Category Archives: Community

Now THAT’s Christmas Spirit!

Outside, the air was cold.  Damp. Windy.  People hustled to and from the parking lot with chins tucked, arms folded and feet shuffling as fast as they could.  I sat in my van outside Wal-Mart waiting for my turn to slowly inch toward the exit, careful not to bump into pedestrians as they crossed.

A familiar bell rang in the background.  It was the sound of a Salvation Army worker.

I just love these guys.  They make shopping in December festive!  They remind me as I enter a store that this is no ordinary trip.  I am shopping for a gift to give someone I care about.  The time and effort should be enjoyed like savoring my favorite chocolate bar (and not a chore).

Stores who don’t allow The Salvation Army to stand out front are Scrooges.  They want to offer an “uninterrupted shopping experience.” Had this worker not been there that day outside of Wal-Mart, there would be no story to tell.  I am quite happy for the interruption.

An elderly woman, very elderly, pushed her very elderly and disabled husband’s wheelchair as they left the store and stepped into the crosswalk.  A sight not uncommon.  But, she also struggled to pull their shopping cart behind her.  One hand on his wheelchair.  One hand on the heavy shopping cart.

As I waited for them to cross, suddenly the decline of the road caused the shopping cart to pick up speed.  Within mere seconds, the shopping cart and it’s bags were headed straight for this poor woman’s back…she was unaware.

My eyes widened as I sat helpless watching.  There was no time for me to react.  She struggled so much with her husband’s wheelchair – his head hung low as if he were exhausted from the excursion – she had no idea what was about to ram into her back.

The shopping cart picked up speed, and just as it was about to slam into her, throwing her into her husband’s wheelchair or worse, the Salvation Army worker jumped from his post and dashed in front of my van.  He caught the cart by one finger and stopped it just as the metal cart brushed the back of her coat.

She was unaware of the danger she was in, and that he had saved her, but that wasn’t all he did.  After he caught the cart, with a broad smile, he took hold of the handle and scooted up along side her.  They exchanged a brief hello in the middle of the road as he offered to help them to their car.

The elderly woman gladly accepted.  They began walking in one direction toward the parking lot, but confused, she changed directions…still pushing her husband’s wheelchair with his head hung low.  The Salvation Army worker calmly followed her in the bewildering quest to find their car.

Yes, he left his post with the familiar red tripod holding the red kettle of money.  But, he ran to the aid of two people very much in need of help – something no one else passing by them was interested in doing.

He brought back humanity to the Christmas season for me.  His actions spoke clearly that people are more important than things. And civic duty is more important than protocol.  That going out of one’s way to help someone is the right thing to do.

This man’s random act of kindness has stayed with me every day since.  His huge smile and happy heart replays in my mind even more than his actions.  It was his pure joy to help them. There was no applause or reward for his kindness.  He simply saw an urgent need and ran to meet it.  He is a Christmas hero.

He reminds me of another Christmas hero…the first One.  Jesus.  He came to serve, not be served (Philippians 2:5-7; Matthew 20:28).  He left His heavenly post to save us, because He saw we were in grave and certain danger of being eternally separated from God – even if we were completely unaware of it at the time.

Jesus did for us what no one else has ever done.  He reached out His hands and let them be nailed to a cross in our place.  He did this with joy in His heart (Hebrews 12:2) and a grimace on His bloodied face. He caught us from an eternal fall and saved us from ourselves.

Christmas is so much more than what it appears on the outside.  I heard a man say just today that for him, “Christmas is about the three f’s: family, friends & food.”  I would add a fourth: faith (not in that order).

Christmas is about Jesus being born so He could die in our place.  It’s a time of great joy as we marvel at the sacrifice He made for each and every one of us.

When I think about the Salvation Army worker who, without a thought of himself, selflessly jumped into the road to save an old and exhausted couple, I think of Jesus who hung on a cross to save you and me.

The worker’s act of kindness was spontaneous.  However, Jesus knew His time would come from the beginning of creation, yet He came to Earth anyway because He loves us that much.

Let’s continue to enjoy all of the blessings this Christmas season has to offer, but may we never forget why we are celebrating and Who it’s really about.

No sooner did I…

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.  See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.   Isaiah 43:18-19

In 2010, our lives were unexpectedly flipped upside down and inside out.  Unbeknownst to us, a series of events, divinely timed, methodically unfolded.  However, we were completely unaware of what God was up to.  What began as a normal Sunday at church turned into an eternal change in the direction of our family.  The words of guest speaker, David Stevens, uprooted my entire way of thinking of what faith looks like in a person’s life.  Challenging, penetrating words from a woman advocating for African orphans rocked my world one night as we watched them joyfully sing and dance and give their testimony to God’s faithfulness.  Then, through God’s providence, He brought Dr. David Platt’s book, Radical, into our lives.  Like birth pains, our lives were quickly becoming uncomfortable to say the least.  We were compelled to examine our lives and ask God if there was anything He’d like to change about them.  Do NOT ask that question if you’re not ready for the answer!

The next thing we know, we’re on a plane with our children 10-14 yrs old, headed to Africa on our first international mission trip (and our first trip out of the country).  The next summer, we found ourselves in Ukraine on a different mission trip.  This past summer, we were speechless as our passports were stamped in Asia on yet another different mission project.

Everything we knew normal to look like was so far in the rear view mirror we couldn’t even see it anymore.  In between those times, we continued with local work in our community.  I thought what God had planned to change in our lives had happened, and even though I certainly felt out of my comfort zone, I had no idea that was only the first phase of the transformation.

I really believed the “change” had happened.  And it did.  But, God never said anything to us about that being the only change.

Once again, I find myself being shaken. I am currently taking the Bible study, Interrupted, by Jen Hatmaker.  What began as a desire to take this study from an alumni stance of, Oh I know what she is talking about!  Been there.  Done that! quickly became something different.

One day of homework shook me to my core.  I admitted to my small group that God had radically shown me a peek into phase 2 of the transformation and it deals directly with me.  I have a thing.  Everyone has a thing, and we are quick to judge others’ things because either they makes us feel better about our thing, or their thing is just plain weird in our own eyes.

My thing has to do with my hands.  It is a sensory issue mostly.  My hands must be clean.  I don’t wash them 18 times a day, but they must stay generally clean or the epicenter of my sanity is rocked off its axis and I cannot focus on anything until I wash them.  Okay, so that’s my thing.  I said it.

What does this have to do with the transformation of our family’s and my faith?  A lot.

This oddity about me with my hands has held me back from experiences in life.  I love nature, animals, and all of that.  Love it!  But, as much as I love to get up close and personal with insects, please do not ask me to touch them.  I will look at them, photograph them and appreciate their place in our ecosystem, but their legs and exoskeletons make my skin crawl to imagine them touching my hands.

I love sharks.  Okay, so I am a little obsessed with them!  Have been my whole life.  I’ve read books about them and watched nearly every documentary on them.  A few years ago, I had the opportunity to touch one.  I was allowed to stroke its back and dorsal fin.  A moment I had waited for my entire life!  As I reached into the salty water, I felt a swell of adrenaline and nausea roll over me.  As much as I wanted to enjoy the moment, the slick, leathery skin that I had waited forever to touch also made me weak in the knees.

The other day, I was trying to catch a large lizard that found its way into our home.  However, it wasn’t the lizard’s size, speed or agility that made me shriek like a little girl every time I missed, it was knowing it would be in my hands and I would feel every toenail, its chest heaving in distress (scared of me!) and its lose, cool skin.  I think lizards are so neat!  But handling them is something different.

When pumping gas, or in the salad bar line, I use my less dominant hand so the hand I use for everything else is still clean.  It’s a right-handed world, and that’s fine with me!  Shaking people’s hands with my right hand keeps my dominant left hand clean for everything else I need to do.  A couple of times for my children’s birthday parties, I made mystery boxes that everyone stuck their hands into and had to feel their way to the items on the list. I made the box.  I knew what was in it.  I knew it was only spaghetti noodles hiding things like pencils, plastic dinosaurs, and bouncy balls. But, for the life of me, I could not stick my own hand in the box!  Yeah, that’s me.

When we were in Africa, I really struggled.  For 2 weeks, I couldn’t practice the hand-washing methods, etc. that I do here in America.  However, I did embrace bucket showers and thought that if America could do this one change we’d have no more worries of clean water shortages. As much as I loved Kenya and its friendly, hospitable and warm people, being there was a huge mental obstacle for me because of my stupid hand thing.  I carried so much guilt and shame around with me as I wrestled to assure myself this wasn’t a case of me thinking too highly of myself.  Like, I would never touch something or someone less than me.  Oh my word no!  That’s not it at all.

It’s a sensory thing.  Like I have 10 little brains attached to my hands.  Weird, I know.

When I hold my husband or my children’s hands, I feel an emotional electricity connecting us through touch.  When I knead dough, there is a feeling of workmanship and family (it’s a very old family recipe) that affects me on a deeper level.  But, don’t even get me started on public door handles and bathrooms.  It isn’t pretty.

So in Africa, as well as the other two countries we served in, because of this secret, odd thing, I found my place comfortably behind the camera.  As a freelance photographer, I was more than happy to be the team historian for these trips.  I was also very happy to load and lug equipment; produce and carry-out VBS with the team; harvest corn; help with soccer clinics, help start-up community playgroups, etc.  I was very happy to serve in ways that made me comfortable.  I even told myself that according to 1 Corinthians 12:12-31, we all have different gifts and talents God uses as a collective body to serve in His name.  That is true, but hiding behind those talents is not the same as using them for His glory.

Enter the Interrupted study I am taking.

On this particular day of study, God showed me that what I have known my whole life as “good enough” service to Him was no longer good enough.  He wants to move me from from a place of comfort to a place where I will serve Him even if – and especially if – it is uncomfortable.  It’s about living in His strength and not my own.  It’s about overcoming our fears with power and victory believers have in Christ.

Sure, it’s okay to continue to use the stuff God hard-wired in me for His work, but He is now gently pushing me toward new work that requires more than I have to give.

He lovingly told me that I have been hiding behind my camera; hiding behind the title of organizer in different service projects both local and worldwide; and hiding behind my writing.  Why?  Because in all of those cases I get to appease my hand issue.  I don’t have to necessarily be hands-on in the uncomfortable work.

I remember watching my daughter, then just 12 years old, swing, hold and play with precious children on the African mountainside completely uninhibited.  I was envious of her.  She sat on the ground while they braided her hair and rested in her lap.  I stood on the sidelines watching through the lens of my camera – wishing I could be like her.  Watching my sons hold hands with children who had an enormous amount of mucus and drainage running out of their noses, wiping it with their hands, then again taking the hands of my sons again – never to be denied and always welcomed with a smile, tears filled my eyes as I hoped those same mucus-filled hands wouldn’t find mine.  If they did, I would certainly not turn them away, but it would push me right to the edge of my personal cliff.

In Asia, we worked with children who couldn’t care for themselves, and I repeatedly had to silently stop and breathe because again, as I adjusted my normal to meet theirs.  I guess it turned up the fact I have the same issue with my feet.  Removing my shoes, as is custom, meant I had to sometimes walk barefoot on strange floors that had many bare feet on them.  The crunch of unknown substances I stepped on, or someone else’s hair getting stuck to the bottoms of my feet made me want to run outside and rub my feet in the grass.  Oh the shame to feel such things on mission trips!  But, I would just as quickly feel them at home, too. My oddity shows no discrimination of people, place or circumstance.

This is real. Raw. Sobering.  Embarrassing.  So why write about it?  Why risk being judged by the big world we live in?  Why set myself up for possible critique or criticism?

God is doing a new work, and I guess I want to give a very clear “before” picture, so He can get the glory for the “after” picture I trust is coming.

In our study’s small group, I confessed these things with bated breath not knowing how I’d be received. To my pleasant surprise, my humbling words were met with beautiful grace.  Every single woman was so gracious!  It is their response that gave me the courage to write this on a public blog.  I left that morning with hope that God can change even the strangest things about people.  We are, in fact, a work in progress.

We openly discussed the topic of helping the homeless and the poor and all that surrounds these desperate circumstances. Yet, as I confessed my shortcoming of the hand thing, even the nurse and occupational therapist in our group were merciful to me – and never made me feel like I was less of a believer or a person due to this obstacle that they obviously don’t share given their lines of work.

I told the group, God revealed to me with fresh eyes that I have been hiding in ministry because of this.  With sincere motives, giving money, donating clothes, and serving in a food line is comfortable.  Joining my kids and their friends in nursing homes to sing Christmas carols, making and donating gift baskets for women’s shelters and organizing bake sales to benefit world relief efforts is comfortable.  Doing yard work and attending luncheons for widows is comfortable.  Soliciting contributions from businesses for the different charities we work with is comfortable.

God is clearly telling me that while those things are good, if I am doing them to partly hide behind what isn’t comfortable, then that needs to change.  I accepted His loving discipline and offered Him an open heart as best I could.

I left our small group to run a few errands at my familiar stomping ground.  No sooner did I pull up at the same old three-way stop, than I immediately saw a woman standing at the stop sign holding a sign asking for help.  At her feet sat two children.  It was chilly, windy and drizzling.

In one motion of heart and head, I instantly knew this was God placing me there to practice this new lesson of serving in the discomfort.  We keep gift bags in our car with bottled water, cans of soup and Scripture for such an occasion, but this mom and her kids needed more than that.

I cannot describe how 100% confidently sure I was that God called me to this intersection for such a time as this.  Normally, we would hand them the gift bag, ask their name and tell them we would pray for them all before the light turned green and off we’d go.  For years that has sufficed.  Not so this day.

It was a well-trafficked intersection, in the middle of the day, in a familiar part of town, and it was a mom and two young children.  I felt very safe (an important aspect). I drove right by her without a word, but pulled into the first open parking space at Wal-Mart.  God clearly told me to get them a gift card.  I found a pretty gift card with pink flowers on it, checked out and walked with haste back to the van.

Looking back to see if they were still there, I circled the van to the closest parking space to them.  I sat in the van and prayed.  Of all the times I’ve tried to help people standing on the street corner, I’ve never gotten out of my car to do it.

That instant, the bondage of fear left me and I knew I was walking in God’s strength and power – not mine.  I walked up to the mom and her kids and asked them if I could take them to lunch.  I offered that the kids could play on the play set while we could just relax and eat.  As soon as I offered, she broke down and cried and thanked me.  However, someone before me had already given them lunch.

Okay.  So what now? I prayed.

I remembered Jen Hatmaker’s words in the study, Ask them their name and their story, because they never get to tell their story.  

So I did.  And, with all glory to God, I held out my hand to shake each of theirs.  (Not a big deal to 99% of the population, but it’s a big deal to me.)

Suddenly, we were just two women smiling and talking with no regard to the many cars passing by.  Her daughter had a beautiful, captivating smile and her son was incredibly polite.  I offered her the gift card and she began to cry again.  I gave her the name of our church to see if they could help in any way.  Then I did something I’ve never done.  I gave her my cell phone number.

Physical touch and sharing personal information were on my list of no’s.  And, I would never blankly say it’s okay to do this in any situation, but it was okay in this one.  God had given me an indescribable a peace about it.

I listened to her story and offered to pray for her family.  She gladly accepted.  In our home, we always hold hands when we pray no matter where we are.  I reached out my hand and asked if she would hold mine for the prayer.  She held out her hand, and in the moment we touched I felt a 1,000 pounds of guilt and shame I have carried my whole life over this hand thing drop like a rock.

I was a new person before we said Amen.

This mom was so sweet.  Her children were precious.  I could have stayed with them all day. Before leaving, I shook both of her children’s hands and gave the mom my number. I didn’t have much to write on, so she offered me the back of her poster she was holding asking for help.

I mentioned earlier that physical touch is a big deal for me, and as we both held the large poster board, and my left hand drug across it as I wrote my number on it in ink, it changed me.  In a  way, I had become connected to her board – her situation – her.  It became very personal in that moment.  It’s difficult to put into words.  It wasn’t a typical drive-by/drop-off of goods and well wishes between strangers.  It was two women helping each other.  I hope I was a blessing to her.  For certain she was to me.

When she accepted the gift card, the first words she spoke were, My children have almost nothing to wear.  Now I can buy them some clothes. It pierced my heart that her first response was to take care of her children.

Driving away, it dawned on me that she never asked me for anything.  Strange!  I asked her name and her story; offered them lunch; gave her a gift card; gave them our church’s number and my cell phone number; and asked if there was anything else I could do.  She never asked for anything, but was so appreciative and teary.

However, truly I also received something I needed.  God broke the stronghold of the hand thing. His love superseded my hangup and His mercy and compassion won out.

I pray He continues to meet the needs of this family, as I look for them now every time I pass that intersection.  I know He will.  This experience was also a blessing to me because it showed me that God hasn’t given up on me and my hangups.  He loves us with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3) and will finish the work He started in us (Philippians 1:6) even if some of us take a little longer.

Because of this experience, God has given me a new hope and fresh excitement for what phase 2 may hold.  Before, I had some sticky reservations, but I am reminded that God can do the impossible – He can change us – creatures of habit that we are.

Serving where He has me, in the roles He has me in, is great.  But, now I look forward with curiosity at what in the world He may have in store.

He is good.  Patient.  Kind.  Perfect.  Forgiving.  We are made in His image.  Fragile.  Sinful.  Beautiful.  Only He can put Humpty Dumpty together to create a new work with the same broken chards of the past.  We are new.  Whole.  Lovely.  Even though it is the same ol’ us.

What is He nudging you toward today?  What comfort zone is He moving you away from?  As we live and breathe there is a plan for our lives. The Potter continues to sculpt us into the image of His Son for plans no eye has seen nor ear has heard (1 Corinthians 2:9).  Do I wish I could redo all of the times my shortcomings sabotaged a moment of ministry?  Absolutely.  But I will not stay in the guilt of the past because God’s mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3;22-23).  If He can forgive and forget, so can I (Psalm 103:11-12; Isaiah 43:25; Hebrews 8:12).

However, I don’t want to completely forget so I will remember to let God keep pushing me out of my comfort zone and draw me toward wherever His heart is at work.  I don’t want to miss a moment.

Silent Conversations

With the days that may pass quietly on this blog, it is not for a lack of words.  Plenty of conversation is happening, but until now I couldn’t seem open my mouth and speak it.

I have felt so utterly alone in this, and it’s that sense of isolation that has kept me gagged.

See, I have a secret – sort of.  Only a limited number of people know about this…so does it still make it a secret?  It sure feels that way.  This secret is haunting me.  Well, haunting is not the right word…convicting me.

Not through guilt or fear, but a relentless nudging, prodding, and pulling that won’t leave me be.  I’ve been on the run from this for 3 and a half years.  For a season, other weighty matters pressed this way down in my soul, and I could ignore it most days.

Now, and I have no idea why now, it has emerged from the depth of my heart and won’t be silent.

However, there is not just one silent conversation going on in me – there are two.  These are the words…

* * * * * * * * * *

Do this.

I can’t.

She’s right, she can’t and she’s foolish to even consider it.

I know you can’t, but with Me you can.

I just simply can’t.  Please don’t ask me.

I didn’t ask you, I called you.

Why would you call her?  She’s got nothing to offer!

Do this.

But I’m not smart enough.  Strong enough.  I am not enough.

She’s right.  She’s nothing.

I’m nothing.

You are who I say you are, and you are My beloved.

Well, perhaps I am that to You, but that doesn’t mean I can do this.

She can’t do this.

It’s not about what you think you can or can’t do, it’s about what I am going to do through you.

Okay, wait, that’s what I don’t understand.  How can You use me for this?  There are a thousand other people who would do this far better than I ever could.

Yeah, let me name them.  She’s not your girl.

You are Mine, and this is what I have decided – you’re it.

You know I love You, and I’ll do anything for You, but this?  I’m just not good enough.  I don’t know where to go from here.

She’ll go nowhere – that’s where.

You’re halfway there, but you have frozen on the path.  Just take the next step.

Yeah, that next step is off a cliff for her it will be such a disaster!

I am terrified to move my feet.

I know you are, that’s why I am here to walk with you.

You know I want closure with this more than anything right now, but I’ve been stuck for 3 and a half years.  I forgot how to take the next step.

She’ll never do it.

What are you afraid of that I cannot handle for you?

If you really want to know – fear of commitment, failure, success, judgement, rejection, being laughed at, being criticized, not being taken seriously, not getting others’ approval, giving up my privacy, asking “now what” when it’s done.  Most of all, I am terrified at the thought of letting You down.

Letting Me down?  I’ve called you to obedience.  Only I know where to take it from there, and My measure of achievement looks very different from the world’s.

Get serious.  There is no way she is going to go through with this.  There is too much already in a day to do, and she’ll never muster the courage it would take to shut me up long enough to fully listen to You.  She’s not connected, not talented, not anything it takes to do this – especially to Your standard!!!!

I only ask for obedience from you.  The rest is up to Me.  You are making this too hard.  Just take the next step.  Will you trust Me?

* * * * * * * * * *

I suppose sharing this on my blog is taking the next step, because it calls some accountability into play.  Four years ago, God came to me and gave me a task.  One I didn’t understand, but jumped in with both feet.  I got totally lost in His project, and when I finally made it through the forest of His work, I was changed.  He called me to write a Bible study.

Like there aren’t already a bagillon of studies written by much more skilled people than me.  But I cannot deny that He unequivocally called me to do this.  So I did.

When it was finished, I asked a panel of people to take the study and critique it.  This group consists of men and women ranging from their 20’s to their 70’s.  They represent at least five different church denominations, geographical locations and socioeconomic statuses.  It was a great sample of people who generously gave their time and energy to help make this study the best it can be.

Then I asked for our pastor’s blessing on it.  Check.

It’s ready for the next step.  But am I?

Through this process, I have been wounded by some of the enemy’s arsenal and it ain’t pretty.  He doesn’t play fair.  To my surprise, but as my husband lovingly pointed out, negativity is an issue for me.  I’ve been a self-proclaimed optimist my entire life as a tool for surviving a childhood riddled with pain, trauma, crisis, loss and fear.  But somewhere, deep deep inside my spirit, a weakness for negative thinking (as a result of said childhood) is a small, back door for the enemy to creep in through the form of discouragement.

I had no idea how much discouragement can sabotage my thoughts, feelings and actions.  I give in every time and hate that!  Discouragement leads to doubt, which leads to all sorts of condemning thoughts like: Why would anyone give your study the time of day?  Who do you think you are?  Leave this to the professional authors and teachers.  No publisher asked you to do this.  This is the big time – and you’re a small deal.  You’ll make a fool out of yourself.

Frustrated, I admit that I have bought that lie too many times and tucked this study back in the cabinet.

But, as a believer, I cannot tuck God’s voice in the crevice of my heart.  He is irresistible and I love that about Him.  He is speaking, and I must respond with either a yes or a no (her hands tremble as she types).

This will be a true walk of faith – especially because of the second thing He asked of me.  First, He called me to write the study.  Second, He called me to give it away for free.  Yep, free.

He told me it is my offering to Him, and you know what?  I am totally okay with that.  So, with His help to get this study published, the goal is to offer it on this blog, as well as in all of the major book retailers as a downloadable study at absolutely no cost to the reader.

At first, my inner child whined, But it took me soooo long?  I have so much invested in this project.  Free, really? (Not that I wouldn’t WANT to give it away, but typically that’s not done in the book industry.)

His response was undeniable, Every person I call to take this study should have access to it regardless if they have any money to pay for it.

Well okay then.  I just can’t argue with that.  And thinking about this over a few months since He told me this, I have grown to completely embrace this idea and wouldn’t want it any other way.

So, today I get loud about the silent conversations that have been at war within me.  This has been a major preoccupation and has consumed my daily thoughts, to the point where I feel I will be held accountable to Him if I don’t finish this project.  As I lift my foot to take the next step, I do so with utter humility in the covering of His grace, begging for confirmation every moment that He’s with me in this or I’m not doing it (Exodus 33:15-17).  I have no earthly idea what He intends to do with this study, but He has heavenly plans that will be revealed in their sweet time.  He inspired it, wrote it, is pushing for it to be published and will send it to where He intends it to go.

May He give it wings to fly.

What about you?  Have you had similar battles of words in your heart?  Is there something purposeful and biblical that God has asked of you that you know you can’t deny, but don’t know what to do with?  What is that next step He is calling you to?  What keeps you from taking it?

When we take ourselves out of the equation, and remember it’s all about Him, the next step becomes crystal clear.  Thankfully, just like with Moses, Abraham, Joshua, Mary & Joseph, Ruth, Esther, Nehemiah, and so many others in the Bible, God promises He won’t leave us to fend for ourselves.  He doesn’t give us a wink and a grin and says, Good luck with that.  He goes before us to lead; He protects us from behind; and walks along side us for company.

Let’s abandon our notions of success and failure, and realize all over again that all He asks of us is obedience. The results are up to Him.

It feels good to lay my discouragement, doubts and fears on the table and expose them for what they are – lies.  God’s plan is unstoppable, and it’s with joy I jump up and down with hand raised high like a child who excitedly begs to be called on by the teacher saying, Pick me! Pick me!

I want to be a part of what God is doing.  How about you?  Whatever that looks like.  Wherever that leads.  God, give us courage to do what You ask of us. Strengthen us to complete the task. Encourage our wary hearts.  Ignite an unquenchable, thirsty passion in our souls for You and this world You love so much.  I’m all in.  Are you?

The Lunch Date

I was a mess!  Stinky.  Sweaty.  Stressed out.  Family was coming to visit, and there was so much to do to get our house ready for them.

Clutter drives me crazy, but it seems Monday through Friday it is an unwelcome visitor that just doesn’t know when to leave.

Overwhelmed by the amount of work, I couldn’t even make a to-do list (which I love, and have been known to put finished tasks on the list after-the-fact just so I could feel the satisfaction of crossing them off!) because it all made my head spin.  Our family had not found our groove for the new school year; my son’s birthday party was that weekend (an entirely separate to-do list!); and four precious family members were literally en route to our house.

Our extended family doesn’t care what our house looks like, thus I was only going to this much trouble in part for them.  I had surgery just a few weeks before, and I was set on convincing myself, and proving to everyone else, this wasn’t going to stop the normal flow of our lives no matter the toll it took on me.

My heart pounded to the rhythm of the dishwasher, while I blankly stared at the clothes swirling around in the washing machine – as if my icy glare would make the washer work any faster.  Just when I thought it was somewhat manageable to get it all done, I turned around and caught a glimpse of our dirty, stinky dog.  She has this ritual of what we call “moling” in the grass when we walk her.  She doesn’t walk.  She puts her head down, muzzle to the ground, and sticks out her tongue.  Then she takes off on her extendable leash and runs as fast as she can (throwing my back out once and costing me a few trips to the chiropractor, thank you very much) so she can lap up the morning dew off of the grass.  Needless to say, she comes home wet and dirty with leaves and tiny sticks stuck in her fur.  She’s one happy dog.  But she was gross!

So into the laundry sink she went for a rapid home-spa, which with all her drama surrounding bath time I ended up as wet as she was.

Yep.  Stinky.  Sweaty from hauling the vacuum up and down stairs, cleaning floors, dusting, primping pillows, making beds, running errands, etc.  Basically, I was trying to make our home look like no one lived there – which is impossible with five people and one crazy dog – and an African Pygmy Hedgehog to boot.  It definitely couldn’t look like we were in the throws of a new school year, which reeks havoc in all of our lives trying to buy the “right” school supplies on the 10th trip to the store that week.  Not to mention the impending birthday party or the fact that I was down an arm due to the shoulder surgery.

It was quite a feat to haul that vacuum all over creation one-handed, while trying to clean using my less-dominant hand.  Comical to say the least.  But, the real showstopper was when I looked out the window and saw the grass needed mowing.  Yes, one-handed.

There I was, zipping around in circles till dizzy, trying to control a mower that is lightening fast with my weaker arm.  It was challenging to say the least, but I conquered the mower and the grass eventually, though the grass looked like it had been mowed blindfolded.  Oh well.

I looked down at my watch, for the millionth time that morning, and saw it was 11:55am.  Oh no!  In five little minutes I had to be at a friend’s house for lunch.  Really?  Like this?  No way.

I scrambled for my cell phone to tell her I couldn’t come, but as I dialed her number I realized she had already made it – given I was supposed to be there by then.  What to do?

The house wasn’t done.  The food for guests wasn’t planned.  I had more errands to run and company would be on our doorstep in a matter of a few hours.  Not to mention the fact I had dog hair and grass stuck to me.  Dirt and sweat coated my arms and legs.  A baseball cap hid my atrocious hair underneath.  I smelled like a mix of earth, wet dog and baby shampoo.  No make up.  No energy. No time for lunch.  No time to chat.  No guts to say no.

Slipping out of my nasty yard shoes and into flip flops (at the time I thought they were a better choice so as to not leave a trail of grass in my friend’s home) I trudged down to her house not daring to look up at cars passing me by.

At her door, I took a deep, embarrassing breath and knocked.  Two little, angelic faces – about knee and waist height – appeared in the window.  Their shining smiles were only outdone by the excitement their dog showed as he pounced over them to get to the window.

My friend opened the door, and her eyes grew big when she saw me.  I said hello with a sheepish grin.  I was a sight to behold and we both knew it.  Thankfully, she is not a fair-weathered friend.  She is real.  Down-to-earth.  Gracious.  Funny.  Kind.  I couldn’t have shown up to just anyone’s house like this, but I knew she desired my company more than my choice of clothes.

We walked into the kitchen and my feet froze as I gasped!  There before my exhausted body was the most beautiful sight.  Lunch for two.  Real dishes.  Water goblets.  Shiny silverware.  Homemade chicken salad sandwiches with a beautiful spinach salad with strawberries and nuts.  Nestled in the bay window of her kitchen was the most welcoming table I had ever seen.  It was just for her and me.

Her young children, having already eaten, still tried to scam the strawberries off of the plates, but I just laughed.

I found my breath, blinked, and told her that #1, she went to way too much trouble, and #2, now I felt doubly bad for showing up in my humbled guise.

She reassured me it didn’t matter, and because I knew she meant it I knew I could stay and be comfortable.  I pulled out the gorgeous wooden chair with a delicate fabric overlay, and my weary bones sank into the cushioned seat.  She asked a blessing for our food, and I tried not to inhale even the plate as I had skipped breakfast in the name of time.

Nourishment and good conversation hydrated my wilted soul, and before I knew it we were chatting and laughing as the sun’s rays laced the windows and table.  It was truly a scene out of a book.

I was so glad I didn’t cancel on her at the last minute.  Although my watch screamed at me all day that I was late late late; and my shoulder was grumpy and telling me I was overdoing it; and the to-do list taunted and teased me; I needed this time with my friend – even though I had no idea I did.  Our time together was good to the last berry and giggle.  I left feeling stronger and with a tremendous sense of peace that people are more important than to-do lists.  Time with my friend was like a cold glass of water; a nap on rainy day; the smile of a loved one.  It was just what I needed.  Had I been too proud to go because of how I looked and smelled, I would have missed all of the sweet blessings that came out of our time together – both everything she had planned and our spontaneous conversations.

I walked home thinking about how often I cancel on God when He wants to meet with me.  He has planned something extraordinary for us each and every day, but because of being too busy, too tired, too distracted, or too proud (not wanting Him to see me in my sinful estate), I miss the fellowship, intimacy, joy, laughter, healing, company and teaching He has so lovingly designed for our lives.  We miss the peace and strength that comes from drawing from the Living Water, Christ (John 4:13), who is also the Bread of Life (John 6:35).  I have missed so much goodness that comes from spending time with our Abba Father, Creator, Redeemer, Restorer because I considered other tasks more time sensitive or more important that day.  Or, I knew my sin and didn’t want to come to Him all mucky like I was that day with my friend. Later, God, once I’m all cleaned up.  But later never comes.

We can get so wrapped up in our own little worlds, we miss the bigger plan – our destiny – that may lie just around the corner revealed in a conversation with God.  We spin our wheels on things that don’t make an eternal difference.  We stress and strain over tasks that most people never even notice – much less comment on.

That lunch was one of the most precious times I’ve ever spent with a friend.  She invited me and asked me to bring nothing.  She welcomed me in her home despite how dirty I was, and treated me like a queen for no reason at all except that she loves me and wanted to show me so.  It was nothing I deserved or expected, it was a gift given freely.

That is exactly what God does for us.  He plans, prepares and invites us to His table.  He actually wants us to come with empty hands so He can fill them with blessings like joy, peace, encouragement and strength.  He wants nothing from us except to be in communion with us.  To be part of our day, involved in our stuff, so He can bear the burden and share the load.  He wants to show His love for us, but too often I’ve left Him sitting at a table for one.

It was that lunch date that changed my thinking about spending time with God.  It revealed the pride that holds me back.  The mis-prioritizing of tasks that leaves my head spinning and stomach churning.  The giant hole in my heart that aches until the only One who can fill it, pours His living water into it and fills my soul.

Even though I’ve been walking with God for a long time, I need to be reminded that I can make things unnecessarily complicated between Him and me.  The game of hide-and-seek is all me.  He’s not hiding from me at all.  Rather, He’s waiting for me and for you.  Waiting for us to come, just as we are, and respond to the invitation.  To relationship with Him over our own special table for two.  He sits and waits eternally patient on His children, because He will never leave.  He can’t because He cannot break His own oath to Himself – even when we cancel on our end.

Meeting with Him is not about checking yet another obligation off the to-do list.  It’s about responding to an invitation, just like my friend’s, and coming with open hands and hungry hearts.  He just wants to be with us.  Every day.  The table is set.  He is waiting to listen and to speak.  To laugh and cry with us.  To dream and plan with us.  To discipline and disciple us.  To challenge and to hold us.

Will you join Him?

Breath in the storm

Sunday afternoon, our family sat quietly at a piano recital listening to children play the pieces they had worked so hard on for so long.  Rumbles of thunder echoed across the sky.  Sitting in a small church on this dreary, drizzly day listening to the sweet songs of children’s fingers dance with piano keys was soothing and restful…until…

The piano teacher introduced a young man who was about to play.  However, he wanted his performance to be dedicated to his friend, a fellow piano student, who would not be playing that day.

She suffered a tragic accident the day before.  Sleeping on the top bunk of her bunk beds, with no railing, she fell from the top bunk in her sleep.  She suffered several breaks in her back.

As the teacher told us this, with stained glass illuminating what sun was trying to peek through and kneeling prayer pads tucked underneath the chairs, my sleepy daze was shaken.  It was as though I could hear the thud and screams of that terrified little girl.  The cries and panic of the parents.  The wail of the ambulance and hustling of the family at 2 a.m. to gather their things to leave for the hospital.  As a mom, my hearts breaks and I pray, but still my heart is traumatized by something I neither witnessed or ever met this precious little girl now in the hospital.

Monday morning, reading the local paper, a photo of a teenager in a wheelchair caught my attention.  He is 17, and only 1 1/2 years ago found out he has leukemia.  One minute life is normal, the next the school nurse calls his dad and says something is wrong.  Now, having been through this nightmare for 18 months, he says he feels forgotten by his peers.  He says he doesn’t want to fight.  How it tears apart his parents to not be able to heal him, help him, give their hope to him.  How emotions must rage in their hearts to know their son feels forgotten.  I am broken for this young man, unrecognizable by his classmates because of chemo and the battering of his body by leukemia.  As a mom, my hearts breaks for him and his family and all families suffering the plight of cancer.

Then later Monday  came news of little lives are lost in a massive tornado.  No one knew when waking up and getting ready for school that for many families, this day will tear their hearts apart forever.  Innocence swept away with homes.  Hope crushed beneath the rubble that buries their young lives.  What mind can conceive of the devastation let alone the fact that many will never do life with their loved ones again – this side of heaven for those who follow Christ.  The pictures, the stories, the videos.  It’s too much.

Boston was too much.

China’s earthquake was too much.

Sri Lanka’s building collapse was too much.

We barely have time to catch our breath in between catastrophes.  We still replay the bombs blowing up at finish line; the elderly sitting in the middle of ruin that used to be their home; the photo of a couple embraced to their death in the fallen building, and now haunting images from Oklahoma sweep us up in their wake and we find no relief.  No answers.  No reason.  No breath.

We barely breathe in between tragedies, and in the middle of our hearts breaking for people we’ve never met, somewhere in the deepest of hearts we wonder if our families are next.  What will be the next act of horror?  It just doesn’t stop, like rolls of the tide, it comes and comes and comes.

We are at a loss for words.  What do you say to parents who suffer unfathomable loss of their children?  How do we console what is inconsolable?  How do we help put hearts back together that are scattered among the rubble of what used to be neighborhoods and schools and community?

There are no words.

I know there are no words.  I lived through a different kind of storm, but one that took everyone I loved and everything I owned.  As a survivor, there is a sense of responsibility to go back and sift through the wreckage of lives – be it from a storm, a collapsed building, an earthquake, cancer or a bunk bed.

But what do we say?  There are no words.

It’s not so much what we say, it’s what we do.  2 Corinthians 1:3-4 says it best,

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.

It’s what we have to give.  We can give our money, time, energy and words of encouragement.  Those are a huge help.  But, the everlasting help we can offer is to share the comfort we ourselves have received from God.  It’s in our prayers, an arm around their shoulders, an ear to listen, a heart to cry with, a shoulder to lean on.  Comfort is action.

That means with audacious prayer we stand in the gap for those hurting because not only do we know suffering, but we know that God brought us through it and He can do the same for them.  We can call upon Him on their behalf, because we know He did not leave us in our darkest times and He will not leave them.

There are many kinds of storms.  Some hit hard and fast and leave as swiftly as they come.  Some last days, weeks, months in illness.  Some last years for those trapped in human trafficking.  With every type of storm that rages, suffering is something that we have in common without regard to race, ethnicity, creed or lifestyle.  Compassion and comfort is something all of us can give to help.

There are no magical words to take the pain away.  But, there is comfort that we have received and can share to help them through their storm.  Comfort that allows the hurting, panic-stricken, grieving, those barely surviving to catch their breath – until the storm has passed.

Goodbye, Hello

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people… Galatians 6:9-10

This week has been filled with an array of emotions.  Some have been great like when something really cool happened to one of our children at school.  Some have been really low as we mourn the loss of a dear friend.

This friend was one of a kind.  He lived an exceptional life of service to the Lord and was an inspiration to many. Although he was elderly, he seemed timeless to me.  He was a staple at church and in his faith.  The world has lost a godly man.

The night before his celebration of life service, I sat in a room by myself and cried wept.  My heart spilled tears down my cheeks over the thought of never praying with, or enjoying the conversation of, this man again this side of heaven.  He was like a grandfather to me.

On the day of his service, I squandered my time, procrastinating the inevitable shower I needed.  I delayed his service as long as possible, which nearly made me miss it.  I just couldn’t bring myself to get ready and go. Going means goodbye – and I didn’t want to say goodbye to him.

I really dreaded going.  I’ve buried many people I love, and I loved this man.  Everyone did. He was family to my family.  My heart is broken.

I expected the service to run its course, then my oldest child and I would leave and muster the energy to return to our normal grind – though normal is the last thing that the day felt like.  However, one story the pastor shared about our friend will always stick with me…

He and our friend have gone to the Caribbean with a team of men from our church for the last 20 years to build all kinds of structures for churches there. I admire their tenacity in their golden years to continue such physically laborious work.  He said that one year many years ago, our friend (in his 60′s at the time) spent the days of the mission trip going house-to-house, all alone, evangelizing to everyone he met.  When he returned to their base camp, our pastor noticed his pants were torn and knees scraped and bloody.

What happened to you? he asked.

Oh, well I was knocking on doors up that mountain and fell down it.  I rolled all the way down the mountain, he replied.  They had lunch, then he went right back out to the streets and continued knocking.  He was unstoppable for Christ.

As much as I want to be surprised at this story, I’m not.  This was who he was.  Faithful to the task at hand for the Gospel whether in the States, in the Caribbean, or in the other parts of the world that he traveled.

Hearing about these men’s mission trips made me think about this upcoming one for our family.  When the service was over, this year’s mission trip was heavy on my mind – as well as thoughts of my dear friend.

A special friend from our Kenya trip came over to me and offered a smile.  I was so glad to see her.  She and her husband are mission mentors to me.  They are shining examples of what we hope Bruce’s and my retirement years will look like (Lord willing) – going anywhere God leads them to for the cause of Christ.

She speaks with her heart, so I told her what was on my mind – looking for a word of comfort or encouragement.

I said to her, How am I going to go to this place and help these fragile orphans for 13 days?  How does one go for just 13 days?  It’s like, Hi – nice to meet you…then Bye – have a nice life!  How do I do that?  These babies and children in their medical crises have NO ONE coming for them!!!  They don’t get to go home and receive love and care from a mom and dad.  They don’t have sisters and brothers to support them and help them.  They are alone.  How does my nurturing mother’s heart do this for just 13 short days?  God hasn’t put it on our hearts to adopt any children at this point, so isn’t it cruel to make connections with these precious children then leave? How am I going to ever go?

She smiled her comforting smile and said, When our friend that we mourn today was in the Caribbean on one of their trips, he led a man to Christ.  Remember, the pastor in his eulogy told us that this man was originally from India and eventually traveled back to his homeland.  There in India, he began to spread the Gospel.  We know that at least 5,000 people have accepted Christ, and 20 Christian libraries have begun.  We’ll never know the ripple effect of how many people’s lives have been changed because our friend shared the Gospel with just one person on one trip.  Sometimes, we are only called for 13 days.  God takes it from there.  Like our friend, while you are on mission, give it everything.  Give yourself completely to the task – even if it is to just one.  This is all the time God is giving you to be there.  Use it wisely.

As her tender eyes pierced mine, she spoke words that came straight from the throne room.  It was exactly what I needed to hear.  I needed to hear there is purpose in the lifetime missionaries that call a foreign land home, but there is also purpose in just 13 days.

This short conversation made a huge impact on me because it reminded me that it really is about God’s plan – not mine.  The nurturer in me wants to fix the needs of the orphans.  The Savior-complex in me wants to give them their happily ever efter.  The realist in me knows I can’t no matter how long I stay there or the resources I could spend.  The hard fact is that the problem is bigger than me.  The Truth, however, is that their problems are not too big for God.  So where I want to scoop these little ones up in my arms and hold them until everything is better – no matter how long it takes – God has only given us 13 days to hold them.  But, these precious children are never out of His grasp.  He knows them deeper more intimately than I ever will.  He knows their pain, their needs, their dreams and their hearts inside and out.  Their pain is His pain.  Their lives are His passion.  His love overflows.

I need to remember my place in missions.  It isn’t for me to go and be the hero who swoops in and saves the day.  It is to introduce them to the one, true Savior through being the hands and feet in whatever manner He calls me to.  It is hard to think we can make any difference in 2 weeks.  However, our friend is still changing India, even after his death, from just one conversation.

It is all for God’s glory and fame.  Missions is all about God and what Christ did to reconcile us to God the Father as well as meeting very real and basic needs of those we are sent to.  But, I love that He is the God of details in that He doesn’t forget about the goer and how missions impacts them.  I’m not kidding when I’ve told people this trip may break my heart in two. I watch tears well up in friends’ eyes when I tell them about what we are walking into with this trip – my heart feels the same. But, God in His faithfulness will be with us to put Humpty Dumpty back together again for the 1,000th time if need be.

Clearly the focus of missions is who we are going to.  However, the enemy tries to come in the back door and discourage me to the point of not going.  What difference can one person really make?  What help do you really think you’ll be there?  Come on, you know you’re not equipped for this job – who are you kidding?  Admit it, you’re not strong enough for this assignment.  You know you won’t be able to handle the fact that you can’t make everything better.  It’s just 13 lousy days.  What can radically change in that short time? You’re only going to get kids attached to you, and then you will leave them just like everyone else.  How is that helping?

To that I answer with Scripture – And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor to be with you forever – the Spirit of truth.  The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him.  But you know him, for he lives with you and will be in you.  I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. ~ John 14:16-18

Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen. ~ Matthew 28:20

So where we may be able to hold and rock and love on these children, we are finite and our help is finite.  But, the Trinity is eternal and will always be with those who call Jesus Lord.  More than a band-aid or a hug or a smile, we long to introduce them to the Healer.

Because of the inspirational life of our dear friend, and the encouraging words of my fellow mission traveler, I am pumped now more than ever to get there and get started.  God has shown me I am released from guilt over what I can’t control, but I have total freedom in Christ to do His work as He provides the opportunities.  The fact is, none of us are guaranteed tomorrow, so He calls us to make the most of every day whether it’s one hour, 13 days, or decades in service for Him.

The lie that 13 days can’t make a difference has been forever re-written in my heart because of one conversation in the Caribbean that is still changing India and beyond.  The thought of even one child grasping the love of Jesus and the faithfulness of God to make a difference right in their own community excites me like never before!

I like how our pastor often says in his sermons regarding evangelizing, discipling, and sharing God’s love – Go get ‘em.  That’s exactly what we intend to do on this mission as we work to do it here at home.

May my mission friend’s words be a charge to us all – Give everything we have to the task for the time we are granted. Spend our time wisely today.  After all, while bearing the sobering reality of the loss of our friend, I am reminded that today is, indeed, all we have.

What do you do with a dream once you’ve caught it?

We all have dreams.  Some dreams emerge over time, taking shape like an image coming slowly into view as it moves closer to us – or we move closer to it.  Other dreams are like seeds planted in our hearts from birth. Innate desires and passions that in their stubborn nature cannot be squelched or quenched regardless of circumstance.

Bruce and I have dreams.  Some overlap.  Some do not.  It’s what makes our marriage interesting.

Those that overlap have been with us since childhood – to be married and have children.

God granted those dreams and turned them into reality for us, and we are grateful.  However, something happened when we got married.  Something we didn’t expect.

We’ve given witness to this account before, but there is specific purpose in sharing it today.  If you’ve heard it before, read until the end. :)

We were newlyweds (he was 23 and I was 19) working our way through college.  Bruce worked full-time and went to school part-time.  I did the opposite.  We found a very small foreclosed home and were able to move out of our one bedroom apartment and purchase this sweet dollhouse with all of its issues.  Fannie Mae fixed the things that made it livable – the rest was up to us.  We loved working on that house.  It was our hobby when not working or studying.

About a year and a half into our marriage, we were exhausted.  School, work, school, work.  Bruce worked all shifts.  I worked days.  We seldom saw each other and could only afford occasional lunch dates and took advantage of every free thing there was to do: walks, picnics, bike rides, the beach, sitting at the airport watching planes come and go, etc.  It was a beautiful, simple life.  Still, we were tired.  Very tired.

One Friday night, we made plans to fall off the grid for a little while.  A needed respite.  We packed up our cooler, kite, blankets, etc. and picked up our favorite dinner on the way – Subway sandwiches, chips and Sprite.

We drove to our favorite spot on our favorite beach (in FL) and walked what seemed like forever to get to our favorite spot.

There wasn’t a soul for miles – and we could for see miles in every direction.

The sun was about to set (FL folks know exactly how to time the sunset just right :) ) and we scurried to set up everything just so.  It was perfect.  A warm breeze blew, the sun boasted colors of pink, red and orange. Bruce staked the kite down as it gently floated.  The picnic was perfectly arranged on the blankets, and the best part was – no one else was around.

We are extroverts, but this night there was something different working in our hearts.  I’ll speak for myself…mind you my mom brought me up properly.  She taught me well, but everyone has a sinful nature…I was feeling very selfish.  It went something like this, Finally.  I have arrived   After a horrible childhood filled with drama, tragedy and loss I finally get my happily ever after.  I finally get my wish come true.  I want the world to just go away.  This is my time with my husband at our picnic and I don’t want to think about, talk to or acknowledge that anyone else in the world exists.

Pause – there is a time for rest and rejuvenation for sure.  There is nothing wrong with falling off the grid. However, my heart was cold and selfish toward anything else except what I wanted.  There lies the problem, and Bruce’s heart felt the same.

We had literally just finished setting out everything perfectly, timing it to the spectacular sunset melting into the Gulf Coast, when we breathed a big exhale of relief.

Suddenly, a man and a woman were standing there…not just anywhere…on our blanket!  What?!?!?

Where did they come from?  We could see for miles, and we knew for a fact there was no one as far as the eye could see.  Yet, here they were – on our blanket and in our space.

Bruce and I were so taken back we were completely speechless.

I can still see them in my mind’s eye.  Both with brown hair.  Both all in white.  She wore a long, white dress and was barefoot.  He wore a white pair of pants and a white button-down shirt (like you see in the movies) and was barefoot.

Stunned, we didn’t know what to say.  The man said hello.  The woman never said a word and stood slightly behind him.  They never even told us their names.

Oddly, we never felt unsafe or scared – and I am a VERY skeptical person.

The man called Bruce’s attention to the kite.  He began to talk to Bruce very causally, yet confidentially, about the physics of how a kite flies.  He spoke with ease and authority.  I’ve never heard anyone, ever, speak like he did.  The physics he spoke about was the EXACT same thing Bruce had just learned in his physics class all week.  Exactly the same.  Bruce said it was like the guy was in his class.  Bruce couldn’t find a word to say.  He just stood there listening in amazement.

The woman and I stood silent.  I had no words.  Odd for me, I know.  Typically I love talking to new people.  This time, I had one train of thought in my head, Leave.

Ouch.  That’s cold.  But, it’s how I felt.  After a long semester and tough week with work, I wanted to be left alone.  I wanted my man, my night, my dinner, my sunset, my beach trip, my life to be mine.  I was angry they were there.  I wanted them to go away because they were about to ruin our sunset moment.  So did Bruce for the same reasons, though both of us had been raised better than that.  This was not our shining moment.

After the man finished talking kite physics, he turned to us and looked down at our modest picnic all ready to eat.  He smiled and said, That’s looks good.

I thought, Okay, really???  Now he wants our food?  You’ve got to be kidding me.  Why won’t they just leave! I’m not sharing.  Nope.  Not gonna do it.  No way.  No how.

I dug my stubborn, bare feet heels in the sand.  I felt the pull of my upbringing to always share, but my selfishness would have none of it.

The four of us stood there, on a small blanket rather squished together, looking down at the subs that the man called attention to. All of us stood in awkward silence.

I thought to myself, Well, I can stand here all night if that’s what it takes.  I’m not sharing.

After a very uncomfortable, long pause the man smiled and said, Well, we should be going.

Oh!  Leaving so soon? the bratty little girl inside me thought to herself.  I am so embarrassed to be confessing this.

Bruce and I pathetically mumbled, Well, okay then.  If you have to…

We still had no idea who they were, what they wanted, or how they appeared out of nowhere and were standing on our blanket.

Feeling guilty, we turned away from they as they began to walk away.  Bruce and I looked at each other said at the same time, We shouldn’t have done that.  We should have offered them dinner.

In the five seconds it took to say that, with changed hearts we turned back around to invite them back…and they were gone!

Gone! Gone! Gone!  Vanished!  Disappeared!

For all intense purposes, they should have been a few feet away from us in the seconds it took for us to change our minds.  Let’s get crazy and say they bolted as fast as they could and ran – so they would still have been just several feet from us – well within view.  Remember, we could see all the down the beach in all directions, and it was quite a hike for us to reach the edge of low tide.

Gone.  Bruce and I quickly looked at each other bug-eyed and breathless as I said to him in shock, You don’t think they were…

Angels, he replied.  Who else could they have been?

My heart sank in guilt. I asked God silently, What was that?!?!?

He answered with six words, And don’t let it happen again.

I knew exactly what He meant.  He saw our selfishness.  He tested us.  We failed.

He spoke to my heart, Your marriage is to be an extension of my open hand – always.

I knew.  I understood His point.  He blessed me with a happy ending from a horrific beginning of life, and I took that blessing and ran with it clutched tightly in my grasp.  I turned His blessing into my possession.  I wasn’t willing to share – not my food, not my man, not myself, not my time, not my energy, not my attention.  Nothing.

It’s ironic, all I wanted this man and woman to do was to leave.  Now all I wanted was for them to come back so I could have a re-do, a second chance.

After all, just think for a second about the missed opportunity!  These were angels!  Think of the questions we could have asked over sharing a Sprite.  Just think about it!  No.  Those questions would never have had the chance because before God ever put us to the test – He knew what our answer would be.

I’ve told Bruce several times over the years that I was so GLAD he was there to substantiate this account.  He has said the same about me.  In a time where there is so much falsehood, lies and twisting, no one knows who to believe.  We know exactly what happened on that Florida beach in 1992 and we’ve never been the same.

After that, we knew our marriage was blessed to be an extension of God’s hand, but didn’t know how.

Childhood dreams began percolating in our hearts to begin a family.  Three children later, we wanted a home to provide for our family.  This meant steady work for Bruce to help realize another dream we shared which was for me to stay home while our children are in our nest.

With a marriage, children, work and a larger home in play, we settled into a great church and neighborhood and the calendar began to fill up.  Having no idea how to raise children, we did what everyone else did – rec league sports, dance, gymnastics, and home parties selling Tupperware and Pampered Chef.  My days were busting at the seams as a volunteer at school and church, organizing play groups and working as both a cake decorator from home and as a freelance editor into the wee hours of the night.

We went to Disney World, Sea World, many beaches along the East Coast, camped, rafted, hiked, helped with homework, held garage sales, hosted Superbowl parties, bunco and Christmas shindigs.  I was a secret admirer for Valentine’s Day to my family, created leprechaun scavenger hunts for the kids on St. Patrick’s Day, oh I could go on and on and on.

We had the perfect life, right?  Wrong.

With all of these good things, came another side to it all.  It’s the side no one likes to talk about.  With all of this big life came big bills and big responsibilities of maintaining it all.

We had never had so much – either of us – in all our lives.  I don’t mean just tangible stuff, but so many places to be, people to see, things to do, commitments to keep, events to organize – it was too much.

We got our dream…in spades.  That season reminds me of when the Israelites were wandering lost in the dessert for 40 years and they craved meat.  They threw a hissy fit, so God gave them meat – until it was so much that it literally came out of their noses.  Gross!

He didn’t do this to us, rather we did it to ourselves.  It reminds me of Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 10:23, ”Everything is permissible” – but not everything is beneficial.  ”Everything is permissible” – but not everything is constructive.

We were into good things, but we had lost sight of balance and direction.  We had ourselves so over-committed that there was nothing left of us to give to God’s open hand.

Without realizing it, we had been consumed with the American ideal.  We had morphed into people we didn’t even recognize – all in the pursuit of the American dream.

That dream landed us in more debt, heavier weight, more exhaustion, and less peace than we’d ever experienced.  It also cost me my health by contracting mono.  That was the turning point for me.

I thank God He allowed me to get mono because it made me not just slow down, but stop.  I could barely lift my head off the pillow for weeks.  In that time, God taught me that there is such a thing as too much fun, too much work, just simply too much.

Dr. David Platt’s book, Radical, was part of the learning process.  I should’ve known by the tag line of the book “Taking back your faith from the American Dream.”  Naively, I continued to read it.

This book opened my eyes for the first time that the American dream has nothing to do with Christian living.  My toes felt stepped on.  I felt duped.  It was as though scales had fallen from my eyes when approached with the fact that the American dream was created by man, not by God.  God’s dreams and purposes for His people are so much bigger than 2.2 kids, a house, a job, a car and a great vacation with a retirement nest egg growing every year.

Being an American all my life, and living in America all my life, it’s like the doctrine of where I live got tangled up with God’s holy doctrine of what His grand design is for each of our lives.

Literally, I never gave a second thought to how, or if, these two are related.  They’re not.  There is nothing wrong with wanting to provide a decent life for our families.  Work is biblical.  Doing good works is biblical.  Providing is biblical.  But what are we pursuing?

What is our heart pursuing?  Is it God’s passions or ours?  That’s what my heart wrestled with.

Bruce and I had many deep conversations about life and goals and passions and dreams during this time.  We agreed that we had become swept up more in the pursuing of the American dream than in pursuing God’s purposes for our lives.  We never meant to.  It was like a slow I.V. drip of disillusionment that kept us in a hazy, sleepy stupor all in the name of family…but not necessarily in the name of God.

More than wanting to look like a Norman Rockwell painting, we needed our world to be rocked.  It wasn’t a perfect life by any stretch.  We faced unemployment, family deaths, difficult seasons of our children’s lives, and personal struggles.  Drama begets drama and we didn’t need more of that.  We needed something to wake us up…to save us from ourselves.

Enter missions.

When the prospect to go to Kenya came, our world was flipped upside down and turned inside out.  Suddenly, everything we saw, touched, tasted and heard was different.  God replaced our Americana viewpoint with lenses that reflect His passions, His hurts, His love and His dream.

Since Kenya and Ukraine, and now as we prepare for this year’s mission, we feel no ownership of anything that passes through our hands – and those things have no ownership over us.

I remember the day when Salvation Army came to pick up our dining set.  An expensive, nice set complete with seating for 12, a sideboard buffet, mirror and huge hutch with glass shelving and recessed lighting   All in excellent condition.  The reality was that we didn’t need it, and we got excited about the prospect of it being a blessing to someone else.  I remember the deliver guy looking at it and saying to me, Wow, this is nice stuff you are donating.  I smiled and thought to myself, Yep, and someone will really enjoy it.

We’ve had so much fun getting rid of stuff!  With every bag came the thought that someone else has really been needing or wanting this.  That gives us way more joy than hanging onto it.

We finally got what Jeff understood in Radical, “For the first time, Jeff realized that God has a purpose for his life that was greater than the pursuit of the next bigger thing.  So Jeff decided to walk away from the American dream.” (Radical, pg 81).

We are in the middle of some major kitchen repairs, and neighbors who see the trucks coming and going are kind and curious to ask how everything is going.  I am happy to talk about it, but I’d much rather talk about this year’s mission and what God is up to there.  Or Kenya, and what God is doing there.  Or Ukraine, and how God is moving there.  Or here in the States and the ways He is touching lives here.  THAT is what excites me!

We need the kitchen repairs and gutting for maintenance & property value purposes.  However, at the end of the day I am grateful for the blessing of doing it, but can now keep it in its proper place in our lives.  I don’t get up in the morning to simply run out and stand in the kitchen.  But I do wake up every morning with places on my mind and the people whom we’ve never met but have already taken hold of my heart.  I get excited about the cooking camps we will be hosting as fundraisers to get us to our destination, and how much better the layout and flow will be for the girls and boys cooking in our home.  I think about baking for the bake sale that benefits Samaritan’s Purse in this kitchen.  I think about the deep conversations we will have with our children at the table about life, love and dreams.  I think about the dinners Bruce and I will share – just the two of us – and am reminded that missions begins at home.

This new way of life, pursuing God’s dreams and not the American dream, has helped me loosen my unhealthy grip on my children – and accept that fact they have always been God’s first.  Doing that has led me to deal with heart issues and baggage that have weighed me down far too long.

See how beautiful the tapestry of God’s grand design is?  He works for the good of His children – both those who call Him by name and those who have yet too…but will.  It is for these that missions exists, but God in His faithfulness heals both them and those sent to them.  He is so good.

I believe that 21 years later, we have come full circle to that evening on the beach.  I am just now beginning to understand what His open hand means to our family.  I’ve learned a lot in the last 21 years and will chew on these lessons the rest of my life.  Praise God He is in the business of redemption and restoration.  He restores the years the locusts have eaten (Joel 2:25).

God used missions to minister to us so we might minister to others.  Missions, to me, is like the toggle in the movie Inception.  In a world that is becoming more of a mirage every day, distorting and confusing us, the Great Commission given by Christ in Matthew 28:18-20 is my toggle that I look for to keep this world separated from the new world that is yet to come.  It keeps me focused on the bigger picture, God’s passions and what kind of life pleases Him.  It takes my eyes off of myself and places them on people and places that have God’s fingerprints all over them.  Missions allows me to become less so that He may become more.

I love being an American, but I’ve walked away from the American dream.  I have chosen to follow God’s purposes which will outlast everything else.  If I cling to the American dream, then I would never be open to what God may ask us to do.  After all, the Americana lifestyle is one of tangible success and comfort.  Jesus came for neither of these.  He came to serve, not be served.

If Jesus followed me around for a day, would He be excited about the work I do in my 24/7?  Guess what?  He does follow us around because He is always with us.

I had to release my life from my own grip so that God’s open hand could be extended. I don’t ever want to miss His divine appointment again because I couldn’t see past myself.

We haven’t had anymore angelic encounters on the beach, but we do have many opportunities to be His hands and feet.  May it never take an angel to call us back to a place we never should have left – right in the middle of God’s heart.

The Watermelon Perspective

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On this rainy morning, I slipped into my faithful parka and baseball cap and turned on the van to warm it up.  My tween and his friend piled in and off we went to school.

On the way, my son said a math joke, Math is the only subject where when someone buys 20 watermelons no one asks why!  Really?  Twenty stinkin’ watermelons??  That’s crazy!

His friend chimed in, It’s so they can cut them up, put them in a tennis ball shooter and shoot them out for target practice! Ha!

All the while, my mind is contemplating another use for 20 watermelons – to sculpt them into pretty fruit baskets and fill them with delicious fruit.

One woman.  Two tweens.  Twenty watermelons.  Three different perspectives.

After dropping them off I drove home smiling at the prospect of what the world would be like if we all listened a little more to those around us instead of just hearing ourselves.  Personally, I never would have questioned why someone needed 20 watermelons in a math problem, nor would I have ever shot them out of a tennis ball shooter for target practice.

These silly guys made me think outside my box this morning and I love it!  (However, I decided not to bore them with my fruit basket idea. :))

Today, I’m going to focus on listening more to others around me and make an intentional effort to see things from a different point of view.

Not only will I never look at a tennis ball shooter the same way again, but I’ll not be able to help myself from questioning why someone needs 20 large fruits when doing a math problem.  But, I also learned more about how these guys think, therefore I learned something new about them – all because I stopped talking and listened by opening my ears to what they had to say.

If this short conversation had such interesting (and amusing) results, just think what could happen if we talked less and listened more in the big stuff of life.  It would rock our world!  I will stop writing now because…I’m listening.  What do you hear?

When I Can’t Be…

I was 10 years old when my great-grandmother put a 110 Instamatic camera in my hands for the first time, and a camera has been in my hands ever since.

When trying to explain my passion for photography, someone once framed it well for me – it’s how I see the world.

She was spot on.

Relationships are like lenses on my camera.  Every relationship needs its own lens from zooms to wide angles to panoramic to macros, each person in my life is seen through their own lens depending on who I am to them: wife, mother, relative, friend, coworker in volunteering, neighbor and even stranger.

Recently, my lens in one relationship has become blurred.  I’ve had lenses that have broken, and this feels the same way.  I can’t focus clearly nor remove the fog built up under the glass to see the image accurately.

Frustrated, I try to continue this relationship with a broken lens.  Even more frustrating, I don’t know how it broke?  All I know is that isn’t not working.

Last night, I drove home in tears over this relationship and my inability to fix any part of it.  It’s a very helpless feeling to look at who I am to someone and know full well on their end that it’s not enough.

Truly unaware of why my lens, my role in this relationship, is broken is perpetually discouraging.  Deflating.

I am not a quitter.  Never have been.  So, I do all I know to do – keep the camera steady and use a broken lens.  But, I know that doesn’t work.  The results are fuzzy, off center, distorted, under lit, over exposed, etc.

As I drove home in tears, hands proverbially weary from holding the camera in this relationship, I cried out to God – quite frankly I will add.  I can’t change the lens.  I am one person to this person, and can’t be anything else.  We all are.  We can’t be mothers to our husbands, fathers to wives, strangers to our children, bossy to our coworkers, etc.  Roles – lenses – are defined.  So when I realized my role isn’t working, I don’t know who else to be!

That’s when God answered me – in the rain and dark of night on the city streets.

Be Jesus, He said.

Wow, if we ever wonder if God is really listening to us, it can be in those moments He shows up in such a personal way there is no question He hears every word, every thought.  He heard me last night and responded.  However, my reply was flat.

God, I am trying to be Jesus to this person in my role to them.  I am trying!

No, just be Jesus.  No one else.

It’s like God came along side me, put His hand gently on my camera, grasped His other hand on the neck strap, lifted it from around my neck and carefully took the camera from me.

Now be Jesus in this relationship.

I will say that this is first time I’ve ever seen the world without a lens.  I didn’t realize just how many lenses we have for our lives and how much they influence how we think.  Whether I’ve been a wife, missionary overseas, a neighbor chatting on the street, a mother of 3, a daughter, an in-law, or employee, these lenses also come with filters of emotions, external factors, internal factors, past experience, and our general perspectives.

It’s no wonder I am utterly exhausted from trying to work with a broken lens.

Just be Jesus.  Hmm.  What does that look like?  I recalled different moments in Jesus’ life as He traversed this planet 2,000 years ago.  He exhibited an array of emotions and actions.  He laughed, cried, got righteously angry, worked hard, admonished, encouraged, was tired, got frustrated, healed, didn’t heal, taught, listened, suffered, was sad, disciplined, needed time alone, stood His ground, escaped, was powerful, strong, weak, attentive, dismissive, stern, gentle, was hated and was loved.

As I drove the wet streets, hand shaking and my spirit feeling faint, God prompted me to recall some of Jesus’ names: King of kings, Lord of lords, the Way, Savior, Healer, Friend, Brother, Emmanuel, Son of God, the Second (or Last) Adam, The Word, Messiah, Bridegroom, Lamb of God, our Shepherd, Bread of Life, the Branch, the Vine, Rose of Sharon, Bright and Morning Star, Horn of Salvation, Rock, Husband, Builder, God, Deliverer, Shield, Righteous Judge, Helper, Portion, Servant, and Prince of Peace to name a few.

Prince of Peace!  When those three words came out of my mouth my heart leapt in agreement.

God was asking me to put down my camera and see this relationship through the eyes of Jesus, our Prince of Peace.

I can’t tell you what that did to me in that moment.  I have been desperate for help to know the next step to take, but was so bound up in my role to this person that I felt caught in a house of mirrors – my role reflected everywhere I looked.

He removed all of the mirrors and there I sat, knowing exactly how to respond to this person.  Be peace.

There is a season for everything.  Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 can relate to relationships (with, of course, modification of appropriate boundaries and actions)…

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:

2     a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3     a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
4     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
6     a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7     a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8     a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

God was prompting me to be peace to this person.  But, not through my relational lens. Be peace the way Jesus is peace.

My entire view of this person changed.  I saw them how He sees them.  To simply be Jesus to them, I was able to feel compassion, had a clear mind, and my hands stopped shaking.  My heart rate returned to normal.  My breathing slowed down.  A sense of calm washed over me like a warm bath.  I was in a complete state of peace, because for one thing I was emotionally released (if only for a time) from being locked into a certain role to this person.  I could lay that down and be Jesus to them.  Also, I was reminded that God is over all.  He sees everything, and nothing passes through His hands that He can’t use for His glory and our best interest.  This enabled me to look up to Him and not be trapped looking only at the circumstance that surrounds me.

So Jesus I will be to this person for as long as God says to.  No strings attached.  It’s a ministry opportunity and I welcome the prospect of being part of the solution and not part of the problem.

When I can’t be who my relationship defines I should be, I can be Jesus.

My camera usually stays within feet from me so I never miss a shot.  God has asked me to take this particular lens off and let Him repair it.  I gladly release it to Him.  I trust Him.

If you have a relationship in your life where you feel you’ve tried everything you know to be the right person, try being Jesus.  Just Jesus.  Not Jesus-husband, Jesus-wife, Jesus-friend, Jesus-relative, Jesus-father, Jesus-mother, Jesus-coworker.  Just…Jesus.

It’s an entirely different perspective – one I needed.  I see this person differently.  I see the world differently.  I see myself differently.  All of it laced with grace, truth and hope.

What do you see when you look at your life, your world, through the eyes of Jesus?

Diary of Thankfulness

Today I found myself saying, Thank You, Lord, throughout the day and want to write these moments down so as to not forget the blessings that make an ordinary day extraordinary.

I am thankful for the opportunity to stay home with my sick child.  I remember when I was his age, if I was sick I had to stay at my grandparents’ home for the day while my mom worked.  She wanted to be home with me, and I knew that even as a tween, but she had no choice.  My grandparents were wonderful people.  I loved them dearly.  But, no one fully replaces a mother’s touch.  She knows what your favorite drink is, television show is, and when you took your medicine last.  I got to be that to my sweet boy today.  With every cough, I winced in compassionate pain.  With every ringing of the thermometer, I said a prayer it wasn’t high.  I loved being able to put socks on his feet and kiss the bottoms of them, breathing in the smell of clean laundry.  I loved propping his pillows, filling his humidifier and stroking his hair.  I am blessed to be here for my family and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

I am thankful that I had to park so far from the doors of Wal Mart this evening.  I trolled the parking lot in my van, like everyone else, hoping for a close spot.  It’s cold and wet outside – bleck – and I wanted to get inside asap.  But, no such space could be found.  Two blessings popped up in the parking lot aisle.  First, I was stuck behind a couple walking so slowly I thought I would go insane!  They never once cared that I was behind them.  They were intent on their conversation, pushing their cart and looking at each other while speaking.  Their gray hair and wrinkled skin were signs of many years together.  My frustration (because had they moved over a few feet I could have driven around them) turned into a longing that I hope to be old and gray, leaving the store with my man, and be so in love after all those years that I cared not who was around me as long as I was with him and listening to the sound of his voice and admiring the smile on his handsome face.

I am thankful for grace.  I am a rule follower, but not perfect by any stretch of the imagination.  After meandering around the super center (overwhelming!), I snaked my way to check out.  The endless checkouts were full of people.  My head spun.  I found a 20 items or less lane and dashed for it.  Once in line, I began to count my items.  Ug.  There were a few more than 20 hiding beneath the bulkier stuff that covered them.  I don’t care if someone with more than 20 is in front of me, but these days everyone keeps their panties in so much of a wad that I had no idea what society would do to me.  Trust me, I’ve had people say the weirdest things to me over the years for far less than 20+ items.  The cashier was just as friendly to me at the end of the sale as she was at the beginning – after ringing up said 20+ items.  I really appreciated her turning a blind eye.  And, for the woman behind me.  She could see into my cart – full view.  But, she said nothing.  I was late picking up my other kids, it was dark, hubby was at home with sick son waiting with dinner…I really just needed to check out and leave.  It’s as though God shushed everyone and let me pass.  If we are honest, we all need a pass sometimes.  That’s why I don’t freak out when I’m the one waiting in line behind said 20+ item customer.  It must be their turn for a pass.

I am thankful that I could go to the store and replace the empty bag of cough drops, a bottle of vitamin C and honey without fearing an overdraft in my account.

I am thankful for driving my teens all over town tonight to their activities because: it means they are healthy and can do a sport they love to do, we have a van to drive around in that is warm and reliable (and although it’s 6 years old it’s paid for!!!), and it creates stolen moments of time with my teens that lends itself to great conversation with a captive audience – and that goes both ways.  My son drives, so he gives me a break and the 3 of us get to shoot the breeze about our days.  It is precious time that is the fabric of our days.

I am thankful for a faithful husband and children who love me no matter what.  We are a motley crew of love, forgiveness and laughter all wrapped up into one ball of organized chaos and I love it.

I am thankful for my dog who always greets me at the door – every single time.  She thinks each of us hung the moon!  Everyone needs someone in their life who thinks they can do no wrong – even if that someone is furry and walks on all fours.

I am thankful for a hot meal and deeply spiritual conversation with the family tonight.  Good stuff.  Nothing taken for granted.

I am thankful for a moment tonight to reflect on some of the blessings of the day.  These are just a few.

I am thankful for the opportunity to pray for friends and family.  We are community and have each others’ backs.  What would I do without them?

I am thankful for praying over my children.  What an honor.  I love that my oldest son, in the nest for only a couple of more years, still comes to me at my computer late at night just to tell me he loves me one more time.  And for my daughter who asks me to help fix her hair.  For a teenage girl to ask her mom to help her with her hair – that’s a huge compliment!  I love how she and I have our own girl club here, being outnumbered by the guys and all.

People spend too much energy rating their blessings.  If it’s big, then it’s special and deserves praise.  I love the big blessings, but it’s the small ones that remind me how well God knows me – and that’s a big deal.  He finds ways to bless us that are so personal, so unique to just our lives, it makes me smile and shake my head in wonder.

I am thankful for His love, protection and hand of mercy that leaves its fingerprints all over my life.  When a believer begins to grasp the grace and mercy and unconditional love God has for us (and the whole world), then we can release all of our worries and fears and fully trust Him to work His plan in our lives.  That is true contentment, and I am going to sleep tonight feeling very content.  I hope you can, too.

Lastly, I am thankful for a healthy body that was able to do all of these things today.  Clarity of mind, physical strength and good health are far too often taken for granted.  I’ve watched loved ones suffer without one or more of these.  I’ve suffered without physical strength and good health.  When I lay down to go to sleep, it will be with a tired body that will know it’s a good tired because it was used in love and service to my family and community.

Tomorrow is another day, and I will look for the hidden blessings along the path God has willed for my life.  I pray the same for you.  Until then, here’s to being thankful for one of life’s sweetest, richest blessings…rest.  Ahh.