cantcookalick

Recovering Hypocrite

2012-01-28T20:38:00.002-05:00

Hi. My name is Carol. I'm a hypocrite. Hopefully, I'm recovering...

I'm running a great risk saying those words. I know that. Some of you might quit following the blog or unfriend me on facebook...but, I gotta say this.

Have you ever heard yourself speak words of life and truth into the life of a friend...only to feel convicted that you should apply them to your current situation or crisis? Yeah? Me too.

I love God. With all my heart. I want to follow Him with everything in me. I know truth. I want it to not only live in my head but to settle down and breathe life into my weary heart.

But there are days when I struggle to see truth. When hope seems far away. When my faith seems fatal.
It's usually those moments when God brings someone along who needs encouragement. And, I find myself speaking truth to them...life giving, amazing, hopeful truth. Only to leave the conversation and return to my discouragement.

I so long for my heart and my head to align themselves and in perfect time waltz through life. But, tonight, it seems like they are dancing to different songs. The noise drowns out the desperate cry of my soul. And, once again, I find myself here...frustrated.

Maybe, I'm the only one. But, at the slim chance that I'm not...

Hi, my name is Carol. I'm a recovering hypocrite. What's your name?

Rehab

2011-12-30T15:33:00.004-05:00

I'm entering rehab. Not a physical place with counselors and restrictions, although I could.

I've been having some quiet moments with God over the last couple of weeks. Today, I felt impressed to list all of my areas of weakness. In order, to know the steps to take to solve the problem, you first have to admit that you have one. And I don't just have one. Nope. I filled a page of places where I go instead of where I should go. I don't want to. But it seems to be my default.

I was reading an author who has struggled with alcoholism and she said this: "When you try to hide or cover up your weakness, you are simply protecting your freedom to relapse."

My goodness. That's true. That's why I decided to write this post.

I need you to know that I am an approval addict. Just like an alcoholic that pours the last drop of liquor down the drain, I poured my heart out to my God over this issue. I want people to like and accept me. There's nothing wrong with that. But, when you allow it to consume you and become your goal, that's the problem. Most days I care more about what you think about me than what God thinks about me. This issue has led me down many a frustrating path to a place where never good enough and exhaustion collide. You would think I would learn after awhile. I am trying.

But, this week as I have reflected on the last year and looked with anticipation towards the New Year, it's been the one thing that I can't get out of my mind.

I'm on my way. I've taken the first step. And I'm not crazy enough to think that just deciding I want to change is enough. There will be moments when I will slip and fall. That's when I will need my 'sponsors' to come alongside, dust me off and help me get back on the right track.

So, I challenge you, as the year draws to an end, to make a list of your weaknesses. Then, if you are brave enough, join me on this rehab journey with God that promises to change us forever.

I would love to hear what you are in rehab for. If you can't share it publically by leaving a comment, feel free to email me at cantcookalick@msn.com. I promise to pray for you every step of the way.

Trimmed Wick

2011-12-28T21:34:00.002-05:00

Have you ever watched a candle burn for an extended period of time? Probably not. But you know that when you extinguish the flame a black, limp wick droops sadly to one side and there awaits the next time when a flame approaches. If you don't keep the wick trimmed, the wick gets longer and causes the flame to dance wildly around and test the limits of its container. Not good if you are a candle.

But, tonight I watch and wonder.

It's a pondering time of year for me. When I look back at the days behind and hope for better in the days called future.

And I can't take my eyes off the wick.

Probably because the days that are behind me are reminding me of my relationship with my God.

I've had a flame burning in my heart for Jesus since I first met Him. Honestly, there have been seasons of time when it has burned brighter than others. But, it's never been extinguished. Safe. Measured. Controllable. But, still a flame.

Ouch.

In my conversation about God, you would hear the marks of a woman of faith. But in the secret place of my soul, I have wanted a God I could predict, manipulate, control. A God who didn't ask me to do crazy things or abandon my reputation for His will. Just like the wick. I wanted to keep Him trimmed. Close. Within my comfortable boundaries.

But, tonight as I watch a flame dance wildly around the perimeter of a jar, I wonder if this is the freedom that I have been longing for. Is this the place where I don't have to understand every circumstance but choose to simply trust Him because of who He says He is? Is this the adventure I have been missing?

I can't help but feel that the answer is yes as a gentle wind blows through and the flame sways from side to side.

My will burns away when I refuse to trim the wick and let God do His work. His wild, extravagant work that I cannot contain...

I'm ready. Are you?

Broken Ornament (Re-post)

2011-12-08T13:00:00.001-05:00

I decorate with the end in mind. Not the "Oh my, how beautiful your house looks," end. I decorate with the "how long is it going to take me to put all this stuff away?" end. To say I am a minimalist decorater, would be accurate. Just enough to know it's Christmas, but not too much to worry with after the holiday is gone.

That is...until this year.

Seems that the Christmas spirit has descended upon my precious 3 year old and she thinks, if it is sitting still, it should have a bow or some tinsel draped around it. :) It's so much fun to watch her little eyes dance at the sight of twinkling lights. I even let her put up a purple Christmas tree in her bathroom.

Don't ask.

So, when it came to decorate the 'big' Christmas tree, of course she jumped right in. All of the ornaments are at 3ft. or below. And during the night, the ornaments seem to move into convenient little groups. It makes me smile. We have lost a few glass balls in the process. But, a small price to pay considering the joy that decorating has brought my little one. I took the broken ornaments and placed them back into the plastic container, thinking I would get rid of them at a later time. After my little elf was in the bed I sat sipping on some hot tea, remembering the fun we had shared when I noticed the broken ornaments.

But, I couldn't throw them away.

There, in the glow of the lights, I opened my Bible and listened as God taught me a thing or two about broken ornaments.

or·na·ment noun \ˈȯr-nə-mənt\ Definition of ORNAMENT 1archaic : a useful accessory 2a : something that lends grace or beauty b : a manner or quality that adorns

Seems a fitting definition. But, I still didn't understand what God had in mind. I am an ornament? Hang with me. I am a broken ornament. You ever feel that way?? Becasue of my brokenness, celebrating has been tough for me the last couple of years. God knew that. And so, no accident that I was staring at the broken ornaments and hearing from God.

Here is what he said:

1 - You were created to be broken. Since the beginning of time, we were created to be broken. God knew that we could never make it without Jesus. Our brokenness is the avenue that we come to know him.

2 - Displayed not discarded. In the world's economy, if it's broken, you throw it away. Not so in God's book. Brokenness is the very place where God shows off. Sarah Young in Jesus Calling, puts it this way: Jesus says: "Do not fear your weakness. It is the stage where My Power and Glory perform most brilliantly."

3 - I need a Savior. News flash! :) My brokenness reveals my deep need for a Savior. It's no mistake that His name will be called, "Wonderful Counselor"...cause I have days that are not wonderful. More days that I just need someone to talk to. There's a reason that His name is "Mighty God"...for those days when I don't know if I can put one foot in front of the other. "The Everlasting Father" when I need to know I am not alone. "Prince of Peace" in the midst of my choas. (see Is. 9:6)

So, this year, I will hang a broken ornament on my tree as a reminder to me that the brokenness I have experienced is just an ornament of His grace and glory. How about you?

Roots

2011-11-20T21:05:00.002-05:00

Roots. They can anchor you and bind you.

If you need to be strong, you want your roots to grow deep. If you want to get to the root of the problem, you want them to let go easily and not hang on.

My roots seem to have it backwards. The ones that were meant to anchor me jerk out of the ground when the storm winds blow. While the ugly roots of my issues are buried deep and hang on when I desperately struggle against them.

The Master Gardener uses the tools necessary to unearth the roots that have attached themselves to unhealthy places. Painful but necessary. My soul resists and longs for the safety of dark, deep, comfortable soil. And, yet, He continues to carefully search to find that one place that can't release itself.

My anchoring roots, I want to grow and develop overnight. Yet the root of my problems has been developed and nurtured over a lifetime. Tended by me and fed by my own foolish pride. Creating a system of strong insecurity and paralyzingly fear.

This is not how it was intended to be. I know that in my heart. I want so desperately to be free to grow and anchored deep...yet the root of my problem continues to choke out any healthy growth at all.

Today, and many days ahead, I must decide which one I will choose to feed.

The Lazy Load

2011-11-10T13:38:00.002-05:00

An interesting thing happens on my weekly trip to the grocery store.

As I pull into my carport, I feel the overwhelming desire to carry everything in one trip.

I don't know why. But, I line plastic bags, arm through the loop, until I can hardly stand. I must carry everything in one trip.

The plastic tugs my arm towards earth and I struggle and stumble across the threshold, dropping all the bags just to the right of the door.

And in some strange way, I feel a sense of pride. Pride that I don't have to make another trip. Pride that I've been able to drag all my culinary treasures and scatter them all across the linoluem. Bread squashed. Eggs broken. Can dented. But, I only made one trip. And the circulation in my right wrist will return in a couple of hours and all will be well.

I shared my one trip pride with the high school guy who bagged my groceries.

He said, "I call that the lazy load."

I carry a lazy emotional load.

I drag all of my issues and problems before God in hopes that I will make into His presence and scatter them all at His feet. He'll wave His magic wand and I will stand stright issue free and ready to change the world.

Yea. Right.

I feel God whispering to my heart.

"Lay dow your lazy load. Bring me those bad habits, nursed wounds, damaged emotions, broken promises. You can bring them all. But, know that YOU can only handle me dealing with them one at a time. Stop the struggling, stumbling, rushing to make it and rest in my sanctifying love that is working in you every day. It's ok to make more than one trip. That's why I want to meet with you everyday."

And now I see...there's more work to do...than I can handle in one day. And a God patient enough to love me through every trip.

Blindfolded

2011-10-25T10:55:00.002-04:00

A child stands blindfolded...holding a broom handle...trying to sense where to swing next. The pinata sways just out of reach. Stance taken, broomstick drawn, then a swing and a hope to connect. But, the rush of air catches her best attempt.

At first, fun...adventurous.

After the third swing, frustrating...cumbersome.

The child, in aggravation, removes the blindfold, to see how close or far away she is from the target. Discouraged she never connected. Never hit the mark. No candy.

Some days, I see God so clearly. I know what He wants me to do. I feel His heartbeat and walk in step with Him.

Other days, I feel blindfolded. Like I am swinging in the dark at a target that is just out of reach.
Expending all of my energy at an attempt for the sweet reward of His presence. Trying, striving, reaching, swinging....

In frustration, I want to give up. I try to remove the blindfold to see how I missed something that comes so easily for others. I can't see you clearly. I feel as if the world has spun me around and asked me to swing for the moving target that is just out of reach. I stumble and weave, just trying to stand. They laugh and tell me 'their way.' I listen for a moment and then realize that it is taking me farther away from you.

So, I return to the quiet. I drop my weapons. Lose the will to fight, to swing, to strive. And you meet me there. Pouring out your presence and settling my soul.

It's Your peace that removes the veil. And now, I can see clearly once again.

"Not in trying, but in trusting...
Not in running, but in resting...
Not in wondering, but in praying...
That we find the strength of the Lord."
-Larnelle Harris

Trust?

2011-10-23T22:08:00.002-04:00

Trust.

A precious commodity.

The currency of the soul.

We measure it out and distribute it only to those that seem to really grasp it's value. We examine every portion. Cautious. We let go and give it away.

At times, it's held with great care. Treasured. Valued.

Other times, it's discarded for personal gain. Carelessly thrown away. Dismissed as if it never mattered.

I so desperately want to trust. But, honestly, it scares me. The promise that trusting holds is euphoric but the pain that it often delivers is almost unbearable. So, I am forced to chose. Do I protect and hold on to this currency of my soul? Or give it away in hope that sharing it will somehow make it grow? Do I recount the many times that I have trusted and lost? Or hope for the many opportunities to trust and win?

Or is it simply a question of trust in God? Do I really know what it means to trust Him? Or do I even entertain that a holy God would even want me to trust Him?

I want to know Him more. But, maybe He is asking me to trust Him more. To bankrupt my soul by throwing all of my trust His way. And to stop handing out coins, to those who don't know there value.

WINNER of A Confident Heart!!

2011-10-11T14:57:00.003-04:00

Hi gang! Sorry it has taken me so long to post a winner! My account was hacked and I haven't had access!!! Thank you so much for your posts and words of encouragement to me and to one another!

So, better late than never.

Drumroll, please! The winner of the copy of Renee's book, A Confident Heart is....

A Journey for Life!!!!! Please e-mail you address to me at cantcookalick@msn.com.

Labels

2011-10-05T00:02:00.002-04:00

If you are stopping by after reading my Damaged Goods devotion from Proverbs 31 Ministries, thank you for stopping by to say hello.

Labels. The world slaps the sticky words on and they are hard to remove. We tug and pull and eventually shake free but the label residue remains waiting for the first opportunity to latch back on to to our weary heart. What's your label?

Divorced?

Addict?

Liar?

Cheater?

Depressed?

Loner?

No matter the label, can I share something with you?? Labels were never meant to isolate, they were meant to identify. No matter what you've done, that's not who you are. Just like the label on canned goods, God's label for you tells the value of what's on the inside. He says you are holy, dearly loved, honored, precious in His sight, valued. But, the world only judges what they see on the outside. God knows you better than that.

So today, I would like to challenge you to let God's label identify you. You are His. Identified with Him. Chosen for Him.

If you struggle with your confidence in Christ, you are not alone. Renee Swope's book, A Confident Heart is a book I would love to put in your hands. If you will simply leave a comment, with your favorite quote or verse that gets your through those hard days, you will be entered into a drawing on Oct. 7th for Renee's book, and with every comment, know that I will be praying that you can shed the label that the world has given you and walk in the freedom of God's identity for you!

Flunked

2011-09-26T22:18:00.002-04:00

In college, I took a logic class. It was part of our basic curriculum and it made my head hurt when I read the syllabus. I didn't have high hopes for this math class because I was more of a PE and creative writing kind of girl.

The first day of class came and something amazing happened. I understood it. Nobody was more surprised than me. I got giddy as I answered questions. It clearly annoyed my classmates.

But, after class was over, the gals who lived on my hall followed me to the cafeteria and I led an informal tutoring session on logic. Me. Carol. I know, a mathematical miracle.

Exam time came and I held private tutoring sessions and study halls to ensure that everyone would pass the test with flying colors. I encouraged all my classmates as they filed into the classroom and shuffled the test papers. I was so pumped. With enthusiasm, I insisted we celebrate our great test grades with a trip to our favorite burger joint. Not everyone shared in my excitement.

Days passed. Tests were evaluated. Grades posted. I celebrated with each classmate as we read down the lsit of grades. They all passed with flying colors. Then, there was my name...

I flunked.

How could this have happened?? I had practically taught the class myself!!!!

I learned an important lesson the day a red 64 graced the upper right hand corner of my exam paper.

You can study the material all day long and be really poor at applying it.

I would like to tell you that I learned that lesson well in the hallowed halls of Mars Hill College. Unfortunately, I find myself still learning that lesson today. Especially in my spiritual life.

Verses I've memorized. Stories I've studied. Texts I've read. All are familiar in my mind. But, when the test comes, I fail miserably.

Luckily, this Teacher grades on a curve.

And, there's plenty of room if you need a refresher course. You are welcome to come sit by me.

But, I am not so great in applying them to everyday life.

The grounder got me...

2011-09-12T19:44:00.002-04:00

I played softball as a kid. But, not for long.

I remember a hot, summer day and a game by the river. The dust rose as cleats shuffled out to take their places firmly planted in the red, clay Carolina soil. I took my spot just over the left shoulder of the pitcher at second base. I hunkered down as the first batter approached the plate. It was good for me to play close to the action because of my tendency to be easily distracted.

The crack of the bat sent a grounder my way and I positioned myself for an easy grounder. All was week, until my grounder met a jagged rock from the Carolina clay. The ball picked up speed and whirred just over my strategically placed Rawlings mitt. Stopped in acceleration by one intensely freckled nose. I stood stunned, not sure what to do next. The crowd gasped and my teammates stood frozen. By that time, the intense pain began and I felt the first trickle of blood drop on my clean game day jersey. My knees buckled and I went face down in the dirt.

Humiliated, hurt and dirty, I left the game.

I quit the next week.

I'm back in the dugout today. But, not the one that lines a softball field. No, I'm on the sidelines of life today. I used to be on the field looking good in my uniform, playing my position well. Until life threw me a curve ball and I replayed the scenario that is part of a childhood memory. Only, the wounds were deeper, the humiliation stronger, the reputation soiled.

So, my job is to wait. On the sidelines. And watch.

Cheer for you as you play your position. Pray that the grounder won't get you.

But, in case it does, I'm the one who understands. The one who walks alongside. And the one that will not let you quit. You can rest, recover, heal. But, you aren't allowed to quit.

It will take more than random rocks in the Carolina soil to take us out.

God is at work. Don't quit before He is done.

Rejected but Qualified

2011-08-29T10:42:00.002-04:00

Rejection. I don't handle it well. It's like the kiss of death for this recovering people pleaser. But, as bad as I hate it, I have encountered it quite a bit, especially over the last several years of life.

I want to belong to something. To be accepted. Sometimes to a fault. Sometimes so much that it consumes me. Gets me off track. Distracted. Often distraught.

So, I breathed a sigh of relief this morning when I read this:

1 Peter 2:4
"As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him—"

When I approach Jesus, I am not coming to One who doesn't understand that empty feeling of being left out, the sting of a turned back, the ache of a push as the circle closes. No, I am approaching One who is well acquainted with rejection.

But, in this I find hope. Jesus' rejection qualified Him for the cross. Multiple times in the Old Testament, it was prophesied that he would be "despised and rejected." (Is. 53) It was as if the rejection was one of his qualifications for the Cross.

So, could it be that the rejection that I experience could be qualifying me for a calling on my life? Could it mean that I stop wallowing in my victimization and embrace the very thing that God could use to prepare me for what is next?

I would love to hear your thoughts.

How to "Be"

2011-08-09T10:52:00.001-04:00

Funny thing about faith.

I am not good at just being. I am a do-er.
When I come to a struggle, I want a list of things to do. My brain goes into overload trying to find solid ground to stand on instead of the mire that is taking me down. And most of the time, I work myself into a bigger mess. You think I would learn. But, I haven’t.

I find myself in one of those places today.

Stuck.

Wishing desperately, I could find someone who could tell me what to do next.

But, the counsel that I have received tells me just to be.

To stop trying to jump through hoops and perform my way out of the struggle.

To quit trying to reason why I am here and strategize a way out.

To stop raking through my life looking for another reason that God won’t move.

Stuck.

And, yet…I don’t know how to be.
To just “be” sounds very spiritual to me. Deep. Reflective. Peaceful.

A picture of a place that appears on the resumes of the great cloud of witnesses that wonder when I will ever ‘get it.’

SO, today, I am wrestling with how to ‘be.’

2011-07-28T08:56:00.003-04:00

My shoulders shook as my words were engulfed by sobs. If I could have formed words, I am not sure they would have made sense.

I was sharing my heart with a wise woman. I carry a huge burden for someone who hurt me deeply.

Before you go thinking that you should pat me on the back and think how 'godly' that is, let me tell you the truth. I am way too selfish, protective and prideful for that. I don't have the capacity to put aside my tender feelings and my wounded heart in order to love. I know me. Maybe that's what has me so undone.

For years, I sat in a seat of judgement towards those who didn't know Jesus or were living far away from Him. I would shake my head and correct them with my religious vernacular like a school marm correcting a disobedient student. I don't ever remember shedding a tear over a soul.

1 Corinthians 13:1
Amplified Bible (AMP)
IF I [can] speak in the tongues of men and [even] of angels, but have not love (that reasoning, intentional, spiritual devotion such [a]as is inspired by God's love for and in us), I am only a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

I was that noisy gong. The clanging cymbal.

Until I messed up big enough for the God of heaven to withdraw His offer of grace. But, He didn't. He stayed. He loved. He forgave.

So, today, the tears linger in the wings and when the person who hurt me so deeply comes to mind, my eyes well up with tears. One or two break through and escape my defenses.

I can't explain it. But, in my heart, I know, that this is grace. God is teaching me a lesson about His grace by burdening me. I am different for bearing it. Changed by the weight. Humbled by the gift.

This is God's grace at work in me.

A picture is worth a thousand words...

2011-07-25T10:17:00.003-04:00

A picture is worth a thousand words. I've heard that phrase my whole life.

A moment captured with a lens and a flash. Smiles that never fade. Backgrounds that are static. Life that doesn't move...but is captured.

I find myself examining a picture today. Looking for a hint of what would follow after the snap of the photo. Wondering if I somehow missed a cue, ignored a hint, closed my eyes because I didn't want the truth. Pondering the count of 3 that produced the smile. It seemed so perfect, so precious, so right.

Odd to me that we seldom take pictures of tough, crisis times. Maybe it's because a kodak print can't hold the detail etched in our minds from the tragic. Maybe because we work so hard to get the negative images replaced in our mind. There are days I can't seem to forget. In perfect detail, my mind recreates the sound, the smell, the scene. And I am there once again. Those pictures are worth a thousand words, too. Eventually. The grief that follows and the long days that drag on, contain glimpses of growth and painful progress. But, we forget those images. We ignore the slow, painful steps that lead us to those moments we want to capture.

Today, if the image that you hold is in your mind or tucked in the pages of an album, it is worth a thousand words. Words rich with meaning and depth. Moments that have made you who you are today. Even if some of those are negatives, know that they are being fully developed by the One who promised to bring beauty from our brokenness.

Never needed grace...

2011-07-13T13:07:00.002-04:00

There was a time in my life where I thought I didn't need grace. I was a good girl. I did all the right things. I said all the right words. I played the part of Christian with ease. I didn't understand grace...much less need it.

I was harsh in my judgement. Critical in my observations. Pious in my opinions.

I was able to lean upon a righteousness that I had created. I wasn't gracious.

But, most thought I had it all together.

Today, is a different story.

I crave the grace of God like a spring in the desert. My heart aches for God's mercy to be liberally applied to the sinfulness of my heart. I can't take the next breath without grace.

I don't throw that word out carelessly, as if to trivialize the work God has done in my soul. No, I mean it today. It's not just a word I sing. A nice phrase I repeat. A careful arrangement of consonants and vowels that ease my guilt. This day, I understand grace.

I understand what it's like to stand gulit without a solid defense.
I am familiar with the circumstances that reveal the facade of my own righteousness.
I am acquainted with the fracture that are a result of my own mistakes.
When apologies no longer are accepted...
When manipulation ceases to produce the result I had hoped for...
When my selfish motives are exposed and the darkness of my heart revealed.

Today, I need grace. Today, I am in tears as I examine the unfailing love that embraces me, the one who seems to do nothing but fail.

And I am thankful for the journey that transported me to this place. For now, I feel it is necessary for me not only to know it, but to extend it as well...

I've Always Been a Performer...until today.

2011-06-28T13:45:00.002-04:00

She sat next to me at my kitchen table. The kids played in the background and we caught up on life. Eighteen years had passed since we'd last had a heart to heart. But, time stood still as we recounted crazy stories of college days and life since then. Babies born. Jobs lost. Hearts broken. Lives restored. It was so refreshing to pick up where we left off. When a matter of fact comment that she meant neither as judgement nor as a dagger, stopped me mid sentence.

"You've always been a perfomer."

And I knew she was right.

If there is one thing that I have learned in the latest years of my life, it's that just because this is the way I've always done it, doesn't mean it's ever worked.

God used that moment to plunge a splinter from the depths of my heart to the surface. This is the problem.

You see, I HAVE always been a performer. You give them what they pay for. I could tell by the expression on your face whether or not you were getting what you expected. I quickly could change from one character to another in order to meet expectation. At times it was a spiritual Bible girl, other times the goofy girl next door. When I exhausted my cast and the show was over, I would limmp behind the curtain to prepare for the next audience. At times I retreated to the sounds of a standing ovation...at other times, a disappointed sigh. Sometimes loved. At other times, hated. Most painfully, tolerated.

I even played that game with God. Accumulating Bible studies and spiritual accolades like medals of honor, in hopes that one day, someone would say...great performance. You are good enough.

I don't need to tell you how that ended. Most of you have witnessed it first hand. The stairway to the top that I built for my life crumbled under foot and I publicly took a tumble to the bottom. All the way to the bottom.

In the process, I realized that the performer in me is washed up. She's seen better days. She is no longer able to pull off the polished performances. Her squeaky clean reputation no longer earns her privileges. She has seen her final curtain call.

I've been well thought of and I have been trashed. Many tears have been shed about what 'they' thought. Today, I'm thankful for every one. It's helped me narrow down my audience to the only One who ever really mattered in the first place. And, He's not disappointed. He's not annoyed by me. He doesn't tolerate me. He loves me. Really loves me.

He loves you, too. The real you. Let Him.

I see myself in Peter's eyes...

2011-06-21T13:29:00.002-04:00

I used to look down on Peter. He walked with Jesus. He was there when Jesus performed miracles. He loved Jesus.

But, in the end, denied He knew Christ.

Matthew 26:73-75
Amplified Bible (AMP)

"After a little while, the bystanders came up and said to Peter, You certainly are one of them too, for even your accent betrays you.

Then Peter began to invoke a curse on himself and to swear, I do not even know the Man! And at that moment a rooster crowed.

And Peter remembered Jesus' words, when He had said, Before a [a]single rooster crows, you will deny and disown Me three times. And he went outside and wept bitterly."

How could he? Not once, but 3 times. He vowed he would never deny Christ and yet his actions betrayed his heart. His rollercoaster faith was the only thing that was consistent. When Jesus called him to walk on the water, he leapt out then quickly started to sink when the waves rose around him.

But, today, I see myself in Peter's eyes.

I've walked with Christ for awhile now. I've seen Him work in amazing ways. I love Jesus.

But, sometimes my actions betray my heart.

My failures deny that I know Him.
My unwise decisions declare my commitment to self.
My sin refuses His Lordship.
My pride contradicts my association with Him.

Today, I have a new appreciation for Peter's bitter tears. I find myself crying them too.

Show me...

2011-06-20T09:10:00.002-04:00

My 4 year old is desperately trying to tie her own shoes.

"Show me, Momma."

And so I start. Her memory is jogged so she takes over and forgets the steps that she had down pat in previous attempts. Finally, she gives up, in frustration with a knot that won't let go.

God whispers, "She gets it honest."

My face is puzzled as I try to understand.

And then I remember...

I pray, "Show me, God..."

And when He does, I let Him get so far until my memory is jogged. I remember that we've been here before. I find my independence and want to prove that I can do it on my own. So, I take over. I work hard and get nowhere. Finally, I give up in frustration and end up in a bigger mess. A knot that won't let go.

So, today, as God, once again, unravels my poor choices and dumb mistakes, I cry out...

"Show me, God...and give me the gift of stillness so I may see You complete Your work."

Vital

2011-06-15T10:17:00.003-04:00

I saw a sign for revival on my way to work today. My mind was flooded with images from my revival experiences.
...late nights...
...hard pews...
...folding chairs under canvas tents with sawdust under foot...
...loud preaching...
...crescendos...
...crouching broken hearts...

The sign also brought me to a verse I read recently.

Hosea 10:12
12 Sow righteousness for yourselves,
reap the fruit of unfailing love,
and break up your unplowed ground;
for it is time to seek the LORD,
until he comes
and showers his righteousness on you.

I blogged about that and have been spending a considerable amount of time rolling the thought of 'revival' around in my head. Because I feel like I need revival. Not because it's a scheduled event in my church year. Because, my heart feels parched.

I've been going through a Bible study about personal revival and combing through hidden places in my heart to look for a reason for this dry, desert time. This morning, I found it.

John 15:5
Amplified Bible (AMP)

5I am the Vine; you are the branches. Whoever lives in Me and I in him bears much (abundant) fruit. However, apart from Me [cut off from vital union with Me] you can do nothing.

I've read that verse a million times. But, reading it from the Amplified Bible gave me a new perspective this morning.

Vital...can't live without it. Union...joining of two to become one.

My vital union to Christ is the reason that I am in need of revival. Busyness. Schedules. Exhaustion. All get in the way of my vital union with Christ. Then, my heart dries up and desperation floods my emptiness.

So, today, I am asking God to teach me what it means to "abide." To truly live, dwell in Christ. Not a religious, going through the motions, super spiritual sounding act. I want to know the daily, practical, really get this into my heart, kind of abiding. I won't settle for anything less.

I can see it coming...

2011-06-12T21:06:00.002-04:00

Summer was a 3 month adventure for me when I was a kid. A simpler time when the last day of school was the first day of long, carefree days of bikes and forts and trips to the pool.

We lived within walking distance of the community pool. So, most days around noon, I could be found walking or riding the famlliar path that led to my relief from the muggy summer temperatures. I travelled that way at least a hundred times. I knew every dip and crevice that had the potential of sending me head first over the handlebars. I had learned from experience. But, I wasn't prepared for the challenge that awaited me on this particular day.

The weather report called for thunderstorms, which was not unusual. So, I ignored the warning and headed out. The trip was only 15 minutes tops and I was confident I could beat the storm, if it in fact, came our way.

So, I set out, the first leg of the trip was nothing unusual. The normal chase with a neighborhood dog and convincing my own mutt to head back so that he didn't end up on the highway.

But, then for some reason, my gaze caught the corner of a looming black cloud overhead. I peddled faster. The distant thunder taunted me. And, honestly, the faster I peddled the faster the storm seemed to move. We both raced to reach our destination. But, the storm seemed to stand in front like a bully forbidding me to pass.

I fought until my better judgement convinced me to climb off my bike and seek shelter. There was none to be found. The leaves of the trees provided a sparse canopy that only caught one of ever one hundred large, pelting drops of rain. So, I crouched and embraced my knees tightly and I waited.

It seems as if the storm stalled over me wanting to see just how long I would wait...how much I would endure. So, I held tighter and only loosened my grip as the rain began to subside.

Some days are like that. I ignore the warnings. I set out confident I can outrun the storm. I see it coming...and I peddle faster. Realizing that I am not fast or witty or clever enough, I desperately look for shelter and find none. Only to get caught in the middle of a torrential downpour. And so, I crouch and hold on tight and wait.

Prettied Up Pride

2011-06-01T10:08:00.002-04:00

It looks like humility from the outside, but it's really just prettied up pride.

God has been revealing areas of my heart that I always thought were humble. He is patiently peeling back the layers and showing me that at it's root, it's pride in it's worst form.

I 'say' I want to serve. Until it messes with my schedule or becomes inconvenient.

I 'say' I want to serve. Until I am disrespected or ignored.

I 'say' I want to serve. Until I don't get my way.

So, really...I want to be served. I am confessing so that you can hold me accountable.

Yesterday, it became crystal clear. I struggle with what I want, with my need to be valued, with my desire to respected. This morning as I read scripture some words really stuck out. Words like lowliness...willing to yield. Words that made me uncomfortable. A piercing light shone on my pretty humility. And upon further inspection, I gave up pretending and called it what it was. Pride.

"Pride leads to every other vice: it is the complete anti-God state of mind."
- C.S. Lewis

Not where I want to hang my hat...how about you?

Break up the fallow ground...

2011-05-19T21:01:00.002-04:00

My daddy had an old, rusted out red tiller. Every year when the time was right, he would awaken it from it's slumber in the corner of his workshop. Old red red would gulp down drinks of gasoline and finally cough and sputter to a start. With strong hands to guide her, she would make her way up and down rows of the garden breaking up the ground to welcome an assortment of seeds and plantings. She wobbled and dug deep with each turn of the blade. Soil in her path was bound to be turned over and unsettled.

That's immediately what I thought of when I read this passage:

Hosea 10:12
Break up your fallow ground,
For it is time to seek the LORD,
Till He comes and rains righteousness on you.

I can't get this verse out of my brains space. I can hear the sound of the tiller and see the sweat on my dad's brow as he carefully prepared his plot for planting. I can't help but think that God is doing the same thing in me. Unsettling me. Overturning my selfish motives and uncovering my hidden agenda. All the while preparing me for the seeds He desires to grow in a heart that is ready to welcome them. He's breaking up the hard, barren ground of my spiritual life to ready me for the next chapter.

As He moves the soil, I realize that I am finally ok with the not knowing of what is next. Because I trust that He is preparing the land and caring for the plot. He is responsible for the harvest. All of the sudden, the breaking of my hard heartedness, doesn't seem so scary anymore.

Great Expectations

2011-04-25T10:34:00.002-04:00

We have just come through a season of great expectations. Jesus is alive. He rose from the grave. The expectation was met as the disciples met...

Mark 16:14 "Later He appeared to the eleven as they sat at the table;"

The doubts of day 2 melted away as prophecy was fulfilled and Jesus did what He said He would do.

But, today...I have a feeling that you might be a bit discouraged. You celebrated Easter...you lived the thing out...with great expectations. You had prayed for a loved one or friend, invited them to church. They came. You sat with focused attention on all elements of the service, taking note of the climate during the worship and every spoken word. You watched God move in the lives of those around you and celebrated, knowing that your time was coming.

And nothing happened. No amazing surrender or drastic life change. The same person that you saw at work on Thursday, now sits in the cube next to you on Monday. No real reaction from the service, other than to say that the music was too loud or the sanctuary was too cold.

You thought this was the day. And, today, you wonder...why your great expectations were not met. Why the weekend took all your time and energy with no pay off.

I've had a couple of these times in my life.

But, I have learned that this day is the day that you make a choice.

A choice to believe.

A choice to pray.

A choice to trust that God is working even when you can't see.

This is the day when I walk through my motivation and realize that I was motivated by what was in it for me. I am disappointed because I didn't trust God for His timing. I was simply trying to manipulate the circumstance.

So, if you find yourself at that place, scoot over next to me and let's talk. It's not the end of your great expectations. Good thing about expectation is, there is no boundary when you trust God with it. He is able. In His time.

Maybe He is waiting for you to surrender your time table to fulfill your great expectations.

Day 2 (Repost)

2011-04-22T21:05:00.000-04:00

So, the last couple of days my mind has been focused on the Resurrection of Christ. An event that shaped the course of human history. 3 days that would change lives for ages to come. A story so BIG that I can hardly wrap my mind around it.

Day 1: Jesus is wrongly accused, mocked, severely beaten and put to death on a cross. His followers can hardly believe their eyes as they stand back and watch. How could this be happening? Why didn't somebody DO something?

Day 2: The earth stood still...and the people waited, the disciples wondered....was this all a joke? Would He rise again?

Day 3: The promise is fulfilled and the celebration begins. He is alive!!!! Hope is born with an empty grave!

And in the stillness of my car this morning, it occured to me...that life is like the resurrection.

Day 1: Tragedy strikes...the phone call comes. The news isn't good. Shock sets in. You can hardly believe what is happening.

Day 2: The grief begins. The pain is real. The doubts are HUGE. The questions unanswered. God is silent.

Day 3: The promise is fulfilled. The miracle happens. The deliverance comes. Hope.

But, for me...I am stuck on Day 2. I don't know about you, but life doesn't always turn out like I think it should. And sometimes, day 2 lasts for more than 24 hours. I mean, I know that Christ will return...and that I have hope. That's the BIG "for everybody" hope. Sometimes, I need some of the 'personal in my situation' hope. It's in the Day 2's of my life when I am forced to deal with the realities of living. And it hurts. Bad. Sometimes more than I think I can bear. And I am stuck in between the promise and the coming true. If only I knew when my Day 3 was coming....maybe you feel that way too. I don't know.

My faith is a work in progress. I am thankful for a loving patient God, who allows me to cry and wonder if my Day 3 will ever come. But, for today...I am stuck on Day 2. And, if you are there too....just reach out your hand...and we will walk toward Day 3 together. And maybe, just maybe...on the days that I can't see my Day 3...you can remind me to celebrate...the promise that it IS coming...and I can do the same for you.

Different Easter

2011-04-21T09:56:00.002-04:00

It happens every year. Plastic eggs and Easter grass flood the shelves of every store. Mom's search for white tights and comfortable white shoes. Bright colorful outfits appear in the closet. That is what my Easter celebrations have looked like in the past.

It's not that I didn't observe or acknowledge the sacrifice that was paid for me. It's not that I didn't believe in the resurrection of Christ.
But, this year, I know it.

I've been in the darkness where all hope seeems lost.
I've longed for there to be a different outcome.
I have felt the sting of betrayal.
I've been misunderstood.
I wondered why.
I've been broken.

And, it's for that very reason, that this year...Easter is different.

I know the power of hope resurrected.
I know the joy in seeing good come from evil.
I know the healing in death having no sting.
I don't understand it all, but I trust in the One that does.
And I know the relief of healing...by His wounds.

This year, Easter is different. Because I am no longer observing Easter. I am living it.

Letting Go...

2011-04-14T12:45:00.003-04:00

She shot out of the front door of daycare and was about 3 steps ahead of me when I snagged her hand. The excitement of her day bubbled over in giggles and details. She so wanted to run ahead. I stopped her at the bottom of the stairs. "Remember, the parking lot. You have to hold my hand." She reluctantly complied. But, every step she turned her hand to try to somehow escape my grasp. I held on tighter knowing the potential danger that weaved in and out of minivans and parking spots. I could see what she couldn't.

In that moment, God began to speak to my heart. In quiet conversations and silent wrestlings, I have pondered the phrase "letting go." Friends with wisdom have encouraged it. But, somehow my heart didn't understand it. The offer was enticing but I couldn't quite fully convince my heart that it was a smart move. I had so much invested. Countless tears. Sleepless nights. I mean, letting all of that go? Give up my right to visit the familiar pit of regret? Shed the shame of others expectations? Scary territory for a gal that had defined herself by the very things that she was being asked to give up.

There are times when my little girl wants to hold my hand. Begs for it fact. Reaches out for me when she doesn't have to. Then, there are times that I need her to hold my hand and she resists. I am trying to protect her, to keep her from danger, to keep her near. She fights with everything in her to get away. I hold tighter because I know when she is connected to me, she is safe.

God said to my heart: Letting go is taking my hand just because you want to be connected. Not fighting me and trying to go your own way. Letting go means you trust that I can see what you can't. Letting go of the things you hold so tightly, free you to fully embrace life with Me.

And so, today, I loosen my grip. My white knuckles relax and drop the weights that have hindered me and sought to separate. Today, your unfailing love motivates me to take your hand so I can be connected. Today, I let go...

Closure

2011-04-08T12:55:00.004-04:00

I must have been 5 or so the first time I had stitches. My mom introduced me to tuna. I liked it. When dinner was over I watched carefully as she placed the can in the trash. She turned to wash dishes and I went on a dive for more tuna.

Two things I learned that day. 1-Never dig through trash. 2-Sharp edges cut deep.

I am pretty sure that's the day I crossed criminal off my career list because I completely marked my fingerprint with the new gash. My mom and dad surveyed the damage and carted me off to the ER. The nurse confirmed that stitches were needed and they started the bribery process. It took 2 lollipops.

The nurse prepared the area and the doctor started the closure of the wound. If I think about it long enough, I can still feel heartbeat pulsing in my fingertip.

Today, you have to look close to see the scar. The wound healed. The stitches disolved. But, I still remember the lessons of that day. I still remember the cause of the wound. I still see the physical scar. But, you would never know 0f it unless I pointed it out.

We all go through times of deep woundedness. We all take steps of closure. We try to stitch together the flesh of life and circumstance and pray that healing comes. Through the process, we hope that one day that part of our heart will return to full functionality, but know, it will forever be changed. There will come a day when people will forget that you were wounded but, you never will.

Your job now is to point out the scar and point to the Healer.

Stay Where I Can See You

2011-03-31T10:31:00.002-04:00

Spring beckons my 3 year old girl outdoors. That makes me smile. She is just asking for a little independence and so, on a day when the sun shone brightly and household responsiblities shouted, I allowed her to play in the front yard by herself. With one rule: Stay where I can see you. She did. I aimed to get the house straightened and the dishes washed as she danced and jumped and giggled in the bright sunshine. But, I couldn't help but watch and smile. I felt God say to me, "That's how you are with Me." I knew He was right. I want God to stay where I can see Him. I want Him to stay within the bounds of my expectations. I want to always SEE Him. But, I struggle to trust Him. Never once did my little girl even entertain the thought that I might not be watching. Although she couldn't see me, she knew I was there. When I can't see God. I panic. When the way isn't clear, I get anxious. All of the sudden my emotions tap me on the shoulder and whisper, "Follow me. I will be glad to show you which way to go." And usually I do. I make a big mess. I've done it a thousand times. Then, I have dealt with the weight of the "I knew better" guilt. I find myself there today. Thankful for friends who held me accountable, saw me on the ledge and talked me down before I dove head first into a great big mess. So, today, I must decide to cling to the truth, even when I can't see God. To ignore my emotions when they scream, "This is the way!!!!" To keep my focus on what I know is true until I can see God again...

It's not an easy way out...

2011-03-27T19:51:00.002-04:00

This week, I encountered several conversations about divorce. Some people who are married view divorce as 'an easy way out' or a 'quick fix' to a problem. I have to tell you as I heard and read these explanations of divorce, my heart ached. Here's why: you will not find a person who will cheer you on in marriage more than this single mom right here. I feel like part of my ministry is to encourage my married friends to stay married. Divorce is the most intense pain I have ever known. You suddenly don't fit in anywhere. Everything changes. Even the Christian community changes the way that they view you and your life...and your service.

Divorce is not a way out...it's a way down.It's not an easy fix, but a hard brokenness. I can look over the past two years of my life and provide you with journal entries that prove that divorce sent me reeling to the very bottom. You are forced to face life alone. To start all over and build a new life from the pieces that are left.

Every marriage needs a healing divorced person to encourage them to stay. I was not prepared for the toll that divorce would take on me emotionally, mentally and physically. It was devastating. The shame that goes along with being a divorced person is enough to sideline even the strongest soul. I wish I would have had someone who had been through divorce to tell me what to expect and champion my marriage. But, for the most part, we suffered in silence, ashamed that we even found our lives at this place.

Maybe your marriage is just fine. Maybe you don't ever think that you will find yourself uttering the word, 'divorce.' Neither did I. But, if you ever find yourself entertaining the idea of divorce, I pray that God will remind you of this blog post. I pray you will add my email to your address book. (cantcookalick@msn.com). I pray that you will give me the opportunity to talk you down off the ledge of divorce back into a restored relationship. Because I couldn't very well call myself your friend if I didn't warn and try to protect you from the pain of divorce. Ask a person who is healing from divorce and I think they will agree...

Remember My Name?

2011-03-21T20:48:00.002-04:00

I loved school. The smell of old musty textbooks and sharpened pencils used to thrill my inner geek. I know...I am the weirdest person you know.

But, I hated when the teacher would do the roll call for attendance. Especially, the first couple of days of a new year.

See, I am a middle namer. My mom thought me to be more of a 'Carol' than a 'Leslie' but 'Leslie' just seemed to fit better as a first name. In fact, my mom had a streak going. My two sisters are middle namers too. Now that I am typing it out, it strikes me that my mom was the only first namer in my family. Leading me to believe she might have done this as payback for what was to come....

Back to the story. The first couple of days were torture. The teacher would call "Leslie Horn" and I would slide as far as my frame would allow under the wooden desk. I would try not to attract too much attention in hopes that my classmates wouldn't notice. As I answered a feeble, "Here," I would add, "I go by Carol." Depending on the number of distractions and other things on the teacher's mind, it might take 2 or 3 days until the change in the roll book was the name that I was called by.

Initially, I thought I had escaped too much teasing. There was a snicker here and a 'that's a weird name for you' look there, but I felt like I was safe. Until, recess. When we escaped the confines of lessons and instruction and were given free time, that's when my classmates stellar memory skills kicked into gear. Let the teasing begin. I handled it pretty well the first day. On day 3, I was hiding behind the gym in hopes that no one would miss me.

No matter what you've done or where you've been, if you have asked forgiveness, you have a new name. God calls you redeemed, forgiven, new. Problem is...nearly everybody in your life continues to call you by your old name...your old situation... your old sin. There you are on the playground of life being called by a name that embarrasses you, causes you shame, makes you hang your head. The first time, you deal with it pretty well. And with each additional call of your old name, you crumble, until you find yourself hiding behind the gym hoping no one will notice.

I hide there too sometimes. I thought I recognized you. :) What do you say we make a deal? I will start calling you by your new name if you call me by mine. And maybe, just maybe, the other kids on the playground will catch on. It's worth a try. I have a feeling that there are more kids than just me and you who long to be called by their new name.

Hope in What I Know of Me

2011-03-13T19:58:00.003-04:00

Hope can be tricky.
Sometimes it frustrates me. I would like to tell you that I am super-spiritual and always hopeful. But, that would be a big, fat, lie. Sometimes, hope seems cruel. Like a treat that is just out of reach. It automatically transports me back to childhood, when an older kid who had hit a grow spurt much quicker than I had, would dangle a piece of candy just out of reach and then invite me to jump for it. I jumped and I missed. Again, he taunts me to try harder, and I do. Closer, but still a miss. I continue to jump until one last leap gives way to tired legs and I tumble to the ground. Bystanders laugh as the older kid walks away with the treat and pridefully tosses the treat into his mouth just as I lift my head from the dusty earth that stopped my fall.
Sometimes, that is how hope feels to me.

Today, I made an interesting discovery about hope. I hope in what I know of ME. I know my weaknesses. I know my faults. I know just how many jumps I can make before I crumble under the weight of your expectations and my limited abilities. I know tht I am not capable of ever reaching the goal, fulfilling my call, seeing my dream come true, redeeming my past. None of that is possible because of what I know of me. Every time, I lose. Somebody else gets their prayer answered. Somebody else gets the reward. Somebody else gets the easy life. And they laugh as they enjoy their blessing as I fall again. That is exactly what happens every time I hope in what I know of me.

But, you, Jesus change everything. So, I muster just enough courage and strength to lift my face from the dirt and repent for hoping in what I know of me. I choose, instead to hope in You.

Romans 5:5
"And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, who he has given us."

Judgement

2011-03-09T10:57:00.002-05:00

I feel the heaviness in my gut. The weight that pushes my head to tilt forward and pulls my gaze to the ground. The shame that cloaks my whole being in the darkness of not being good enough. My failure...now confronted...causes me to cower, then to give in to the all to familiar feeling of despair.

I don't give time to think that everybody has failed. My mind never travels to the place that is crowded with other well meaning, good hearted people who have fallen prey to the guilt. No, I visit this place all alone. Those who have succeeded in the area I have failed, gather to give advice, shake their heads in disappointment and make their judgements about me. And I let them. In fact, I almost welcome them.

Until...my eyes land on this...

Romans 8:1 (The Message)

With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ's being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.

So, I square my shoulders, lift my gaze and make the choice. All alone.

John 8:10b-11 (NIV)

The woman was left alone. Jesus stood up and spoke to her. "Woman, where are they? Does no one condemn you?"

11"No one, Master."

"Neither do I," said Jesus. "Go on your way."

And as my feet shuffle on my way, I realize that it is now my mission to hold out that same hope to you.

I Decided Dreaming Wasn't Worth It

2011-03-02T19:47:00.002-05:00

I used to be a dreamer and I was brave. I would write my dreams down with the intentions of coming back to that page and writing another date in the margin in a different colored pen: the day that my dream came true.

Until I saw one of my dreams fall from the sky and shatter into a billion tiny pieces.

That day, I decided dreaming wasn't worth it. There was risk. There was hurt. The shame of failure mocked me and laughed at my silly little wish. No, I wouldn't be a dreamer anymore. It was great when dreams came true. But, I began to think that dreams were just for the chosen, for the special...not some ordinary somebody like me. My dreams were meant to entertain, not to come true. My mangled pride said it out loud. But, I knew my heart still had a vibrant imagination. She was just scared.

So, I waited.

Until the day came, when I was asked to step over the line. To actually apply this thing I call faith and do something risky. To most people, it wouldn't seem like that big of a deal...but, to me, it's huge. Because I could fail BIG TIME. I could look like a fool in front of my peers.

I've had flashbacks of every season of American Idol that I've ever watched. A sweet, well meaning kid that has big dreams, steps in front of the judges and they laugh him off the stage, while America looks on. Either anger or grief sets in and they are left to pick up the pieces and sift through the rubble of what they thought was their shot.

I know that feeling. It is my close companion tonight. And to tell you that I haven't met him before would be lying.

So, I guess all we can do now is wait. I am sure that if my efforts fail and my dream dies, there are lessons to be learned. I will be wiser for the experience and stronger for the hurt. But, my heart hesitates and holds her breath as we wait and dare to dream again...

Unexpected

2011-02-24T11:36:00.002-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I dropped a glass bottle in the bathroom. It shattered on the shower floor. I spent a considerable amount of time cleaning up the glass to put my mind at ease. I even vaccuumed out the shower...which I am pretty sure has never been done before. I finally was convinced that it was safe for bare feet to enter the area again.

So, I never even thought twice the morning after the incident. I leaned in and I was safe. Morning after morning I repeated my shower tradition with no thought of the danger that I had escaped.

Until this morning. Two weeks later. I bore my full weight on my right foot which happened to find the one shard of glass that had escaped my best safety measures. A place that I thought was safe, suddenly...unexpectedly became a place where I got hurt.

Reminds me of life. And healing.
I get to a point where I think I have arrived. I believe that I am healing. And I take a chance into a place that I think is safe, only to be wounded.
Just as I drew my foot quickly away from the sharp object this morning, I draw my heart quickly back into it's shell and declare to myself that I will never trust again. Never enter a vulnerable place. Never reveal the insecurities of my heart. Never. I decide that the loneliness hurts better than the pain of vulnerability.

For awhile...

And I realize that a wound that is left alone doesn't heal. Treatment deferred is healing deferred. The woundedness only reveals that there is more work left to do...more growing yet to take place...

Hiding may protect me but it also leaves me exactly where I am today.

So, I choose to cautiously bear the weight of my whole heart again and to step out again. Trusting that. ultimately, the One who made me will not let me be destroyed.

8th grade Valentine

2011-02-14T12:26:00.002-05:00

I learned the true meaning of love in the 8th grade from a kid named, Chad.

It was the first year that I remember realizing that girls got balloons and flowers from guys. Before that, it had always been the candy hearts and the red hot cinnamons. It never mattered to me before. In fact, it never even occured to me that it should matter.

But, in 8th grade, I knew. Because every other girl in my class got something for Valentine's day. I was empty handed. Somehow, the lie started to whisper in my ear, "Nobody likes you. You aren't as pretty as her....as popular as her...as valuable as her." I fell for it hook line and sinker. And although I wasn't the flower type girl, suddenly something in my soul longed for someone to notice me, value me, honor me. You see, not getting something said something about me.

I know that sounds selfish. But, I think somewhere deep inside all of our hearts, there is a place where we long for that.

So, Chad, a friend of mine noticed how bad it bothered me and he made a phone call. He spent his allowance to buy me some flowers and balloons so that I wouldn't go home empty handed. But, greater than that, he taught me what Valentine's Day is all about....

...looking around for people who need to know they are loved and valued...and doing what you can to let them know you care. Kind of reminds me of another guy who saw what a mess I had made of my life and stepped in to pay for all the wrong I had done. Flowers die. Chocolates melt. But I have found a love that will not let me go...

Thank you, Jesus. Happy Valentine's Day.

He said love. Deeply.

2011-02-09T10:30:00.002-05:00

I am working my way through 1 Peter. And last night, this verse stopped me in my 'spiritual' tracks.

1Peter 1:22
"Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart."

Love. It's the month of love. You will hear the word 'love' more in the next two weeks than you do all year. Candy hearts will send tender messages. Flowers will brighten the days of some. Cards will capture sentiments of our hearts. But, what does it mean to 'love deeply.'

I can't get it out of my mind.
Jesus loved deeply. As I look at his life, I see not one ounce of self protection in his life. He got hurt, he was betrayed, he cried...but, he never ceased to love.

"Well, yeah...but, He was Jesus." True. That's the thought I had when I first pondered this whole love deeply concept. He was perfect. But, he still had emotions.

So, human nature has made me withdraw. I don't want to risk love because I have been hurt. I avoid situations where there is even a hint of risk. I only love when I can 'manage' the relationship. When I stand to gain something, I love. When I get what I want, I love. When I get scared, I cut off the love all together and extend my arm to keep you away from my heart. Always protecting...always cautious. And that's not loving deeply.

Loving deeply is risking getting dirty. Deep love doesn't worry about my reputation or what others will think. My love barely skims the surface where your love goes to the bottom.

I can only love deeply when I realize I am deeply loved.

So, in a month where balloons and chocolates, cards and flowers threaten to remind me that I failed at love, I am choosing to believe in your deep love for me. I am begging for you to teach me how to love deeply. To tear down the walls. To open up my heart. To love like I never have before. To rest secure in the love that never fails.

When the broken is made whole...

2011-02-07T11:57:00.002-05:00

My mom had a lot of knick knacks when I was a kid. You know, the stuff you place strategically on the coffee table to draw attention and start conversation. That stuff that kids aren't supposed to touch. The stuff that has sentimental value and meaning. Well, being the curious personality, I always touched. Sometimes examined. Usually broke the knick knack.

I would always apologize. But, I never could quite tame my inner curiousity to touch and admire the precious object.

The Christmas bell is one I remember the most. My mom had placed it in our living room as an accessory to our Christmas tree and boughs of holly. It sat on the end table and begged for someone like me to ring it. So I did. Not once but twice. The sweet sound that tinkled from the tender ceramic bell was intoxicating. I couldn't quit ringing. Suddenly, my joyful ringing got a little too enthusiastic and as I thrust the bell into the air, the corner hit the end table and took a triangle chunk out of the bell.

I immediately flew into a panic. I knew this was one of my mom's favorites. How would I explain? Should I hide it? I mean, if you turned the bell just the right way, the fracture was not visible.

Eventually, my mom found the bell. I tried to explain but words failed me. As my punishment, my mother charged me with the task of fixing the bell.

I searched my dad's greasy, red and silver tool box for some sort of glue that might help me make it right. I found a unmarked bottle of pink glue that my dad had described to me.

I carefully squeezed a bit of the adhesive on the broken piece and placed it back into the vacant area. My young mind was skeptical. Would it ever ring again? Would anyone else enjoy the melodious ring of the bell? Had I ruined it?

I placed the bell on the shelf with pride. After almost an hour of repair, the hairline fracture was barely visible from a distance. I was proud. But, I still wrestled with the guilt of the sound of the bell...and whether or not it could be repaired.

The next day, I secretly made my way to the garage. I wanted to test it out before I turned in my assignment to my mom.

I handled it gently and touched the fracture piece to make sure that it would stay in place. And then, with anticipation...I gave it a ring.

The tone was different, but the sound was even more beautiful than I remember it being before the brokenness.

I thought of that after an experience this weekend.

Life breaks and falls apart. We trust God to put us back together...but, do we really believe in the beauty that He promises when we give Him all of the pieces? Be certain that the tone will be different...it will sound a lot more like grace. But, it will be beautiful. The sound of the broken being made whole...

Writing in the rain...

2011-02-01T09:52:00.000-05:00

It greeted me quietly. Rain drops gently tapping on the window pane. They made contact and slid one by one down the glass until they slipped to another plane. There is a peace. But, an unsettledness. I know that sounds crazy. How could they co-exist? Part of me longs for the color of sunshine when a grey day comes. It’s not that anything is wrong. It’s just that sometimes my heart feels attached to the rain drops that fall…and somehow I slide down leaving a path that is less than colorful.
My heart is grey. Not the alive, pulsing mass of muscle that it was created to be. No, today it’s quiet. Grey. Somber.

My little girl begs the question, “Momma, why rain? Today?” I struggle to find an answer that will satisfy her eager curiousity. “I guess God saw that the trees and grass need a drink of water.” She smiles, satisfied with my fumbling explanation.

But, me…I’m still wondering why.

Maybe, just maybe, God sends rain for rest. For nourishment. For shade. For, if every day was filled with bright sunshine, we would dry up and wither.
So, today, I will refuse to resent the rain. I will soak in the quiet and drink deep of the nourishment. And I will rest in knowing that God knows that today I need shade.

Adventure

2011-01-31T10:50:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, me and baby girl went on an adventure. A little over a week ago, a friend made it possible for us to attend the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey circus. I have been BEYOND excited. I wanted to make it a surprise...so, I didn't tell my little girl. That about killed me!!!!! I usually blow the surprise before the time rolls around...but, I was determined.

My little girl saw an episode of her favorite show where they featured the circus. We have watched that episode at least a hundred times over the last couple of weeks. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I about squealed! OK...I did squeal!!!!

As the time drew near, I anticipated the look on her face, the joy in her eyes, the excitement as she watched the performers. But, nothing could anticipate the real thing. I enjoyed watching her as much as I enjoyed the circus itself. (Which is saying a lot because I LOVE the circus.)

But, seeing my girl in wide eyed wonder...enjoying the splendor of this blessing, brought me to tears at several points during the day. I will never forget the look on her face at what we were getting ready to enjoy. I will never forget her face as she first saw the elephant enter into the ring. I will never forget the laughter that came from way down deep, when the crazy clowns appeared on the scene.

And I think I got a little glimpse into heaven...as I reflected on this verse...

Matthew 7:11 (New International Version, ©2011)
11 If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!

I have a feeling there are some circus adventures that God has for you and me today. :) So grab a snowcone, sit back and enjoy the show!

Less than...

2011-01-20T20:47:00.002-05:00

I used to think that 'less than' was a sideways "v" that stood between two numbers, pointing to the one of greater value. I used to think that.

As I have grown older, I have realized that some people take the symbol out of the world of mathematics and place it between two people. The point? To identify the one with more perceived value...to leave the other in a shadow of shame.

Words placed me on the losing side of the less than symbol today. Unfair words. Piercing words. Uneducated words. Words that, not too long ago, would have sent me on a downward spiral.

But, today, something is different.

Life is not about sizing up the gal that sits at the desk next to you and deciding if you are greater than or less than. It's not about looking at the size she wears and the size I wear and deciding which holds greater value. It's not making ourselves feel better because we have decided that we aren't as bad as her. Or beating ourselves up because we aren't as good as her. No, it's so much more.

It's refusing to compare and contrast our strengths and weaknesses against one we love or love to hate. It's loving one another...warts and all...and extending grace. It's resisting the urge to judge when we think we know the whole story.

Every one of us is in desperate need of a Savior. The way that we come to realize it...through addiction, abuse, divorce, failure...is just a path that leads to life. And that's where faith breaks the less than symbol at the point and places the two lines parallel to one another. It's Jesus making us equal at the foot of the cross.

Afraid to Dream...

2011-01-17T13:28:00.002-05:00

On a day that celebrates a man who had one of the most notable 'dreams' of all time, Martin Luther King, Jr....I was giving some thought to a dream. It's DNA...it's make-up. I realized something...

I am afraid to dream.

Maybe it's because reality has been so up front and honest. Maybe because, recently I said goodbye to one of my dreams.

I used to get in trouble for those faraway stares out the window of my elementary classroom. I spent countless afternoons imagining my landing on the moon, my presidential address, my acceptance of my Oscar...like any other kid, I had a vivid imagination. But, the years in between learning fractions and life fractured, I decided that dreams just never worked out for me.

And yet, as I look at Dr. King's life, I see the opposition he withstood, the hatred he encountered, the loneliness he must have felt. But, none of that ever tempted him to give up on his dream.

So, today, I celebrate his ability to keep on dreaming...in spite of his reality.

And I am asking God to heal my heart to the point where I can utter without fear, "I have a dream..."

My life is an open purse

2011-01-12T15:19:00.002-05:00

My friend gives me a hard time about my 50 lb. purse. I don't think a thing about it. Well...until, Sunday morning. I dropped it on the floor and used my foot to slide it under the chair. I am telling you the truth, I could have a yard sale out of my purse. Because of that, it sometimes is difficult to snap the pockets and zip the compartments closed. For real.

Sunday morning I happened to look down and there I saw it. The contents of my purse, all visible to wandering eyes. I had to chuckle. I could see things that I use often and things that I have no idea why I am carrying around in my purse.

Ibuprofen, wallet, hand sanitizer, chewing gum, pen...

Neon pink mini football? Childrens pink watch? Broken sunglasses?

I realized that my life is kind of like an open purse. I used to try to hide every flaw. Every character weakness was carefully zipped into tight compartments in hopes that no one would ever see them. I would carry around grudges and regrets in the side pockets. They were easily accessible but still allowed me to put on a good show when need be.

And then a loving God...through circumstances I would not have chosen...began to unveil and remove the ugliness hidden behind that cute, stylish facade.

At first, I was embarassed. I wrestled for control to keep of all my junk under wraps. Until finally, I realized that I had a choice to make. Continue to isolate and hide...or come clean. It really wasn't a choice at all...more of a surrender.

So...I'm broken. Sinful. Prideful. Selfish. Grumpy. I have bad attitudes about certain things. I have been unforgiving. Dishonest. Rebellious. Weak. Depressed. I haven't trusted like I thought I would. Angry. Known despair. Impatient. Out of Control. Now you know.

But, the beauty of having an open heart for all the world to see, is that God tenderly removes each item and begins to fill it's space with thing much more precious. More of Him. Faith Proven. Hope restored. Joy fulfilled. Love refined. Companssion renewed. Spirit control.

The beauty of trusting God and seeing Him work is so much more than a safe, zipped and buttoned life. God mysteriously changes that which you tried so hard to hide into something that clearly shines the light on His amazing grace.

Happy New Year!

2011-01-05T10:57:00.003-05:00

Ok...I know I'm a little late to the game...but, that's how I roll!!! :)
I wanted to invite you to come to Hickory for the Woman to Woman Conference! I am so excited to share some of the things God has been teaching me over the last couple of years!!!

http://woman2womanconference.com/

I can't wait to hug your neck! It's going to be a GREAT weekend!!!

I wish your glory didn't cost so much.

2010-12-21T19:17:00.002-05:00

I used to think your glory was best captured in a majestic sunset or scenic waterfall. But, I am beginning to think that an artist's brush Nor a photographer's lens can truly capture your glory. Your true glory is only captured when the circumstances of life draw every red cent out of the account of self. Leaving us with nothing to give and nowhere to go.

I just wish your glory didn't cost so much. I want a dollar store surrender or a discount grace that allows me the benefits of relationship without the fellowship of suffering. When that happens, your glory doesn't come. No, that's just a performance of my ability to endure. Your glory only comes in the times when self takes it's final breath and the last bit of pride is forced from the shell. A cold lifeless form is finally ready for filling. I just wish your glory didn't cost so much.

That probably entered Mary's mind as she pondered what was about to happen. It cost her reputation.
That probably entered the Fatther's heart as he looked at the cross. It cost his son.

I always said that I wanted my life to bring you glory, I just never knew what it would cost. Following you is not a decision I make, it's a death I die to self. It's not something I do, it's the un-doing of me.

And so in this grand revelation of your glory, I realize that I am the reason that it costs so much. My sin. My selfishness. My pride. My shame. Leaves me wishing more than ever, that your glory didn't cost so much.

A Road I've never travelled...

2010-12-18T16:58:00.004-05:00

This is new territory for me. I have never walked this road before. My steps slow as my eyes are introduced to the dead end. The final steps of the journey seem to be in slow motion. Each step echoes as if broadcast through a megaphone. Every breath becomes the soundtrack of a moment I prayed would never come.

Emotions are swirling. A thin layer of reality keeps them just below the surface. My brokenness pokes tiny holes in time and they make their escape. An uncontrollable quiver takes over the lips silenced by the moment. My body bows under the weight of the burden. I stop to rest yet somehow know that I have to keep walking.

And finally, the last step. From the sure pavement to a path not yet trod. Questions flood my mind. My gait is uncertain and I know that this is where I must rest in your authority. I don't understand why you brought me here. Yet, in the quiet, I surrender to your will. I pry my white knuckles from the dream I had for life.

Tears come like a flood. I bid farewell to what I have known. I desperately try to train my mind to choose the truth over feelings. And I begin to walk. Slow, wobbly, stumbling...but, moving forward. Leaning on your everlasting arms. Clinging to your promise to work all things together for good. Depending on your offer to make me whole again. Reaching out to take hold of your enduring love.

I need you today more than ever.

The year I ruined Christmas

2010-12-09T11:17:00.002-05:00

I was probably ten. Curiousity got the best of me. Mom was busy and had to run to the store for a last minute ingredient for a holiday treat. She wouldn't be gone long. So I had to work quickly.

There was this gift under the tree that had me stumped. I had shaken it. No clue. Examined it. Still nothing. Thought about it. Clueless. As time went by, it taunted me and it won. As soon as the car started in forward motion away from our house, I went to work. I carefully peeled the scotch tap off the corner of just one end. I just needed to see the box. Surely it would provide a clue of the contents.

It did. Electric toothbrush.

What? An ELECTRIC TOOTHBRUSH??? I had put all of Christmas on the line for an electric toothbrush?? You gotta be kidding me. I was disappointed. So, I pitched a little fit. But, I had to get it back together, cover the evidence and clean up my attitude before mom got back from the store.

Maybe I did. I was still grumpy. I am sure my mom wondered what in the world I was so ill about. But, I couldn't dare admit what I had done.

I opened the gift too soon.
I lost the mystery. The awe. The wonder of the gift. The joy of surprise.

Today at 39, I find myself sitting at my desk reflecting on that day. Why?

I think in life, we try to get through the trappings of life too quickly. Nobody wants to wait. As soon as God drops a new challenge or trial into our already busy lives, we want to know what we are supposed to learn...RIGHT NOW. We want the pain to end RIGHT NOW. We want to move on. We are way too busy for this. So, we open the gift too soon. It doesn't look like something that we have asked for. It baffles us at times. And, all to often, it gets the best of us.

And we lose the mystery, the awe, the wonder of faith. We miss the innocence of child-like faith. We totally forsake the lesson learned for premature painlessness. We open the gift too soon.

The longer I live, the more I realize that life is not a point, but a process. A process that I have rushed just wanting to get to the point. And I have missed it...plenty of times.

But, this year, I am praying that God will help me to be still and wait...until He says it's time to open and enjoy that which I never viewed as a gift.

James 1:4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

A broken ornament (Re-post)

2010-12-06T12:06:00.003-05:00

I decorate with the end in mind. Not the "Oh my, how beautiful your house looks," end. I decorate with the "how long is it going to take me to put all this stuff away?" end. To say I am a minimalist decorater, would be accurate. Just enough to know it's Christmas, but not too much to worry with after the holiday is gone.

That is...until this year. Seems that the Christmas spirit has descended upon my precious 3 year old and she thinks, if it is sitting still, it should have a bow or some tinsel draped around it. :) It's so much fun to watch her little eyes dance at the sight of twinkling lights. I even let her put up a purple Christmas tree in her bathroom. Don't ask.

So, when it came to decorate the 'big' Christmas tree, of course she jumped right in. All of the ornaments are at 3ft. or below. And during the night, the ornaments seem to move into convenient little groups. It makes me smile. We have lost a few glass balls in the process. But, a small price to pay considering the joy that decorating has brought my little one.

I took the broken ornaments and placed them back into the plastic container, thinking I would get rid of them at a later time. After my little elf was in the bed I sat sipping on some hot tea, remembering the fun we had shared when I noticed the broken ornaments.
But, I couldn't throw them away.

There, in the glow of the lights, I opened my Bible and listened as God taught me a thing or two about broken ornaments.

or·na·ment noun \ˈȯr-nə-mənt\
Definition of ORNAMENT
1archaic : a useful accessory
2a : something that lends grace or beauty b : a manner or quality that adorns

Seems a fitting definition. But, I still didn't understand what God had in mind.
I am an ornament? Hang with me. I am a broken ornament. You ever feel that way??

Becasue of my brokenness, celebrating has been tough for me the last couple of years. God knew that. And so, no accident that I was staring at the broken ornaments and hearing from God. Here is what he said:

1 - You were created to be broken. Since the beginning of time, we were created to be broken. God knew that we could never make it without Jesus. Our brokenness is the avenue that we come to know him.

2 - Displayed not discarded. In the world's economy, if it's broken, you throw it away. Not so in God's book. Brokenness is the very place where God shows off. Sarah Young in Jesus Calling, puts it this way: Jesus says: "Do not fear your weakness. It is the stage where My Power and Glory perform most brilliantly."

3 - I need a Savior. News flash! :) My brokenness reveals my deep need for a Savior. It's no mistake that His name will be called, "Wonderful Counselor"...cause I have days that are not wonderful. More days that I just need someone to talk to. There's a reason that His name is "Mighty God"...for those days when I don't know if I can put one foot in front of the other. "The Everlasting Father" when I need to know I am not alone. "Prince of Peace" in the midst of my choas. (see Is. 9:6)

So, this year, I will hang a broken ornament on my tree as a reminder to me that the brokenness I have experienced is just an ornament of His grace and glory. How about you?

It will never be the same...

2010-11-22T09:38:00.003-05:00

Thursday is Thanksgiving. A time when we reflect and think of all we have been blessed with.

But, it's not a celebratory time for everybody. For some of us, it will never be the same.

There will be an empty seat because death came for them too soon. An empty seat because one found another table at which to celebrate. A clean plate set but not used that represents the child that has decided family is no longer a priority. Suddenly, this year...we notice that things will never be the same.

I think back to the Thanksgiving days of my childhood. I would enter through the front door of my grandmother's house while the wonderful aroma wafted from the kitchen. The house was full. The table was set. We could not begin until every one arrived. The smell of pecan pie and sweet potatoes tempted you to enter and get a taste of what awaited. But, you waited...knowing it would be worth it. Being the youngest grandchild, I got to fix my plate first and sit at the small table located closest to the food. This was Thanksgiving.

Year after year, the landscape of family changed. New faces were added. We mourned the loss of empty chairs and celebrated the additions of high chairs and card tables for extra seating. Every year different.

Then, I remember the first year that my grandmother was in a rest home. My heart ached that day when we gathered around the table to give thanks. No longer around her table, no longer with the big family, different. I knew it would never be the same.

But, the older I get, the more I realize, that even in the "never be the same" days, there are treasures to be mined out and enjoyed in the midst of different.

True. The faces have changed. But, let's not miss the faces that are gathered.
True. Life has changed. But, let's not look forward to the end of the day and miss the living of this day.
True. It will never be the same. However, truth of the matter is, it never has been. So, squeeze all of the life you can out of today knowing that God has created this day and has plenty for you to enjoy.

This is Thanksgiving.

Don't get Jesus dirty (Repost)

2010-11-12T11:36:00.000-05:00

(After my morning reading and a couple of conversations, I felt compelled to repost this.)

The first recollection I have of him is from my second grade Sunday School class. There was a picture of him in a wooden frame. The background was sky blue with a few wispy clouds just to the side. His wavy brown hair laying on his strong soldiers. He had a compassionate look in his eyes. And a white robe made him look so radiant. That was Jesus.

Why wouldn't people follow Him? He looked so kind. All the stories that I had ever been told about Him just made him easy to love.

He was so pure...so tender...so clean. The picture in my mind is crystal clear even 30 plus years later.

But, somehow...I got the idea that He was a clean God. That my life had to be perfect and right for me to come. That I had to impress Him with my holiness and dazzle Him with my faith.

And then my life broke. The situation got messy. And no matter how hard I tried I couldn't pretend another second. My life was a mess... And bring that to a holy God...would get Him dirty. That climbing into His lap with my empty soul and broken heart would wrinkle His robe. Somehow...in my mind, God was still good and kind but untouchable and distant.

A friend pointed out to me.. "You've never had to really rely on Him. You've led a pretty good life. But, when everything falls apart, you're forced to choose whether or not your faith is real."

So...will I run to Him broken, hollow and empty? Am I willing to admit that I am down to nothing? Done? Will I allow him to embrace me and heal me? Or be content with holding Him at arms length for fear that I will get Jesus dirty?

He longs to be right in the middle of your mess. Mine too. And He doesn't even mind if we wrinkle His robe. I'm running...

The stench of the familiar

2010-10-28T11:49:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, I made a visit to a place that makes me uncomfortable. The very fact that I must do dealings there, is enough to make my palms sweaty and my heart race. I hate going there.
It's not because of the people in the office or the furniture in the lobby. It's what it represents.

As I opened the glass door the led me to the office window, I was taken aback by the stench. It was almost unbearable. My face must have reacted to the smell because the receptionist quickly explained that they had a dead rat under the building. (Must have been a big one.) She said, "I tried to burn a candle. Then, it just smelled like a cinnamon dead rat. I guess I have smelled it so long, I am used to it now."

I giggled.

But, wow. It's true in my life. I hide things that stink in my heart, thinking no one will notice. When the pride, bitterness, anger, unbelief, insecurity....starts to show itself, I light a candle. I try to rationalize it away. I try to turn it towards the light to show it's best side.

But, it still smells like a dead rat.

I get so used to the stench that I hardly even notice it. Then, someone enters my life and is repulsed by the reaction that they see, the words I say, the intent of my heart. And, I am reminded that there is something that I need to deal with.

So, today, I'm not going to pretend I am better than I am. I'm not going to tell you things are great, because they aren't. I'm not going to tie a pretty little ribbon around this post, in hopes that you think well of me. I'm going to be honest and tell you...

...that there are some things that I am dealing with that stink.
Enter at your own risk.

A manageable God...

2010-10-25T10:38:00.002-04:00

I want a manageable God. At least that is how I live.

Deep down, I want the greatness of God. I want to see His power on display. I want Him to blow my mind with who He is. I long for to sell out to my great God.

But, my life...says I want a manageable God.
I want a God I can predict...so, I don't really just have to trust who He is.
I want a God that is safe...so, I don't ever have to be uncomfortable.
I want a God that is soft...so, that my sin doesn't look so bad.
I want a God that is manageable...so that I can manipulate Him.

But, that's not who God is.

And I realize that the 'god' that my life says I serve, is me.
That's why my heart is never satisfied.
So, once again...I am climbing down off His throne and spending some time at my Great God's feet. There's room for you...

Waiting in Line...

2010-10-21T10:48:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, I was in a bookstore. As I went to check out, everybody else in the store decided to check out, too. So, a line formed. People sighed. Eyes rolled. We all waited.

Two high school girls came up behind me. One, seemed to dominate their conversation. The other, just seemed to listen, with a causual 'uh-huh' every now and then. I leaned in and started to listen. You can learn a lot when you take the time to listen.

They didn't speak of high school things like boys and dating. They talked about illness, life choices and faith. I am a talker myself and everything in me wanted to engage with these two gals. But, God moved my heart just to listen.

Their conversation moved to Christians. And their perceptions of people who call themselves "Christians." The one girl cited several stories to substantiate her claims that believers were judgemental and hypocritical.

I drew a breath to jump in and defend. And God said, "Listen."

So, I bit my tongue and let God speak.

In the line at Barnes & Noble, I repented.

I have given and received my fair share of judgemental glances. I am a recovering hypocrite. I have acted one way when I felt totally different. I realized, those girls were right. Suddenly they weren't making generalizations, they were challenging me to walk out a faith that really meant something. To show them the same love that has changed me.

I don't know about you, but I have a lot of work to do.

In the presence of strangers...

2010-10-19T12:59:00.002-04:00

I have been reading a lot lately about community. I realize I am terrible at it. Doing life together on good days is fun...but, I tend to isolate when the tough days come. I don't like to invite people into my beautiful mess. I am much easier to love from a distance. I know it. I am not looking for you to send me a message telling me that's not true. That's not what this is about. Hang with me.

And, so....I was as shocked as anybody when I found myself on the phone spilling my guts to a gal I only knew professionally. Ordinarily, I would have tried to impress someone with her position. I would have tried to be funny at all the right times. I would have tried to say something intelligent. And, don't forget to show your spiritual side. But, not this time. I was raw. Honest. Sharing about my grief over my failures.

I walked away feeling like a true wacko. Maybe I am. But, after thinking about it, maybe just maybe, I felt like the rejection of a stranger was easier and less of a risk that sharing my heart with people I have to look at everyday. Not a pretty look at my heart, huh? I told you I was easier to love from a distance.

If I run into the grocery store, I don't want you to think of my struggle, my mistakes, my shortcomings. If we meet in the salon, I don't want your mind to pass judgement on me while you play nice. Because, I have been burned before. I've been whispered about. Judged. Lied about. And, that must be why I feel more at home in the presence of strangers.

I don't want to admit my failures. I want to look good in front of you. I want you to be impressed. But, the last two years have taught me that brokenness is a thing of beauty when truly surrendered to Jesus. So, I am waving the white flag. I am tired of trying to impress and falling way short.

I am ready for a community of broken people who aren't afraid to say so. I have a feeling that some true healing can happen if we will tell the truth. And, we will no longer feel more at home in the presence of strangers.

Logic 101

2010-10-18T09:21:00.002-04:00

"An ongoing problem is like a tutor who is always by your side. The learning possibilities are limited only by your willingness to be teachable."

Dear Jesus, Sarah Young

I read those words in my quiet time yesterday. They stung my heart as the truth passed through my eyes and reached down into my soul. I knew it was true. Especially in this season of life.

I started to think back to college. The class was Logic. If you who know anything about me at all, you probably just chuckled. Logic and Carol are two words that will not likely appear in the same sentence very often. But, for the first time in a math setting, I got it. Or so it seemed. The gals that lived on my hall were lost. So, I offered to help. I was a tutor, I guess.

We met for a couple of nights a week leading up to the big test. I patiently explained the problems and helped them wade through. Everybody seemed to be a little more confident heading into test day. I was like a momma hen waiting outside the door as one by one, they finished the test and made their way out of the classroom with a smile on their face. Now...the waiting.

The next class meeting, we all squirmed in our seats, awaiting our grade. As the teacher handed out the tests, I contained the squeals as my girls all turned their test papers so I could see. 98...96...89....92...they all had not only passed but done really well!!!

And then, the teacher approached my desk and turned my paper face down as he passed.

I peeped under the corner to see a huge bloody "64" at the corner of my page.

The tutor didn't pass the test. I taught it well but when the test came, I failed.

Made me think of my season of life.

I know God's truth. I have shared it. Encouraged with it. Taught it. I have tutored friends and family with it. I thought I had it down.

And then, my test came. Honestly, a lot of days, I have failed the test. So, I am doing the only thing I know how to do. Sit quietly and listen, learn and take good notes. I am finally willing to be teachable...it just took crisis to get me back in the classroom.

If you would like, there's a desk next to mine that is free.

I am changing...

2010-10-14T12:45:00.002-04:00

Tears have been just below the surface for the past two days.

I haven't made eye contact.

I haven't returned texts. Or e-mails. Or facebook messages. Or phone calls.

Because I can't explain. Words cheat me. They really don't express the emotions that I am experiencing. I know God is at work. Because 'quiet' isn't really my 'thing.' I'm the funny girl. Always quick with a comeback or a zany story to lighten the mood. But, not right now.

I've spent a lot of time in silence. Often times because I have nothing to say. But, more often, because I am desperate to hear.

Like the leaves, I am changing. And change is hard. Although, it produces some brilliant colors the process can be excruciating. After the spectacular color comes death of another kind so new growth can emerge.

A moment I will never forget...

2010-10-07T12:10:00.002-04:00

I thought it was just going to be an ordinary Sharathon. Visit my station blog for a God sized blessing...if you have 5 minutes.
http://www.wmit.org/blog2/

Walking backwards

2010-09-25T17:32:00.002-04:00

You can walk backwards. But, you weren't created to. Honestly, after about backwards step number 3, I lose my bearings and start to stumble. Whether there is an obstacle in my way or not, I fumble and my feet seem to forget how to move in rhythm with one another. I believe it's because I wasn't created to walk backwards.

There are so many benefits to walking forward. One, you can see where you are going. Whether traveling a long distances or just a couple of steps, you can see clearly the path ahead of you. You can use your eyes to chose the path of least resistance or place your feet at the exact spot to gain momentum. Walking forward is a good thing. We were designed to walk forward.

Today, while texting with my friend LeAnn, she said this, "The view looking forward is so much better than the view looking back."

And I replied, "Feels like I am walking backwards."

I was trying to be funny, but truer words have never been spoken.

Spiritually, I am walking backwards. Oh sure, I have stumbled forward a few steps, but, my gaze is firmly fixed on what I have lost, the mistakes I have made, the disappointment I have been, the dreams that have died and the wounds I have suffered. When people talk to me about the hope of the future, I simply can't see it because I am walking backwards through my life.

If I could just turn around. If I could just get the past to loosen it's grip on the hope of my future. If I could only trust that God is big enough to sustain through the turn and heal me to the hope. Then, maybe then, I could take one sure step forward and stop walking backwards.

Confessions of a People Pleaser

2010-09-22T12:32:00.002-04:00

I care what you think. There...I said it. I want you to like me. I really do. I want you to think I am fun and witty...spiritual yet silly. I want you to like me.

But, honestly, there's not much to like. I am selfish. I just ate my last peach ring instead of saving it for you. I am a rollercoaster of emotions. Up on moment, down the next. I can laugh till I snort and then ugly cry in the matter of ten minutes. Really. Crazy. Please don't think I am fishing for compliments, because I'm not. Please don't email me and tell me you think I am wonderful, cause we both know the truth. I am just as rotten as they come.

But, you know what? That means I NEED a Savior. I don't need to go to church to make me feel better about myself. I don't need to go to church because I need one more thing on my social calendar. I need to go to church because I know what's in my heart. I know I need help. I need to be rescued.

But, here's the thing God is teaching me: I can't please you. If you and I were to spend much time together, I would really disappoint you. If you looked in my closets, you would seee things that would make you sick. I can't keep up with what you expect from me. Even on a good day. So, I am guessing that's why God put this verse in the Bible:

Galatians 1:10 (New International Version)

10Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ.

Not just for me. But, because I think I might have some sisters who struggle with this too.

I am working on it. I am trying to shed the weight of people pleasing and fix my gaze totally on Christ. But, it's that peripheral vision that gets me sometimes.

Gloriously Untangled

2010-09-17T09:31:00.002-04:00

It's a beautiful necklace. But, I haven't worn it in awhile. So, when I went to retrieve it from my ramshackle jewelry box, my heart sank. As I pulled it from the velvet lined box, I saw that it was in a horrible mess. Other necklaces and miscellaneous objects had attached themselves and formed one large tangled mass. I glanced at my watch and considered the time that it would take me to work through the tangle. It was worth it and I knew it had to be done.

So, I began. Following chains around in and through, over and under, straightening and untangling what moments before had been a ball of mangled useless jewelry. The closer I got to the middle, the easier the struggle became. The knots seem to lose their hold and almost fell out be themselves.

I have felt tangled in my heart lately.

A horrible mess. Wondering if it is worth the work. Tangled up in the things that really don't matter. Knowing it has to be done but not wanting to invest in it.

It is worth it. You are worth it.

If you feel all tangled up today, know I can relate.

But, more than that...know that God can relate. He sees you and longs for you to live gloriously untangled.

Special Invitation

2010-09-14T09:20:00.001-04:00

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So check out the Next Step Speaker Services website which includes a place to subscribe to a free weekly speaking tip. Amy or Karen would love a chance to curl up in a cozy chair with some coffee and chat with you about your next step in speaking ministry. Also, don't miss the opportunity to win a free service of your choice with a value up to $195 if you subscribe or fill out a survey!!

The Definition of Me

2010-09-13T11:32:00.003-04:00

If my name were to appear in the dictionary, what would the definition say?

At times, it would say...Redbook or Glamour shows Carol how to dress up what she's got or accessorize what she is not. The whole point is for her to look better, feel better about how she looks and wonder why in the world she can't look like the gal on the page.

I'm not proud of that.

At other times, the definition of me would include the opinions of those who I've loved and lost. Those I have hurt and have hurt me. Those whom I have judged and those who judge me. I'm glad that they didn't include a picture beside my name. It wouldn't be pretty.

Maybe my definition would have to be written in erasable ink...because it seems to change with the season. And some days, it changes by the circumstance.

If I feel loved...my definition is words, well woven together to produce a strong perception.

If I feel condemned...the words cower in the corner and do their best to apologize away my mistake.

If I feel insecure...my words try to hide behind.

I struggle daily to listen to the still, small voice that tells me who I am. But, honestly, the others scream louder.

So, I am trying to spend more silent time...leaning in to hear the real definition of me.

Look Over There!!!

2010-08-26T19:51:00.002-04:00

Last night, we went for ice cream. My little girl chose rainbow sherbet. I had cappuccino crunch.

We sat over by the dairy bar at some picnic tables talking about the day as the sun went down. A few minutes into her cup, she was ready to play. So down she jumped and began to run around the tables. The perimeter of the tables are marked by old telephone poles cut in half and laid end to end. This, to keep the little white rocks from escaping the boundary of the picnic area.

My little girl, adventurous as she is, decided she would try out her balancing skills and hopped up on one of the telephone pole barriers and walked a few steps down the way. She had on flip flops. Do I really need to tell you what happened next? That's right. Her flip flop got sideways and she tumbled to the ground. She quickly recovered and assured me she was fine.

"Please don't walk on those! You are going to fall and get hurt."

She said, "Momma, I can hold my arms out and it will help." She was right. It would help with her balance...but there was still the flip flop. So, she tried again. Again, she fell.

"How many times do I have to tell you?? Please don't do that! You're going to get hurt!"

"Mom, look over there at that ice cream sign."

She thought if I turned my head, I wouldn't know that she was going to do it again.

"Is it really going to take you getting hurt for you to listen to me??"

Stop.

God pushed the pause button.

I would do well to listen to...and answer my own question.

How many times, in my own life, have I gone places, done things, thought things, that I knew I shouldn't, only to slip and fall? How many times have I done it again and again? Probably hundreds. Maybe even thousands. How many times have I been hurt because of my own sin?

God whispered in my heart, "Is it really going to take you getting hurt before you listen to Me?"

I'm sorry. I'm listening. Help me to obey.

What do you wear to the death of a dream?

2010-08-25T09:15:00.003-04:00

Black seems fitting. After all, you are grieving the loss of a dream. But, black is heavy. And I am supposed to have hope...maybe black isn't best. Maybe a splash of color to remind me that things will get better.

How about green? Green reminds me of the envy in my heart. The envy that I harbor for your story or for other stories that have such a pleasant ending.

Blue? It is my favorite. But maybe it attracts too much attention to my eyes. Eyes that are fixed on the floor drawn by the shame that sometimes seems to define me.

Pink? It reminds me of better day...both past and yet to come. A reminder that it hasn't been all that bad. But, memories are hard. My mind still goes back to question and accuse my heart of all they 'why's' and 'what could I have done differently.'

Nothing I have seems to fit just right.

So, I ask you.

And I hear you whisper to my heart.

All of my garments don't fit because they make me look more like me and less like You. Oh Lord....make me more like You....

Old friends that just met...

2010-08-19T18:53:00.004-04:00

The Muppet, Gonzo sings a line in one of their movies that goes something like this...

"There's not a word yet, for old friends that just met..."

Today, I think I found a word for it. I think I will call them "Randy's." Here's why:

Randy is a long time listener to 106.9 the Light. He was always quick to call when we would run a contest or ask a question. His positive, upbeat attitude was infectious. I remember the day when Randy called to tell us that he had been diagnosed with cancer. That was a couple of years back. We cried with him that day. And he promised to keep in touch. He kept his promise.

We rejoiced with him when it looked like the treatments were working and doctors told him he was in remission. We prayed with him that this new experimental treatment might be the answer.

Last week, he called to tell us that there was nothing else that doctors the doctors could do and hospice had been called. I couldn't even speak. The lump in my throat turned into tears as Randy promised me that my name was on his list of people to call should anything happen to him. But, Randy never has lost hope. He is ready to go.

Today, I introduced myself and said goodbye, all in the same visit. And, today...I realized what matters.

If no one ever listens to my show or remembers my name...if I never get an award for industry excellence...if the ratings are good or bad...this one thing matters: That I am on Randy's list of friends. That I was able to sit and listen to a man that's faith is real and strength is beyond what his frail body displays. That somehow through the medium of radio, we were able to walk along this road called cancer with one of the bravest men I have ever know.

I will never forget today. And I will do my best to remember what really matters.

Thank you, Randy. It's an honor to serve you...

Different Degrees of Broken...

2010-08-16T12:58:00.002-04:00

When I was a kid, my mom had a ceramic bell that she proudly displayed in our living room. It held special sentimental value for my mom. I can't remember why it was so special...but, I knew it was, due to the number of times that I was instructed to stay away from it.

One day, the bell got the best of me. I snuck into the living room and headed straight for the bell. I rang it once. The tinkle of the bell made me giggle. I had done it. All was well....until that second ''enthusiastic" ring. The bell caught the edge of the end table and chipped a triangle piece of the bell away. I searched frantically for the missing piece but it was nowhere to be found. I worked to try to position the bell where the chip would not be visible. But, all the positioning in the world couldn't change the fact that the bell was broken.

I used to think that there were different degrees of broken. Some of us had just a little chip missing from a tender place in our hearts. Others of us, resembled the garage door window that I shattered with a softball. It wasn't hard to see the point of impact but the brokenness extended out to the very frame of the window. I have felt both places of brokenness. And I have come to the conclusion that we all are broken. End of story. Some of us try to position ourselves so that no one will notice our damage. Others of us walk around with no way to cover up our shattered lives.

The shame from trying to hide it....or the shame from not being able to hide it, is the same. The choice is whether we will give all our broken pieces to the only One who can put us back together again. I have tried every other solution. When my life fell apart, I kept waiting for someone to say something to make me feel better. When no one did, the last shard of unbroken glass went crashing to the ground.

Then, and only then, could the healing truly begin.

You are loved.

Welcome!

2010-08-13T06:07:00.003-04:00

Hi there! If you are visiting because you read my devotion here, welcome! I'm glad you stopped by. Feel free to make yourself at home and stay as long as you like. You will never wear out your welcome here. What an honor to be featured with the Proverbs 31 gals today. They have been a sweet gift to me and I am so thankful for them.

If you are feeling like 'Damaged Goods' today, I would love to pray for you. Not because there is anything special about my prayers but just because I know how you feel.

See...a long time ago, it started. I would write with great care, "Do you love me? Check 'yes' or 'no'" on a piece of loose leaf notebook paper, fold it carefully and pass it down the row to my latest love interest. I would make the 'yes' box three times bigger than the 'no' box, just to increase my chances of getting the answer that my heart longed for. Often, it would come back with the 'no' clearly marked. But, every once in awhile I would get a 'yes.' But, the problem was, it was written in pencil, and the recipient could change his mind and erase the check.

Truth of the matter is...it wasn't just a childhood habit. I carried it long into adulthood. I no longer used the looseleaf paper but I certainly kept that same question in my heart. And sadly, most of the time the object of my love often checked 'no' or changed his mind about his 'yes' somewhere in the process.

That's where I had to find the love that would never fail. The one who would never change his mind. The one who looked upon my damage and saw it as a beauty mark. I pray that you would know His love today.

Thanks so much for stopping by. Please leave a comment with your first name if I can pray for you today.

You are loved.

When Words Won't Do...

2010-08-09T13:09:00.002-04:00

I have found a place where words won't do.
We sit across a table from one another and you ask questions. I do my best to answer. But, I can't find words. The only ones I know, just begin to scratch the surface of emotion. I feel like I need to explain, I just can't. So, I sit and stare. And the mouth once filled with laughter and words is replaced with breaths and pauses.

Sometimes I wonder if the deep places of emotion don't have a language all their own. Known only to my experience and my heart. When our eyes meet, we can see the familiar depth but no two experiences are the same. So, the familiarity quickly fades as we desperately search for a way to justify the quiet.

I am a storyteller. I love a great story. But, this story is one I never wanted to tell. Maybe my limited vocabulary is due to the fact that I intentionally avoided words that have become descriptives for this place in life.

So, with my limited vocabulary, I approach a holy God. And there, I find, that there is no need for flowery words or emotional explanations. In fact, each time I try...He quiets me. The Creator God stoops down and somehow I know when words won't do...He sees the depth and is completely content with the quiet.

Messages that won't delete

2010-08-02T11:29:00.002-04:00

I am a gadget geek. My geekiness reached a whole new level when I was able to get emails on my phone. At first, it made me feel important...like people really needed me. Then, I got tired of the constant reminder that I had something to do. Finally, I reached a comfortable balance and began to use it like I think it's SUPPOSED to be used...in moderation.

This weekend, I was busy. I didn't have time to log on to a computer, so it was convenient to have my phone so I could see if there was anything urgent that I needed to deal with while I was away. There wasn't. My inbox was filled with store sale emails, vinyl siding offers and forwards about a Diamond Rio song. So, I started deleting the messages that I knew were just cluttering up my inbox. Something interesting happened. Although, I deleted them...they kept showing back up. I deleted the same 27 emails about 15 times in the course of two days. It almost became a competition between me and my phone to see who would win. FINALLY, cause I am blonde, I realized that I needed to change the settings in order to delete the messages and keep them deleted. I WON!!! And I did the happy dance...oh, yes I did.

And then I realized that my gadget is not unlike my brain....

I have a lot of messages that are cluttering up my mind that need to be deleted.

...I'm not good enough.
...I'm not smart enough.
...I'm not skinny enough.
...I'm not worth it.

Messages that, at one time or another, I am sure that I have cleared out of my mind. I have taken them before Jesus and asked Him to give me His mind. But, somehow they keep popping back up.

Today, I realized that I need to change my 'settings.' And I might have to delete those messages again next week, or next month, or in the next couple of minutes. Until one day, they will be permanently deleted from my identity because I will be fully secure with who I am in Christ.

How are your settings?

Chased

2010-07-27T10:56:00.002-04:00

As a teenager, I always dreamed of it.

The romantic scene full of tension. I gave my boyfriend the final word. It just wasn't working out and with a dramatic turn (like in the soap operas) I hurried away. The door wouldn't shut all the way...and there he would come...chasing after me to convince me that we were meant to be together.

Never happened. I was lucky to GET a boyfriend...so, I never broke up with one. A lifttime of relationships somehow convinced me that I wasn't worth staying for...that there was a better deal.

I didn't even realize that I felt that way.

Until I was pursued. Really pursued by the one who has been there all along.

Matthew 18:12
"What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? 13And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. 14In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost."

He's after you. You can run. You can tell Him that it's not working out. You can try to ignore Him. But, you can't stop His pursuing love. He loves you that much.

And it's more than a soap opera. It's the story of life.
A broken woman pursued by a loving, holy God. Doesn't make much since but I sure am thankful for it.

You are loved.

Leave your make-up at home.

2010-07-26T12:35:00.002-04:00

Well, not really. I wouldn't recommend it. But, I did.

This weekend is the Proverbs 31 She Speaks Conference. It's a time of training and encouragment for those who want to enter ministry as writers, speakers and ministry leaders. Truly one of the finest conferences of it's kind, in my opinion.

But, the first year I went...I left my make-up at home. When I got to my hotel room and realized it, I nearly had a STROKE. There I was at a women's event with NO make-up. I had already seen the matching purses and cute outfits in the lobby. I was already behind. I had compared myself to every gal there before I even put on my nametag. I didn't have promo shots, business cards or a slick presentation. And on top of that...no make-up.

I darted to the desk and asked the clerk to point me in the direction of the nearest drug store. $43.86 later...I returned with paint for my proverbial barn. Whew! Crisis averted...kinda.

I was reflecting on that today as I prepare to return to this conference...and my advice would be...leave your make-up at home. Your spiritual make-up. Just be real. The gals who lead seminars and teach classes are just like you. They stress over outfits and weight gain. They stress out over deadlines and family issues. And they understand the ups and downs of ministry life. Their job is not to tell you whether or not you are called...they are at this conference to help you sharpen your skills and encourage you along the way.

So, if you are going to She Speaks...I'm the girl whose face has broken out like a 7th grader going to her first semi-formal. And I am looking for some real gals who are ready to admit they don't have all the answers...and depend on a great big God...to hang out with.

If you aren't going to She Speaks...same principles apply. Quit trying to play the part that you think everyone wants...and just be you. Then, you will see God use you in ways you can't even begin to imagine.

You are loved. Make-up or not. :)

Up from the basement

2010-07-23T10:19:00.003-04:00

When my sisters were teenagers, my dad fixed up our downstairs as an 'apartment' for one of my sisters. From my 5 year old eyes, it was the coolest thing ever. I remember sitting on the stairs listening to the muffled version of "Play That Funky Music" by Wild Cherry...hoping that the door would open and my oldest sister would invite me into the world of 'cool.' NEVER HAPPENED. Sure, the door opened from time to time. I was never really invited...but, I snuck in a couple of times, only to be run out as my oldest sister beckoned my mom.

I counted down the days until I could move down to the basement and claim my independence 'cool'-dom. My sisters are 8 and 12 years older than me, so by the time I was old enough to start school...one was going off to school. So, I knew it wouldn't be long...

The day came. I remember carefully peeling the scotch tape off my Teen Beat posters so I could make the basement my own. I put away my stuffed animals and any symbol that might suggest that I was not a grown up. And I marched downstairs to claim my domain.

All was well, until night. The basement 'fragrance' of must and mold settled into my nostrils as I laid down to sleep. And it was DARK. Not just the normal dark...it was pitch black dark...basement dark. Did I mention there was no air conditioning? So, you can imagine...the wet musty air hung over my bed like a wet towel.

I made it through the first night because I didn't want to look like a baby. But, as soon as my eyes caught the first glimpse of morning, I was up those stairs and watching The Cosby Show long before mom and dad ever said "Good morning."

I remember the first breath I took when I made it to the top of the stairs. Fresh air. I stopped, closed my eyes and enjoyed every exhale.

I was reminded of that experience yesterday. There have been lots of 'basement' days in the last couple of years of my life. Days that were scary, basement kind of dark. Days that seemed like they would never end...and even longer nights.

But, recently...I took my first breath of fresh air. I came up from the basement days. Freedom never felt so good. And if you don't mind, I think I will stand here awhile and enjoy each exhale...

There's room for you to stand beside me.
You are loved.

Dried up, Dead and on Display

2010-07-14T07:42:00.000-04:00

I don't know what the opposite of a green thumb is...but, I have it. In fact, if you have a green thumb, you might not want to sit too close to me for fear that I might rub off on you. Don't get me wrong, I love plants. I just can't seem to give them what they need on a consistent basis to live.

So, when my mom brought two lovely hanging baskets to my house on mother's day, I put on my best "Thank you so much....I love them!" attitude knowing full well that they would be dead by the time the next Sunday rolled around. But, I purposed in my heart to TRY to keep them looking good since my mom lived next door. And it worked!!! At the end of week one....they were still green!!!! I was so happy!!!! So, I thought I would give it a try for another week. About Wednesday, the leaves started to droop and the blooms fell off...and by Friday, they were brown.

Sunday after church, as I pullled into the driveway, I noticed that someone had removed the hanging baskets from the hooks and hidden them behind the bushes. Hmmm. And then, it hit me. I live beside my mom. And she didn't want the whole neighborhood to know that I couldn't tend to a plant worth a squat. :)

Today, I noticed the sad hanging baskets. Dead, dried up and on display...until my mom rescued them.

I have felt like that. On my own, in the perfect circumstances, I can manage life. But, let life happen, and I realize I am totally incapable of taking care of and sustaining myself.
When I became a single mom, the feeling kicked into high gear. I felt as if I had something to prove. And prove something, I did. I proved that I can wear myself out and be a total mess, if left to my own devices.

That's why I need a Savior. It took life falling apart for me to realize just how much I needed Him. Before I became a single mom, I had an accessory faith: a really nice religion to go with my really nice life. Now, I have a necessity faith: I can't breathe without it. And when I try, I end up dried up, dead and on display. That's when I realize that I need to run back to Jesus, allow His word to water my life, prune away the branches that don't bear fruit and grow me into the woman He wants me to be.

2 Corinthians 4:7
But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

John 15
5"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.6If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. 7If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. 8This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

Scars tell a story...

2010-07-06T22:01:00.002-04:00

Scars tell a story. On my left pointer finger, there is a half moon shaped scar. I am too little to remember the details but my family has filled in my mental blanks. Seems I tried a new food and liked it. After mom had cleaned up the kitchen and thrown away the can, I wanted more. Eyeing the can in the trash, I dove in and caught my pointer finger on the jagged edge of the can. Every member of my family recalls that I didn't cry when they stitched it up because the doctor promised me a sucker.

Then, there's the scar between my eyes that reminds me that choosing a square post for first base, when the grass is wet, is a bad choice. Yep. I head butted it. Or the scar underneath my left eye that taught me that you shouldn't let a dog you don't know get too close.

You have probably thought of a couple of your own as your journeyed with me down memory lane. Behind every scar, there's a story. I find it's true with my heart, too. Not so much bragging rights that I was able to jump my bike over the ramp before I wiped out, my heart scars seem to point back to God's tender care and faithfulness in the midst of a chaotic life. But, that in itself is a choice. I haven't always made the right choice with my wounds. I have been 'that' person whose scars screams that life isn't fair and I deserved more. I have been the woman who just couldn't let the wound even begin to heal until everybody saw how hurt I was. I have played the victim. I have done everything to try to heal the wound on my own. And at the end of all my striving found that I can decide what story my scars will tell.

Like my pointer finger scar, will they tell the story of a girl who is looking for more? Or of a great God who can fulfill every need?
Or like my forehead, will they tell a story of bad choices made or moments redeemed?
Or the scar under my eye, will it tell of relationships gone wrong or the one relationship that I long to get right?
Do my scars give me bragging rights of how I did it on my own or reinforce my dependence on my gracious God?

Our scars tell a story. I would love to hear yours...

I wanted to cry when I crossed the finish line

2010-07-04T16:29:00.002-04:00

I ran my first 5k on Saturday. I wanted to cry when I crossed the finish line.

This was so much more than just a race for me. The last two years of my life has been riddled with failures. Relationship failures, spiritual failures, emotional failures and physical failures. So much so...that I wondered if I could ever accomplish anything positive in my life ever again. I reached a place where I felt as if failure was my destiny. And I didn't like how that looked from the eyes of my 3 year old.

So, I set a goal. I didn't tell many people. Mainly, because, in the back of my mind, I didn't think I could do it either. I had been the recipient if disappointed glances before...and I knew I couldn't go there again. So, I quietly began to train.

9 weeks ago, it took all I had to run 3 minutes. Just over 3 miles, seemed impossible. But, I didn't quit. Even as late as last week, I was beginning to chicken out. No one would know if I didn't do it. The friends that knew of the race begged for permission to come and cheer me on. I refused. I didn't want them to be disappointed. I didn't want to be embarrassed.

So, on race day, I showed up. I stuck out like a sore thumb. The long, lean physique of most of the people at the starting line made me want to march right back to my car and head to Starbucks to drown my sorrow. But, I didn't. I stood there long enough until the race started and the pack around me began to move. I moved to. And 3.2 miles later, I crossed the finish line.

I accomplished something. I can't really put into words how I felt. I just know that the dead, darkness of my soul saw the light of day when I crossed the finish line on Saturday. And it made me cry tears of joy to know that there was a finish line and I crossed it.

So, if your weary heart is tired of the lonely land of broken dreams, set a goal. Prepare. Then, give it all you've got. I will be waiting at the finish line for you. I know you can do it...

Plastic Jesus

2010-06-18T09:24:00.002-04:00

I long to live an authentic life. But, more than that, I long to live an authentic faith. And based on the number of messages I have received over the last couple of days, I am not alone.

A fake faith is really just a game I play to try to look good. Fake faith is just a self promoting line on my spiritual resume. I think plastic people have a plastic Jesus. I am not saying that people who 'play' church aren't really Christians. I am saying that when we pretend, we reduce Jesus to nothing more than a knick knack on the shelf of our lives. It's nice to look at, but there is no real depth to the relationship. For years, I had an accessory faith...a really nice addition to my really good life. Now, I have a necessity faith...I can't breathe without it. Crisis forced me to pilfer through the rubble of my broken life and it made my faith more than words. It made my faith real.

Jesus wept. He bled when he was beaten. He was real. Just ask Thomas how real the scars were that he touched in John 20. The scars were proof of the pain He had suffered and the victory that He was living. Jesus was real. He set the example.

So, maybe I need to show up...scars and all...and allow you to touch those places in my life. Allow you to examine my pain and see the evidence of the victory that Jesus can be through my pain. Maybe He wants to do that in your life too. Your real life. Not the life that you want everybody to think you have.

Today...there is someone who needs to see the evidence of a loving, faithful God in your scars.

I don't want you to know what a sinner I am...

2010-06-17T10:48:00.002-04:00

After yesterday's blog post, I have received a lot of comments, facebook messages and private e-mails. The common theme: We all pretend. So, I can't get it off my mind today. Why do we do it?

I can't speak for you, but the reason I pretend is I don't want you to know what a sinner I am. I don't want you to know how desperate I am for a Savior. I don't want you to know that I am incredibly weak and undeniably flawed. I don't want you to know that I struggle. So, I am coming here today to tell you all of those things.

Here's the thing I have learned recently. The very struggles that I have tried for so long to hide...are the very things that have given me some of the greatest connections of my life. When I admit how weak I am, I find that people love me MORE not less. When I admit that I have a bad day, God raises up encouragers to rally around me and hold me up. When I cry more than I laugh, I find plenty of shoulders that are willing to bear my burden with me.

I just wonder if the enemy hasn't convinced me to look like I have it all together so that he can use that very place to tear me apart. By keeping everyone at arm's length that I isolate myself from others and allow his (the enemy's) voice to be the only one I hear when life gets crazy. I think I might be onto something...for me anyway. And, to tell you the truth, I am sick of his schemes.

So, in case you needed to hear it again....I am a sinner in need of the lavish grace of a loving Savior. If you have it all together, I would ruin your reputation. But, if you need Jesus desperately, I would love for you to come and sit by me.

I give you permisson to quit lying...

2010-06-16T09:25:00.002-04:00

I give you permission to quit lying. I know you don't do it intentionally. I didn't either. Sometimes it happens before I even know it.

"Good Morning, Carol...how are you?
"I'm great! Thanks!"

Stop right there. Most people start the day with this greeting. There are those who really want to know...and those who are just being nice. Let's be honest. We ALL know the difference.

Yesterday, I had an encounter with a lady I only know casually. She was crying as she got out of her car. And being the brilliant mind that I am, I said, "Are you okay?" And she said yes. And I went on about my day, being satisfied with her answer.

She was obviously, not ok. So, when I got to my car, I paused and prayed for her.

What would happen if you and I started being honest?

If we quit lying at church? If we quit showing up looking perfectly put together and filling a pew with ceramic smile? If we showed up to Bible study 'real and raw' instead of played the part of the pollyanna? If we quit acting like all the world would fall apart if we said, "I'm having a rough time."

I am not asking you to air your dirty laundry to every person who says, "Good Morning!" But, I am challenging you to find a safe place to let down your guard and be honest...on those less that 'great' days. And, I am also asking you to BE a safe place for those around you to come...warts and all and be real without condemnation.

We need each other. I really do care about how you are doing. And today...I give you permission to quit lying...

So, let's try this again...

"How are you?"

I just don't understand...

2010-06-09T09:23:00.002-04:00

I just don't understand. Like a child standing on her tippy toes I look over for the hidden surprise but I realize I am not equipped with the height necessary to see.
But as I grow, I continues to see more and more of your majesty. More and more of the way you move. Your nature. Your character. You're grace. But never seeing so much that I have you figured out. Never so much that I lose the awe of who you are.

Like the very first time....

2010-06-08T10:57:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, I took my baby girl to see Thomas the Train at Tweetsie. We had an absolute blast. It was so much fun to watch her...did my heart good.

But, one thing struck me as we climbed on the pink carousel horses for the one millionth time. She squealed every time the carousel began. Like it was the first time. EVERY TIME. I didn't notice it until the third or fourth ride...and then I waited for it. And every time, she delivered.

And in that moment...I paused and longed for that same enthusiasm and excitement in my walk with Christ.

Do you remember it? I hope you haven't lost it.

Losing Weight...

2010-06-04T10:13:00.002-04:00

Seems like I have been trying to do it my whole life. There was a short time when I was the size I really wanted to be. But, today, I'm trying to shed a different kind of weight.

I'm working on this kind of weight loss...

Heb. 12:1
"...let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us."

I think this kind of weight loss is harder. You can't get up in the morning and put your heart on the scales and see exactly where you are. You don't notice that your soul feels better when you can get into your 'skinny' jeans. It's the kind of weight loss that you can't measure until you are put in a heated situation. Lately, I have failed the test...MISERABLY. You might have even had a front row seat to my failure.

Pride, selfishness, jealousy, frustration, anxiety...I could go on. Trust me, I have a list as long as my arm. But, my very patient Savior is helping me lose them one at a time. So, while we are running together, I hope you can extend grace as I try so desperately shed the things that slow me down. You run on ahead...hopefully, I will catch up.

You never forget how...

2010-05-26T20:42:00.002-04:00

It's a red Radio Flyer tricycle with a blue seat and yellow handlebars. In the last couple of days, she has learned to ride it on her own. She has figured out how to get the pedals in perfect alignment so that she can use the momentum of 3 or 4 rotations to get her rolling down the black paved driveway that leads to the carport of our home. A milestone that I can't help get a little teary eyed at experiencing it. As I watched my sweet girl pedal up and down the driveway, for what seemed like hours, I couldn't help but think of the thousands of times that I have heard somebody say to me, "It's like riding a bike. You never forget how."

Like the time I put my headphones back on and opened a mic after being away for more than 2 years.

And the time I drove a stick shift after driving an automatic for 15 years.

And well, riding a bike.

You never forget how. Somehow, once you get through those first couple of wobbly pedals, you balance your weight and take off. The wind in your hair only makes you want to pedal harder. And for me, each rotation took me back to another childhood memory. It all made me smile as I tilted my head backwards, drew a deep breath and just let the sun wash over me.

Sometimes, I think 'faith' can be kind of like riding a bike. You never forget how.
Once you build your solid foundation you don't give much thought to the basics of your faith. Until life happens. And the temporary things that you constructed your life on, leave you planted firmly on the solid foundation with an invitation to start all over again. Beliefs that I picked up along that way, that were rooted more in feeling than fact...more an assumption than a truth.

Once all is stripped away...you find yourself back at the basics. Just getting on the bike, finding your balance and the courage to start peddling....

And it is true. You never forget how.

The day before...

2010-05-25T10:49:00.002-04:00

Crisis happens. Life changes. You forget what life was like the day before ground zero. Details that seemed so important before, were buried in the rubble of what used to be normal. Your priorities change. Your concerns heighten. Your dream dies. And, somehow you know, life will never be the same. You search for something...anything that you can salvage from the day before.

Wounds begin to heal. Smiles begin to sneak to the corner of your mouth and make their way to your face. You begin to adjust the change that seemed it might be the end of you.

And as you begin to collect the pieces, you notice some missing spaces. They aren't broken or damaged...but, gone. Friends encourage and try to prop you up. They encourage you to do something new...to find a hobby...read another book. But, somehow, you just can't make them understand that it's not a hobby you need. You don't reall know what you need.

Something is gone. Some place in your heart that may never be the same. And, some days you just sit looking out the window, trying desperately to remember the day before.

My Beautiful Brokenness

2010-05-18T09:30:00.001-04:00

Broken things have no value. Just drive by the city dump. You will see a chair with a broken leg, an old floor model tv with a busted screen, a worn out tire and a refrigerator with a door hanging by only one hinge. When something is broken, it’s discarded.

Even in the ‘green’ movement, people are slow to reuse or recycle. Everybody wants the new, the shiny, the perfect. Sometimes our belief about ‘things’ shadows our view about people.

We don’t want to get involved in the lives of broken people because they might break the white picket fence that surrounds our perfect lives. They might make ruts in our perfectly manicured lawns and say something they shouldn’t in front of our well-behaved and properly sheltered children. So, we shake our heads and properly discard them from our lives…

I probably thought that…subconsciously, until I was the broken person.
And here’s what I discovered: Broken people are the most valuable to Jesus. He shows up after the world has discarded us because of our brokenness and offers a new life. He asks us to die, so that we can live. He takes the trash of the world and turns it into a treasure of grace. The very thing that looks like a blemish to the world becomes the mark of beauty.

My beautiful brokenness. I haven’t always looked at it that way. There are still some days that I hang my head in shame. I still feel the sting of words spoken and judgements issued. But, I am holding on with everything I’ve got that Jesus can bring beauty from the ashes…and make my brokenness…a thing of beauty.

Overcome

2010-05-17T15:41:00.000-04:00

Some days I am overcome with grief. Overcome with the realness of who I am. The mistakes made and the empty regrets. Against the backdrop of the Cross, it seems so unusual. One so holy, so perfect, so divine…dying for one so flawed, so imperfect, so desperate. Unfortunately, I don’t feel like this everyday. But, today…I am weighed down. Today, I know there is nothing good that I have to offer to my Holy God. I have, too often, trampled His grace and passed over His mercy as if it was something that I deserved. I have showed up looking good and feeling confident in who I am…and in my pride, thought that God must be glad I am one of His.

But, today…tears wait at the edge waiting to spill over and escape down the weathered face of this weary traveler. My chest struggles to rise and falls beneath the weight of my sin. Not an emotional breakdown, but a realization that I am not worthy of the gift that I have been given. Sorrow over my sin. Wonder over how one so holy would extend a hand to one so corrupt.

My hope is that it produces in me a gratefulness like I have never known before. A passion to serve that is unlike any thing I have ever experienced. My desire is that I will never forget today. I think this is repentance.

Who Do You Think You Are???

2010-05-13T10:31:00.002-04:00

I thought I knew who I was. Until life stole every one of my labels and teased me from the middle of my meltdown with a sarcastic, "Who are you now????"

At first, I got mad. How could circumstances strip away my labels and run and hide with my identity. I wanted it all back. No amount of crying, screaming and throwing a fit, worked. Then, I got desperate. And, I asked the only one who was still willing to listen to my madness.

"God, who am I now?"

The cries that erupted from my broken heart were loud enough to drown out the still, small voice of my creator. So, He waited. When I settled down, He began.

"You are still the same. Yes, your title has changed. But, your identity has not. I am not disappointed in you. That would mean that I didn't know this was going to happen. I knew the whole time. That's why I am here."

And I realized in that moment...that God...took away everything I ever wanted, to show me the one thing I really ever had.

Somehow, I one day decided that I was defined by what I did, or who I was with, or the space I filled in ministry. No. Those are all things that I did...relationships I had...but, they weren't who I was. Because some of those have changed. Which would mean that I had less value. I believed that. I bought into the lie and picked up the label of failure. I hung my head and braced for a life of looks and whispers...ready to live a life of shame. With every loss, I slipped further and further away from my Savior, thinking that even He would shake His head and banish me to sit in the back of the class where I wouldn't mess up the good people.

The Christian life is not about how good I can be or how put together I can look. It's about me coming face to face with my faults and failures and realizing how desperately I need a Savior. Boy, do I need Him. And it took my life falling apart to make me realize it.

Now, I think I can understand this verse:
James 1:2
[ Trials and Temptations ] Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds,

My faith became real in the crucible of pain. And I realized who I am...and who Jesus is. Now, who I think I am is totally based on what Christ says instead of the way you label me. Working hard to live that every day...wanna join me?

Light

2010-05-05T10:33:00.002-04:00

I used to get up at 3am. It was PITCH, BLACK, DARK at 3am. Depending on the time of the year, there is a moment during the day when the light seems to peel back the corners of the darkness and make it's entrance into the day. Sometimes, I would stand at the window of the studio and watch it happen. What you could not see in the darkness was illuminated and revealed as the light spilled into the day.

That's how I feel today. I have gone through some very hard places in the last several months. If you have been wondering where in the world, I have been...just know I have been at the 3am of my life.

But, today...and the last several days, I have been standing at the moment where the light has broken through. I have learned a lot. And as the light has pushed through I have seen things that simply were not visible at 3am.

I am sure I will share many of the lessons here. But, for the time being, I just wanted you to know...that the glimmers of light are beginning. And I am enjoying the sunshine on my face.

You are loved.

A Dead Socket...

2010-04-26T10:53:00.000-04:00

My phone was dead. How could this happen? I plugged it into the charger and the charger into the wall. I have a dead socket. I knew that…but, forgot it in the midst of my busyness. So, I have a dead phone. Expecting it to be charged. Thinking it was plugged into a place that would give the charge needed.

So like me…and life. I plug into things…friendships…activities…thinking that is where I will get my energy back…get my focus…get what I need. Only to find myself worn out and spiritually dead. My batteries don’t get charged because I am plugged into the wrong socket.

There are some things that charge my batteries for a short time…like an energy drink. But, the crash after it wears off is severe. And I find myself, in a deeper hole than before.
That is where I find myself today.
And God is calling me once again. To unplug from the world and plug back into the one source that can give me what I need for life.

Between the promise and the coming true...

2010-04-01T21:02:00.001-04:00

I drew a frantic breath as my face crossed the line between air and water. I filled my lungs quickly because I knew that my trip to the surface was short lived. A hand on my head was sure to soon plunge me back into the deep. On my way down my body flailed but momentum kept me on course for the bottom. The harder I tried, the deeper I would sink.

The dunking game was a sort of rite of passage at the local community pool. If you survived and acted like you weren't terrified, the bigger kids would let you play the chase games in the deep end of the pool.

In the last couple of days, that experience came to mind because the battle I was in, seemed to have a lot in common with the dunking game.

Out of nowhere, a hand on my head, plunged me down without warning or time to prepare. And the harder I tried, the deeper I went. I whispered a prayer that somehow I would have enough breath to survive until I made my way back to the top.

I can't help but think that the disciples felt the same way. As we celebrate Easter this weekend, we would be crazy to pretend that the Saturday of the Resurrection didn't exist. Jesus had been crucified and the disciples were grieving deeply. Saturday was when the doubts screamed and the questions filled the minds of those who were closest to Jesus. They were stuck between the promise and the coming true. But, Saturday was twenty four hours long. Twenty four hours to think and wonder if they would awake to the fulfillment of the promise or the 'I told you's' of those who never believed Jesus was who He said He was.

We all know how the story ends. I still haven't reached the surface, although I can see the glimmer of the sunshine. I am in between the promise and the coming true. But, I am holding to the hope that morning will eventually dawn and I will see the coming true. Until then, say a prayer that I will have enough air in my lungs to sustain me.

It's not what trips you up, it's what it uncovers...

2010-03-29T11:28:00.003-04:00

I was cruising along at 60 mph this morning when I hit a wall. Not in a car...but, in my day. A situation arose that rocked my world.

The damage was extensive...and I as I sat trying to pick up the pieces of my day, I learned a very important lesson.

It's not what trips you up, it's what it uncovers...

The situation upset me. Brought me to tears. I was a mess. As I processed through it I realized that it wasn't the situation that upset me AT ALL! It was the pride, the competition, the selfishness that it uncovered in me. And I cried. Hard.

Sometimes when I am cruising along in life and everything goes my way, I tend to think I am ok. I am not ok. I have a LONG way to go and alot to learn. So, my wall this morning, was just a reminder. A reminder that I am quite possibly the most flawed woman on the face of planet earth...in desperate need of a patient, loving Savior. He's not finished with me yet.

So, maybe...just maybe, this post will find you cruising along in your day. Let me warn you to be looking for the wall...and encourage you to slow down and stop before impact. It's alot easier to slam on the brakes than to repair the damage.

Philippians 1:6 (New International Version)
"...being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."

You are loved.

Damaged Goods

2010-03-10T15:02:00.002-05:00

I shuffled down the aisle of the discount grocery looking for a bargain that I couldn't live without. It's always hit and miss in this store...and I had missed...again.

But, I passed by a bin that caught my eye. "Damaged Goods." It was filled with dented cans and missing labels...no real rhyme or reason, just random items that were not shelf worthy. And suddenly, I knew just how I felt.

Life sometimes delivers the unexpected. The school of hard knocks bruises us, dents us and removes the label that defines who we are. We feel as if we have been tossed into a bin, no longer worthy of a place on the shelf. Some people substantiate the lie that we are second class failures and all hope is gone.

So, I leaned over and intentionally chose a dented can, with no label from the bin. I got it home and placed it on the can opener with anxious anticipation. The whirr of the can opener finally penetrated the metal lid to reveal....peaches!!!! I let out a school girl squeal! I love peaches!!!!! What a treat to open this can and be greeted by one of my favorite fruits!!! The can was damaged but the contents were still good...and sweet.

God must have smiled...because at that moment the sunshine beamed in my kitchen window. I knew in my heart there was a lesson.

I have been damaged. We all have to some degree. I am not living the life that I dreamed about when I was a kid. However, the damage that I have suffered has made the contents of my heart so much sweeter, so much more compassionate, so much more in pursuit of Jesus. I have been looked down upon and judged by many who have seen my label missing and slapped on their own. Don't judge too quickly until you see that my damage has not defined me...but, it is refining me. I may be at the bottom of the bin, but Jesus paid as high a price for those of us at the bottom than he did for those that are proudly displayed on the shelf.

Look around you. Is there someone in your life, your family or your church that you consider "damaged goods." Don't miss an opportunity to reach out to them, to love them. You just might find a friendship that is good...and sweet.

My most prized possession

2010-03-07T20:49:00.003-05:00

It's worn and falling apart. The binding is taped together and a lot of the pages are folded over. It's not in mint condition, but I wouldn't take a million dollars for it.

My grandmother went to the Holy Land when I was a kid. I can't remember exactly how old I was...but, I was young. I remember the stories of standing where Jesus walked and talked. And I remember her telling us how she tried to bargain with the clerk at the tourist trap where she bought as many Bibles as she could possibly carry in her luggage. I smiled today as I heard that story in my mind and held the Bible in my hands.

My grandmother is 92. She is in a rest home. Her mind isn't as good as it used to be. If you visit her today, she will forget it tomorrow. If you stop by, please sign the spiral bound notebook on the nightstand. We love to see who has come to visit and often she can recall if we jog her memory a bit. Nursing home care is very expensive. So, now...at the end of her life, there is no other choice than to auction off her belongings to pay for care that she requires. It breaks my heart. I know it would break hers too.

My dad asked me if there was anything I wanted. I didn't even have to think about it. It automatically came to my mind as I travelled back in time to the last holiday I spent at her house. My grandmother's Bible is a symbol of a hero. Just as a flag handed to the family of a fallen soldier or a medal pinned on the chest of a public servant, my grandmother's Bible tells the story of a life well lived and a faith stronger than circumstance.

A faith that carried her through....the death of a child, the alcoholism of a spouse, the prodigal that she still prays will come home, the loneliness of widowhood and many other stories that I am sure that she could tell. She never missed a Sunday at Zion Baptist Church if she could help it. And I never once heard her complain. She would give her honest opinion on the matter at hand but always in a loving way. Never judging. She had a quick wit and she loved to laugh. But, her jovial side was held at bay when they unfolded the card tables and started to play Rook. It was all business.

So, today as I placed her Bible on a shelf for display, I thought of all that it said about my grandmother...
A life well-lived....
A woman of integrity...
who loved deep...
struggled hard...
forgave much...
prayed continually...
laughed heartily...
endured much...
ran well...
and can almost see home.

It may look like an old worn out Bible to you, but to me it's a symbol of a life lived from it's very pages.

Thank you, Maw Maw...for modeling authentic faith. I love you.

The Sony Walkman

2010-03-03T20:41:00.002-05:00

I remember the summer I got my Sony Walkman for my birthday. It was a portable personal cassette player. Just after my birthday, my family packed up and headed for the beach in a motor home. I took my spot in the loft bed above the driver seat where I could look out at the world. I put on my headphones and listened to my Chicago 17 cassette about a million times during the six hour drive. I knew every word to every song by the time my feet touched the sand of the South Carolina coast.

Once I got tech saavy, I learned that I could record songs off the radio and make a tape of my own songs. So, I spent endless hours with my ear to the speaker and my fingers on play and record, waiting for the intro to my favorite song. I got so good at it that I would barely miss any of the song!

The Sony Walkman has been retired...and I would be hard pressed to find any of my old mix tapes of sappy love songs. But, I realized the other day, that tapes of another kind are still hanging around. They are tapes that I play over and over in my mind. And they aren't of Chicago 17.

I believe we all have a tape recorder in our mind. It's always running...but, somehow mine seems to only keep the conversations and situations that had a negative impact on my life. Comments made, words said in anger...from people close to me and those I only knew casually...but, respected. Words spoken in passing that ended up on the mix tape in my mind. Some from years ago...others from recent times. Those newly recorded messages seem to play more often...but, they all get equal time. The new ones just seem to be recorded at a louder volume. They come up in conversation or humor when referring to myself and I wonder, "Now, where in the world did that come from?" The mix tape in my mind. You can count on it.

The other day a friend called me on it. She dug around until she finally found the root of that statement. It took a lot of rewinding but there it was...on the mix tape in my mind.

I never really thought about how words had shaped me into who I am today. But, after the conversation with a friend, there was no denying that some of my habits, thoughts and actions led straight back to words spoken to be both long ago and in recent days. It brought new meaning to this verse that I memorized long ago:

Romans 12:2
Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

Made me think that God has some editing He wants to do on that mix tape in my mind. Maybe He wants to work on yours too.

You are loved.

Spiritual Vertigo

2010-02-23T15:18:00.002-05:00

I've had vertigo. It is not fun. You can't stand up. Everything in your world seems to be shifting...to the right or two the left of center. It makes you sick. Even when you close your eyes you feel like the room is spinning.

Sometimes I feel that way spiritually.

There are days that I feel like the enemy is waiting at every corner to hit me with something new that will cause me to stumble this way or that. A crisis, a situation or interruption that puts my world in a tailspin and leaves me wondering what in the world just hit me.

I have had spiritual vertigo for about the last year or more. Peaks and valleys, ups and downs...most of the time desperately trying just to get back up on my feet. And then...Exodus 33 hit me.

14 The LORD replied, "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest."

Interesting here that God would use the word "go" and "rest" in the very same passage. It got me to thinking that maybe, just maybe this passage holds the medicine for my spiritual vertigo. The cure for my balance problem. "My presence.." Could it be that my crazy life and my rollercoaster of emotions have run off the track and time in His presence is what I really need?

I don't want to sound super-spiritual, because most of ya'll know I'm not. However, God whispered to my heart last night during my study time..."I am the key to finding balance in your crazy mixed up life. My presence is where you are safe. And if you ask, I will go with you. And I will give you rest."

Wow. Huge moment for me. Because for the first time in over a year, I feel like I am getting my balance. I am spending more time on my knees and I am getting ready to stand back up.

Field Trips

2010-02-15T20:32:00.002-05:00

Sometimes late at night, before I drift off to sleep, my mind likes to take field trips. Not like the ones you remember from grade school to the museum or the apple orchard. My field trips are actually places that I already have been. Places that I saw my life change and turn into something I never expected.

One of my favorite places to visit is my early twenties. There was nothing like that "I've just graduated from college and I can conquer the world" feeling. I obviously, did very little conquering. But, the battle scars were minimal and I managed to pick myself up, dust myself off and start over again. Every time I visit there, I want to buy souvenirs, but, they are about 4 sizes too small...if you know what I mean.

Another place I like to visit is the day they laid my sweet baby girl in my arms. I just snuck in her room to peak at her. She is more beautiful that I could have ever dreamed. Just looking at her makes me cry. In part, because I am so proud of her...the other part because I wanted to give her a much better life than I have been able to. From the nursery to the stroller, I wanted everything to be perfect. But, more than material things...I wanted to give her the perfect family life. And somewhere after the onesies and size 4 diapers life just kind of fell apart. And I want so bad to fix it...for her. I would do anything for her...

Then there are the stops that haunt me. The dark days of life where it just seemed like things couldn't get any worst. Those shattered days of deep grief and sadness. Actually, it's never daytime when I visit. It's only nighttime at these locations. Times that changed me forever. Words spoken. Heart broken. Dark nights of the soul.

There are other stops on the route....but, I will spare you the boring details of a trip that lives in vivid detail in my mind. After traveling to all these destinations on repeated occasions, I know this: Buried underneath a load of regrets, a mound of mistakes and a heap of apologies...there is still hope. Hope that one day, I will be able to close my eyes and smile at the past knowing that some of it was painful...but, it served its purpose.

My friend Amy told me last year, "Carol, I don't just believe that you are going to survive this crisis. I believe you are going to become..." That's the most hopeful thing that anyone had said to me in a long time. So, today, I am holding on to the hope that I am becoming...even while I am on a field trip.

A Special Day

2010-02-14T20:49:00.002-05:00

28 years ago today, I said yes. Not the kind of 'yes' you are thinking of...a yes to a much bigger proposal. It required a big step, a leap of faith, a 10 year old childlike faith.

I will never forget the day that I walked down the baptistry in Pleasant Gardens Baptist Church. It was February, 14th, 1981. I glanced up at the wall that would provide the backdrop for this moment in time. It was a light blue wall with a faded painting of a river that flowed slow and easy into the distance. I was ten years old. We had practiced the routine. The pastor had explained what would happen and the symbolic nature of baptism. I didn't understand it all...I just knew that I could hardly wait to get in! The pastor entered the water first and talked for what seemed like forever, to a ten year old waiting in the wings. He finally looked to me and extended his had and I knew my time had come. I stepped into the water and took my place on a cement block in the center of the pool. I wasn't quite tall enough to be seen over the glass enclosure, so the cement block ensured that my friends and family could witness this momentous occasion. The cement block turned over and I plunged a little deeper into the pool than I or the pastor expected. Although, looking back...I think he might have been holding me under until he was sure I got saved!!!

I came up and grinned at the pastor. I climbed the stairs again...sopping wet and changed my clothes. The water didn't make me feel any different...yet, inside I knew something had changed. I had said yes to the call Jesus had on my heart. I knew I needed Him. And at that very moment, I knew I had him. No doubt.

It's a sweet memory for me. The pastor who baptized me is now in heaven. The people that were there probably don't even remember it except for my folks and a couple of close friends. I would like to tell you that since I said yes, I have followed hard after Jesus and had never fallen. I would love to tell you that. But, it would be a lie. It's been a relationship...like many others...of peaks and valleys...ups and downs. There have been days when God didn't move like I thought he should, so I gave him the silent treatment. I would dare to be as honest to tell you that there were months that I acted like that. There have been times when I saw Him move in such a tender way that I could not possibly love Him more. Then, there have been days that His silence was so loud that it pierced my heart. Sleepless nights when I begged Him to answer...and heard nothing.

And yet...today...28 years later, He is the perfect valentine. His love so amazing. He's stood by and cheered me on during my brightest moments and held me close during the valley of my darkest night. He doesn't mind the rollercoaster of my emotions. Not only does He not 'mind' it...He understands each and every one of them. He knows I make mistakes....alot of mistakes. Yet, not even ONCE has He held them against me when I have asked His forgiveness. Not only that, what He thinks about me is never changed by how I perform or the mistakes that I make. He is the perfect gentleman. Never forcing His way in, but once asked, making His presence known...by forgiving extravagantly...loving lavishly.

So, today, I am celebrating the day that I entered the water...and came out clean. Forgiven. Free. Praying I never forget that day.

Quiet is Intentional

2010-02-10T13:00:00.002-05:00

Whew. My 40 day fast from facebook, twitter and texting is over. That may not seem like a big deal to you...but, to me it was huge for several reasons. 1) I don't know that I have ever done anything for 40 days. Unless, of course you count eating, sleeping and breathing. 2) I love connections. And technology. Giving up both was a sacrifice for me. So, here's one of the things I discovered.

Quiet is intentional.

I love noise. I love background music. I turn the tv on when Ella is gone just so I won't feel so alone. I fill up awkward pauses with way too many words or a snort. Quiet makes me squirm. That whole, "Be still..." verse...well, it's not one that I have highlighted in my Bible.

But, the quiet...was just what my soul needed. God won't scream at us over the tv or compete with the technology...He will just wait. Until finally our wandering hearts are ready for the still, small voice whispering the truth that our souls crave. In the quiet is where our weary hearts settle into the peace of His presence.

So, I am realizing that it's not so much the noise that I love. It's the chaotic, stressful, control freak feeling that I long to shed from my life. "Being still.." is not such a bad thing. It's in those moments that I realize the HE is God. And I am not. Turns out, God was right....AGAIN. He knows exactly what I need.

Its Muddled in the Middle

2010-02-04T13:54:00.002-05:00

Have you ever stood in the center of a crowded shopping center looking for a friend? One or two glances this way and that...you can't see her...but, you know she is there. You stand on your tippy toes to try to lift your glance above the crowd to locate that familiar face.

That's how I feel today. I know God has brought me quite a ways...but, I am having trouble seeing it. It's muddled in the middle. In the middle of my life right now, so much is changing. And I am desperately looking for Jesus in the midst of it all. I know He is there. I don't doubt that. But, there are days when I wish I could lock eyes with my precious Savior. Just to know He is there. He sees me. He knows where I am. That even though life is moving on...I am standing still...just waiting on 'what's next.'

But, for me...it's just muddled in the middle. So, if you happen to be looking down from the balcony, could you please remind me that He's not too far away? Could you be patient with me...in my desperation, in my anxiety....and wait with me, walk along side me? I promise to return the favor...

When words won't do....sometimes a song will...

2010-02-03T10:36:00.000-05:00