Company of Courage

I stumbled upon the announcement on the grocery store bulletin board.  Lysa TerKeurst, in person, Spring Women's Conference.  It was the same bulletin board on which I had skeptically placed flyers many times before for events held at our former church.  Now, I found myself reading the words I was convinced no one ever would.

But I did.

I normally head for the hills when I hear the words "women" and "conference" used together. I suppose it's conditioning from too many years of listening to too many unimportant words at such events. 

But this was different.  I had been introduced to Lysa's voice on the radio while driving to work one morning.  Her words were substantial, filled with truth.  Life giving truth that stirred my heart.  I longed to hear more.

There was one obstacle.  The conference was to be held at our former church, the one we left six years ago.  I had only been there once since, for a friend's memorial service.  It was a place filled with many memories of serving, teaching, leading, following, sitting together in the pew.  One of my most cherished memories is just sitting next to my Dear Professor, his arm around my shoulders while we waited for the service to begin.

There are other memories too.  Memories of misunderstanding, injustice, anger, accusation, fear.  And betrayal.  We left when my heart broke under the weight of it all.  Yes, there are hypocrites in any church, but there are also the walking wounded, those whose fragile hearts have not been safely handled. Those who stand with their back to the wall, arms crossed, waiting, hoping.  I still weep for them there.  Leaving a church is like leaving a marriage.  Grief and recrimination follow.  Those left behind feel abandoned, can't understand,  and all too often find the wrong meaning on their own.

I know.  I was one of the left behind, too many times to count.

I struggled with indecision.  I wanted to hear the words of truth, I did not want to go where they would be spoken.  So I looked for courage in companionship.  I invited a friend, and she invited her cousin.  There is safety in numbers.

It was a divine appointment for us three.  We spent the night between sessions at a local motel, sharing our stories, our questions, our wounds, our healing, our snacks, and very little sleep!

I sat with my two sisters and listened to nourishing words.   Words of encouragement, shared sorrow, surprising strength.  But it was more than just words.  Behind them was the power that holds the world and us together.

Not new truths, but a new awareness of our heart's need for them.  We emerged stronger, more resolute, nourished by words.  Words of life.  The company of courage.

We vowed to quit marching fruitlessly around our mountains, to abandon the beaten paths of defeat, regret, fear, and head onward to a new place where God is our portion, our enabler, our strength for the challenges of each new day.  The challenges that are meant to refine, not define us.  Onward to a new awareness of the fragility of those around us, the power of our words to wield life.  Or death.


We moved together toward recognizing that each desire of our heart drives us to Him who alone can satisfy our hunger.

In Christ alone, my hope is found.

And peace.

There, in the company of courage, I went where I did not want to go, said goodbye to old friends, and found peace.

Peace with the past.  Peace with the future.  Because of Christ. . .and the company of courage.


My counting with the company of courage and community of gratitude
241.  grocery store bulletin boards
242.  courageous old friend
243.  courageous new friend
244.  hunger
245.  desiring truth
246.  radio interviews
247.  Made to Crave
248.  divine appointments
249.  saying goodbye
250.  hugs
251.  late nighters
252.  comfortable rooms
253.  homemade hummus and guacamole
254.  peanut butter m&ms
255.  safety in numbers
256.  a heartfelt thank you
257.  resolution
258.  a willing heart
259.  making peace with the past
260.  words of life

Learning Delight

 “A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical encore. Heaven may encore the bird who laid an egg.” GK Chesterton (See Part IV “The Ethics of Elfland” in Orthodoxy)

Upon my arrival a hoop and holler let out. Hugs were exchanged and then the requests began. "Can we play school? Can I tell you about the water cycle? Wead Mommo." Tiny feet made big noise on the living room floor as I was treated to dancing and skipping, twirling and tumbling.

The Sprittles were happy to see me, and I was delighted to see them. It had been a long day of driving with unexpected delays. Road construction had stretched the typical 9 hours into 11. But now, in this room, surrounded by these lives, my heart was bursting at its seams. With joy.

Grandchildren are a treasure. They are a blessing in our older years. They remind us that we are more than our wrinkles and weariness. In their presence we rediscover our child within,

lost in rapture at plastic toys at the farm store,

trying on cowboy hats,

sharing Tic Tacs with brothers,

being excited about our new marbles,

on the floor playing,

having a tea party with peanut butter m&ms,

wiggling in the seats during the church service, finding disguises in unlikely places.

My grandchildren teach me how to delight, in them, in life, in God. They inspire me to dance and laugh when the world is heavy on my shoulders. They help me rediscover awe in the processes of God's creation around me. They give love so easily.

My grandchildren teach me. . . how to be a child. . . of God.

We teach them God's fear, and they teach us His delight!
________________

My naming of one thousand gifts--
214. My Dear Professor's graciousness in granting me time away from packing to keep a promise
215. Safe travel both ways in an elderly vehicle
216. Beautiful weather
217. Music to pass the hours
218. Time to listen to God's heart
219. Remembering the good places to stop for fuel
220. Successfully navigating DC
221. Telling bedtime stories
222. Prayers for Lady Gaga to sing songs for Jesus
223. Hugs
224. Swings
225. "Mimi" Ryder guns
226. Brushing teeth on the go
227. Marbles
228. Finding miniature doggies at the dollar store
229. Small spoons in tiny teacups
230. Tiny tea sets
231. Tea parties
232. Watching a mother and daughter wash dishes together
233. Hearing my name called out in love and excitement
234. Learning about the water cycle from a 6 year old genius
235. Watching my son with his children
236. A 2 year old masseur armed with diaper wipes
237. Flowering trees
238. Sprittle number 4 growing in Beautiful Mommy's tummy
239. Sharing a book with a dear daughter-in-love
240. Being asked to stay longer

A Lifetime's Not Too Long

She has played many roles--wife, mother, foster parent, janitor's wife, church pianist, church secretary, choir director, prayer partner, pastor's wife, grandmother, teacher.

I have known her best simply as friend. 

It was music that brought us together, and for a brief time, working in the same office.  We call each other Thelma and Louise because of our shared innate ability to get into difficult situations together, none of which I will chronicle here.  (You'll have to wait for that until after the statute of limitations expires.) We are notorious for sharing a brain that has a mind of its own and spends most of its time on vacation at exotic locales far away from the both of us.

Thanks to a major confluence of events(or could it have been...God?!) involving a local radio talk show giveaway,  my acting on an impulse, a charged cell phone, uncharacteristic patience and perseverance (I dialed...8 times?) and a guess(!) that was the right answer, I ended up with two free tickets to a concert Thursday night.  My Dear Professor's chronic fatigue now prohibits long drives from home and attending late night events, and so the second ticket was offered to my dear friend.

It was billed as the "2 Friends Tour".  Michael W Smith and Amy Grant played together in the 80s when "Smitty" was the relatively unknown musical director/pianist for a young, rising star in Christian/contemporary music. They collaborated on several songs, but their careers and life choices caused a gradual, unintended separation.

Packing up the dreams God planted

In the fertile soil of you
I can't believe the hopes He's granted
Means a chapter of your life is through

The evidence of true friendship is that it never ends. It is an invisible connection that endures all things and can be picked up right where it left off,  regardless of the number of intervening years.

But we'll keep you close as always
It won't even seem you've gone
'Cause our hearts in big and small ways
Will keep the love that keeps us strong

The lasting nature of Michael and Amy's friendship was revealed in one beautiful moment Thursday night.  Amy was introducing a song Michael had written about the struggle he felt sending his daughter off to college.  Amy connected with that struggle, and spoke about how difficult it was to sing with the raging emotions in a mother's heart.  Michael said softly, "I've got your back."  Amy stopped, and in a moment of heartfelt realization, turned to him and said, "You always have."

And friends are friends forever
If the Lord's the Lord of them
And a friend will not say never
'Cause the welcome will not end
Though it's hard to let you go
In the Father's hands we know
That a lifetime's not too long
To live as friends

It was not a coincidence that at that moment, in the Benedum Theater, I was standing next to my dear friend for the past 20 years.  This was the first concert we had attended together, and will be the last we have opportunity for in western PA. In a few months, after 27 years in exile, my Dear Professor and I are packing up and moving back to our country of origin, Texas.

And with the faith and love God's given
Springing from the hope we know
We will pray the joy you live in
Is the strength that now you show

If ever there was one (other than my Dear Professor) who has "had my back" these long years of exile in a strange place, it has been my dear friend.

We'll keep you close as always
It won't even seem you've gone
'Cause our hearts in big and small ways
Will keep the love that keeps us strong

I pray that she can say the same. All I know is that her friendship, her modeling of Jesus, her wise counsel, and her wicked sense of humor have been a place of safety for my heart.  In being who she is,  she has given me a living, breathing picture of true friendship.  The kind that Jesus speaks of.

The "laying down your life for the other" kind.

Though it's hard to let you go
In the Father's hands we know
That a lifetime's not too long
To live as friends

Though miles will now separate us, our hearts remain connected through our shared love of music, our awe of the One who is our true friend,

Jesus,

and the memory of standing arm in arm, singing with Michael and Amy and the others in attendance,

"No a lifetime's not too long to live as friends"* 

(*Friends are Friends Forever, by Michael W Smith)

 

My counting with the Community of One Thousand Gifts:

190. my dear friend
191. 20 years of sharing a brain

192. radio station giveaway

193. perseverance

194. a charged cell phone

195. acting on impulse

196. an answered question

197. shared experiences

198. memories evoked by music

199. difficulties that forge bonds

200. laughter

201. joy

202. time together

203. a beautiful theatre
204. beautiful music
205. a testimony of real friendship
206. worshipping together
207. the child sitting next to me singing "Mighty to Save" with great gusto

208. a successful, talented man who is compassionate and humble

209. green rooms

210. generosity
211. finding my way to Pittsburgh and back without getting seriously lost

212. an offering of talent back to its Creator in praise
213. agape

Hind's Feet

We chase each other,
laughing like lovers playing hide and seek.
He scatters graces and I lift praises,
going round and round in the joyous dance.
The music transforms my awkward feet
and I begin to understand the words
that captured my heart so long ago:
"He makes my feet like hind's feet
and causes me to walk upon my high places."

This morning I stood in the quiet cold waiting for our youngest to drive me to work. I could have spent the time fussing over the inconvenience of having my truck repaired, the additional expense and drain on our hemmorrhaging bank account. I could have fumed in irritation that he was taking so long. I could have allowed my mind to spiral out of control over a number of things over which it had no control.

But I didn't. I placed my warm mug of hot chocolate on the roof of the vehicle and with childlike awe began fixing memories of the moment in my camera's eye:

the white carpet gleaming with frost diamonds;





the rising sun scattering darkness;



the heat branded roof;



the gentle hand driving;



the warmth of a heater;



a visor shading my eyes from the blinding light;



cold etchings on the windshield.



Hours later, my Dear Professor's strong hand drove me home from work. I thanked him for that. I don't thank him enough for all he is and does.



I watched the sun, a brilliant circle hiding behind trees on the way home, then clouds as it vanished over the horizon.



The sun.



It was an unusual day. A remarkable day. An ordinary day. The difference was the attitude. Instead of slogging through "one more 24", I spent it listening, looking, can I say dancing? Dancing on the high places with hinds feet.

I long to walk there more often.

My counting with the community of One Thousand Gifts:
171. Hannah Hurnard's Hinds Feet on High Places
172. the quiet cold
173. waiting
174. our youngest
175. my warm mug of hot chocolate
176. childlike awe
177. my camera's eye
178. frost diamonds
179. the rising sun
180. warmth of a heater
181. a visor's shade from the blinding light
182. cold windshield etchings
183. my Dear Professor's kindness
184. sun behind trees
185. sun behind clouds
186. an ordinary day
187. learning to dance
188. "hinds feet"
189. Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts

My First Love

There is an old photograph of us somewhere in Dad's cardboard treasure trove of pictures. I want to find it this summer when we go back to Texas. I can see the image clearly in my mind as I write. A moment of youth and sun and love, frozen in time on a piece of faded Kodak paper.

I was so happy. He was so handsome--tall, muscular, golden. We were only with each other briefly, yet those moments together have yielded a lifetime of fond memories.

My first love.

Long before my Dear Professor journeyed from south Texas to practice law in my hometown on the Gulf Coast, there was another man in my life. His name was Sonny.

I don't remember what attracted me first, his athletic Aryan build, or his eyes. I could get lost gazing into his deep brown eyes. He was the strong, silent type, the stuff of westerns. I felt safe with him, so I opened my heart, and he listened.

And then, just as suddenly as he entered my life, he departed. I had felt it coming. There were times when we were together that he would stare off into the distance. Words were not necessary, I could see the longing in his eyes. I knew that what I had to offer was not enough.

I never saw him again. But somewhere, somewhere there is that photograph. And in my heart, there are the memories. Memories of sun, and Saturdays, and Sonny.

The most beautiful palomino gelding I have ever known. And my first love.




Update: If you love horses, or children, or both, you must listen to these stories about special horses and children who help each other heal. Or visit the web home of Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch.

Silver mornings

On this day, when the sun rises golden behind grey clouds,



when diamond glint scatters through snow,



and frozen breath stifles words.



All the world is still.



May we take a moment this day to feel the still, the quiet?



May we listen for the silver in the morning.

Tilted

At the beginning of December I purchased a devotional book, Watch for the Light. I wanted to spend the entire month reflecting on the wonder that is the Incarnation. But I didn't. I let the moments slip away. And that treasure trove of life words sat on the coffee table, unopened.

Yesterday, when the earth's orbit was closest to the sun, but because we are tilted away it was bitterly cold, I picked up the book and read.

I had been tilted away from the Son as well.

It was a sermon, no, a conversation recorded 30 years ago by a Catholic priest in a small Nicaraguan town. The dialogue goes back and forth between the words of the Bible and the words of the individuals who make up the small congregation. I have always dismissed the story of the Wise Men's journey as an aside, an unimportant appendage to the story of the Babe in the manger. I should have known better.  I should have known. 

There are no unimportant words in the Bible.

"in the days of Herod the king. . .

came wise men from the East"

"He was born into tyranny."
I was born into tyranny, too; tyranny of the urgent, tyranny of my selfish appetites, tyranny of my fears. I understand tyranny all too well, bound in bad habits I am incapable of changing. But I am in denial of it all.

"When Herod the king heard this, he was very troubled"

"He came to liberate", to cast off the chains of tyranny. My chains bind just as surely as the chains of evil government or poverty or ignorance or disease.

"Afterwards, being warned in a dream that they should not 

return to where Herod was, they returned to their country

by another way." 

"He submitted to persecution."
And so do all who join His cause. All powers that be live in fear; the fear of losing control. They grasp. They persecute. They use any means necessary to preserve their power. And they hate the liberator and all who dare align themselves with him.

In the midst of the reading, my comfortable home was transformed into that bare space where the conversation took place. And the bare space where He was born. I was transformed into one of "them".

He became one of them, and I see myself in what He became. I am one of them as well. Our tyrants and chains bear different names, but they beat us down and bind us up with equal power.

And the Babe came to free us all.

This day that we are closest to the Son, yet tilted away.

He came-- to free us all!

All Here

The New Year crept in on wet feet, swathed in mist and darkness and silence.





My soul relishes the silence.

I don't make New Year's resolutions.  And yet, this year, I am resolved.  I am resolved to be all here.  In each moment that passes.  

“Time is a relentless river and it rages on, respecter of no one.

And the only way to slow time is this: Enter fully into the current moment and the stream of time slows — slows — with the weight of a soul’s full attention.

We slow the torrent by being all here."  Ann Voskamp

Oh, I am sure there will be moments in which I will be swept away, gasping for breath, down the river of life.  I never learned to swim, and deep waters terrify.   But I am also sure that there will be many more moments of stillness as I watch the graces flow around me, those same graces that swirl around all the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve.  I will rejoice, both in the bitter and the sweet, for that is the stuff of life.  And I will find courage in enduring the difficulty, for "suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope." (Romans 5:4 ESV)

Curious, isn't it, that suffering can produce hope?

Next New Year's Eve, I want to stand in the quiet, at the ending that is another beginning, and reflect on the hope and the grace I have experienced.  

Because I was all here.

When My Heart Finds Christmas, Part 2: A Christmas Carol

I've been rehearsing for Christmas for most of my life. 

It began in junior high school when I joined the choir, then continued in high school, college, and beyond.  The seasons were defined by rehearsal and performance.  And I loved every minute of it.  Well, maybe with the exception of the 30 minutes our church choir director decided to try to teach these non dancing Baptist feet to do some choreography on the risers. 

My feet won.

It just isn't Christmas without music.  In all those years of rehearsal and performance I've sung everything from Handel to calypso to contemporary Christian and back again. But there is one song that stands out among all the rest.  One song that touched my heart with the reality of "That Night."

That night in all of Heaven there wasn't a sound
As God and the angels watched the Earth.
For there, in a stable the Father's only Son
Chose to give Himself through human birth.
And when the cry of a baby pierced the universe
Once for all, men were shown their worth.

And the heavens exploded, with music everywhere.
And the angels spilled over heaven's edge and filled the air.
And the Father rejoiced, for He did not lose His Son,
But He gained to Himself forever those who'd come.

I can still hear the music that taught my heart the joy of that night, and reminds me every Christmas of my worth. 

And the heavens exploded, with music everywhere.
And the angels spilled over heaven's edge and filled the air.
And the Father rejoiced, for He did not lose His Son,
But He gained to Himself forever those who'd come.

When My Heart Finds Christmas, Part 1: Great Expectations

This is the home in which I celebrated 27 Christmases. The picture was taken after a rare winter snowfall 2 years after I was born. The house still stands, but the trees in the front yard have all been replaced after too many insects, hurricane winds, and lightening strikes took their toll.



Mom and Dad are gone, too, but their memories linger on my life like Dad's shadow on the bottom of the picture.

They taught me that Christmas was about innocence, childhood, wonder, joy, hope.

And extravagant giving.

My Mother loved Christmas more than any other time of year. She enjoyed the decorating, the baking, and the planning of magnificent surprises. For Mother, Christmas was the magical season when all wishes came true, and she and Dad did their best, on a limited budget, to make that happen for their two daughters.

If the tree was less than perfect, and in those days they were, Dad would take a drill and some extra branches and fill in what nature left out. We always had a magnificent tree. Mother would direct the decoration from the couch.

First, Dad carefully strung the lights around the tree, then my sister and I hung the ornaments evenly and symmetrically. Finally, Dad would lift one of us toward the top to place the star. We took turns for this honor, with names duly recorded on the box that safely held that star the other 11 months of the year.

Christmas Eve we would read the story from Luke, and then hop in bed for a restless, sleepless night. After many unsuccessful trips to Mom and Dad's bedroom (has Santa come yet?), we were filled with delight when they finally gave up the idea of any sleep themselves, turned on the lights and stood back in their own delight as two little girls stampeded into the living room to see what Santa had brought. At 4:00am in the morning!

Our stockings were simple--two of Dad's clean socks. Somehow we never noticed they bulged with an assortment of whole nuts out of the seasonal nut bowl from which they were hung. There was ribbon candy too, and an occasional tangerine. But that was just "window dressing." Our real attention was on the tree, both the "Santa" toys and the beautifully wrapped bounty beyond.



I think it was the expectation of what surprise awaited us rather than what we actually received that caused those sleepless Christmas Eves because, looking back now, the one thing I remember most is the one thing I habitually asked for but never found, a horse. A real horse. Like Trigger or Silver. I knew it would never happen, but that didn't keep me from hoping. After all, Christmas was about magic and wonder and dreams coming true.

I feel as though I am just now beginning to understand the deeper magic of Christmas. I find myself lost in the wonder of God's dream coming true in a Bethlehem manger. It is there I find anew the innocence, wonder, joy, hope.

And extravagant giving.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son..."

Mission Impossible

She knew it would not be easy. She had tried before, on many occasions, never with success. But this time, this time would be different. She would somehow manage the impossible.

It took planning, lots of planning. And coordination of schedules. And secrecy. Up until the last minute, she was afraid of failure. There were too many details that could go wrong. And yet, she pulled it off without a hitch. This mission impossible, this Thanksgiving surprise.

I am still reeling from the shock. And feeling so very grateful for

smiley cookies,



the airplane that brought our Principessa home,

the van that safely carried the Sprittles and their Mommy and Daddy to visit,

wild Indians stomping through the house in a mini school pageant recreated,



the voices of grandchildren,

the turkey that defrosted in time,

"feathers" of gratitude,

being together,

happy meal toys,

tiny arms around my neck,

hugs and kisses,

storytime,

yawns



angel wings on lampshade,



legos,



silly sunglasses,



self portraits,



a scavenger hunt for Mommo,

a coonskin cap,



balloons and a floor vent,

Sprittle sleepover,

noodle necklaces,

hand-me-down bling,



blond hair + blue eyes + blue fleece pullovers,



Christmas displays,

hallways and self propelled trucks,



eating out,

a light dusting of snow Saturday morning,



a successful surprise,

the mission impossible made possible,

the love and graciousness that accomplished it.

A wonderful Thanksgiving.

"Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow; Praise Him, all creatures here below; 

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."