The Grand Adventure

This is how our little cowboy greeted us yesterday.  Notice the boots on the wrong feet.  We were in the middle of getting ready for church, and Jeremiah had gone ahead and picked out his own outfit.  The fashion sense of a two year old continues to surprise and delight.  Isn't that what the best about life is all about?

I just recently had a conversation with a young man whom I knew during my campus ministry days.  He is in the exhilarating bliss of living the grown up life, newly married, gainfully employed.  Soon he and his lovely bride will travel to London to visit family and see the Olympics.  See the Olypics?!  Are you kidding me?!  How cool is that!  I celebrated with him the adventures of youth.  And that is exactly what I told him:  Have adventures while you are young.

It is my best advice to young people.  I have shared it numerous times over the years.  One of my most recent sharing moments was my cousin's graduation party.  Each table had pens and cards with instructions printed on them to share wisdom for Landry.  I told him to have adventures while he is young because it becomes more complicated as one takes on more committments.  It's harder to just pick up and go when you are married; there is a whole other person whose life is affected by your decisions.  And then once you have kids. . . .  Well, that is an adventure all its own.  That's what I told Landry.  Having children is its own adventure..

Yesterday this truth hit me in a fresh way when Jeremiah walked into the room in his "Go West Young Man" get-up.  Children are an adventure.  A wonderful adventure.  A GRAND adventure.  Everyday I feel so honored that I get to be those rough and tumble boys' mom.  I get to see them grow into persons of individual tastes, talents, abilities.  They are all so unique.  Each one brings me joy, and the joy tastes so different depending upon the boy who brings it.

I never would have imagined God would bless me with all boys, and certainly not three.  But life with three boys continues to surpise and delight.  I don't have to travel the world to be amazed.  I just look in my back yard.  Or in the living room.  Or around the kitchen table.  The bathroom is not surprising or delighting.  Little boy bathrooms can get pretty disgusting.  But everything else brings wonder and excitement to my small corner of ordinary.

I try to enjoy the gift of being mom to so many boys.  I know the time is fleeting.  I know this season, this wonder, this joyful experiment won't last forever.  There will soon come a time when they won't want to be held close, or kissed all over the face, or hold hands in the parking lot.  As long as I can do those things, this is the best adventure of all.  And when they are too old for such silliness with mom, there will be new adventures waiting.  But the quality of those times depends much upon living today's adventure well.  So here is to making each day GRAND, and enjoying every minute of it!

New Sight

We took Noah to the eye doctor today.  We've noticed he's had trouble reading signs lately, and that he's stands so close to the T.V.  Turns out our suspicions were right.  He needs glasses.  It's funny.  You would have thought we were taking him to the candy store to pick out his favorite treat instead of a pair of glasses to help him see better.  He was super excited.  I was excited for him.  We will pick up his new frames and lenses in a week.  And then a whole new world opens up for him.

I remember when I was serving as an associate pastor in a large church in Florida.  It was a painful time for our church family.  There were some things going on that caused deep anguish for so many people.  As we walked through that difficult season together I God gave me a picture that brought me comfort, and helped me reinterpret the events of that time.  It was a picture of a carefully manicured garden, filled with tall hedges forming a complex maze.  It would be so easy to get lost in such a maze.  It would be so easy to take a path that seems right, only to make a turn in the wrong direction, or worse, into a pit.  The only way to get out safely would be to get help from someone who can see the whole thing from above, who knows what lies around each corner, sees the pitfalls, and can give step by step directions to find the way out.  As I would share this picture with others, I would share how God impressed upon me that only He could see the full picture of what was happening.  The only way we would be able to navigate through would be to seek Him first, allowing Him to shape our responses to the things unfolding around us.

So often life is like this.  We are unable to see how each part of our lives fits together.  Only God can see it all.  Only God knows why this happens or that.  Trying to figure it all out can be a bit disorienting.  Our vain imaginations conjure up all kinds of explanations.  And so we begin to look for plausible meaning to our difficulties.  Rarely do they satisfy, except to give us something to sop up uncertainty with.  We come away with a blurry picture of who we are, blind to authentic purpose. 

Just yesterday I asked a sweet friend what her favorite scripture was.  She mentioned Proverbs 3:5-6:

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight.  In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Oh how much I need to be reminded!  Because there are days when I can't see to make my own paths straight.  I have no idea what straight looks like.  I feel like Noah, trying to read signs; everything around me is blurry, every guidepost a meaningless fuzzy dot.

And so we wait.  Noah is waiting for lenses.  I am waiting for direction.  But there is saving Grace in acknowledging the truth.  For my sweet son it is that glasses are a necessity.  For me it is that I am not equipped to interpret the puzzling events of my life without God's help.  For both of us, we can trust that new sight will come.



Divine Details

I hate that saying “the devil is in the details.”  Who says only the devil can own details?  I know, I know.  It refers to hidden detriments hidden in the obscure parts of everything.  It’s like parents or pet owners who slip medicine into food, hoping it will be too small to notice or that the yucky flavor will be masked by mashed potatoes.  I know.  There are a hundred ways that life sucks if we just look closely enough.  Thinking about the human footprint and its implications for our world can make anyone depressed.  These are the details we rarely pay attention to.  Which is why it’s so easy for detriment to make its way into our lives.  We never even notice when our existence comes to ruin.  I guess that’s what the devil is betting on.

But I’m all for taking back what the devil stole.  Like details.  I believe there are wonders hidden in details.  Beauty is hidden in places we rarely expect.  And God loves surprises.  That’s why I believe we can find the Divine in the details, that opportunities abound to be amazed and delighted. 

There are tons of details about this past week that I treasure.  The whole reason we made the trip to Texas was to help celebrate my cousin Landry’s graduation from high school.  (I am the oldest grandchild; he is the youngest.  It’s true that I’m old enough to be his mom.  Sigh.) So sprinkled into this momentous occasion are snapshots that make it so personal, so uniquely our own.  Like the way we all wore fake mustaches in our grand extended family picture from the graduation party.  Like how Landry wore his as if it were a booger hanging out of his nose.  Like how I just happened to pick out his card the day before that said on the front “I wanted to get you something green for your graduation” and on the inside said, “so I blew my nose in your card.”  Coincidence?  I think not!

Or how about this one.  The morning after his big day he posted on Facebook that he wished his “Paw Paw” could have been there, but that he knew he was watching from Heaven.  I commented about how I always think of our grandfather being in our “cloud of witnesses” from Hebrews 12:1, cheering us on as we persevere.  When I  mentioned this to my aunt she told me that she had found a way to sew pictures of both Landry’s grandfathers into his graduation cap for his graduation ceremony.  How wonderful is that?  In a sea of graduation caps and gowns that one detail made Landry’s so deeply special.

Life is full of beautiful details.  Some funny.  Some touching.  Some so exquisite they make our eyes water.  Instead of hunting for all the disappointing ones, I want my eyes to be open to the Divine Love hiding in plain sight.  And I want to be the kind of person that sews the Divine into the fabric of every minute.  So others can see beauty.  So others can laugh.  So others can feel their hearts move.  So that the tears that fall from our eyes become the Water of Life.

Signature Dish

I got to watch my grandmother make goulash.  I helped even.   I’m hoping that when I get home I can recreate it.  There is something kind of magical, mystical about sitting around the table at my grandmother’s house eating goulash.  She makes it every time my mother visits.  It is one of those recipes that is not written down.  It never uses exact measurements.  The ingredients are more or less the same.  But it always has that distinctive grandma flavor.  My aunt Jeannie said her goulash never tastes the same.  There are no guarantees mine will either.

What is it that makes something a signature dish?  Something that never tastes quite right unless a certain hand has made it?  Is it in the stirring or the chopping? Is it in the way the ingredients are assembled? 

I never thought in all my life that I would ever have a signature dish.  But somehow it happened.  I only know this is true because my husband’s mother (a crazy amazing cook) referred to it as mine.  It was after I brought a couple of String Pie’s to Hospice.  All of Tim’s family were there, waiting and watching, as his grandmother quietly took her time dying.  Everyone was tired.  Everyone was hungry.  But no one wanted to leave because they feared they would miss the moment of her passing.  It’s hard keeping vigil with small children, so I was at home. And I was going to cook anyway.  I simply doubled the recipe.  Off we went to Hospice; children, casseroles, paper plates, and Kool-aid in tow. 

I believe food heals, particularly when it is shared around a table with conversation and laughter thrown in.  It did that night.  During a difficult time the family gathered round.  For a time the sweetness of kindred souls filled the Hospice dining room as string pie filled hungry bellies, and creature comfort filled grieving hearts.  You would have guessed we were at a happy family reunion, not watching and waiting for death to visit. It touched me deeply when Nanny, Tim’s mom, told me how good it was, how helpful.

As we leave my grandmother’s I will remember the goulash.  I will remember the crazy stories shared around plates heaping with it and my Aunt Carol’s guacamole.  I am hoping that my soul has been nourished by the time I spent in my grandmother’s kitchen, getting dinner ready.  I don’t know when I will get the chance to return.  So I am asking God for the grace to remember:  how she browned the ground beef on low, sprinkling in generous amounts of garlic powder; how she simmered crushed tomatoes, tomato sauce, and tomato juice; how she cooked the green pepper and onion in the leftover grease from the hamburger; how each part cooked separately, flavors developing while the elbow macaroni boiled; how finally it all got stirred into the same pot to mingle and marry, making a fine dish.

I wonder if my sons will someday return to my table with their children, talking about the meals that only I can make, begging me for a special encore of a dish they believe only I can do.  As one who loves food, I tend to believe it doesn’t really matter who makes it.  But there is something about cooking that develops over time, particular recipes prepared regularly, making it to special request status.  For me it is the story of love and relationship, being told in the slurping silences and satisfied sighs of the dinner table, aiding and abetting the stories of family swapped and savored between bites.  It is the pilgrimage of the familiar returning again and again for a taste of home.   More than a recipe perfected, this is what I’m most hungry for.

The Memory of All That

Monday was our first full day at my grandmother’s house.  It is so good to be here.  There is a part of me that is like Peter.  I think we should build tabernacles and stay awhile.  But I know this is a rare gift, and it cannot last forever.

Of course once we arrived  we had visitors.  My Uncle Jim and Aunt Carol spent the whole afternoon and evening.  They brought over a tub of dollar store toys.  My boys loved them.  Better than the toys was the romp with Uncle Jim.  He has a special gift with children.  Like the pied piper he captivates them; sooner than the blink of an eye they follow his lead into merry chaos.  The joke was passed around several times that mothers of small children do not let their kids sit by him at dinner.  I can fully appreciate that wisdom now. 

There was something about the inflection of Jim’s voice, the wild imaginations spurting from his lips, the quipping of hands animated with grand stories that made similar moments with my own grandfather, memories from my childhood, come alive again. I could hear my own giggles in the peals of laughter, my own heightened anticipation of what would come.  The child, hidden in the grown man, never disappoints.  Not then, not now.

I have missed my grandfather’s presence since he passed away.  He died while I was pregnant with my first son, Noah.  So none of my children have ever met him, but I try to keep his memory alive by introducing them to his picture, telling them “Silly Papaw” stories.   I love though, that his presence is still with us in uncanny ways.  I love that my children get to live the adventure I once tasted as a child, through the descendants of the man I admired so much.  I am reminded of the scripture from Isaiah 55:12-14:   “For you shall go out in joy and be led back in peace.  The mountains and the hills shall burst into song and the trees of the field shall clap their hands.  Instead of the thorn bush shall grow up the cypress; instead of the briar shall grow up the myrtle.  And it shall be to the LORD a memorial, everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.” 

Yesterday we all went eat at a favorite local Mexican restaurant.  When the food came I asked the boys if they wanted to pray.  The two year old did what he always does, muttered quietly to himself with his head bowed, suddenly popping up with a loud “Amen!”  Since no one could make out the mumbles I asked the five year old if he wanted to pray.  He led us in the basic “Thank you Jesus for our food, Amen.”  We commenced with the devouring of the feast before us.  When our meal was drawing to a close an older woman who was making her way out of the restaurant came over to my seat.  She said it was such a wonderful thing that I was teaching my children to pray at such an early age.  She said it was a wonderful legacy, something that she had been taught and had also passed on.  I couldn’t help but think of my mother and grandmother sitting there with us, my grandfather looking on from Heaven.  I’m only teaching what I was taught.  It is something worth saving and sending on.

Our legacy is the everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.  What we receive from those who go before us, and what we pass on to those who come behind us, becomes the living memorial to God, the sign that others can look to, pointing them to the Presence that is always there.  So my grandfather is with us still, in the stories, in the mannerisms of his children, in the faith he so faithfully taught us, in the GOD he so faithfully followed whom we follow still.

Paving the Road with Intentions

I’m so excited that summer break is officially here.  That means it’s time for road trips.  I am actually writing this on my laptop in the back seat of my parents’ truck.  Woo Hoo!  We are traveling to Texas to see family.  On this particular occasion my cousin is graduating from high school.  I’m so excited because I get to see my grandmother.  After Tim’s grandmother died, I am anxious to be with her.  I know that time is precious, opportunities like this rare.  How could I not go?

I have hopes for this time away.  I hope that I get those rare gifts of heart moments shared with my grandmother, where we glimpse each other’s souls.  I hope that I express to her my gratitude for her encouragement.  She is faithful in reading my stuff.  She always returns my begging-for-prayer emails with thoughtful words.  She has a way of showing me the path of God’s grace, especially when it is most hidden.  I hope that I will take the time to laugh, deep in my belly, till my eyes water, so much that I have to come up for breath.  You know how there are those times when you get together with family and the memories you make expand?  Okay, I’m not talking about the food.  The food always makes me expand in ways I wish it hadn’t.  But I do love how being with family, especially when it doesn’t happen often, has the ability to make your life feel bigger than it felt before?  Funnier.  Livelier.  Hope-ier.  Happier.   I’ve often said that my mom’s side of the family doesn’t stretch the truth, we just remember big.  I love how everyone’s a storyteller.  I hope I listen to the stories and take them in so that they become a part of me.  I hope that I carry this week within me for the rest of my life, that at a cellular level it changes me in important and beautiful ways.  I hope that I give generously of myself to those around me, that I don’t hold back sharing my heart.  I hope that we are able to hold tightly to the good things of being together and that we will be able to let everything else go by.  I know myself well.  There is that natural jet lag that happens whether you travel by plane or not.  Traveling has the potential to keep everyone and everything out of sorts.  I hope instead that the adventure of this time will override the inconvenience, and that we will enjoy every part of it. 

Here is the biggest hope I have.  It is wrapped in the tender souls of my two sons who are traveling with me.  I hope that they will know themselves to be more than they knew, that their understanding of themselves will grow as they spend time with family larger than they guessed.  I hope that they will sense the current of the sweeping story they participate in through their bloodline.  I hope they will come home with grand memories of being with family in Texas. 

These are my prayers and intentions for this time.  Somehow writing them down at the beginning of my journey helps me.  It feels like I’m more likely to live into it that way.  So blessings to all of you.  May your own roads be paved with prayers and intentions as well.  And may we all live fully the adventure that lies ahead of us!

Sustainable

I'm not in the mood to hug the planet today

A couple of years ago a young woman's passion

to make a difference

lit a fire beneath me,

her desire a fire

showing plainly my own indifference

to the fate of our mutual earth.

So I started using paper plates--

instead of styrofoam;

throwing cardboard, glass, and plastic

into the red recycle box--

instead of the trash can.

Her passion helped me care.

So I'm not in the mood to hug the planet today,

but I do anyway.

Because planet hugging without the mood

creates the mood.

I've learned the same is true of marriage.

"Honey, I'm not in the mood"

is a poor excuse for

not trying,

not loving,

not giving of oneself--

not stepping beyond oneself.

Stepping beyond mood,

in the right direction,

creates the mood.

I would say it's been easy,

these sixteen years stretching out behind us.

(If our marriage were a person,

today it would start driving . . . or dating.)

But then I would be lying.

And who would want an effortless marriage anyway?

Our effort--

yours and mine--

makes our partnering beautiful.

We've had to overcome so much

to meet in a place of Grace.

We chose to come over so much--

our pride,

our point of view,

our deeply held comfort--

to see the other side,

my other's side.

It is how we have become,

and are becoming,

one flesh.

Oh sweet man!

Your love has held me, when I could not hold you.

My love has held you, when you could not hold me.

And when neither one of us could hold fast

to the bonds between us,

we held quickly to God,

hoping, praying, begging

for His LOVE

to be enough to hold us together.

It was.

We hold hands now in a circle of LOVE,

our heads and hearts bowed.

I would say

God is in our circle,

but even that is not true anymore.

We have chosen to place the circle of our love--

you and me and three blond boys--

in the CIRCLE of

God's Hands.

We no longer grasp for the Divine Hand

to hold ours.

Instead we have chosen

to plant our feet firmly in

HIS Presence--

side by side,

but resting

the whole of who we are,

on HIM.

. . . when I found him whom my soul loves,

I held him, and would not let him go . . . ."

                                                 Song of Songs 3:4

Power Packed

Isn't it wonderful how those little computers in our pocket come to life so easily?  My two year old knows how to work my iphone.  Amazing.  He knows just how to press that button at the bottom and then slide his sticky fingers across the face of it to open it up. And it can do anything we want it to.  As the saying goes, "there's an app for that!"  Better still is that when it runs low on juice all we have to do is plug it into a wall somewhere.

So why is it that I often forget that little detail?  Why is it that I allow the amazing computer in my pocket to come into such a low state of functioning that I might as well not even have it?  Sometimes I think I need a sign taped to my bathroom mirror that says, HEY SAMI--CHARGE YOUR PHONE!!!!!  Anyone out there relate?!

The truth is sometimes I think God is trying to communicate a similar message to my life: HEY SAMI--CHARGE YOUR SPIRIT!!!! 

Holy cow, life is hard!  There are those times when everything within me is calling out, each cell in my body screaming the duress I feel when caught in the impossible.  It comes out as a wail in the bottom of my gut, wordless but wrenching.  Only the wordlessness can encompass the difficulty of the situation I find myself in.  Ugh doesn't even come close.

I know you've been there. 

Haven't we all felt trapped at one time or another?  When I feel trapped my mind immediately goes to that place where I feel the need to be cut free.  And when I am in that place I forget.  I forget that there is a Tower of Strength and Comfort I can plug myself into. 

Why is it I forget God made me to be overcomer, victor in the midst of strife, living memorial of His power to sustain?  Why do I forget that Jesus not only walks on the storm like it's a carpet, but invites me to?  Why do I allow the amazing spirit God made and placed in me to come into such a low state of functioning that I might as well not even have it?

I'm not trying to be morose or a downer.  I'm just trying to articulate that place that especially needs what only God can give.  Because I believe so powerfully that accessing the power of God in our lives is a simple as plugging our phones into the wall.  Really.

It's not even a whole verse in the Bible, it's a phrase in a verse in the Bible.  But it has the Power of God to change everything for us.  It's the last part of Romans 4:20:  "but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God."   It's tucked away in the story of how Abraham became the father of many nations, especially God's people, even though everything about his life said he wasn't the father of anything.  But what this little verse is telling us is that a Divine Exchange happens every time we extend ourselves (step out of default mode and consciously step into something else) in the direction of God.  As we step out towards God, God infuses us with everything we need to be and do what He is calling us to be and to do. 

Two words.  Glory.  Faith. 

As we give glory to God, we grow strong in our faith.  The Greek word for glory is doxa.  It means dignity, glory, honour, praise, worship.  (See http://concordances.org/strongs/greek/1391.htm.)  As we give God dignity, glory, honour, praise, and worship something significance happens to us.  Within us.  I swear I can even feel the stuff of my body changing when I worship God.  It's that simple--praise and worship.  For me it means that I open up my mouth and really sing.  From the stuff of who I am I belt it out.  I sing as if no one else is in the room and God is the only one who can hear.  And then I lift my hands.  Sometimes I dance.  I find the song whose lyrics scratch the itch I can't seem to reach; I download it onto my phone; I stick the CD into my car.  On my worst days I just say the words, "I praise God for . . . ."  And then I fill in the blank with whatever my eyes land on first.  I don't even have to mean the words I say.  I just have to say them.  The saying of them leads me into the meaning them. 

The trouble is most of us think we have to feel like worshipping to actually worship God.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  It's why it's called the "sacrifice of praise."  Because there are days we want to do anything but worship God.  But when we actually open our mouths and let worship and praise come out of it, when we literally lift our hands, when me open our ears and listen to it wafting on the airwaves, the chemistry of our brains changes.  We open up a door where God is able to step into our reality and begin making it His.

Wow.

Which leads us to the second word.  Faith.  The Greek word for faith is pistis.  It means faith, belief, trust, confidence, fidelity, faithfulness.  (See http://concordances.org/strongs/greek/4102.htm.)  As we praise and worship God, our faith is changed.  It grows stronger.  Our believing grows stronger.  Our trust grows stronger.  Our confidence . . . grows stronger.  Our ability to stick with something, for others to count on us . . . grows stronger.  I don't know anyone who doesn't want that.  Often we think we just need to try harder.  But trying harder is not the answer.  One of my favorite sayings from my psychology days goes something like "insanity is doing the same things and expecting different results."  It is not in us to produce something other than what we are.  But it is in us to connect to Someone who can make us more of what we are supposed to be. 

What I love about God is that He supplies within us the very thing He responds to the most.  When we believe Him, He moves.  When we trust Him, He shows up.  When we rest the need of our lives in His capable Hands, His Hand become capable in our lives.  Oh yes.  Yes, yes, yes, yes.

Like so many I am in a place in my life where I no longer have the resources to see myself through.  I need Something beyond myself to help me get where I need to be.  It didn't used to be like that.  I used to be able to drag up from within the dregs of my motivation, energy, and intellect what was needed to get through.  That is no longer true.  The challenges are bigger than me.  But I am absolutely convinced that my God is far superior to any challenge I face.  But I cannot connect to God's power if I refuse to connect to God. 

So when I plug in my phone tonight, I'm going to remember another plug in I need to make.  Because I want my life to be power packed.

Only Stubborn People Can Fly Kites

My neighborhood was full of them, stubborn people.  Because when I was a kid, flying a kite was a big deal.  All the kids in our neighborhood had a kite.  Kite flying was an art to be mastered.  We would stay outside for hours, working hard for that moment when our kites would be small and high in the air, our string unwound to the fullest, taught with the power of the wind.  It was amazing to me and quite an accomplishment to get to that point.  But boy it took perseverance to get there.

The funny thing was, the wind was often the very thing that made getting off the ground hard.  It would work in tandem with gravity, sending would-be air climbers careening violently to the ground nose first.  It took so much trial and error to get going.  The trick was to figure out how to get the wind resistance underneath the kite's wing span instead of on top of it.  There were only two ways to accomplish this:  You either had to run into the wind using the string as a short tether that would help fill the kite with air, or you had to have a partner to hold your kite towards the wind so that the force could gently lift the kite up as you slowly released the string.   It always worked best with a partner.  By far the best solution was a combination of the two; the helper would hold the kite high in the air catching the resistance of the wind, and the flyer would take off running as fast as could be, hoping the kite would reach sufficient lift and velocity to rise into the air

It's so like life.  Getting off the ground in anything is the hardest part of living.  We experience so much resistance and gravity.  It's like the whole of existence is conspiring to keep us from reaching our goals, living our dreams.  The worst is that it's not just difficult circumstances around us that make flying seem impossible.  It's the groundedness within us that's hard.  We are so tied to  the way things have always been.  Even if the promise of new life is better than anything we have ever experienced before, the old life is something we know so well.  We become experts at our own misery.  I remember well the saying that the pain of staying the same has to become greater than the pain of change for real transformation to take place.  There is that thing in us that likes the comfort of the familiar.  It can become a monster within, dictating everything about the way we live until we aren't really living at all.  When I was in seminary one of my friends used to say, "Kiss your monster on the nose."  I love this expression.  For me it means I kiss my fear goodbye on the way out the door to my destiny.  "Oh yes, hello fear.  Hello comfort.  I'm stepping out of my box for awhile.  See you later."  The key is to run faster than your fear can find you.

Let's just say up front that anything worth pursuing is going to take effort, a true stepping beyond the person we are presently to try on the skin of the next person we are called to be.   Just like kite-flying this process is full of trial and error, but eventually we get there.  For me it means I have to set my face towards Jerusalem.  I have to decide that I'm either going to accomplish this thin, or I am going to die trying.  This over-and-over stepping out is what creates velocity, along with a good sprinkling of confidence, within us.  Each time we expend effort in the direction of our dreams, the effort becomes easier, stronger, and we get better at lifting off the ground.

Of course having someone there who believes in us is so helpful.  Someone who can hold us up when we fall.  Someone who can give us encouragement when we have to try again . . . again.   Someone who can see the possibilities within us as much as, or perhaps better, than we can.  Sometimes we just need someone to help us stand when we experience the wind.  And when we combine that with an internal drive that refuses to give up, refuses to give in, getting off the ground is really just a matter of time.

Ultimately the resistance we experience outside of us becomes our ally in overcoming the pull of gravity within us.  It's like the thing that once scared the pee pee out of us, once we actually do that thing, it is no longer unfamiliar.  We know more about it, what it feels like when we do it, what it looks like when we fail, what might help us next time, what might help us succeed.  If we keep making that step of faith, eventually our faith turns into certainty.  Instead of holding us back that difficult circumstance becomes the thing that helps us rise to the next occasion of testing.  And once we learn how to rise above one circumstance, rising above others begins to follow in short order.  Truly perseverance pays off.

So this is my prayer, Oh God make me stubborn.  Make me stubborn.  Oh God make me stubborn in all the right ways.  And make all the timid souls like me out there stubborn too.  How grand it would be to see the world decorated with beautiful lives flying.

Ahhh, this is what I am made for . . . .

There have been moments. When everything within me leapt in joy. When exhilaration was my exhalation, and wonder and gratitude my inbreath. When everything about me felt I was dreaming because I felt so, so good. When I knew, ahh this is what I am made for.

I've been pondering those moments. And I've been pondering a particular scripture I've known for years, but have never pondered in just this way before. Romans 12:1 says, "I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship." It's one of those verses that has left me more than a little scared. I've always thought, always been taught, that to present oneself wholly to God as a sacrifice was to put to death the thing in you that desires to have desire fulfilled. It's to live estranged from one's own self, which is now dead to self, and put to better use serving God. Living as a servant. Or a slave rather. Bound, and sad, and bereft. That is what God wants right?

And yet the Spirit is telling me NO! Today the Spirit is telling me NO!

I hear the Spirit saying, "I did not mean that at all!" In fact, I hear the Spirit saying just the very opposite.

Because the scripture goes on to say that we are members of one body, differently made for different purposes. Although we belong to one another, we are individuals, who are differently gifted by Grace! See what the Spirit is saying to us:

For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individuallywe are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in dilligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness. Romans 12:4-8

Each one of us is given a different grace. God's desire is that we live into the grace He gave us. In fact it is woven into our very being; we have a natural leaning toward this gifting. And naturally we are no good at other pursuits. This is how it should be. I just hate it that the enemy of our souls can so easily convince us that we are supposed to do the thing we hate, the thing we are no good at, the thing that other girl can do. Shouldn't we be able to do it too? I hate it how the enemy twists God's Word so that we think we are doing God a favor by being miserable, instead of having the courage to be who we are made to be. The enemy convinces us that the greater sacrifice is trying to squeeze ourselves into somebody else's image, no matter how much it hurts. Yet the Spirit says we are given Grace to live into God's image; Grace is the grease of life that facillitates the living. The Spirit alive in us is not drudgery and obligation. The Spirit alive in us is joy!

So then why the sacrifice? What is it that has to die if there is so much joy in being a living sacrifice, living into the Spirit's call (or "inner wooing" as T.D. Jakes would say)? We die to the expectations that we've been trying to live up to for so long, ours and everybody else's. That's not easy. Because the road to answering God's Grace is never paved with certainties. And we will have to disappoint some folks. For people pleasers that can been harrowing. Unthinkable. The sacrifice for us then is to think the unthinkable. To live the unthinkable. To know in the center of one's being that God's sufficiency is all we need to live and do what we were created for. Truth be told, that is the only sufficiency we've got. Everyone else will disappoint us along the way. And that's okay. Someday our lives can be an encouragement to them to follow their own dreams.

In the meantime we are to live the sacrifice that we are, dying to certitude and approval so we may live to inspiration and exhilaration. Romans 12:2 actually describes this process quite well: "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God--what is good and acceptable and perfect." I love that God's promise to us is that we WILL be able to know God's will for us. I LOVE that when we see God's will we will recognize it because it will be GOOD, ACCEPTABLE, and PERFECT! We will say to ourselves, "Why didn't I think of that?" We will know it as our destination because everything within us will recognize our truest self within it.

I believe the renewal God seeks from us is not renewing our passion for Him, but getting it in our heads that He is PASSIONATE for us! We did not die for Him to have life. He died, that we might have LIFE and have it more abundantly. Not just eternally later on. But abundantly now. HE died for us. Our renewal, our spiritual act of worship, everyday, is to LIVE FOR HIM. When I am more willing to live for Him than I am willing to live a dead life, then I am transformed. Then my mind is renewed. Then I am a living sacrifice.