and nurture it. Instead, I let the enemy come in when I wasn’t paying attention, when I was too busy with other things, too complacent to nurture the beauty and protect it from the ugly. I was selfish.
Selfish. Isn’t that what offending others and being offended is all about? Selfish. Isn’t that what we are when we step outside of love? Selfish is the offender. Selfish is the offendee. And selfish are all the offenders and offendees that sprout from the root. I am not pointing a finger. Like I said, I’ve been all of the above – the offender, the offendee, the sprout that carried someone else’s offense. I have been the ugliest of the ugly. It is embarrassing. I know. That’s pride.
I guess I’m just tired of seeing the beauty destroyed. I’m tired of seeing the enemy win with offenses that lead to unforgiveness and bitterness. I’m tired of seeing the Gospel fall victim to the selfishness of those that claim to know it. Look around. There is a lost and dying world around us. If we can’t LOVE each other, then how can we LOVE the lost?
For all those who I have offended, I am sorry. I am sorry for my selfishness. I’m sorry that I was too complacent and wrapped up in my own agenda and my own opinions that I failed to nurture and protect the beauty of LOVE – authentic, unconditional LOVE.
To those who have offended me, I am sorry for my selfishness. I am sorry that my mind was so me- focused that I allowed myself to step outside of the safety of LOVE – unfailing, unending LOVE.
To the offendees who think their holding onto offense is justified, LOVE never fails. It never fails to forgive. If you want to experience the beauty, you have to step into LOVE. Then nurture it. Protect it. Tend it. For through it beauty grows.
I can't help but think about that dewberry vine, the one among the azalea bushes, the Shasta daisies, the periwinkles, and the marigolds. I noticed it one warm afternoon as I rushed by the flower bed. I took a moment to pluck it from the bed, but the thistle pricked my finger, so I left it until I had a chance to get my gloves. It was a busy season, and I had much to do, too much to worry with finding my gloves. Yet every time I passed that bed, I noticed the vine was growing, getting stronger. Neglect.
It must have started as a small offense—something small and insignificant—something that was pushed away, ignored, and possibly even temporarily forgotten in the busyness of the season. Still, the roots are there and under the surface where others may not see it, it continues to grow. Sometimes it is just easier to let offenses go. We can postpone that uncomfortable confrontation to avoid the pricking of our flesh that brings the blood and the tears, where others see our weakness, our hurt, our humanity. So we leave it. Yes, we neglect it; and underneath the soil, the roots get stronger, and they grow.
That vine. That stubborn dewberry vine. By the time I remembered to find my gloves and attempted to pluck the vine, it was sprouting everywhere—all over the bed. I plucked, and I pulled, and I plucked, and I pulled. It was entangled in the roots of the flowers and the bushes. It seemed to be a never ending job and a losing battle. Some of the roots were just too strong, and I was running out of daylight. Alas, I put away my tools and called it a completed task. In my heart, I knew remnants of the roots were still there, and I would need to fight this battle again.
Offense confronted but not forgiven. Stubborn hearts, stubborn pride. It entangles itself in every good thing. It sprouts in the places of sunlight and the places of shade. The sprouts draw our attention, sometimes demanding confrontation, so we confront with gloves on or gloves off, and we remove the visible evidence. However, the root, that nasty spirit of offense, is a battle that is deeper, more difficult. It often requires too much time and too much energy. As long as we can’t see it and others can’t see it, we can avoid the bigger battle that continues to grow beneath the surface wreaking havoc among the roots of beauty.
Tragic how it suffocates the beauty. The unattended roots grew more sprouts. This time it was as if they grew with a vengeance, so quickly and so plentiful. They grew when I wasn’t looking, when I wasn’t paying attention, when I was distracted with other things. Then one day, I looked for the beauty, but the beauty wasn’t there. The garden should be full of beautiful blooms of the season, but something was wrong. The marigolds, the periwinkles, and my favorites – the Shasta daisies had all succumbed to the strength of the neglected vine. Even the azalea bushes had lost the battle with the vine.
I’ve seen it happen so many times. Sadly, I have even been a part of it, participated in it; truth is that I've even initiated it at times. I have offended, and I have been offended. I have ignored the offense. I have neglected the offense, tried to push it back, clip off the visible sprouts so no one else can see the ugly. Still it’s there. The root of offense continued to grow. I’ve seen people leave churches because of it. I’ve seen churches split because of it. I’ve seen thriving ministries destroyed because of it. I’ve watched as the spirit of offense has suffocated all of the beauty that surrounds it. I have witnessed joy turn into sorrow, goodness become wicked, temperance give way to indulgence, peace submit to chaos, faith yield to fear, gentleness surrender to tactlessness, longsuffering forfeit to unforgiveness, kindness replaced with cruelty, and love… well, to be honest, in offense, there is no love because love doesn’t offend, neither is it offended. So that’s it. That is how it started.
It wasn’t the root of the vine, the sprout of the vine, or even the seed of the vine that destroyed my garden. I destroyed it. I neglected it. I was supposed to protect it, guard it, tend it, and nurture it. Instead, I let the enemy come in when I wasn’t paying attention, when I was too busy with other things, too complacent to nurture the beauty and protect it from the ugly. I was selfish.
Selfish. Isn’t that what offending others and being offended is all about? Selfish. Isn’t that what we are when we step outside of love? Selfish is the offender. Selfish is the offendee. And selfish are all the offenders and offendees that sprout from the root. I am not pointing a finger. Like I said, I’ve been all of the above – the offender, the offendee, the sprout that carried someone else’s offense. I have been the ugliest of the ugly. It is embarrassing. I know. That’s pride.
I guess I’m just tired of seeing the beauty destroyed. I’m tired of seeing the enemy win with offenses that lead to unforgiveness and bitterness. I’m tired of seeing the Gospel fall victim to the selfishness of those that claim to know it. Look around. There is a lost and dying world around us. If we can’t LOVE each other, then how can we LOVE the lost?
For all those who I have offended, I am sorry. I am sorry for my selfishness. I’m sorry that I was too complacent and wrapped up in my own agenda and my own opinions that I failed to nurture and protect the beauty of LOVE – authentic, unconditional LOVE.
To those who have offended me, I am sorry for my selfishness. I am sorry that my mind was so me- focused that I allowed myself to step outside of the safety of LOVE – unfailing, unending LOVE.
To the offendees who think their holding onto offense is justified, LOVE never fails. It never fails to forgive. If you want to experience the beauty, you have to step into LOVE. Then nurture it. Protect it. Tend it. For through it beauty grows.
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