I traded in my car 2 weeks ago for another make and model. I have driven a Honda Civic for the past 7 years. After the snow back in December of ’09, I decided to get an SUV. I did some research and settled on a Toyota 4Runner as my next vehicle and then put off getting it for over a year. I had just paid off my Honda and wasn’t in a hurry to go back into debt. It makes less sense that I bought it now that I’ve just run up my school loan debt, but nevertheless I felt this was the time. I wanted a more functional vehicle to haul things and people, something the Civic can only do in limited quantity.
I confess the idea of letting go of my little car was somewhat bittersweet as I headed to Ft. Worth to pick up my 4Runner. After all, it was the first car I had purchased all by myself. That alone makes it special. Also, it has never failed me. Probably the greatest factor in my hesitation to let it go was my dog, Sophie.
If you’re my friend on Facebook, you know that I lost Sophie 6 months ago. She was a beautiful Black Lab mix. Her ebony coat was glistened in the sunlight. Her legs had a dusting of cocoa powder on them, so she looked like she was wearing chaps when the light caught her just right. Sophie and I had many adventures together in that car.
Our first adventure was to Leander to visit Melinda in the summer of ’05. She road in the car very well. Then there was a trip to visit Charles in Ft. Worth of ’06. She accompanied me every holiday we spent at my grandmother’s. She’s been with me to Carlsbad on several occasions to visit “Gangy” & “Pop-Pop”. She threw up in the car a couple of times, but most of the time she did really well. Sometimes, I’d take her with me on short errands around town, particularly those at night. Her presence was calming. She’d sit right on the edge of the seat to look out the windshield and place her left paw on my hand as it rested on the gearshift like she was navigating.
Sophie was an amazing creature. In the house she always wanted to be by my side as long as I didn’t crate her, then she would choose her bed in the corner. She was there when I was sick, watching me as if she were mentally preparing herself to drive me to the ER if it became necessary. She was there for every tear I shed in the throes of a depressive episode, just lying against me, seeing me through. Inside, she couldn’t have been a more loyal dog. Outside, she was a free spirit. Outside, if she wasn’t leashed, she did what she pleased. She didn’t come when she was called, she came when she was ready. Chasing her on foot was an endeavor in futility, but she LOVED the car. She wouldn’t come to me if I attempted to retrieve her on foot, but she would not hesitate if I came for her in the car. Outside, she always ran full-throttle into whatever the world had to offer her, as I’ve no doubt she did on that day the fence could no longer hold her.
Slowly, I began to let go of the things that I associated with her: her collapsible crate and bed, her toys, what was left of her Heartguard and Frontline, and finally vacuuming up her dog hair from the floor and furniture. Sarah gave me the great idea of putting her tag on my keyring and I placed her collar on the gearshift of the car she loved so much. The car was the only thing left where I felt most connected to her. And I felt the wrenching as I drove toward Ft. Worth in the Civic for the last time. I’m choking up just writing about all of it. For me it was the final act of acceptance that she isn’t coming back.
I do love my 4Runner. I have Sophie’s collar hanging over the rearview mirror so that she will be a part of this car. Wherever I go, she’ll always be with me. And somewhere beyond where our eyes can see, a wild, black dog with brown chaps is running full-throttle into whatever that realm has to offer her.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
It's Personal
I’ve been taking part in a book study over the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldridge. It was written to encourage women to see themselves the way God sees them. I’ve had the book for several years, but never read it. Lately, I’ve been somewhat of a snob when it comes to popular Christian literature. In our bandwagon world where Christianity can be more of a fad rather than a relationship with Christ, I’m wary. It’s easy to become followers of Max Lucado or Beth Moore over followers of Christ. I’ve got nothing against either Lucado or Moore—I’ve read their books and done their studies. I remember, though, God’s response to Peter in Mark 9:7, when he wanted to honor Moses and Elijah during the transfiguration, “This is My Son . . . Listen to Him!” (Emphasis mine) I know God can teach us through any means He desires, I just want to make sure I don’t end up worshipping the means over the Master. So, I put off reading Captivating, which, incidentally, was a gift.
One of my friends, invited me to join the study and since I’m trying to break out of my hermit habit, I agreed. Once a week for two hours, I’ve been the only single girl in a room full moms discussing the nuances of the feminine heart . . . and enjoying it. It has served as a surprising, yet gentle reminder from God in two ways.
I’ve gotten very cynical when it comes to people. Especially, people who call themselves Christians. I see people who claim Christ in the media and their actions are anything but Christ-like. I react them to them the way I did to obnoxious American tourists when I was living overseas: I kept my distance and did everything I could to avoid being associated with them. It’s not really fair. I see that. I have been amazed by these women each week. They have reminded me that the Kingdom is bigger than the circles I tend to navigate. There are people out there living by faith that I’ve not even met yet. I want to be more open to knowing those people. I want to give God’s people a chance, to give God a chance to reveal Himself to me through His own.
The other way God got my attention is through the book Captivating itself. I’m only a few chapters in, but something struck me this week: Satan is still on the offensive. I know that. I’ve always known that. He’s the reason God admonishes us, “Guard your heart above all else” Proverbs 4:23. Somehow, I’ve managed to not give Satan much thought as the enemy lately. I know better, yet I’ve been living like I don’t, as if none of the bad things happening in and around my life is personal. That’s what he wants me to think. That’s how he wants me to live, like he’s not here. Baudelaire said, “that the devil's best trick is to persuade you that he doesn't exist!" It’s personal alright. He may not be omniscient or omnipresent, but he is still dangerous. I know that God has sealed his fate and that of his minions: “When He had disarmed the rulers and authorities, He made a public display of them, having triumphed over them through Him.” Colossians 2:15 However, He’s also warned us to remain vigilant against the devil: He “prowls like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8) and is looking to “take advantage of us” (2 Corinthians 2:11).
It makes a difference in how I view my life.
I am thankful for the ways God works in my life, that He makes a point of getting my attention. I know that His wisdom “is supreme” (Proverbs 4:7) and the best way to get it is through His word. I also know that He will reveal Himself to me in other ways if I only keep my spiritual eyes open. He is for me (Psalm 56:9). Because He is for me, He reminds me that His people are everywhere. Because He is for me, He reminds me that I have an enemy. Because He is for me, my life matters and is precious to Him. It’s personal.
One of my friends, invited me to join the study and since I’m trying to break out of my hermit habit, I agreed. Once a week for two hours, I’ve been the only single girl in a room full moms discussing the nuances of the feminine heart . . . and enjoying it. It has served as a surprising, yet gentle reminder from God in two ways.
I’ve gotten very cynical when it comes to people. Especially, people who call themselves Christians. I see people who claim Christ in the media and their actions are anything but Christ-like. I react them to them the way I did to obnoxious American tourists when I was living overseas: I kept my distance and did everything I could to avoid being associated with them. It’s not really fair. I see that. I have been amazed by these women each week. They have reminded me that the Kingdom is bigger than the circles I tend to navigate. There are people out there living by faith that I’ve not even met yet. I want to be more open to knowing those people. I want to give God’s people a chance, to give God a chance to reveal Himself to me through His own.
The other way God got my attention is through the book Captivating itself. I’m only a few chapters in, but something struck me this week: Satan is still on the offensive. I know that. I’ve always known that. He’s the reason God admonishes us, “Guard your heart above all else” Proverbs 4:23. Somehow, I’ve managed to not give Satan much thought as the enemy lately. I know better, yet I’ve been living like I don’t, as if none of the bad things happening in and around my life is personal. That’s what he wants me to think. That’s how he wants me to live, like he’s not here. Baudelaire said, “that the devil's best trick is to persuade you that he doesn't exist!" It’s personal alright. He may not be omniscient or omnipresent, but he is still dangerous. I know that God has sealed his fate and that of his minions: “When He had disarmed the rulers and authorities, He made a public display of them, having triumphed over them through Him.” Colossians 2:15 However, He’s also warned us to remain vigilant against the devil: He “prowls like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8) and is looking to “take advantage of us” (2 Corinthians 2:11).
It makes a difference in how I view my life.
I am thankful for the ways God works in my life, that He makes a point of getting my attention. I know that His wisdom “is supreme” (Proverbs 4:7) and the best way to get it is through His word. I also know that He will reveal Himself to me in other ways if I only keep my spiritual eyes open. He is for me (Psalm 56:9). Because He is for me, He reminds me that His people are everywhere. Because He is for me, He reminds me that I have an enemy. Because He is for me, my life matters and is precious to Him. It’s personal.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Gift
I had one of those days today. One of those days when it hits me how much I love teaching. It has been an insane year. I have sat head in hands wondering if this year was ever going to end. But not today. Today I basked in the wonder that is my class of nine unique children. Through no fault of their own, they bear conditions and needs that make it necessary for them to be in a self-contained Special Education classroom. I know, I know, I make jokes about tranquilizer guns and tazers because they can really test the limits of human endurance. Sometimes, though, I think I’m the only one who gets to see how perfect they are. It’s my gift. On a daily basis, I get to see unfettered joy over the little things in life, like a poorly rendered paper shark. I get to see unbridled imagination that not only exists on another level, but a few dimensions over in a galaxy far, far away. I see true loyalty that would fight to the death and chivalry so pure it outstrips any a poet could compose. I see compassion, tenderness, and affection uncomplicated and knows nothing of labels or impairment or disorder. It is my gift from God. He gives me the privilege of witnessing true perfection. So many times I ask myself, “Why do I do this?” And then I have one of those days.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Not Forsaken
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from my cries of anguish?
My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer,
by night, but I find no rest.” Psalm 22:1-2
I love this Psalm. It exemplifies frustration with personal suffering and the human struggle with persevering when God seems far away. I have had a terrible week that, so far, has been the worst part of a terrible 7 months. My dog died a week ago. I had some hard truths laid on me about things I knew deep down but haven’t wanted to acknowledge. On top of my job and grad school and the grind of daily living, I’m feeling defeated. Mostly I feel like God is far away. Why else would all these awful things be happening, right? Yeah, I know better than that. In fact, I believe God is working on me at present. Likely answering a prayer to grow me into who He wants me to be. I know what I’m asking for when I pray those prayers, but sometimes I don’t consider the cost.
I used to believe like many who claim to be Christians that I could never get mad at God. I could never question Him. That I just had to smile, shrug and say, “He knows best!” The problem with that is that it is not natural. It is not even what is evidenced in Scripture, however, as this Psalm demonstrates. Clearly, David is going through a rough patch and he’s waiting for God to rescue him from his calamity. He’s not the only one. Moses often brought complaints before God when he was frustrated as the leader of Israel. Habakkuk stood on the ramparts, even as the Babylonians were preparing to march on the Kingdom of Judah, protesting the coming judgment on God’s people. And Christ on the cross cried out once more the words uttered by David long before Him, “Why have You forsaken me?”
We can cry out to God. We can ask Him why. In the movie Shadowlands, Anthony Hopkins as C.S. Lewis tells his students, “Fight me! I can take it.” I believe God wants us to bring our frustrations to Him, even if they are about Him. 1 Peter 5:7 says to “cast ALL your anxieties on Him” because He cares for us. Not just the big things. Not just the little things. All the things. He can take it. I think He even prefers it as He so desires relationship with us. I think people don’t express their frustration with God because of the lessons of Job, but notice what David, Habakkuk, and Christ did. Instead of demanding a response from God, they remembered Who He was:
“From birth I was cast on You; from my mother’s womb You have been my God . . . You are my strength; come quickly to help me . . . I will declare Your name to my people; in the assembly I will praise You . . . For He has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted one; He has not hidden His face from him but has listened to his cry for help . . . for dominion belongs to the LORD and He rules over the nations.” Psalm 22:10, 19, 22, 24, 28.
“LORD, are you not from everlasting? My God, my Holy One, you[c] will never die . . . LORD, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, LORD. Repeat them in our day, in our time make them known; in wrath remember mercy.” Habukkuk 1;12; 3:2
“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Luke 23:46
I have wept for my sweet dog, Sophie. I have asked why a constant and a comfort in my life had to leave me so soon. I have lamented the truth because it means that things have to change and I don’t take change well. I have asked God why everything seems so hard right now and couldn’t He have found another way to work in my life. But I know why. He has a plan and a purpose for me and He causes all things to work together for good to those that love Him (Romans 8:28). I also know that sometimes, unfortunately, He has to rock my world to get my attention and get me back on course. Even more than that He is my God—Master, Creator, Almighty One. And on a summer’s day long ago I committed my life to Him and all that came with it. So I thank Him for the few years I had my wild pup; and I thank Him for the change even if I don’t know where my journey will take me next. I even thank Him for the hard because I know “that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:3-4). I also remember His words for Moses to relay to Joshua, “the LORD your God is the one who goes with you (J)He will not fail you or forsake you” (Deut. 31:6). It takes a while, though. I know these things, know them in my head. My heart just needs a little time to catch up.
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from my cries of anguish?
My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer,
by night, but I find no rest.” Psalm 22:1-2
I love this Psalm. It exemplifies frustration with personal suffering and the human struggle with persevering when God seems far away. I have had a terrible week that, so far, has been the worst part of a terrible 7 months. My dog died a week ago. I had some hard truths laid on me about things I knew deep down but haven’t wanted to acknowledge. On top of my job and grad school and the grind of daily living, I’m feeling defeated. Mostly I feel like God is far away. Why else would all these awful things be happening, right? Yeah, I know better than that. In fact, I believe God is working on me at present. Likely answering a prayer to grow me into who He wants me to be. I know what I’m asking for when I pray those prayers, but sometimes I don’t consider the cost.
I used to believe like many who claim to be Christians that I could never get mad at God. I could never question Him. That I just had to smile, shrug and say, “He knows best!” The problem with that is that it is not natural. It is not even what is evidenced in Scripture, however, as this Psalm demonstrates. Clearly, David is going through a rough patch and he’s waiting for God to rescue him from his calamity. He’s not the only one. Moses often brought complaints before God when he was frustrated as the leader of Israel. Habakkuk stood on the ramparts, even as the Babylonians were preparing to march on the Kingdom of Judah, protesting the coming judgment on God’s people. And Christ on the cross cried out once more the words uttered by David long before Him, “Why have You forsaken me?”
We can cry out to God. We can ask Him why. In the movie Shadowlands, Anthony Hopkins as C.S. Lewis tells his students, “Fight me! I can take it.” I believe God wants us to bring our frustrations to Him, even if they are about Him. 1 Peter 5:7 says to “cast ALL your anxieties on Him” because He cares for us. Not just the big things. Not just the little things. All the things. He can take it. I think He even prefers it as He so desires relationship with us. I think people don’t express their frustration with God because of the lessons of Job, but notice what David, Habakkuk, and Christ did. Instead of demanding a response from God, they remembered Who He was:
“From birth I was cast on You; from my mother’s womb You have been my God . . . You are my strength; come quickly to help me . . . I will declare Your name to my people; in the assembly I will praise You . . . For He has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted one; He has not hidden His face from him but has listened to his cry for help . . . for dominion belongs to the LORD and He rules over the nations.” Psalm 22:10, 19, 22, 24, 28.
“LORD, are you not from everlasting? My God, my Holy One, you[c] will never die . . . LORD, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, LORD. Repeat them in our day, in our time make them known; in wrath remember mercy.” Habukkuk 1;12; 3:2
“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Luke 23:46
I have wept for my sweet dog, Sophie. I have asked why a constant and a comfort in my life had to leave me so soon. I have lamented the truth because it means that things have to change and I don’t take change well. I have asked God why everything seems so hard right now and couldn’t He have found another way to work in my life. But I know why. He has a plan and a purpose for me and He causes all things to work together for good to those that love Him (Romans 8:28). I also know that sometimes, unfortunately, He has to rock my world to get my attention and get me back on course. Even more than that He is my God—Master, Creator, Almighty One. And on a summer’s day long ago I committed my life to Him and all that came with it. So I thank Him for the few years I had my wild pup; and I thank Him for the change even if I don’t know where my journey will take me next. I even thank Him for the hard because I know “that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:3-4). I also remember His words for Moses to relay to Joshua, “the LORD your God is the one who goes with you (J)He will not fail you or forsake you” (Deut. 31:6). It takes a while, though. I know these things, know them in my head. My heart just needs a little time to catch up.
Friday, January 28, 2011
All That You Can't Leave Behind
“When I was a younger, my teen years, I used to think 35 was the epitome of adulthood. It was a magic number, a magic age when I would assume the role of a true adult and have all wisdom and knowledge about what to do in any and all situations. I would be confident, fearless even. I turned 35 a few months ago and I have to say, I don’t know jack and I’m scared often. A lot of things are happening in my life that I don’t think I should be facing yet.”
That was how I had initially intended to start this post nearly a year ago. Now, as 36 is days away, what follows that paragraph has altered somewhat along with my perspective. One of my favorite songs is Walk On by U2, particularly the opening stanza: “Love is not the easy thing. The only baggage that you can bring is all that you can’t leave behind.” Letting go is something I’ve wrestled with all my life. I don’t do it well, if I do it at all. In fact, “all that you can’t leave behind” pretty much sums up my 20’s. I held on to everything: the past, every heartache, every wound, everything I loved and everything that I could not change, take back, or return to. I wanted my experiences to be more like the universal experiences: first dates, first kisses, first loves, AIM, college, marriage and kids somewhere in the mix, so that by now I’d be more prepared to deal with my parents aging. By now I’d be established and really good at being a grown-up. However, my experiences are quite unique to me. There were some first dates and first loves, AIM and college, and there was a lot of drifting.
The fact is I don’t feel grown-up. At all. I feel very much like a child. A child stuck in an adult’s body hoping no one notices that I don’t belong among the grown-ups. I still long for things, which I always believed would stop around this age because I would have everything I ever longed for. When I started this post a year ago, Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 13:11 were tumbling around in my head: “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man (adult), I put the ways of childhood behind me.” I know what that verse means, but I still really struggle with my childish ways. I still want to call my Daddy when things need fixing or when I’ve not been wise with my funds. As much as I love teaching, I prefer being the student. I want my parents to not be so well into their senior citizenship.
I’ve learned a lot this past year about what it means to be a grown-up, though. Probably the biggest thing I have learned is that no matter what age anyone is, he or she never feels prepared enough or wise enough for where they are in life. Being a grown-up isn’t about having all the answers all the time. It’s about getting out of bed and facing the people you’re in conflict with when you’d rather not see them again. It’s about acknowledging the things that need to change in you when you find you’re in the wrong, and then working on those changes. It’s about accepting that some relationships change and you have to let them go, or at least let them be and trust that the love is still there and always will be. It’s about being frightened by the inevitable, but facing it because One greater has come and taken the real fear out of the equation. It’s about letting go of all that you can’t leave behind, straining for what lies ahead, and knowing that even if you don’t get the things you most long for His way is best. It’s about knowing He will never leave or forsake you. (Joshua 1:5)
I don’t believe Paul was saying we should never act like children. Christ said in Matthew 18:3-4 that we should become like children before Him. God wants our faith to be like that of children—pure and wholehearted. I believe Paul was talking about letting the grown-up prevail when it comes to the response to the hardships that come into our lives, knowing that a childlike faith the Father would see us through. As I enter this next year in my life, I don’t feel the anxiety I felt this time last year. I know there will be challenges, mistakes, disappointment, and I will handle each one as it comes by His grace. I will love the ones He’s blessed me with, even when it is not the easy thing. And when I look back, it will be to acknowledge what was and be thankful for what is.
That was how I had initially intended to start this post nearly a year ago. Now, as 36 is days away, what follows that paragraph has altered somewhat along with my perspective. One of my favorite songs is Walk On by U2, particularly the opening stanza: “Love is not the easy thing. The only baggage that you can bring is all that you can’t leave behind.” Letting go is something I’ve wrestled with all my life. I don’t do it well, if I do it at all. In fact, “all that you can’t leave behind” pretty much sums up my 20’s. I held on to everything: the past, every heartache, every wound, everything I loved and everything that I could not change, take back, or return to. I wanted my experiences to be more like the universal experiences: first dates, first kisses, first loves, AIM, college, marriage and kids somewhere in the mix, so that by now I’d be more prepared to deal with my parents aging. By now I’d be established and really good at being a grown-up. However, my experiences are quite unique to me. There were some first dates and first loves, AIM and college, and there was a lot of drifting.
The fact is I don’t feel grown-up. At all. I feel very much like a child. A child stuck in an adult’s body hoping no one notices that I don’t belong among the grown-ups. I still long for things, which I always believed would stop around this age because I would have everything I ever longed for. When I started this post a year ago, Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 13:11 were tumbling around in my head: “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man (adult), I put the ways of childhood behind me.” I know what that verse means, but I still really struggle with my childish ways. I still want to call my Daddy when things need fixing or when I’ve not been wise with my funds. As much as I love teaching, I prefer being the student. I want my parents to not be so well into their senior citizenship.
I’ve learned a lot this past year about what it means to be a grown-up, though. Probably the biggest thing I have learned is that no matter what age anyone is, he or she never feels prepared enough or wise enough for where they are in life. Being a grown-up isn’t about having all the answers all the time. It’s about getting out of bed and facing the people you’re in conflict with when you’d rather not see them again. It’s about acknowledging the things that need to change in you when you find you’re in the wrong, and then working on those changes. It’s about accepting that some relationships change and you have to let them go, or at least let them be and trust that the love is still there and always will be. It’s about being frightened by the inevitable, but facing it because One greater has come and taken the real fear out of the equation. It’s about letting go of all that you can’t leave behind, straining for what lies ahead, and knowing that even if you don’t get the things you most long for His way is best. It’s about knowing He will never leave or forsake you. (Joshua 1:5)
I don’t believe Paul was saying we should never act like children. Christ said in Matthew 18:3-4 that we should become like children before Him. God wants our faith to be like that of children—pure and wholehearted. I believe Paul was talking about letting the grown-up prevail when it comes to the response to the hardships that come into our lives, knowing that a childlike faith the Father would see us through. As I enter this next year in my life, I don’t feel the anxiety I felt this time last year. I know there will be challenges, mistakes, disappointment, and I will handle each one as it comes by His grace. I will love the ones He’s blessed me with, even when it is not the easy thing. And when I look back, it will be to acknowledge what was and be thankful for what is.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Letters from the Bottom Bunk
After a 17-year hiatus, I have finally returned to camp . . . as a –gulp- counselor. It’s what I always dreamed of being as a camper. However, I didn’t dream of being one quite so old. I know that I’m not old. I don’t feel older than my co-counselors, not on the inside anyway. As it goes with my 90-to-nothing brain, I had a lot of anxiety about coming up here and being so much older than my, er, peers. The greatest anxiety being how I’d be perceived and received: “What’s the creepy old lady doing up here?” My fellow counselors have been AMAZING. So kind, so gracious, accepting and welcoming. I find myself among kindred spirits for certain and I did not expect that. God is good.
That said, being among those so young has brought other things to the surface. Questions, mostly. Questions I thought I’d put to rest. I am at a place in my life where I don’t have a lot of nagging regret about the past. I can look back and know that I did the best I could, given all variables. And because I know that God causes all things to work together for good, and because I am old enough to see what He has done with my wrongs, I am thankful for the path I’ve walked however bumpy it has been.
But . . .
Watching my new young friends just at the beginning of their lives has made me long for my younger youth once more. To be back at the beginning armed with the knowledge I have now (and by “knowledge” I mean what I know about myself). I know I would have made some different choices, but would I have been happier? Would my journey have been smoother? Where would I be at this particular moment in time? Would depression have taken the hold that it did? Would I be sitting in front of my computer asking these same questions from a different perspective? That has been the only true hard part about being here. Just when I think I’m past my tendencies of hyper-sentimentality and juvenile foolishness, they both sneak up and bite me on the butt.
It doesn’t really matter and I don’t spend time looking back anymore. My journey to this point was what it was. Kind of like this post, it is the musings of a momentarily wistful heart that remembers what life was like before it learned the lessons that only experience can teach. I chose my road, but God brought and continues to bring me where he wants me—thankfully, in spite of me.
That said, being among those so young has brought other things to the surface. Questions, mostly. Questions I thought I’d put to rest. I am at a place in my life where I don’t have a lot of nagging regret about the past. I can look back and know that I did the best I could, given all variables. And because I know that God causes all things to work together for good, and because I am old enough to see what He has done with my wrongs, I am thankful for the path I’ve walked however bumpy it has been.
But . . .
Watching my new young friends just at the beginning of their lives has made me long for my younger youth once more. To be back at the beginning armed with the knowledge I have now (and by “knowledge” I mean what I know about myself). I know I would have made some different choices, but would I have been happier? Would my journey have been smoother? Where would I be at this particular moment in time? Would depression have taken the hold that it did? Would I be sitting in front of my computer asking these same questions from a different perspective? That has been the only true hard part about being here. Just when I think I’m past my tendencies of hyper-sentimentality and juvenile foolishness, they both sneak up and bite me on the butt.
It doesn’t really matter and I don’t spend time looking back anymore. My journey to this point was what it was. Kind of like this post, it is the musings of a momentarily wistful heart that remembers what life was like before it learned the lessons that only experience can teach. I chose my road, but God brought and continues to bring me where he wants me—thankfully, in spite of me.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Happy Father's Day
On January 31, 1934, Gary O’neil Robertson was born in Newcastle, TX. He was the firstborn son of a staunch Baptist barber/musician and an equally staunch Church of Christ homemaker. He was his father’s best birthday present and the doting big brother to two sisters. Gary lived with his parents in Newcastle through first grade. When the United States entered the second World War, his father uprooted the family to go where a barber’s services were in high demand: the U.S. Military. Gary got to experience life on various military bases in Texas and New Mexico, including Alamogordo Army Air Base (now Holloman AFB), where he was living when the first atomic bomb was living in 1945.
After the war, the Robertson family settled in Roswell, NM. Gary graduated from Roswell High School. He pursued a degree in engineering of and on over the years, supporting himself as a land surveyor. He enlisted in the Air Force and was stationed in Japan during the Korean War. He settled in Albuquerque, NM, in the 1960’s where he first saw a young teacher in who lived in his apartment complex. She was involved in a door-knocking campaign for a local political race in the autumn of ’68. Her name was Ina Rea Bittner and when he saw her go into the house of a friend of his, he made his move. They were married June 21, 1969. They had a son in ’72 and on January 31, 1975, Gary received his best birthday present: a baby girl.
My dad got a job in Carlsbad, NM, in 1981 and moved us there to continue his work as a land surveyor. In 1983, Dad gave his life to Christ and sought to raise his family in the Lord. He moved into a position for the City of Carlsbad after a brush with skin cancer. He worked there for 17 years. When he retired, he continued to do survey work around Carlsbad as an independent contractor for real estate title companies, which he does to this day. In 2007, he was named New Mexico Surveyor of the Year.
My dad is one of the most interesting people I know. I believe that I got his sense of adventure and his sense of humor. The thing that I’m most proud to have received from him is his generosity. I don’t know another person as generous as my father. He wants so much to honor God with his money and frequently blesses others who need a little extra help. When my brother and I went in the AIM Program, my dad became a constant supporter of young people seeking to serve God as apprentice missionaries. He also likes to bless people with confections. He’s an awesome baker and confectioner, thanking the title companies that give him work with cookies, cakes and homemade-handmade candy. I got that from him, too, although I’ve never attempted his well-known candy.
Daddy, thank you so much for your love and support all my life. Thank you for our adventures on the roof from collecting honey from the bees we used to keep to the sunrises with our cats. Thank you for always taking care of me and pushing me to go as far as I can in whatever I do. Thank you for spoiling me rotten. Thank you for the example you set for me as a follower of Christ. Thank you for disciplining me when I got out of line. I love telling people that we share a birthday. You are my best birthday present. I love you so! Happy Father’s Day!
After the war, the Robertson family settled in Roswell, NM. Gary graduated from Roswell High School. He pursued a degree in engineering of and on over the years, supporting himself as a land surveyor. He enlisted in the Air Force and was stationed in Japan during the Korean War. He settled in Albuquerque, NM, in the 1960’s where he first saw a young teacher in who lived in his apartment complex. She was involved in a door-knocking campaign for a local political race in the autumn of ’68. Her name was Ina Rea Bittner and when he saw her go into the house of a friend of his, he made his move. They were married June 21, 1969. They had a son in ’72 and on January 31, 1975, Gary received his best birthday present: a baby girl.
My dad got a job in Carlsbad, NM, in 1981 and moved us there to continue his work as a land surveyor. In 1983, Dad gave his life to Christ and sought to raise his family in the Lord. He moved into a position for the City of Carlsbad after a brush with skin cancer. He worked there for 17 years. When he retired, he continued to do survey work around Carlsbad as an independent contractor for real estate title companies, which he does to this day. In 2007, he was named New Mexico Surveyor of the Year.
My dad is one of the most interesting people I know. I believe that I got his sense of adventure and his sense of humor. The thing that I’m most proud to have received from him is his generosity. I don’t know another person as generous as my father. He wants so much to honor God with his money and frequently blesses others who need a little extra help. When my brother and I went in the AIM Program, my dad became a constant supporter of young people seeking to serve God as apprentice missionaries. He also likes to bless people with confections. He’s an awesome baker and confectioner, thanking the title companies that give him work with cookies, cakes and homemade-handmade candy. I got that from him, too, although I’ve never attempted his well-known candy.
Daddy, thank you so much for your love and support all my life. Thank you for our adventures on the roof from collecting honey from the bees we used to keep to the sunrises with our cats. Thank you for always taking care of me and pushing me to go as far as I can in whatever I do. Thank you for spoiling me rotten. Thank you for the example you set for me as a follower of Christ. Thank you for disciplining me when I got out of line. I love telling people that we share a birthday. You are my best birthday present. I love you so! Happy Father’s Day!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Why I Hate the Mall . . . Epilogue
Well, it finally happened. No, I don’t have a date. No, I didn’t win the lottery. And no, I don’t have superpowers, although, that would have certainly affected the outcome of the chain of events that led me to this moment. No, I mean “it finally happened” in the Freddie Mercury sense of the phrase. That’s right. I’ve gone slightly, nay, utterly mad. Return with me for a moment to the beginning: that fateful night I visited the mall looking to get some Gap body spray and dinner at Chick-fil-A and ended up leaving with $120 eye gel because I decided that was as good a time as any to start making more eye-contact with people. (I’m sure you are dying to know if the eye gel was worth it and the answer is “NO”. And considering my current circumstances, I have absolutely no scruples about saying that SEACRET products are rubbish for the price. You can get the exact same results by doing nothing and nothing, as we all know, costs nothing. I would go as far as to say that they rig either their mirrors at the kiosks or put “magic” ingredients in what they allow you to sample and then sell you dollar store generic product for the price of your mobile phone bill.)
After that visit, there were several other visits to the mall where I was inevitably forced to pass a SEACRET kiosk. My instinct was to avoid eye-contact out of self-preservation, but I decided that I was not going to allow these aggressive sales reps to keep me from making progress on one of my life’s goals. Also, avoiding eye-contact isn’t really effective now that they’ve taken to literally planting themselves in front of you so that you will run into them which forces you to make eye-contact. A few times I was able to escape with a polite “No, thank you” and a quick side-step without even breaking my stride. Of course, then they had to change tactics and used misdirection to lure me to their stall. Determined to power on past them, the girl with the lotion asks, “Do you keep my nails natural?” What? Do I natural keep what? All she needed was that moment of hesitation and I found myself inches from those stupid dead sea products. She picked up a rectangular nail buffer and I saw my next tactic.
“I already have one,” I said confidently--I really do have one. She almost looked defeated, but arched an eyebrow and quickly rebounded, “From us?”
“Yes,” I said triumphantly as I turned to go.
“When did you buy it?” she asked scrambling to regain control, but it was too late. I had put eleven feet between us as I called out over my shoulder, “Last year!”
Talk about being proud of myself! She nearly had me in her clutches, but I escaped yet again. I thought that was the end of it and took care of my mall business. I had actually enjoyed my trip to the mall and was so happy that when I came back the same way to get to my car, I was startled she stepped in front of me again, lotion locked and loaded. She caught me so much by surprise that I faltered. “Would you like a sample of our hand cream?” She smiled coolly and her words were smooth, almost sing-songy, yet sinister. I recovered from my surprise and gave her an exasperated, “Seriously?!” as I kept on walking and shaking my head. There was no mistaking, though, that a shift had occurred: We were clearly playing a new game now.
Yes, I know. It sounds a bit dramatic and embellished. I thought I was just being paranoid myself. Paranoid is as paranoid does, however, and I made a conscious effort to avoid that part of the mall anytime I had to be there. I would even walk around the outside of the mall just to get to my desired destinations. That lasted only until the next good rain, when I got splashed by a Hummer as I was making my way round from the Ladies’ Dillards to the Men’s Dillards just so I could get into the Gap from the clothing side, which is a good 20-30 feet from that SEACRET station, undetected. Enough, already! I chastised myself. This is all in your head. Just walk through the mall like a normal person!
My first day “back” on that particular concourse of the mall, was an extremely busy Saturday. I was nervous about going past that booth, but I thought with such a great crowd, I wouldn’t be noticed and who cares anyway, right? She probably didn’t spend a thought obssessing over me and I’ve been avoiding her like the plague. I held my head high, gaze forward as I walked confidently past amongst the throng of mall-goers. I had nearly cleared the “danger zone”--you know, the 10 foot radius between consumers and any kiosk--when I felt a sharp jolt then pain right in the socket of my shoulder as I was knocked sideways and slightly off balance. I steadied myself and was about to apologize when I looked into cold eyes accompanying a smug smile. It was her. “No, I am sorry. Do you keep your nails natural?” She was almost purring. My favorite Seacret sales rep had spotted me immediately and not only had she slithered through the crowd to get to me, she shoulder-punched me. AND she did it AGAIN on my way out! The bruise I had on my shoulder socket took over a week to finally disappear, so I stopped going to the mall for a while.
As most of you who live in Lubbock know, Barnes & Noble relocated and built a big store at the mall. And as any of you who know me know good and well that the only thing I love as much as, if not more than Williams & Sonoma and Sephora is any giant bookstore. (I WILL visit the Amazon warehouse one day!) So after a many-month hiatus, I returned to the mall and parked at the Ladies’ Dillards’s side so I could check out the hats and purses on my way to check out the new Barnes & Noble. So caught up in my elation and haste to visiting that happy place, I forgot about the Seacret kiosk and my nemesis there until I had stepped into the “danger zone”. Everything began moving in slow-motion as the realization of my position came to me. She materialized out of nowhere. Taking advantage of me being clearly off my guard, she stabilized herself, bent her knees and turned her right shoulder inward . . . she came up and forward just as I reached her and knocked me in my left breast-bone so hard that I spun around once and landed flat on my back. I don’t know how I managed to not hit my head, but I didn’t. She rushed to me immediately, apologizing.
“I am so sorry!” she cooed as she helped me sit up and looked genuinely concerned. “Are you alright? I didn’t even see you there! Sure you are OK?”
What???? I narrowed my eyes as I met her gaze and saw a flash of triumph cross her eyes so quickly that you had to be looking for it to have even caught it. She held her hand out to me to help me stand up, maintaining her “oops-it-was-an-accident” facade. She made to let go once I was standing again, but I clutched her arm tightly and forced her to look at me once more.
“Oh, it’s ON,” I said in a low growl. She didn’t respond or react, but I knew she did not mistake my meaning. We dropped arms and I stalked away fuming.
I like to talk big: 1) because who doesn’t? 2) it helps me release frustration, yet simultaneously invoke laughter at my own wit--yes, I think I’m funny, and 3) I don’t have the guts to follow through on my big, exaggeratory speeches. Ask Sarah, she will confirm this. Plus, in my heart of hearts, I really don’t relish being mean to people. Even if they have it coming and I am absolutely justified, my anger/frustration/whatever will subside and I will feel like dirt for being ugly. As usual, after I had cooled off and wandered around Barnes & Noble for a while, my perspective shifted and I had no desire to pursue “it” being “ON”. It was just stupid and I’ve never been in a real fight. I certainly didn’t want to be in one now considering I am a sack of potatoes with noodle arms, putty hands and loose-jointed legs. So I found another way out of the mall determined not to come back for at least a year or two . . .
. . . which brings us to today. Now before I continue, I want to preface what follows by saying that I have really been having a hard time here lately. I am really behind at work. I’m overwhelmed by the semi-complete state of my home. My emotional involvement at work due to the lack of effort on the part of parents of my students has maxed itself out to the extent that the things I blow up over shock even me and has left me utterly exhausted in spirit. I feel like I really hate people when I get this way. My depressive episodes, which generally mean lots of crying for me, have been manifesting themselves as a complete lack of desire to do anything but lay on my couch and sleep. It’s been very bizarre. I say this, not to justify my actions, but rather to put my frame of mind into perspective. I am not proud of myself.
So I had to go to the mall today. It was a horrible day. HORRIBLE!!! We had a little snack party and these free-loading parents show up and eat nearly everything. The Special Ed Director got on to me because I hadn’t taken a TAKS-Alt training module. And because of the Shattered Dreams program, I was two aides short with no subs. I was tired and frustrated and I just wanted to come home and sleep awhile. One of my aides’s car broke down and she needed to pick up a gift she had ordered from Gap. Since we got out early I was going to have a nice long nap, but I am so grateful for the loyalty and devotion of my aides and they make such a paltry salary in comparison to what they are worth that I cannot refuse them anything. I bucked up and told her that I would take her to the mall and bring her home. I should have parked on the Men’s Dillards side. I should have waited in the car. I should have let her take my car while I waited out at school for her to come back. There are a thousand other things I should have done, could have done to have avoided what happened.
I was so exhausted that I needed help to stay awake for all the driving, so naturally, since I was already angry about the mooch family, I ranted to my aide about them all the way to the mall. The good thing was that she was equally angry and ranted right back. I started talking big, as is my custom, and began devising all sorts of punishments for those parents and all the other people who had ever irritated me. I started absentmindedly playing with my little can of pepper spray on my keyring as I imagined spraying it in that dad’s face the next time he attempted to help himself to food in my classroom. I imagined spraying it at all the cosmetic/perfume counter trolls who act like I’m beneath them when I show the slightest interest toward anything in their area because I’m not dressed to the nines and clearly not worth their effort. I imagined spraying it in that dad’s face right before I pushed him down a long flight of stairs.
As we drew near the Gap, I was acutely aware of the Seacret booth. Sure enough, my nemesis was ready and waiting. She had her lotion out and she was in position to knock me over again. I slowed my pace and Becky veered into Gap Body. I stopped squarely in front of Miss Seacret and she straightened up and looked at me with false demure. We stood there, facing off for what seemed like hours. I wanted to . . . and I realized I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Just walk away, you’re tired and you want Jesus to be proud of you. I turned to go, but not before she squirted fruit-scented Dead Sea-salted body cream all over me. I didn’t hesitate . . . didn’t think . . . I unleashed a stream of pepper spray right in her face. Her shrieks were shrill and stifled between coughs and sputters. I pushed her over and watched her writhe on the floor in agony for a moment before I picked up the tube of body cream and squeezed out the rest all over her. That’s when the cops showed up.
I was arrested and charged with assault. I decided to use Justin, a friend of mine who is a policeman, as my one phone call. He helped me contact my dad who posted my bail. I have a court appearance in two weeks and can’t leave town, so I won’t be going New Mexico for Thanksgiving. I want to plea insanity, but I don't know that it will fly here. I’m a bit numb at the moment. I know I was utterly and completely in the wrong, but I’m having a hard time feeling remorse. I’m sure that I will eventually and I will apologize and make restitution for my behavior. I am more worried about the disappointment and heartache I have caused my family, especially my parents.
Eye-contact--it’s just not worth it. At all. EVER.
Only fragments of this story are factual:
1. Seacret Eye Gel was not effective after that first demo at the kiosk last year. I used it faithfully everyday, sometimes twice a day and saw no results that seemed so evident before I bought it.
2. The Seacret girl did use misdirection and tried to interest me in their nail buffer, which I already own, when I refused a sampling of lotion.
3. I did go to the mall today.
After that visit, there were several other visits to the mall where I was inevitably forced to pass a SEACRET kiosk. My instinct was to avoid eye-contact out of self-preservation, but I decided that I was not going to allow these aggressive sales reps to keep me from making progress on one of my life’s goals. Also, avoiding eye-contact isn’t really effective now that they’ve taken to literally planting themselves in front of you so that you will run into them which forces you to make eye-contact. A few times I was able to escape with a polite “No, thank you” and a quick side-step without even breaking my stride. Of course, then they had to change tactics and used misdirection to lure me to their stall. Determined to power on past them, the girl with the lotion asks, “Do you keep my nails natural?” What? Do I natural keep what? All she needed was that moment of hesitation and I found myself inches from those stupid dead sea products. She picked up a rectangular nail buffer and I saw my next tactic.
“I already have one,” I said confidently--I really do have one. She almost looked defeated, but arched an eyebrow and quickly rebounded, “From us?”
“Yes,” I said triumphantly as I turned to go.
“When did you buy it?” she asked scrambling to regain control, but it was too late. I had put eleven feet between us as I called out over my shoulder, “Last year!”
Talk about being proud of myself! She nearly had me in her clutches, but I escaped yet again. I thought that was the end of it and took care of my mall business. I had actually enjoyed my trip to the mall and was so happy that when I came back the same way to get to my car, I was startled she stepped in front of me again, lotion locked and loaded. She caught me so much by surprise that I faltered. “Would you like a sample of our hand cream?” She smiled coolly and her words were smooth, almost sing-songy, yet sinister. I recovered from my surprise and gave her an exasperated, “Seriously?!” as I kept on walking and shaking my head. There was no mistaking, though, that a shift had occurred: We were clearly playing a new game now.
Yes, I know. It sounds a bit dramatic and embellished. I thought I was just being paranoid myself. Paranoid is as paranoid does, however, and I made a conscious effort to avoid that part of the mall anytime I had to be there. I would even walk around the outside of the mall just to get to my desired destinations. That lasted only until the next good rain, when I got splashed by a Hummer as I was making my way round from the Ladies’ Dillards to the Men’s Dillards just so I could get into the Gap from the clothing side, which is a good 20-30 feet from that SEACRET station, undetected. Enough, already! I chastised myself. This is all in your head. Just walk through the mall like a normal person!
My first day “back” on that particular concourse of the mall, was an extremely busy Saturday. I was nervous about going past that booth, but I thought with such a great crowd, I wouldn’t be noticed and who cares anyway, right? She probably didn’t spend a thought obssessing over me and I’ve been avoiding her like the plague. I held my head high, gaze forward as I walked confidently past amongst the throng of mall-goers. I had nearly cleared the “danger zone”--you know, the 10 foot radius between consumers and any kiosk--when I felt a sharp jolt then pain right in the socket of my shoulder as I was knocked sideways and slightly off balance. I steadied myself and was about to apologize when I looked into cold eyes accompanying a smug smile. It was her. “No, I am sorry. Do you keep your nails natural?” She was almost purring. My favorite Seacret sales rep had spotted me immediately and not only had she slithered through the crowd to get to me, she shoulder-punched me. AND she did it AGAIN on my way out! The bruise I had on my shoulder socket took over a week to finally disappear, so I stopped going to the mall for a while.
As most of you who live in Lubbock know, Barnes & Noble relocated and built a big store at the mall. And as any of you who know me know good and well that the only thing I love as much as, if not more than Williams & Sonoma and Sephora is any giant bookstore. (I WILL visit the Amazon warehouse one day!) So after a many-month hiatus, I returned to the mall and parked at the Ladies’ Dillards’s side so I could check out the hats and purses on my way to check out the new Barnes & Noble. So caught up in my elation and haste to visiting that happy place, I forgot about the Seacret kiosk and my nemesis there until I had stepped into the “danger zone”. Everything began moving in slow-motion as the realization of my position came to me. She materialized out of nowhere. Taking advantage of me being clearly off my guard, she stabilized herself, bent her knees and turned her right shoulder inward . . . she came up and forward just as I reached her and knocked me in my left breast-bone so hard that I spun around once and landed flat on my back. I don’t know how I managed to not hit my head, but I didn’t. She rushed to me immediately, apologizing.
“I am so sorry!” she cooed as she helped me sit up and looked genuinely concerned. “Are you alright? I didn’t even see you there! Sure you are OK?”
What???? I narrowed my eyes as I met her gaze and saw a flash of triumph cross her eyes so quickly that you had to be looking for it to have even caught it. She held her hand out to me to help me stand up, maintaining her “oops-it-was-an-accident” facade. She made to let go once I was standing again, but I clutched her arm tightly and forced her to look at me once more.
“Oh, it’s ON,” I said in a low growl. She didn’t respond or react, but I knew she did not mistake my meaning. We dropped arms and I stalked away fuming.
I like to talk big: 1) because who doesn’t? 2) it helps me release frustration, yet simultaneously invoke laughter at my own wit--yes, I think I’m funny, and 3) I don’t have the guts to follow through on my big, exaggeratory speeches. Ask Sarah, she will confirm this. Plus, in my heart of hearts, I really don’t relish being mean to people. Even if they have it coming and I am absolutely justified, my anger/frustration/whatever will subside and I will feel like dirt for being ugly. As usual, after I had cooled off and wandered around Barnes & Noble for a while, my perspective shifted and I had no desire to pursue “it” being “ON”. It was just stupid and I’ve never been in a real fight. I certainly didn’t want to be in one now considering I am a sack of potatoes with noodle arms, putty hands and loose-jointed legs. So I found another way out of the mall determined not to come back for at least a year or two . . .
. . . which brings us to today. Now before I continue, I want to preface what follows by saying that I have really been having a hard time here lately. I am really behind at work. I’m overwhelmed by the semi-complete state of my home. My emotional involvement at work due to the lack of effort on the part of parents of my students has maxed itself out to the extent that the things I blow up over shock even me and has left me utterly exhausted in spirit. I feel like I really hate people when I get this way. My depressive episodes, which generally mean lots of crying for me, have been manifesting themselves as a complete lack of desire to do anything but lay on my couch and sleep. It’s been very bizarre. I say this, not to justify my actions, but rather to put my frame of mind into perspective. I am not proud of myself.
So I had to go to the mall today. It was a horrible day. HORRIBLE!!! We had a little snack party and these free-loading parents show up and eat nearly everything. The Special Ed Director got on to me because I hadn’t taken a TAKS-Alt training module. And because of the Shattered Dreams program, I was two aides short with no subs. I was tired and frustrated and I just wanted to come home and sleep awhile. One of my aides’s car broke down and she needed to pick up a gift she had ordered from Gap. Since we got out early I was going to have a nice long nap, but I am so grateful for the loyalty and devotion of my aides and they make such a paltry salary in comparison to what they are worth that I cannot refuse them anything. I bucked up and told her that I would take her to the mall and bring her home. I should have parked on the Men’s Dillards side. I should have waited in the car. I should have let her take my car while I waited out at school for her to come back. There are a thousand other things I should have done, could have done to have avoided what happened.
I was so exhausted that I needed help to stay awake for all the driving, so naturally, since I was already angry about the mooch family, I ranted to my aide about them all the way to the mall. The good thing was that she was equally angry and ranted right back. I started talking big, as is my custom, and began devising all sorts of punishments for those parents and all the other people who had ever irritated me. I started absentmindedly playing with my little can of pepper spray on my keyring as I imagined spraying it in that dad’s face the next time he attempted to help himself to food in my classroom. I imagined spraying it at all the cosmetic/perfume counter trolls who act like I’m beneath them when I show the slightest interest toward anything in their area because I’m not dressed to the nines and clearly not worth their effort. I imagined spraying it in that dad’s face right before I pushed him down a long flight of stairs.
As we drew near the Gap, I was acutely aware of the Seacret booth. Sure enough, my nemesis was ready and waiting. She had her lotion out and she was in position to knock me over again. I slowed my pace and Becky veered into Gap Body. I stopped squarely in front of Miss Seacret and she straightened up and looked at me with false demure. We stood there, facing off for what seemed like hours. I wanted to . . . and I realized I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Just walk away, you’re tired and you want Jesus to be proud of you. I turned to go, but not before she squirted fruit-scented Dead Sea-salted body cream all over me. I didn’t hesitate . . . didn’t think . . . I unleashed a stream of pepper spray right in her face. Her shrieks were shrill and stifled between coughs and sputters. I pushed her over and watched her writhe on the floor in agony for a moment before I picked up the tube of body cream and squeezed out the rest all over her. That’s when the cops showed up.
I was arrested and charged with assault. I decided to use Justin, a friend of mine who is a policeman, as my one phone call. He helped me contact my dad who posted my bail. I have a court appearance in two weeks and can’t leave town, so I won’t be going New Mexico for Thanksgiving. I want to plea insanity, but I don't know that it will fly here. I’m a bit numb at the moment. I know I was utterly and completely in the wrong, but I’m having a hard time feeling remorse. I’m sure that I will eventually and I will apologize and make restitution for my behavior. I am more worried about the disappointment and heartache I have caused my family, especially my parents.
Eye-contact--it’s just not worth it. At all. EVER.
Only fragments of this story are factual:
1. Seacret Eye Gel was not effective after that first demo at the kiosk last year. I used it faithfully everyday, sometimes twice a day and saw no results that seemed so evident before I bought it.
2. The Seacret girl did use misdirection and tried to interest me in their nail buffer, which I already own, when I refused a sampling of lotion.
3. I did go to the mall today.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
To My Mother
Ina Rea Bittner was born January 3, 1944 in Haskell, Texas. The daughter of first-generation German-Americans, she spent the early years of her life on a cotton farm. She worked hard on that farm, as well as in school, and every endeavor she undertook. Ina Rea loved learning and decided to be a teacher when she grew up. She got her degree in Education at the University of North Texas in Denton. She eventually moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she met her husband, Gary Robertson, and settled. Ina Rea had two children: Charles, the first redhead in five generations; and Lisa, a girl with an over-active imagination. In 1981, the Robertsons moved south to Carlsbad, where Gary and Ina Rea have remained to this day.
My mother is probably the absolute nicest person I know. She is also one of the happiest, most cheerful people I know. My mother is rarely down, and even when she is it does not last long. She was devoted to us all of our lives. When my brother and I were very young, Mom would come home from teaching other people’s children all day, get us all in our “grubbies”, and take us out to play on the swing-set in the backyard. We would swing for what seemed like hours and she taught us songs like “Kookaburra” and “You are My Sunshine”. She read us stories and taught us to read quite young. She rocked us to sleep every night of our early childhood. She made the best spaghetti. During Christmas, she would always pull out Anne Murray’s “Snowbird” and play it while we decorated the Christmas tree.
Mom always believed that God was important to sustaining a family. Long before she gave her life to Christ, she exemplified His love in her love for us. My mother was the first person to show me that God was in our lives even when we weren’t in a church building. My earliest memories of prayer are not in Sunday school, but in a peach stucco house on Tyler Road in the North Valley. That was the most precious gift she could have given me—teaching me to pray and then setting the example of putting on Christ. So I honor her today . . .
Mom, I know that I’m no picnic sometimes, but you always love me through my ugliest moments. I don’t make my bed, I’m a crummy housekeeper, and maybe you feel you somehow dropped the ball when it came to teaching me those things. But you gave me something far more valuable than that, a wonderful, happy childhood full of love and laughter. I don’t think I could ever say it or show it to you enough—you are most precious to me. I love you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day!
My mother is probably the absolute nicest person I know. She is also one of the happiest, most cheerful people I know. My mother is rarely down, and even when she is it does not last long. She was devoted to us all of our lives. When my brother and I were very young, Mom would come home from teaching other people’s children all day, get us all in our “grubbies”, and take us out to play on the swing-set in the backyard. We would swing for what seemed like hours and she taught us songs like “Kookaburra” and “You are My Sunshine”. She read us stories and taught us to read quite young. She rocked us to sleep every night of our early childhood. She made the best spaghetti. During Christmas, she would always pull out Anne Murray’s “Snowbird” and play it while we decorated the Christmas tree.
Mom always believed that God was important to sustaining a family. Long before she gave her life to Christ, she exemplified His love in her love for us. My mother was the first person to show me that God was in our lives even when we weren’t in a church building. My earliest memories of prayer are not in Sunday school, but in a peach stucco house on Tyler Road in the North Valley. That was the most precious gift she could have given me—teaching me to pray and then setting the example of putting on Christ. So I honor her today . . .
Mom, I know that I’m no picnic sometimes, but you always love me through my ugliest moments. I don’t make my bed, I’m a crummy housekeeper, and maybe you feel you somehow dropped the ball when it came to teaching me those things. But you gave me something far more valuable than that, a wonderful, happy childhood full of love and laughter. I don’t think I could ever say it or show it to you enough—you are most precious to me. I love you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day!
Sunday, April 26, 2009
That Lady
Remember that lady? You know the one. She was the lady you always saw walking at the park. She wore head and wristbands, carried dumbbells, and had those headphones with the antennae and built-in radio. Sometimes, she was even wearing a sauna suit. That lady. The one you chuckled about because she looked so silly.
I've become that lady.
A few weeks ago, my friend Amy recruited me to join her team for Get Fit Lubbock. We earn points per minute of exercise, events attended, percentage of weight lost, etc., and there are prizes awarded at the end. It's been a good way to be motivated, explore new ways to pursue a healthier lifestyle, and spark my selective, yet mild competitive streak. I went to a Tai Chi class the other night that was great fun. It was conducted by this older, little chap who had no waist and reminded me of Jack Lalane. I felt very graceful after that class.
Like the experts say, however, walking is the best exercise and that's what I've been doing most. My brother recommended getting some "handsies", little hand-weights. I got some that reminded me of workout gloves with tumors. I took them out for their maiden stroll a few evenings ago and it occurred to me how ridiculous I looked. And I realized I had become that lady. The thing is, I know that if I stick to eating healthy and walking regularly, the payoff will be worth looking silly at the park. So next time you see a lady walking at the park wearing semi-orthopedic-looking sneakers, enough workout clothes to qualify as a sauna suit because 1) she's so pale and 2) unwilling to subject the general public to her ample physique, workout gloves with tumors, and obviously carrying her iPod in her sports bra 'cause she keeps forgetting to purchase an armstrap . . . I'm that lady.
I've become that lady.
A few weeks ago, my friend Amy recruited me to join her team for Get Fit Lubbock. We earn points per minute of exercise, events attended, percentage of weight lost, etc., and there are prizes awarded at the end. It's been a good way to be motivated, explore new ways to pursue a healthier lifestyle, and spark my selective, yet mild competitive streak. I went to a Tai Chi class the other night that was great fun. It was conducted by this older, little chap who had no waist and reminded me of Jack Lalane. I felt very graceful after that class.
Like the experts say, however, walking is the best exercise and that's what I've been doing most. My brother recommended getting some "handsies", little hand-weights. I got some that reminded me of workout gloves with tumors. I took them out for their maiden stroll a few evenings ago and it occurred to me how ridiculous I looked. And I realized I had become that lady. The thing is, I know that if I stick to eating healthy and walking regularly, the payoff will be worth looking silly at the park. So next time you see a lady walking at the park wearing semi-orthopedic-looking sneakers, enough workout clothes to qualify as a sauna suit because 1) she's so pale and 2) unwilling to subject the general public to her ample physique, workout gloves with tumors, and obviously carrying her iPod in her sports bra 'cause she keeps forgetting to purchase an armstrap . . . I'm that lady.
Monday, March 30, 2009
"Tender Moments . . . " Revisited
I have one girl in my class, Archie. Archie has autism. She's actually my first real experience with autism. Kids may say the darn-dest things, but Archie takes the cake. She will often ask questions that she wants you to ask her so that she can let you know what's happening with her . . .
Last week we were doing some testing when she jumped up from the table:
Miss Lisa: "Archie, what are you doing? Sit down, girl, we're not quite finished here."
Archie: "I have to go to the bafroom!"
Miss Lisa: "Well, alright. On you go then!"
Archie (on her way out the door): "Miss Lisa, is that the poop that's coming out?"
Normally, Miss Lisa would say: "Is it, Archie?" However, on this occasion . . .
Miss Lisa: "It better not be until you are on the toilet, young lady! Go, GO, GO!!!"
And SCENE!!!
Last week we were doing some testing when she jumped up from the table:
Miss Lisa: "Archie, what are you doing? Sit down, girl, we're not quite finished here."
Archie: "I have to go to the bafroom!"
Miss Lisa: "Well, alright. On you go then!"
Archie (on her way out the door): "Miss Lisa, is that the poop that's coming out?"
Normally, Miss Lisa would say: "Is it, Archie?" However, on this occasion . . .
Miss Lisa: "It better not be until you are on the toilet, young lady! Go, GO, GO!!!"
And SCENE!!!
Monday, March 23, 2009
A Safe Place
I recently spoke with a friend whom I had been out of touch with for many years. As we filled one another in on our lives, I was stunned to learn that my friend had suffered horrific events and painful hardships. What really upset me was that these things occurred in a large environment of Christians and my friend could find no sanctuary. I was outraged because the safest place on this earth should be the body of Christ. My first instinct was to say, “If I had known, I would have been there for you.” I knew immediately, however, that was not true. I was so entangled in my own struggles during those years that I don’t know what I’d have done. I have a feeling, though, that I would not have been compassionate or supportive.
I was heartbroken and wept after our conversation. I wept for my precious friend. I wept over the realization that I would have failed them even if we had remained in contact. I wept over the idea that anyone would have to endure such trials alone.
By the grace of God, through renewed, regular Bible study and experiencing the love and example of the saints at the Open, I know better now. I understand more the compassion Christ shows to people. It seems silly to say that. I’ve been a Christian and loved God for most of my life, yet somehow I missed something somewhere. That sounds sillier to me because I was a student of His word. I read the stories. I learned about Jesus and saw how He cared for people. Lonely people, hurting, confused people; people who were broken by sin and despair. So how could I have missed it?
When I started developing this post in my head, it was borne out of anger, frustration—and was intended as a rant against all that is wrong in the church. I had a hard time finding the words, oddly enough. Weeks later I realize that harsh words would not be constructive or right. God has always been faithful about sealing my lips and blocking my pen when I’m angry. The truth is, it doesn’t matter why or how I missed the mark. What matters now is that I don’t miss it anymore. The best way I can facilitate change is to start with myself. Jesus was always a safe place for the lost, hurting, and broken. If I am truly seeking to be like Him, then I must be the same. Whether that means showing compassion to someone who’s never known Jesus or seeking out my brothers and sisters, too ashamed and broken by sin, who feel they can never come home. Lord God, please help me be like Jesus . . . help me be a safe place.
I was heartbroken and wept after our conversation. I wept for my precious friend. I wept over the realization that I would have failed them even if we had remained in contact. I wept over the idea that anyone would have to endure such trials alone.
By the grace of God, through renewed, regular Bible study and experiencing the love and example of the saints at the Open, I know better now. I understand more the compassion Christ shows to people. It seems silly to say that. I’ve been a Christian and loved God for most of my life, yet somehow I missed something somewhere. That sounds sillier to me because I was a student of His word. I read the stories. I learned about Jesus and saw how He cared for people. Lonely people, hurting, confused people; people who were broken by sin and despair. So how could I have missed it?
When I started developing this post in my head, it was borne out of anger, frustration—and was intended as a rant against all that is wrong in the church. I had a hard time finding the words, oddly enough. Weeks later I realize that harsh words would not be constructive or right. God has always been faithful about sealing my lips and blocking my pen when I’m angry. The truth is, it doesn’t matter why or how I missed the mark. What matters now is that I don’t miss it anymore. The best way I can facilitate change is to start with myself. Jesus was always a safe place for the lost, hurting, and broken. If I am truly seeking to be like Him, then I must be the same. Whether that means showing compassion to someone who’s never known Jesus or seeking out my brothers and sisters, too ashamed and broken by sin, who feel they can never come home. Lord God, please help me be like Jesus . . . help me be a safe place.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A Lesson in Faith
I was out of town week before last. I had gone to Ft. Worth to help make preparations for my brother's wedding. While I was gone, I took my Bible with me (always take it when I travel anywhere) to keep up with my study of Esther. I only managed to do it one day the entire time that I was gone. In a general context, it's not a big deal. I don't believe the Father is waiting to whip me for not reading my Bible everyday. Specifically, however, it is a big deal. For a mind like mine--with a history of dark and depressive thoughts; prone to over-thinking, self-degradation, and overindulgence of imagination--it is even critical. I noticed the difference almost immediately. Apathy, fear, irritation, and the irrational were pressing hard to find a way in. So on Wednesday of this past week, I was determined not to go to bed until I had spent time in the Word and real time in prayer. For me, it makes a difference.
On Facebook, one of my friends had noted, "Faith is not a noun, but a verb." As I pondered the effects my lack of study produces along with these words, I had this epiphany: Faith takes work. I suppose that's a no-brainer for some and I actually felt silly when the thought first hit me. I know that's the truth and, perhaps, have always known it, so why the light bulb moment? I suppose because I experienced how quickly my attitude shifted in such a short time. I went to church while I was gone, was surrounded by godly people, and I continued to pray each day, but it wasn't enough. To keep my mind healthy and stable, to maintain my relationship with Christ, to be the servant I need to be, I need to be in God's word.
Faith takes work just like a relationship or producing something good takes work. It has taken me nearly two years to even begin to understand God's grace and how it works in my life. I still don't get it, except that I know it has nothing to do with me. However, the work it takes to increase and strengthen my faith is nothing in comparison to the work Christ did to provide me that grace. Here is what I have learned (so far) on a long journey of faith:
"Faith comes by hearing, and hearing the word of God." Romans 10:17 NIV
Read the Bible, be in His word. That's where we learn about God's love for us and how He worked to rescue us from sin and condemnation. The more I read it, the more secure I am about my salvation and the more in tune I am with His presence in my life.
"Faith without works is dead." James 2:26b NAS
Or "faith is not a noun, but a verb". As we increase our faith by being in the Word, we in turn put our faith to work by applying what we learn: tell people about Jesus (Mark 16:15), look after orphans and widows (James 1:27), help the weak (Acts 20:35), bind up the brokenhearted (Isaiah 61:1) . . . in short, be like Jesus "It is enough for the disciple that he become as his teacher, and the slave as his master." Matthew 10:25 NAS
Feelings are not an indicator of faith. If you are having a hard day, if your spirit is in turmoil, if you are struggling with anger or worry and anxiety, it doesn’t mean that somehow you don’t have enough faith. If you want to find someone who can relate, go read the Psalms of David, the man after God’s own heart—such a man must be full of faith, right? It’s not about how you are feeling, but about what you do on those days or in those moments. Lifting your voice in prayer is an act of faith. Reading His word is an act of faith. Running from opportunities to sin is an act of faith.
Faith takes work. I have discovered for myself that staying in His word is the best way for me to increase and strengthen my faith. It enables me to grow in wisdom, be more compassionate, trust Him wholeheartedly, pray more, and truly walk by faith.
On Facebook, one of my friends had noted, "Faith is not a noun, but a verb." As I pondered the effects my lack of study produces along with these words, I had this epiphany: Faith takes work. I suppose that's a no-brainer for some and I actually felt silly when the thought first hit me. I know that's the truth and, perhaps, have always known it, so why the light bulb moment? I suppose because I experienced how quickly my attitude shifted in such a short time. I went to church while I was gone, was surrounded by godly people, and I continued to pray each day, but it wasn't enough. To keep my mind healthy and stable, to maintain my relationship with Christ, to be the servant I need to be, I need to be in God's word.
Faith takes work just like a relationship or producing something good takes work. It has taken me nearly two years to even begin to understand God's grace and how it works in my life. I still don't get it, except that I know it has nothing to do with me. However, the work it takes to increase and strengthen my faith is nothing in comparison to the work Christ did to provide me that grace. Here is what I have learned (so far) on a long journey of faith:
"Faith comes by hearing, and hearing the word of God." Romans 10:17 NIV
Read the Bible, be in His word. That's where we learn about God's love for us and how He worked to rescue us from sin and condemnation. The more I read it, the more secure I am about my salvation and the more in tune I am with His presence in my life.
"Faith without works is dead." James 2:26b NAS
Or "faith is not a noun, but a verb". As we increase our faith by being in the Word, we in turn put our faith to work by applying what we learn: tell people about Jesus (Mark 16:15), look after orphans and widows (James 1:27), help the weak (Acts 20:35), bind up the brokenhearted (Isaiah 61:1) . . . in short, be like Jesus "It is enough for the disciple that he become as his teacher, and the slave as his master." Matthew 10:25 NAS
Feelings are not an indicator of faith. If you are having a hard day, if your spirit is in turmoil, if you are struggling with anger or worry and anxiety, it doesn’t mean that somehow you don’t have enough faith. If you want to find someone who can relate, go read the Psalms of David, the man after God’s own heart—such a man must be full of faith, right? It’s not about how you are feeling, but about what you do on those days or in those moments. Lifting your voice in prayer is an act of faith. Reading His word is an act of faith. Running from opportunities to sin is an act of faith.
Faith takes work. I have discovered for myself that staying in His word is the best way for me to increase and strengthen my faith. It enables me to grow in wisdom, be more compassionate, trust Him wholeheartedly, pray more, and truly walk by faith.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A Good Man is Hard to Find
I had a bit of an “off” day at school today. I was off, the kids were off, the computers were off (too much traffic trying to watch the Inauguration), everything was OFF. The thing that threw me further off than I was when I arrived was my boy sunshine, Sonny. He was WAY off. He hadn’t done his homework because he didn’t have time because of his game—his video game, to clarify. I was left with the unsavory task of following through on consequences that he was well aware of in advance. He shut down, flopped down, and what should have been a fairly easy remedy involving the principal’s intervention ended with three of us—myself, the principal, & the campus policeman—carrying him to the principal’s office. Once there, he refused to budge from his spot on the floor, which was fine since his was no longer a disruption in the hallway. I felt compelled to put in a call to the one person I knew could reach Sonny even in shutdown mode and get him to comply: Mr. Jones.
Mr. Jones is an amazing, soft-spoken man who was the counselor on our campus last year and really helped out with Sonny and got to him in a way no one else could. I don’t know what it is in Mr. Jones that Sonny responds to, but something about the man makes Sonny want to obey him. Personally, I believe it’s the Holy Spirit. I know Mr. Jones to be a godly man of faith. He is good, kind, and yet no-nonsense. When I saw him approaching the building in his crimson shirt and khaki slacks, he may as well have been on a great white horse, armor blazing in the morning sun. I knew everything was going to be OK because of his connection with Sonny. And it was.
He spoke to Sonny about his strengths. How tough he is when he is faced with obstacles and how he conquers them, something that is true about Sonny on a selective basis. Mr. Jones told Sonny how he knew he was a good, strong boy who didn’t need to flop in the floor because he is tough and can take responsibility. Sonny does not generally take responsibility for himself, but he will more often in the future because Mr. Jones put it in his head. Oh that every man in his life could be like Mr. Jones!
One of the great frustrations in my job is the lack of solid, positive male role models in the lives of my children. Some because they don’t have fathers; some because the fathers they have are poor examples. I was so thankful for Mr. Jones last year, and John and Mr. Noles. They were daily examples of strong, positive men and they are missed. How I long to see more men of such caliber! I want to encourage men to be a “Mr. Jones” to children within the sphere of their influence. You guys just don’t know how valuable and vitally important you are! Somewhere, there are little eyes watching you, seeking to know how a man should be . . . so be men:
who “find favor in the eyes of the Lord” Genesis 8:8
“whom the Lord knows face to face” Deuteronomy 34:10
“after His own heart” 1 Samuel 13:14
whose “good understanding produces favor” Proverbs 13:15
Whose “gentle answer turns away wrath” Proverbs 15:1
Who “love at all times” Proverbs 17:17
Who “are the light of the world” Matthew 5:14
Who “walk by faith” 2 Corinthians 5:7
“Of whom the world is not worthy” Hebrews 11:38
Mr. Jones is an amazing, soft-spoken man who was the counselor on our campus last year and really helped out with Sonny and got to him in a way no one else could. I don’t know what it is in Mr. Jones that Sonny responds to, but something about the man makes Sonny want to obey him. Personally, I believe it’s the Holy Spirit. I know Mr. Jones to be a godly man of faith. He is good, kind, and yet no-nonsense. When I saw him approaching the building in his crimson shirt and khaki slacks, he may as well have been on a great white horse, armor blazing in the morning sun. I knew everything was going to be OK because of his connection with Sonny. And it was.
He spoke to Sonny about his strengths. How tough he is when he is faced with obstacles and how he conquers them, something that is true about Sonny on a selective basis. Mr. Jones told Sonny how he knew he was a good, strong boy who didn’t need to flop in the floor because he is tough and can take responsibility. Sonny does not generally take responsibility for himself, but he will more often in the future because Mr. Jones put it in his head. Oh that every man in his life could be like Mr. Jones!
One of the great frustrations in my job is the lack of solid, positive male role models in the lives of my children. Some because they don’t have fathers; some because the fathers they have are poor examples. I was so thankful for Mr. Jones last year, and John and Mr. Noles. They were daily examples of strong, positive men and they are missed. How I long to see more men of such caliber! I want to encourage men to be a “Mr. Jones” to children within the sphere of their influence. You guys just don’t know how valuable and vitally important you are! Somewhere, there are little eyes watching you, seeking to know how a man should be . . . so be men:
who “find favor in the eyes of the Lord” Genesis 8:8
“whom the Lord knows face to face” Deuteronomy 34:10
“after His own heart” 1 Samuel 13:14
whose “good understanding produces favor” Proverbs 13:15
Whose “gentle answer turns away wrath” Proverbs 15:1
Who “love at all times” Proverbs 17:17
Who “are the light of the world” Matthew 5:14
Who “walk by faith” 2 Corinthians 5:7
“Of whom the world is not worthy” Hebrews 11:38
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Sitting in Seats & Talking & Other Things Happening in Cars
I love road trips. Taking a road trip is one of my most favorite things. My favorite road-trippin’ buddies are my best friend and our dogs. We’ve yet to all be in a car together, but I’ve taken a trip with both dogs and it was quite fun. I love taking trips with Sophie. For the most part she loves being in the car. She likes to keep her paw on my wrist as I shift gears and she doesn’t throw up much.
There are some great tunes abounding for the seasoned road-tripper. When Jenny and I go, we’re total Shania Twain freaks. Neither one of us really listen to her unless we’re stuck in a car together. For Sarah and I, there’s a lot of Van Halen, Lyle Lovett, Cake, Shawn Colvin, etc. At least once, “Under Pressure” by Queen with David Bowie will be played. Sarah’s David Bowie and I’m Freddie Mercury. I can even hit that really high note just before the bridge. It’s not pretty and I really shouldn’t, but I can.
I love the conversations that arise in the course of the road trip. Some can be raucously funny and some can be preciously poignant. You can learn a lot about a person when you are confined to a small space together for several days and several hundred miles, especially at night. I don’t know what it is about being in a car in the vast darkness of lonely roads, but the walls come down. People say things, share things that they can’t put into words in the daylight—unless of course we are talking about my mother, and then this concept does not apply. If you know anything about my mom, you understand. It’s all psychological really. Night brings with it a veil of sorts that allows all others to fall away.
Here lately, I’ve come to really treasure the journeys I take alone. The longest trip I’ve ever done by myself was Lubbock to Arizona to visit the parents of a friend. I got to cross New Mexico and see parts of it I’ve never seen before. I drove through the Plains of San Agustin where the Very Large Array (VLA) is located. The VLA is that long line of radio antennae that stretch across the plain and was briefly featured in the film “Contact” with Jodie Foster. It was a pretty cool spectacle and very odd topographically speaking. Something about the lay of that land messes with your visual/sensory perception. Even though I was driving at a high rate of speed, I felt like I wasn’t moving at all. Trust me, I was going fast.
I like to sing in the car and have my tunes along, usually Sister Hazel. I’ve compiled a CD with all my favorite Christian music that I really love. The great thing about driving by yourself is that you can sing as loud as you want and no one is going to be offended. I usually try to sing all the parts at the same time in any given harmony. It’s humanly impossible, but I try. Even more than that, I love to turn off the radio and sing all the devotional songs I know. Again, since I’m by myself, no one has to get hurt. And anyway Psalm 100:1 says, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord . . .” It didn’t say anything about it being pretty.
The thing I like best about traveling alone is the time it affords me to pray, really pray. I can talk to God about all the things I mean to day in and day out, but often forget for procrastinating. I can pray for each person on my mind and speak to Him in earnest on their behalf. I can bring to Him the things pressing on my own heart, nothing withheld, as much as I need. I’m less likely to fall asleep while driving, which is easy to do in bed. I’ve found myself dozing off even when I’m on my knees and the sun’s still shining. It’s just me and Him in the car, though. And I can take the time to praise Him and thank Him for all He has done for me.
What are your favorite happenings, etc., in a car on a journey down a long and winding road?
There are some great tunes abounding for the seasoned road-tripper. When Jenny and I go, we’re total Shania Twain freaks. Neither one of us really listen to her unless we’re stuck in a car together. For Sarah and I, there’s a lot of Van Halen, Lyle Lovett, Cake, Shawn Colvin, etc. At least once, “Under Pressure” by Queen with David Bowie will be played. Sarah’s David Bowie and I’m Freddie Mercury. I can even hit that really high note just before the bridge. It’s not pretty and I really shouldn’t, but I can.
I love the conversations that arise in the course of the road trip. Some can be raucously funny and some can be preciously poignant. You can learn a lot about a person when you are confined to a small space together for several days and several hundred miles, especially at night. I don’t know what it is about being in a car in the vast darkness of lonely roads, but the walls come down. People say things, share things that they can’t put into words in the daylight—unless of course we are talking about my mother, and then this concept does not apply. If you know anything about my mom, you understand. It’s all psychological really. Night brings with it a veil of sorts that allows all others to fall away.
Here lately, I’ve come to really treasure the journeys I take alone. The longest trip I’ve ever done by myself was Lubbock to Arizona to visit the parents of a friend. I got to cross New Mexico and see parts of it I’ve never seen before. I drove through the Plains of San Agustin where the Very Large Array (VLA) is located. The VLA is that long line of radio antennae that stretch across the plain and was briefly featured in the film “Contact” with Jodie Foster. It was a pretty cool spectacle and very odd topographically speaking. Something about the lay of that land messes with your visual/sensory perception. Even though I was driving at a high rate of speed, I felt like I wasn’t moving at all. Trust me, I was going fast.
I like to sing in the car and have my tunes along, usually Sister Hazel. I’ve compiled a CD with all my favorite Christian music that I really love. The great thing about driving by yourself is that you can sing as loud as you want and no one is going to be offended. I usually try to sing all the parts at the same time in any given harmony. It’s humanly impossible, but I try. Even more than that, I love to turn off the radio and sing all the devotional songs I know. Again, since I’m by myself, no one has to get hurt. And anyway Psalm 100:1 says, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord . . .” It didn’t say anything about it being pretty.
The thing I like best about traveling alone is the time it affords me to pray, really pray. I can talk to God about all the things I mean to day in and day out, but often forget for procrastinating. I can pray for each person on my mind and speak to Him in earnest on their behalf. I can bring to Him the things pressing on my own heart, nothing withheld, as much as I need. I’m less likely to fall asleep while driving, which is easy to do in bed. I’ve found myself dozing off even when I’m on my knees and the sun’s still shining. It’s just me and Him in the car, though. And I can take the time to praise Him and thank Him for all He has done for me.
What are your favorite happenings, etc., in a car on a journey down a long and winding road?
Friday, December 19, 2008
Tagged by Paige
1. Post rules on your blog.
2. Answer the six “4″ items.
3. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving them a comment.
4 Things I Did Yesterday: Went to work, packed up part of the kitchen, had dinner with Jeff & Amy +3, spent first night back in my house
4 Things I Look Forward to: Ladies Bible Class, the Open, unconsciousness, heaven
4 Things On My Wish List: Books, ipod dock, unconsciousness, personal vegetable cutter
4 Restaurants I like: Carino's, Glazed Honey Ham, Taco Bell (YES, I like Taco Bell!!!), The Burger House
4 Favorite TV Shows: Scrubs, 24, Arrested Development, The Secret Life of the American Teenager
4 People I Tag (You’re it): Susan, Tim, um . . . . ????
2. Answer the six “4″ items.
3. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving them a comment.
4 Things I Did Yesterday: Went to work, packed up part of the kitchen, had dinner with Jeff & Amy +3, spent first night back in my house
4 Things I Look Forward to: Ladies Bible Class, the Open, unconsciousness, heaven
4 Things On My Wish List: Books, ipod dock, unconsciousness, personal vegetable cutter
4 Restaurants I like: Carino's, Glazed Honey Ham, Taco Bell (YES, I like Taco Bell!!!), The Burger House
4 Favorite TV Shows: Scrubs, 24, Arrested Development, The Secret Life of the American Teenager
4 People I Tag (You’re it): Susan, Tim, um . . . . ????
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Grace Sufficient & New Resolve
(This is post is quite long. Consider yourself warned.)
I have been contemplating the apostle Paul a lot lately. This contemplation was prompted by some frustrations about things I’m experiencing in my life right now and an ongoing discussion with a friend whose wisdom is greater than my own. I have a thorn in my flesh, a plague on my spirit, so who better could understand such things than Paul? My thorn is clinical depression. It is something I have struggled with for most of my life. I don’t know that this is the place to elaborate on how much I wrestle with it, but I will say that it is a hard road to walk as it affects mood, physical well-being, perception, and relationships.
At the beginning of 2008, some very special friends and I decided to ask God for one thing that we wanted for ourselves, one thing that He would do in our lives this year. My request was to be completely healed of this wretched affliction. I was tired. Tired of what it does to me, tired of it affecting all aspects of my life. If anyone can make me well, it is the One who made me. So I began to pray every single day that God remove this thorn from me. For a while there in early Spring, I thought that He was granting my request. I was feeling so good and not having bad nights anymore . . . it was wonderful while it lasted and now we are at the final few weeks of 2008. I’ve felt pretty low and have had a lot more bad nights since the Spring, the most recent being two nights ago.
What is God doing with me? I wondered. Why am I not healed? Am I not praying right? How could He possibly want me to live this way? Couldn’t I do more for Him, be more for Him if I were healthy in spirit? These and thoughts in this vein have been tormenting me for weeks now. I realize that the year is not over yet and that God could do something really amazing in the days that are left. It was these thoughts that prompted the dialogue with my much wiser friend in Christ, who reminded me of Paul’s struggle in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10. Paul says his thorn was a “messenger of Satan”—reminiscent of Job, perhaps?—that kept him from becoming arrogant. “Concerning this I entreated the Lord three times that it might depart from me. And He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you . . .’” 2 Cor. 12:8 & 9 (NAS) Did this comfort Paul or make it easier to deal with his affliction? Or was it just truth that Paul had to hold onto when he wanted to give up or give in? These were questions that my friend put to me as he tried to help me make sense of my own struggle. 2 Corinthians 12:7-10 seems to indicate it made it easier for Paul, but we only really know what the Word tells us. Personally, I think he must have clung to those words at times when there was nothing else to be done.
What I envy in Paul’s situation, is that God spoke to him directly . . . ”My grace is sufficient . . .” Except for the notion of actually being spoken to by God likely scaring me to literal death, I feel I could endure anything if He’d just say to me, ”My daughter, this is the way it has to be.” God said it. That settles it, right? As it is, I have found that I have an easier time of it if I just live as though He’s said so.
I had an epiphany in Bible class today. We were studying Luke 9:51-62 and how Jesus “resolutely set His face to go to Jerusalem” knowing full well what awaited Him there: betrayal, torture, a trial, and death. He was going to do what He was sent by the Father to do. Not only that, He was resolved to do it. “Unwavering adherence to one’s purpose” was one definition I found for resolve. It fit nicely with the lesson today because Jesus didn’t let anything deter this final journey to Jerusalem. Not the unwelcoming Samaritans, not the fact that He had no place to lay His head, not His family, not His simpler past before He began His ministry, and not the horrors He knew He would face at the end of the road. His purpose was to put an end to the enslaving power of sin once and for all, to die for His creation—you and me. The point? That if He could do all of that for us, should there be any concerns about what it will cost us to follow Him?
That’s when all these thoughts muddling around in my head went “click” into place. I was able to see, really see, how God’s grace has been sufficient for me, how it would always be. My friend had suggested that I adjust my prayers for healing to say, “God, take this cup from me, but if You choose not to, use it to Your glory.” I know that He has used it because of Barb, a Canadian woman I met through an online support group, who put on Christ this past summer. I never would have met Barb if not for this thorn. There are a lot of things in my life that would be completely different were it not for my struggle with depression. I would perhaps have had a lot less heartache, but I finally realize that I would be missing so much more. I don’t know that I would have ever come to the Open. I don’t know that I would have taken the road that led me to be a school teacher. I don’t know that my relationship with God would be what it is today. I don’t know that I would be so utterly certain of my own salvation, if not for this thorn. What I do know is that I can't imagine my life without these things and I would not trade them.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (NIV) I found my healing today. Not in actual terms, rather in my understanding. And I have found a new resolve: If Jesus can go through what He went through for my sake on the cross, I can live with depression for His sake and follow Him. My prayer is that He will in every circumstance be glorified through it. I will not be deterred by what others—family & friends—say or do. I will not waver because of inconvenience, discomfort, fear, or pain. I will not look back. I am resolved.
I have been contemplating the apostle Paul a lot lately. This contemplation was prompted by some frustrations about things I’m experiencing in my life right now and an ongoing discussion with a friend whose wisdom is greater than my own. I have a thorn in my flesh, a plague on my spirit, so who better could understand such things than Paul? My thorn is clinical depression. It is something I have struggled with for most of my life. I don’t know that this is the place to elaborate on how much I wrestle with it, but I will say that it is a hard road to walk as it affects mood, physical well-being, perception, and relationships.
At the beginning of 2008, some very special friends and I decided to ask God for one thing that we wanted for ourselves, one thing that He would do in our lives this year. My request was to be completely healed of this wretched affliction. I was tired. Tired of what it does to me, tired of it affecting all aspects of my life. If anyone can make me well, it is the One who made me. So I began to pray every single day that God remove this thorn from me. For a while there in early Spring, I thought that He was granting my request. I was feeling so good and not having bad nights anymore . . . it was wonderful while it lasted and now we are at the final few weeks of 2008. I’ve felt pretty low and have had a lot more bad nights since the Spring, the most recent being two nights ago.
What is God doing with me? I wondered. Why am I not healed? Am I not praying right? How could He possibly want me to live this way? Couldn’t I do more for Him, be more for Him if I were healthy in spirit? These and thoughts in this vein have been tormenting me for weeks now. I realize that the year is not over yet and that God could do something really amazing in the days that are left. It was these thoughts that prompted the dialogue with my much wiser friend in Christ, who reminded me of Paul’s struggle in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10. Paul says his thorn was a “messenger of Satan”—reminiscent of Job, perhaps?—that kept him from becoming arrogant. “Concerning this I entreated the Lord three times that it might depart from me. And He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you . . .’” 2 Cor. 12:8 & 9 (NAS) Did this comfort Paul or make it easier to deal with his affliction? Or was it just truth that Paul had to hold onto when he wanted to give up or give in? These were questions that my friend put to me as he tried to help me make sense of my own struggle. 2 Corinthians 12:7-10 seems to indicate it made it easier for Paul, but we only really know what the Word tells us. Personally, I think he must have clung to those words at times when there was nothing else to be done.
What I envy in Paul’s situation, is that God spoke to him directly . . . ”My grace is sufficient . . .” Except for the notion of actually being spoken to by God likely scaring me to literal death, I feel I could endure anything if He’d just say to me, ”My daughter, this is the way it has to be.” God said it. That settles it, right? As it is, I have found that I have an easier time of it if I just live as though He’s said so.
I had an epiphany in Bible class today. We were studying Luke 9:51-62 and how Jesus “resolutely set His face to go to Jerusalem” knowing full well what awaited Him there: betrayal, torture, a trial, and death. He was going to do what He was sent by the Father to do. Not only that, He was resolved to do it. “Unwavering adherence to one’s purpose” was one definition I found for resolve. It fit nicely with the lesson today because Jesus didn’t let anything deter this final journey to Jerusalem. Not the unwelcoming Samaritans, not the fact that He had no place to lay His head, not His family, not His simpler past before He began His ministry, and not the horrors He knew He would face at the end of the road. His purpose was to put an end to the enslaving power of sin once and for all, to die for His creation—you and me. The point? That if He could do all of that for us, should there be any concerns about what it will cost us to follow Him?
That’s when all these thoughts muddling around in my head went “click” into place. I was able to see, really see, how God’s grace has been sufficient for me, how it would always be. My friend had suggested that I adjust my prayers for healing to say, “God, take this cup from me, but if You choose not to, use it to Your glory.” I know that He has used it because of Barb, a Canadian woman I met through an online support group, who put on Christ this past summer. I never would have met Barb if not for this thorn. There are a lot of things in my life that would be completely different were it not for my struggle with depression. I would perhaps have had a lot less heartache, but I finally realize that I would be missing so much more. I don’t know that I would have ever come to the Open. I don’t know that I would have taken the road that led me to be a school teacher. I don’t know that my relationship with God would be what it is today. I don’t know that I would be so utterly certain of my own salvation, if not for this thorn. What I do know is that I can't imagine my life without these things and I would not trade them.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (NIV) I found my healing today. Not in actual terms, rather in my understanding. And I have found a new resolve: If Jesus can go through what He went through for my sake on the cross, I can live with depression for His sake and follow Him. My prayer is that He will in every circumstance be glorified through it. I will not be deterred by what others—family & friends—say or do. I will not waver because of inconvenience, discomfort, fear, or pain. I will not look back. I am resolved.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Why I Hate the Mall
I hate the mall because it is the road to hell . . . hell being financial ruin in this scenario. What I really hate are the kiosks that run down the middle of each concourse of the mall. I had a plan tonight, a single-minded plan to go in, get what I needed--some Love Shack body spray from the GAP and dinner at Chick-Fil-A--and get out. As a general practice for many years now, I don't make a lot of eye-contact with people. Why? I don't know, don't want to appear that I'm staring, don't want to see gorgeous men react to me staring, don't want to encourage scary men to approach me, don't want anyone to steal my soul . . . ? I've realized however that I could miss a lot of things if I don't look people in the eye: eye color, facial features, hair color, approximate height/weight of potential criminals. I would be useless as a witness to a crime because I don't look people in the face. So I've begun to make a point of looking people in the eye more here lately.
When in comes to being in the mall, this application flies out the window, especially where those people manning the kiosks are concerned. Let me be specific here, I'm talking about the foreigners. My fellow, native-born American citizens just sit and and wait for you to approach them. My fellow American immigrants view eye-contact as and invitation that they must RSVP at all costs. I walked out of GAP and she was standing at her kiosk, lotion locked, loaded, and ready to fire. Our eyes met and I was cornered. I let her lotion my hands, I let her buff my nail and soften a cuticle, and then firmly told her I wasn't interested. So she turned it up a notch, she let me smell all the fabulous scents the fabulous lotion came in. Then she whipped out the entire kit in the scent I liked best. I remained firm--I'm not spending $70 bucks on a mani/pedicure kit! She came down to $40, "just for you" and I told her she was Satan, but that I'd do it so she'd let me go. I gave her my credit card and before she ran it she looked at my face thoughtfully. Before I know it she has a q-tip and is dabbing this cold, cream-like gel under my left eye. She tells me about the eye gel, that it is made from natural ingredients, which she lists, but I can't really understand each one because of her accent. Then she shows me a magnified mirror and says, "Tell me if you notice difference." I look carefully and . . . are my? . . . holy moly! My laugh lines are smoother and less noticeable on my left eye than my right!!!
Now, I'm just completely undone. Totally sucker-punched and unable to walk away without that gel . . . HOW much? $120?!?!?!?? I said, "No way! There is just no way I can conscience spending that kind of money on eye gel!" I'm but a poor, country school teacher! She comes down $20 and offers to throw in the mani/pedi-kit "as gift for you." Yeah, still can't do that. She asked me which I wanted more, the eye gel or the kit. The eye gel, of course! She comes down to $75 for the gel & the kit is "my gift to you." I said, "You ARE the devil!" She plays mock shock really well, "I'm an angel!" She rings it all up and puts in a bag for me. I find out she's Israeli, not Russian as I had first guessed. She acts insulted, but seriously, in this town? You don't run into Israelis everyday. "Can I go now?" I ask, I really am defeated. "Yes," she says, "hug?" I hug her and get back on my path to Chick-Fil-A. As I am walking past the kiosk with the fabulous hair straighteners, the young foreign chap working that gig catches my eye . . . DANG IT!!! Stop looking people in the eye! "Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks charmingly. I smile and tell him that I really have to keep going. He must be invisibly leashed to that booth because he only chased me so far down the concourse, gave me a disdainful glare for refusing him, and returned to his post to make eye contact with some other unwitting soul.
As I walk out with my dinner, intended and unintended purchases, I heave a great sigh. I sigh because I hate the mall and the fact that I didn't have the strength or enough appreciation for my laugh lines to say no. I also shake my head because it just underscores the fact that in some places, eye-contact is completely overrated.
When in comes to being in the mall, this application flies out the window, especially where those people manning the kiosks are concerned. Let me be specific here, I'm talking about the foreigners. My fellow, native-born American citizens just sit and and wait for you to approach them. My fellow American immigrants view eye-contact as and invitation that they must RSVP at all costs. I walked out of GAP and she was standing at her kiosk, lotion locked, loaded, and ready to fire. Our eyes met and I was cornered. I let her lotion my hands, I let her buff my nail and soften a cuticle, and then firmly told her I wasn't interested. So she turned it up a notch, she let me smell all the fabulous scents the fabulous lotion came in. Then she whipped out the entire kit in the scent I liked best. I remained firm--I'm not spending $70 bucks on a mani/pedicure kit! She came down to $40, "just for you" and I told her she was Satan, but that I'd do it so she'd let me go. I gave her my credit card and before she ran it she looked at my face thoughtfully. Before I know it she has a q-tip and is dabbing this cold, cream-like gel under my left eye. She tells me about the eye gel, that it is made from natural ingredients, which she lists, but I can't really understand each one because of her accent. Then she shows me a magnified mirror and says, "Tell me if you notice difference." I look carefully and . . . are my? . . . holy moly! My laugh lines are smoother and less noticeable on my left eye than my right!!!
Now, I'm just completely undone. Totally sucker-punched and unable to walk away without that gel . . . HOW much? $120?!?!?!?? I said, "No way! There is just no way I can conscience spending that kind of money on eye gel!" I'm but a poor, country school teacher! She comes down $20 and offers to throw in the mani/pedi-kit "as gift for you." Yeah, still can't do that. She asked me which I wanted more, the eye gel or the kit. The eye gel, of course! She comes down to $75 for the gel & the kit is "my gift to you." I said, "You ARE the devil!" She plays mock shock really well, "I'm an angel!" She rings it all up and puts in a bag for me. I find out she's Israeli, not Russian as I had first guessed. She acts insulted, but seriously, in this town? You don't run into Israelis everyday. "Can I go now?" I ask, I really am defeated. "Yes," she says, "hug?" I hug her and get back on my path to Chick-Fil-A. As I am walking past the kiosk with the fabulous hair straighteners, the young foreign chap working that gig catches my eye . . . DANG IT!!! Stop looking people in the eye! "Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks charmingly. I smile and tell him that I really have to keep going. He must be invisibly leashed to that booth because he only chased me so far down the concourse, gave me a disdainful glare for refusing him, and returned to his post to make eye contact with some other unwitting soul.
As I walk out with my dinner, intended and unintended purchases, I heave a great sigh. I sigh because I hate the mall and the fact that I didn't have the strength or enough appreciation for my laugh lines to say no. I also shake my head because it just underscores the fact that in some places, eye-contact is completely overrated.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Brave in the Attempt
A few years ago before I became a Life Skills teacher, I went with the high school Life Skills class as a sponsor for the Special Olympics Summer Games. My friend Bonnie was the head coach and needed some extra help. If you've never attended a Special Olympics event, I highly recommend it. There is nothing like it. A couple of weeks ago, at Bonnie's behest, I volunteered to work part of the Special Olympics Bowling competition. I was feeling pretty low that day and had considered backing out, but I followed through and was so glad I did. It really lifted my spirits.
One of the things I love most about Special Olympics is the Athlete Oath: "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." One of the guys in the group I was overseeing had "Being brave in the attempt" on the back of his t-shirt. It is an amazing experience to watch people with disabilities give their all in athletic endeavors. They are so focused and determined and the joy on their faces when they achieve their goal . . . I find myself envying them. I see how much the athletes struggle just to roll a bowling ball. They don't care about what they look like, they just want to make the strike.
It humbles me.
I'm struggling with some things at the moment, primarily depression and sleep issues. Those things affect how I perceive my world, my life. I am frustrated over the things I've always longed for and don't have. I'm wrestling with my weight because the doctor told me I need to lose quite a bit by May. I'm weary of the thoughts in my head that keep assaulting what I know is the truth. I'm tired of being afraid and everything seeming so hard . . . and then I spend time with Special Olympic athletes.
No matter how hard I may have to fight in my own life, I will never have to fight as hard as they. Do they want to win every game they play? Maybe, but in being brave in the attempt they can be proud of themselves for not letting their struggles and limitations hold them back. I let everything hold me back. And then there is that oath, that oath that sounds more like a prayer: "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." Of all the words that I could use to describe myself, "brave" does not make the list.
I know that I cannot heal from things if I don't put in the work. I know that I will never have the things that I want if I never try. Perhaps I am not meant to be healed. Perhaps the things I want were never intended for me. Here is what I know: By the grace of God through the blood of Christ I have already won. But I still have to be here until He calls me home, so here is my prayer:
"Father, let me live--REALLY live as though I have already won.
But if I stumble while living, help me be brave in the attempt."
One of the things I love most about Special Olympics is the Athlete Oath: "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." One of the guys in the group I was overseeing had "Being brave in the attempt" on the back of his t-shirt. It is an amazing experience to watch people with disabilities give their all in athletic endeavors. They are so focused and determined and the joy on their faces when they achieve their goal . . . I find myself envying them. I see how much the athletes struggle just to roll a bowling ball. They don't care about what they look like, they just want to make the strike.
It humbles me.
I'm struggling with some things at the moment, primarily depression and sleep issues. Those things affect how I perceive my world, my life. I am frustrated over the things I've always longed for and don't have. I'm wrestling with my weight because the doctor told me I need to lose quite a bit by May. I'm weary of the thoughts in my head that keep assaulting what I know is the truth. I'm tired of being afraid and everything seeming so hard . . . and then I spend time with Special Olympic athletes.
No matter how hard I may have to fight in my own life, I will never have to fight as hard as they. Do they want to win every game they play? Maybe, but in being brave in the attempt they can be proud of themselves for not letting their struggles and limitations hold them back. I let everything hold me back. And then there is that oath, that oath that sounds more like a prayer: "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." Of all the words that I could use to describe myself, "brave" does not make the list.
I know that I cannot heal from things if I don't put in the work. I know that I will never have the things that I want if I never try. Perhaps I am not meant to be healed. Perhaps the things I want were never intended for me. Here is what I know: By the grace of God through the blood of Christ I have already won. But I still have to be here until He calls me home, so here is my prayer:
"Father, let me live--REALLY live as though I have already won.
But if I stumble while living, help me be brave in the attempt."
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Mavericks in a World Gone Rogue
Given the political uproar in our great nation of late, I thought I'd make use of a recurring term in all that din: "maverick". I laugh when I think about Tina Fey's Sarah Pallin on Saturday Night Live saying that she and McCain would get "all mavericky" once they made it to the White House. Often "rogue" is used in a similar context as maverick, but the words are quite different. A maverick is someone who doesn't conform to the standards around them. A rogue is someone who delights in evil, a villain. We live in a world gone rogue. Sin abounds, is overlooked, and sometimes--more often than not, in truth--is glamorized and glorified. Tolerance is the new buzz word. And people who care nothing for God's word or His ways will be the first to quote, "Judge not, lest you be judged. . ." (Matt 7:1ff) How those words have paralyzed God's people into ineffectiveness and apathy.
I was talking with a friend the other day about this very thing. Someone was doing wrong and someone else, fully aware of its utter inappropriateness said, "Well, I shouldn't judge . . . " My friend was incensed at this response. "People are so afraid of being 'judgmental'--wrong is wrong!" As God's people we are obligated to call wrong what it is. Even more than that we are obligated to call wrong what God calls it: sin. It should bother us as it bothers Him. Understand, though, that we are equally obligated to treat sinners as God does, as well, with love and grace. Anything God did in the Bible to bring sinners to repentance was done in love. Sometimes, especially in the Old Testament it is hard to comprehend how God's actions toward His Hebrews could be loving.
I've recently begun a study in Isaiah, an undertaking that daunts me. Isaiah is a challenging book to read and understand. I've avoided it for years because I didn't think I was smart enough on one hand and on the other hand, I was pretty sure it would not only confuse me but also scare the heck out of me. I know a lot of harrowing events were occurring in Israel during Isaiah's lifetime, so I wasn't sure that I wanted to really get up close and personal with those things. However, in my studies over the last year or so, I've come across many comforting, inspiring verses in Isaiah. My curiosity began to get the better of me as I learned more about the way God loves and has always loved His own. To help me in my endeavor, I've enlisted the help of Jim McGuiggan's The Book of Isaiah. So far, I have yet to get to the actual book of Isaiah part. McGuiggan lays out some important information necessary in understanding Isaiah in the beginning of the study.
He mentions God's response to sin saying, "In dealing with sin, God is not being loveless. Holiness is love refusing to live at peace with sin!"
Those words put God's love for Israel into a context that I had never grasped before. He loved them so much, but they continued to reject His love. He was going to save them in spite of themselves, so He spared a remnant from destruction and promised them a Savior who would free them from the oppression of sin for all time. Jesus showed them God's love in a way they could truly see. He healed their wounds, physical and spiritual, and gave Himself as the ultimate sin offering. In a world of spiritual apathy, Jesus was a maverick who inspired renewal. In a time of legalistic practice that could never save souls, Jesus restored humanity to its Creator.
We find ourselves in a similar situation today as God's people: A world of tolerance that confuses acceptance with approval. Paul admonishes us in Romans 12:2 "Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world . . ." This world where political correctness is prized over truth and righteousness. We are the mavericks in this world of self-gratification. Called by God to call sin by its name and to teach His truth in love. It's time to get mavericky!
I was talking with a friend the other day about this very thing. Someone was doing wrong and someone else, fully aware of its utter inappropriateness said, "Well, I shouldn't judge . . . " My friend was incensed at this response. "People are so afraid of being 'judgmental'--wrong is wrong!" As God's people we are obligated to call wrong what it is. Even more than that we are obligated to call wrong what God calls it: sin. It should bother us as it bothers Him. Understand, though, that we are equally obligated to treat sinners as God does, as well, with love and grace. Anything God did in the Bible to bring sinners to repentance was done in love. Sometimes, especially in the Old Testament it is hard to comprehend how God's actions toward His Hebrews could be loving.
I've recently begun a study in Isaiah, an undertaking that daunts me. Isaiah is a challenging book to read and understand. I've avoided it for years because I didn't think I was smart enough on one hand and on the other hand, I was pretty sure it would not only confuse me but also scare the heck out of me. I know a lot of harrowing events were occurring in Israel during Isaiah's lifetime, so I wasn't sure that I wanted to really get up close and personal with those things. However, in my studies over the last year or so, I've come across many comforting, inspiring verses in Isaiah. My curiosity began to get the better of me as I learned more about the way God loves and has always loved His own. To help me in my endeavor, I've enlisted the help of Jim McGuiggan's The Book of Isaiah. So far, I have yet to get to the actual book of Isaiah part. McGuiggan lays out some important information necessary in understanding Isaiah in the beginning of the study.
He mentions God's response to sin saying, "In dealing with sin, God is not being loveless. Holiness is love refusing to live at peace with sin!"
Those words put God's love for Israel into a context that I had never grasped before. He loved them so much, but they continued to reject His love. He was going to save them in spite of themselves, so He spared a remnant from destruction and promised them a Savior who would free them from the oppression of sin for all time. Jesus showed them God's love in a way they could truly see. He healed their wounds, physical and spiritual, and gave Himself as the ultimate sin offering. In a world of spiritual apathy, Jesus was a maverick who inspired renewal. In a time of legalistic practice that could never save souls, Jesus restored humanity to its Creator.
We find ourselves in a similar situation today as God's people: A world of tolerance that confuses acceptance with approval. Paul admonishes us in Romans 12:2 "Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world . . ." This world where political correctness is prized over truth and righteousness. We are the mavericks in this world of self-gratification. Called by God to call sin by its name and to teach His truth in love. It's time to get mavericky!
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