Then Ben met Julia. In her he found a kindred spirit. She was someone who both challenged and complimented him. Early on, I knew she was "the one". I remember his startled expression when I asked him if he could see himself marrying her. He quickly said he could. My heart swelled with the joy I saw in him. When I looked back at the long, arduous path it took for him to get to that point, I fought back tears.
Unplugged and uncensored
Tuesday, August 3, 2021
Brown-eyed Boy
Then Ben met Julia. In her he found a kindred spirit. She was someone who both challenged and complimented him. Early on, I knew she was "the one". I remember his startled expression when I asked him if he could see himself marrying her. He quickly said he could. My heart swelled with the joy I saw in him. When I looked back at the long, arduous path it took for him to get to that point, I fought back tears.
Friday, April 2, 2021
It's a Good Black Friday
This morning I said "it's black Friday". My husband gave me side-eye. I take a lot of meds, so sometimes I mess things up or say the wrong word. It happens more than I care to admit. He usually knows what I mean, but I still get "the look". Anyhow, after we established that it was Good Friday, it got me thinking.
To the early Christians this was indeed a black Friday. The week leading up to today had been a tumultuous one. Jesus started the week, victoriously riding into town to the praise of the townspeople. I can only imagine what it must have been like to be in that crowd. The throngs of people waving palm branches and laying their cloaks on the road before Him. The roar of the crowd as they called out to him, each one hoping to get his attention.
By mid-week they weren't cheering for him anymore. Lies. Riots, Sham trials. A bogus death sentence. All that in a span of 6 days. Humans are fickle. My heart hurts to think of it all. As a mother, I can only imagine the anguish she felt to see her son treated so maliciously. I can see her as she followed behind the crowds, desperately wanting to help him.
As afternoon came on, he had hauled his cross through the town and up that crazy hill. He was exhausted and dehydrated. Every muscle ached. Blood ran down his face, dripping from where they shoved the crown of thorns into his head. His back was shredded from the beating he received. I'm sure the pain was immeasurable. By the time they hoisted that cross into the hole in the ground, he'd gone from media darling to tabloid fodder.
When he breathed his last breath, the world shuddered. I'm sure the disciples thought it was over. Their leader was dead. That was the cold, hard truth. They had watched him die. They knew he was moved to a tomb. Suddenly, they were scared. Confused. Alone. To them, it was a very black Friday. They didn't know that Sunday was coming. They didn't know what a gift had been given to them. The resurrection of Jesus is what made this Friday good.
This Easter weekend, I will reflect on this. Perhaps, I'll watch "The Passion of the Christ". It helps me, sometimes, when I have a visual example to see how Black Friday turned into Good Friday. It makes my heart sing! Down the Via Dollorosa, all the way, to Calvary.
Happy Easter everyone!
*credit: Sandi Patti
Sunday, March 28, 2021
In '92 a Baby Girl Brought Heaven to the World
Thursday, March 18, 2021
Leaning
I stood at the kitchen sink, staring out the window into my backyard. I've been having a tough time lately. So many things are weighing heavy on my heart. A judge who disbelieves my doctors' diagnoses, and denied me disability. A global pandemic that keeps me isolated even more than usual, robbing me of time with friends and family. The torturous process of scheduling a Covid vaccine. The added stress of these things (and more!) increasing the amount of pain I experience daily.
As I stood there I started humming. It was a song from my childhood that I haven't heard in years. "What have I to dread, what have I to fear leaning on the everlasting arms?" I struggled to remember the words. They didn't come to me, but the tune did. By the time I got to the chorus, "leaning, leaning safe and secure from all alarm, leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms", I was in tears.
Leaning. It sounds so easy. I picture someone leaning up against a tree, peacefully watching what is going on. That didn't really describe how I was feeling.
Leaning. No, more like desperately clinging. I picture someone clinging to a palm tree in a hurricane, holding on with all his might because that's his only hope.
Over the next few days, the song stayed in my mind. I finally googled it just to find out what the lyrics were. I found myself humming it throughout the day. It was on my mind when I fell asleep, and there when I woke. "What a fellowship, what a joy divine, leaning on the everlasting arms; what a blessedness, what a peace is mine, leaning on the everlasting arms." Sometimes it brought tears. Always it brought peace.
One time, I had a flashback and I heard my dad's tenor voice, leading this song in church. I closed my eyes, wet with tears, and listened as he sang. I was back in my childhood church. I heard the others singing, but my dad's voice rang out, "leaning, leaning, leaning on Jesus, leaning on the everlasting arms". Peace washed over me.
I started leaning on God when I was a very little girl. He was the palm tree in what was the hurricane called my life. He was safety and strength. He rescued me from a horrible situation, and gave me a new family. He was peace and calm in the midst of fear and chaos. And He continues to be.
The first time I saw him, I saw a grandfatherly figure. His eyes were tender, and his arms outstretched to me. He stood on a porch, with a big rocking chair. He reached out to me, and I leaned into him.
I often go to this place when I am afraid.
Frustrated. Overwhelmed. Disheartened.
Sometimes I lean, sometimes I cling. But I am always comforted. As this song continues to play in my heart, I'm reminded to lean, to find comfort, to allow Him to handle it all.
"what a fellowship, what a joy divine, leaning on the everlasting arms
what a blessedness, what a peace is mine, leaning on the everlasting arms;
leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms,
leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.
What have I to dread, what have I to fear, leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace with my Lord so near, leaning on the everlasting arms"
Tuesday, December 15, 2020
What Gifts Are You Giving?
I love to give gifts. I like the look on a loved one's face when they open a gift and realize I paid attention to something they said months ago. It's even better when the gift isn't something they told me about, but I found something perfect.
I like the shopping process. Going to the mall and perusing my options. At times, things jump out at me and I just know. Other times, it takes more thought. I have to dig deep and really think about the person I'm shopping for. But it's always a gift.
In a "normal" Christmas season, I would have spent a day shopping with my daughter and daughter-in-law. We'd leave early in the morning and drive down to Delaware. It's nice to visit a mall that has different stores than we're used to seeing. Delaware being a state with no sales tax is nice, too, because our money goes just a little farther.
We would spend the day shopping. Laughing. Having fun. Then I would buy lunch or dinner, and we would head home. My heart would be full after spending that time with two of my favorite people, shopping for other favorite people.
We didn't get to do that this year. One more thing Covid stole this year. I had to shop online, which I find so impersonal. I found myself missing the shopping trip. I missed spending time with "my girls". I even missed my daughter-in-law teasing me: "we must be going shopping. Regina's got on those ripped jeans". So many little things that I took for granted. As I cried, yes cried, about missing that trip and not being able to properly shop for Christmas presents, I began to think about the gifts we (my husband and I) have given to our children.
We taught them the importance of hospitality. Our doors were always open, and everyone was welcome. I liked people, when they were in my home, to feel like they were at home. People rooted through the fridge, and answered the door. There was always a meal for whoever needed one. Our kids knew our family was different from their friends' and were quick to invite them over. We didn't know at the time what people were going through, but welcomed them in.
We taught them the importance of eating together. We always ate dinner together. It didn't matter if there were sports or other activities. Dinner together was a priority. Phones weren't, and still aren't, allowed at the dinner table. This made us pay attention to each other. There definitely was some chaotic times, but what I remember is the laughter and just talking. Even now, when we do get together for a meal, the kids and I linger at the table long after we've finished eating. It's about connection.
We were open with them about financial difficulties. That doesn't mean we went over our bills and bank statements with them, but we didn't always have money for "extras". We would have conversations with them, on their age level, about choices we had to make or why we couldn't buy the things their friends had. I think this helped them go into marriage with realistic expectations, not expecting to instantly have everything.
We taught them that people are people. Our children were exposed to people from all different cultures and walks of life. Rich, poor. White, brown, black. Physically or mentally abled different from us. We tried to treat everyone with dignity and respect. I'll admit this was a challenge when our daughter came out, then started bringing her now wife around. It was messy. We could have done better. Ultimately, I want to love people. I want them to feel loved. Period. I think our kids got this.
We taught them to be good humans. We wanted them to know that their actions always impacted others, whether for good or bad. To always leave people better than they found them. To offer healing, peace, understanding in the midst of pain, hurt and confusion. To love people.
So, while my gift giving looks quite different this year, I know there is one very important gift I've given my kids. They know I love them.
What gifts have you given? What are you going to start giving?
Saturday, November 21, 2020
Have a Good Cry
My heart hurts.
Unbeknownst to me, my heart has silently been mourning all the things this stupid pandemic has cost me this year. Mother's Day with my mom. Father's Day with my dad. My daughter's wedding reception. My parents' birthdays and their anniversary. A friend's wedding. The annual festival in my home town. My sister's birthday. And, now, Thanksgiving.
I've been robbed. I took for granted the time I got to spend with my family, and now I don't have it. This pandemic has created a fear of togetherness. It's isolating. Generally, I like to be alone, but I didn't expect this to affect me like it has. I didn't expect it to last so long.
My kids have lived apart from me for years. Often in other states. We've celebrated holidays together and apart before, but it's never felt like this. We also had the ability to visit with each other whenever we wanted. Now, I settle for sporadic visits and fleeting minutes in coffee shops and parking lots. As I drove home from one of those meetings today, hot tears stung my eyes. Slowly at first. One hot tear at a time, burning my skin as it rolled down my cheek.
If you know me, you know I don't cry. I loathe it. Along with most other expressions of emotion; they make me uncomfortable. But tears are the worst. They make me feel weak. Childish. Exposed. It feels like I'm betraying myself, especially when I can't control it.
The tears came faster. My heart felt heavy in my chest. Every beat echoed in my ears like a drum. Grief washed over me. We won't get to spend Thanksgiving with our daughter and her wife. The loss filled me with sadness. The idea of them being alone, eating sandwiches, made me so sad. One more thing stolen this year.
I got home with red, swollen eyes. My husband was concerned. My crying makes him as uncomfortable as it makes me. I assured him that I was just sad. But as I went through the motions of making dinner, the tears fought to surface. I thought about how isolated I am. My autoimmune diseases put me at risk. Those who love me want to keep me safe. I get that, but how much longer will we have to be separated? This is a lot, even for someone who appreciates solitude. I'm sure as the week goes on, there will be more tears. It won't just be me. Our families, our neighbors, are all suffering the same loss.
Be kind.
Wednesday, September 23, 2020
... And I listened
I've got a fire in my belly. It's the kind that rises from deep within, when an ember of passion has been fanned. It had been squelched for quite some time, but it never went out. It was dormant, tucked away for safe keeping, until a safe time to re-emerge.
When I was in middle and high school, I wanted to be a social worker when I grew up. I wanted to help people, like I had been helped. However, somewhere along the way I was talked out of it. I was told there was no money in it, getting a job would be hard, it would be too much emotionally.
And I listened.
I went to a year of college, taking gen-eds, before dropping out to go to Youth With A Mission (YWAM). My time in YWAM stoked my fire. During my time there, I was really able to work on myself. I know that may sound like a cliche, but there was work to be done. As I worked to reconcile my past experiences and who God was, I seemed to develop a magnetic field around me. I was a magnet that attracted other abused women and children{it's so strange how we can sniff it out in others!}. I had many ministry opportunities that allowed me to interact with other broken and abused women and children. Their stories just poured out of them.
And I listened.
As I have listened to so many stories of hurt, trauma, and victimization one thing has become clear. We as a church do a really bad job of helping these women, often to the point of revictimizing them. We say "everyone welcome", which is true as long as you have it all together and look like us. We say we want to help but they remain marginalized. They sit in a corner alone. You know why? Because the modern church doesn't handle "messy" well, and messy is where these ladies and children reside. Working through their "stuff" is a process. A grimy, smelly, dirty process.
I've had periods in my life when I had more interactions with these women and children. It was some of the most fulfilling times. I felt a sense of purpose. The fire burned bright. But then I went through some awful things. I was revictimized by the church, by a pastor who knew my past and used it against me. I was shaken to the core. I began to question my calling, my ability to help, if I was even able to make a difference.
I shut down.
For the past several years I have been in a "ministry desert". I just didn't feel like I had anything extra to give. But my magnet continued to pull injured women to me. I gave what I had, though it didn't seem like enough.
I listened.
Over the last month, I have felt that ember fanned to flame. I feel a passion burning deep in my belly. I have a stirring that is pushing me forward. I have to do something. I just don't know what that looks like yet. I just know that I, that we the church, need to do better. It's time to reach out. It's time our arms pull in rather than push away. It's time I step out of my comfort zone and back into ministry. I don't know what that looks like yet.
But I'm listening.