The Now

We laugh at children and their problems. The vegetables that they cry over, the toy their brother won’t let them have, the nap they have to take when they want to do something else. “I wish my problems were only that big,” we say.

 But this very petulance is part of the essence of childhood. The focus on the present, the now. The little discomforts seem so big to them because they cannot see the future and many times have disregarded the past.

 This focus on the present is also what enables children to notice the tiny bug with a hint of blue on its back and the perfect petals of a flower. It’s why they collect leaves and rocks and feathers. It’s why they forgive and move on.

 Many times in our adult world, we forget about the present. We spend so much time looking at the disasters of the past or the fears of the future that we forget the now. And the now is what God has given us to live. If we can let go of things past and things to come, we, too, will begin to notice things we’ve never seen before.

 In childish wonder we will see the Love of our Father as if it is the first time. We will note with amazement the way the brotherhood comes together in times of need. In absolute joy we will take in the Sunday message and the songs that are sung, delighted at the way it all flows together and speaks to the individual needs of our hearts.

We, too, may sometimes feel unhappy about the things life calls us to, but living in the now we will learn to look honestly at the reasons for our anger, disappointment, or jealousy. Instead of blaming our past ("I've never been good enough") or fearing the future ("But what if I never do get invited again?") we learn a new type of acceptance for the life we are living.

 Letting go of the past and handing the future over to God takes a special kind of child-like submission. It calls for a trusting humility and a complete surrender.

 Next time you see a child fussing over something small, remember that they are living in the moment, and that living in the moment also causes little things to bring excitement. For Jesus says still today, “Permit the children to come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” (Luke 18:16)

 So here is to this day, this hour, this moment. Here is to being honest with ourselves when we are feeling grumpy. Here is to living in childlike wonder and amazement. Here is to the childlike spirit that will lead us closer to the Father whose love for us transcends the past and sees beyond the future. Live today. Live the Now. Live it with Him.

Firsts

Right now I want you to stop for just a moment and think about the first.

 I can just imagine you looking at me in confusion and asking, “The first what?”

I don’t know. I’d like you to choose. The first day you went to school. The first time you moved away from your parents. The first occasion where you slid behind the wheel of a car and tentatively put it in drive. The first moments on ice with skates loaned to you by the rink. This particularly applies if you live in the South.

What do you remember about that first? Did you know what you were doing? Did you feel a little nervous? Some of us probably remember feeling terrified. Today you would probably laugh and say that it was OK. It’s normal to feel a little scared the first time you do something new.

I’d assume that you, like me, probably didn’t do things perfectly on that first. Maybe you slipped and fell. Maybe you learned a hard lesson about which pedal was the brake. Maybe you found out how difficult communication really is.

Whatever it was, you expected to make some mistakes because you knew it was your first.

But there are a whole lot of firsts out there that we don’t give ourselves that kind of grace for. We find it hard to accept that our Savior doesn’t hold us to some impossible level of perfection for a lot of the firsts we face, and we somehow believe we should expect that same perfection of ourselves.

Being human, for example. That’s a first. I’ve never done this before. Every year, every stage of life is something new.

Being a Christian. There are still firsts for me in this walk of life. New things to learn, new roots to my behaviors I haven’t dug up yet.

Being a Teacher. Sure, I’ve taught for a good number of years, but every year is different. Sometimes every day is different. I’ve never lived this day before.

Instead of looking with awe at the treasure of another first and the opportunity to learn something new, I turn away from the amazement of what life holds and look with dismay at all the mistakes I make. I draw back, afraid to take the next step, terrified I’ll somehow make a mess of things. Convinced I am the only novice at life and others have everything under control.

Give yourself a little room for being a beginner. It’s OK if you stumble through being a mom. This is the first time you’ve ever done this. Lots of other moms have made it successfully through their firsts. You will, too.

Take a deep breath and tell yourself it’s all right if youth life looks complicated. You’ve never lived this particular year in the youth before. The group is constantly changing. So will you. 

It's all right if you feel out of depth in the new mission field or at the new school or in your new occupation. 

Let go of your ideas on how you want to be the perfect new wife, the exemplary nurse, the idealistic career woman. You’ve never lived your life before. You will make mistakes and messes. You might be afraid or even feel like crying. Remind yourself that you are a beginner. You are still learning. Don't carry frustration around with you. Don't let comparison steal the wonder of the new thing you are doing.

Remembering that you are a beginner in life (and always will be!) leads you towards a place of humility. As soon as we forget that we are living a first, we start becoming confident in our own abilities and forget the One who gives us the ability in the first place.

So give yourself grace. Give yourself room. Give yourself the liberty to be a human. For the first time. Ever.

Love is a Heavy Thing

Love is a heavy thing. 
But that’s why God created dads with strong arms and wide shoulders to carry its weight. We see it when a father stoops to lift his child to his shoulders. Every time he stands, protecting those he loves from the wild winds around them. It’s in the way his sturdy hands can open a jar, move heavy furniture, and carry the weight of the world.

Love is a funny thing.
But that’s why God created dads with a love of laughter. It’s obvious in the way a father reminds his family to laugh. Sometimes that reminder comes on the darkest days. This is why dads are fantastic story-tellers and can recreate a whole cast of characters in a one-man show. And even if we roll our eyes at dad jokes, we really do think they’re a little funny.

Love is a quiet thing. 
But that’s why God created so many dads who show, rather than tell. We can see the love of a father for his family in the way he tenderly holds his child on his lap. It’s there when he quietly helps tidy the house. It’s in how the children know he will always listen to their problems. And most of all, it’s in all the prayers dads whisper for their family as they go about the day.

Love is a joyful thing.
But that’s why God created dads whose eyes light up and sparkle when they look into the faces of those close to them. It’s why a dad will come home, tired, and still play catch. It’s in the pleasure dads get spending time with their family on a trip, or playing Monopoly, or going on a picnic. It’s why a dad delights in his children at all ages, and why their smiles are reflected in his own.

Love is a creative thing.
But that’s why God created dads with the ability to fix and make do. They need their skills to figure out how to make toys work that have lost a part and how to build things for their daughters who are going away to teach. This is why fathers are interested in the world around them and come up with creative answers to the problems their loved ones are facing. 

Love is a painful thing.
But that’s why God created dads who are able to cry when they need to. Because sometimes life requires tears. And children don’t always make the right choices, and burdens can weigh a lot, and it hurts to see those you love in pain and not know how to fix it. But what means the world to those around them is seeing that dad cares enough to walk through the pain with them.

Love is a heavy thing.
But that’s why God created dads and gave them the strength to stand and the wisdom to know when to kneel. That’s why God planned for dads to know when to carry a burden, and when to lift it to Him. That’s why God designed dads with the wisdom to know when to speak and when to listen. Because love is a heavy thing, but God created dads that could carry the weight.

Happy Father’s Day! 

The Lost Car

This is the true story of three maidens who lost a car, and the minor tragedies suffered in their great adventure to retrieve it.

The three, who shall remain unnamed, were once visiting the beautiful city of Savannah, Georgia. Now, as maidens on occasion are wont to do, they were running late. The amazingly modern miracle of Google Maps informed them they were but twelve minutes from their destination. This, in itself, is not a number too large, but there arose yet a problem, for the three were well aware the Riverboat Ride for which they had carefully purchased tickets—Alas!—was to leave in minutes numbering ten.

And so they toiled through the busy streets, casting their eyes this way and that, searching upon their devices for a place in which to park. It seemed there was nothing. But one, alert, suddenly cried, “There!” and the member of the party behind the wheel speedily turned the car into the lot. Doors opened before the car had hardly stopped, and anxious feet pounded down the sidewalks, sometimes walking, sometimes running.

The boat was reached in time, much to the relief of all, and, in spite of much huffing and puffing, the next two hours were spent enjoying the rays of the sun upon their skin and making, it must be admitted, snide remarks about the tour guide, whose jokes were so bad not even the dads were laughing.

And so it was when the pleasant time was over and the trio disembarked, they wandered through shops and stopped for a treat of ice cream, for it was, after all, vacation.

Then it was time to venture back to the automobile which had been left in such haste a few short hours before.

With confidence they began their journey, never dreaming of the hours which lay between them and the glossy black carriage which they had so lately left.

“Is this the street?” asked one.

“Of course,” said another, “and then we turn up there,” finger pointing, “at least, I’m pretty sure that’s where it is.”

And so they strode swiftly up the hill, ready to continue with their journey.

But it was not to be. At the place they paused—for there was no car, not even an oil spot. In truth, the parking lot on which they gazed was not the same one they had left post haste but a few hours before.

“I think it was over that way,” announced the third.

Together, they turned and walked with measured tread and uneasy dread, to discover, much to the dismay of all, that this spot, too, yielded neither car nor recognition.

“Maybe we should have taken that other street,” suggested the first, waving vaguely in the direction of a lane long past.

The others groaned, but as there was no other thought forthcoming, fell in line and marched with trepidation toward the street.

It takes no great mind to recognize the outcome. There was neither car, nor even parking lot at all.

The three took pause.

“What shall we do?” asked one.

“Where should we go?” inquired second.

The third spoke not, but gazed into the screen of a cellular device, tracking whence the travels that day had taken them. Then, decisively, “This way,” she said.

And so they followed, first and second, trusting third would know the way.

But though they followed faithfully each turn they were tasked with taking, they found, dismayed, the destination covered with yellow banners and orange obstacles, surrounded by fences of chain. No parking lot, no oil spot, and certainly no car.

And for the next hours they wandered the streets, trying this one, trudging that one, all to no avail.

At last, they sat down on the curb, discouraged, hungry (for lunch had been forgone), with neither water nor much cell phone battery left of which to speak.

Said one, whose phone still showed a little bar, “We should call a taxi.”

Forsooth, the deed was done. A taxi service and an uber both were pled with to make a quick appearance.

“Where are you located?” asked the driver of one.

The maidens looked around. The business on the corner was a bar, and so they gave the name. “We will be there in thirty or forty minutes,” said he.

Time passed slowly. The taxi nor the uber hove in sight. Calls were made again—“Where are you?”

“Coming,” was the answer.

Yet a third time the call was made, and on this attempt, the call was left ignored, much to the increasing alarm of the maidens, for the sun was slowly sinking away and it was fast becoming dusk.

There seemed little hope but to walk again.

They straggled drearily to their feet, pulling strength from deep inside that none would guess existed in their dehydrated forms.

The one whose phone was somewhat working, searched and found a police station nearby. “Let’s go and ask for help,” she suggested.

The others nodded wearily, and all weaved down the street in search of what, they hoped, would be a saving sanctuary.

And there it was! A building rusty red, with iron rails on the steps. Eager eyed, they scanned the scene, then hope dropped like a leaden balloon onto their tired feet. For perchance there once had been a station here, with helpful men in blue, but if that were the truth, it had been many years since such had been found in the now-decrepit building.

Shoulders drooping, they looked about. The search now had continued for nearly two hours and a half, and one cannot blame them for their wearied state.

Yet what was that? A policemen’s cruiser! Parked in a lot nearby. Perhaps there was reason for spirits to be lifted!

And so they trudged, their steps much slower than before, anxious to ask for help. As they drew nearer, unease grew a little in each breast, until finally the awful truth dawned upon them all. The car was void of occupants—neither man nor beast graced its inner comfort.

Shadows lengthened as they gazed in consternation at the empty cruiser sitting placidly before them.

But the third maiden had had enough. “I shall find a place,” she proclaimed, “whence I shall use the toilet.”

With this decisive speech there followed equally decisive action. A new spring had come into the step, and all haste was made to find this place of refuge.

Past two valets, waiting by the back entrance of an elegant hotel, the three marched confidently. Into the interior, past a sign that said, “No public restrooms!”, past the empty service desk, they marched.

The deed done, they exited, out the way they’d come, only this time stopping to speak with the valets.

“Can you help us?” pleaded one.

The valets, both young men, listened to the story, chuckling only slightly, keeping it quite politely, behind their hands.

They discussed between themselves. What could they do to help?

One picked up his phone (Luckily they were not busy) and called the nonemergency number, and tried his best to explain the situation to the faceless person speaking on the line.

“They said they’d come,” he told the maidens, “and see what they can do.”

And then he offered, kindly, that they could buy some snacks, and charge all wireless devices with his own charging cord, which was done with much humble gratitude.

Time passed. No shining car with blazing lights appeared. Two peered blankly down the street, one gazed relentlessly into the face of her most modern mode of mobile, but all to no avail, for the path that they had taken would not, or was it could not? Be traced at all.

One young valet moved restlessly. “I’ll drive you around, if you want, when my shift is over,” he offered in a manner as gallant as any knight of old could have offered to slay a dragon. “I’ll soon be off the clock, and I’d be glad to help.”

The three considered. This might be their only option, the only hope they had.

But it was at this juncture a patroller’s car appeared and parked across the street.

A lone policewoman stepped out, hand upon the weapon at her side. Striding masterfully across the street, she came.

“What seems to be the matter?” she demanded.

The three encircled her explaining best they could, “Well, you see, we can’t find our car.”

Narrowed eyes relaxed a little. “Well,” she said, “It doesn’t sound like I need to write up a report.”

With haste the maidens did agree this view was valid.

“It doesn’t really sound like there’s trouble,” she continued, “it sounds only like, perhaps you are,” she paused, searching for the word.

“Lost?” supplied the third.

And so it the policewoman (may all who don the uniform be blessed!) offered that one—the owner of the car, should travel with her to find the place where it mysteriously had disappeared.

So one embarked upon the journey, riding behind the bars of the cruiser, sliding none too elegantly across the seat whereon she sat, trying to explain the best she could the place whereupon so much earlier the chariot had been left.

At last, at last, the weary maiden spied the form so much beloved. “That’s it!” she cried.

The woman driving looked amazed. “You walked a long way,” she said. And not one of the three would have disagreed.

The one profusely thanked her, then slipping in behind the wheel made haste back to where the others waited. Never had hearts warmed so much to see a motorcar. Never had the maidens found the seats so comfortable into which they sank. The car was found, at last, after only nearly four hours of searching.

Do true stories come with morals? This one has, perhaps, if you look closely, two.

The first is always know exactly where you’ve parked your car, and second?

When the need arises, it’s always wise to stop and find a loo.

I Wish I Had Known

Whatever situation you are in, whatever emotions you are experiencing, I want you to know it is OK to feel. Don't wait to figure it out until you have walls built up and painful things buried. Take a step, trust someone, even if you are afraid. Falling apart is sometimes the only way for things to come together.

I wish I had known many things when I was younger, but most of all I wish I had known it was OK to cry.

It wasn't that I grew up surrounded by tearless family. Far from it. My mother and her sisters were the brunt of many jokes about crying over tiny, insignificant things. But I didn't know it was OK to cry. I thought it was weakness, and I couldn't afford to be weak.

I wish I had known it was OK to be weak.

It certainly wasn't that I grew up feeling strong. Quite the opposite. I often felt like a lone sailor, precariously riding the swells of the ocean in a flimsy lifeboat, panicking that things were out of my control. But I didn't know that it was OK to be weak. I thought weakness was the same as fear, and I didn't believe it was acceptable to fear.

I wish I had known it was OK to fear.

It wasn't that I grew up fearless. I was very familiar with fear in my stomach, the tightness, the dull heavy feeling it gave. But I didn't know it was OK to be afraid, and so I didn't tell anyone that I was scared, and tried to stuff the feelings out of sight behind a mask. To show fear was to be vulnerable, and vulnerable people did not survive.

I wish I had known it was OK to be vulnerable.

I didn't grow up in an era that knew a lot about being vulnerable, so maybe it's not really my fault I didn't understand. I thought vulnerability was weakness and fear combined. That being vulnerable meant giving up and being walked on. I didn't know that vulnerability is more about love, loving not only others, but also yourself.

I wish I had known it was OK to love.

I definitely grew up in a family that was big on love. But I thought love was just gross, mushy kisses and rib-cracking hugs, and embarrassing moments, and I wasn't too big on that. I didn't recognize that love was so much bigger. I had no idea that love was more than giving hugs. It was also learning how to accept them.

I wish I had known it was OK to hug.

People around me seemed to think it was. But I was terrified of hugs. It was love and fear and vulnerability all rolled into one. And so I squirmed out and away, tried to be independent, decided I could make it on my own. Besides, the feeling I got when I was hugged was a funny feeling I wasn't used to. It made me want to cry.

I wish I had known many things when I was younger, but most of all I wish I had known it was OK to cry.

Accept Yourself

This was first written some years ago. I found it again, and did a little updating. I can't remember that I've posted it anywhere in the past. If I have, I apologize for redundancy. 

 I fear the words “accept yourself” have become background noise. Don’t feel like people like you? Accept yourself. Struggling with things from the past? Accept yourself. Upset by someone else’s problems? Accept yourself. The restaurant is out of guacamole? Accept yourself.

 

Many of us say that we are in no position to give thoughts on this subject. Accepting ourselves is something we’ve struggled with for years. But then again, perhaps we have more wisdom than we think. After all, who would you rather take with you into battle: a new recruit or a seasoned soldier? You are probably a seasoned soldier already and my little thoughts here will be old news to you. You need not read further.

 

To those of you who do care to keep plugging away, the words “accept yourself” are possibly some of the best advice you will ever receive. However, it seems that throughout the last several years a problem has developed. People no longer are looking at the deep implications and meaning they hold. Instead, the words are so common and thrown about so freely, people don’t even really know what they mean. They hold little more weight than the once popular quote “Live, Laugh, Love”. Accepting yourself is a mystery, and somehow it seems we’ve lost all clue how to solve it.

 

The first mistake a new recruit often makes is  thinking that accepting ourselves means one chooses to love everything about oneself. We think we can build a wall of protection around ourselves, guarding who we are with phrases like “I don’t care what you think," "self-love," and "don't judge me." We believe that self-acceptance is as simple as wearing a hot pink wig to attend a wedding if that is what we feel like doing. That, friend, is not self- acceptance.

 

I have come to believe, and I am willing to be corrected, that accepting yourself goes much deeper than wearing hot pink wigs (or any other color for that matter.) You must first begin the journey for yes, it is a journey, by being completely honest with yourself. You must face the real you. You must not close your eyes to either the good or the bad. You have been created by an all-loving God. He has given you weaknesses which he plans to refine, and strengths which he plans to use for others. You must accept both. Be willing to admit that the person who loves children and the person who is not all that self-denied are both you. Accepting this does not give you license to make excuses for your faults or brag about your talents. This is merely a declaration, a statement a bit like the ingredient list on the back of a bag of chips.

 

Once you can identify yourself, your faults and your strengths, you are in the position to take the next step. The next step is where you bravely venture out, letting others learn to know who you really are. This is a major leap, and it will feel like it takes approximately 3,748 metric tons of vulnerability. Exact measures are difficult to come by. In this frame of mind, you will need to make decisions based on the kind of person you wish to become. Of course, this will be different for different people. As Christians, most will base their decisions on a desire to serve God. This does not mean you choose a path and say, “Who cares what everybody thinks!” What it does mean is that you are aware and willing to admit to yourself that you do care what others think. Yes, I know, it sounds counter-productive, but hear me out. Since you are now in a position to be honest, you have accepted the good and ugly about yourself, and you have admitted you care what others think, you no longer have any pretenses that you are trying to live up to. You no longer have to worry that the charade you have tried in the past to live out is going to come crashing down around your ears. You are on a solid foundation.

 

With this solid foundation in place, you are now able to make your choice, not because you tell yourself you don’t care what others think, but in spite of what they think. The strength of complete honesty with yourself will give you the power to stick with what you believe is right, even though your decision may not be a popular one.

 

Another benefit you will notice in accepting yourself is that you really will be able to accept others in a more complete way. Now that you have accepted that you are not perfect and never will be, you will be able to see others as a work of art in progress as well. Their flaws will not look so much more terrible than your own. Your critical spirit toward others will begin to crack. To your amazement, you will see flowers blooming out of the cracks and realize you’ve been missing the true beauty of those around you because you have obscured it with the absurd walls you have built to protect yourself.

 

One last note: don’t expect this to be a one-time-fix. Many artists have said that they are never done with a painting, there are always more things they could change. I think that this very understanding, that you will struggle with this, possibly occasionally, perchance frequently, should give you courage. Courage because if you are willing to fight the battle it will keep you real. 

Remember the newly recruited soldier? He has dreams in his head of how the battle will go. Those dreams aren’t real. He will face situations in the future that tempt him to believe he is a failure. But the seasoned soldier? He’s been in the trenches. He’s seen the blood, heard the cries of the wounded. He knows war for what it is. He is real. He chooses to fight, not because he's made no mistakes, but because he knows that this is his responsibility. Being true is the greatest service he can do, not only to save his own life, but to help those he loves. The fight is real. His ambitions honest. Hope glows in his heart.

 

And it is for that realness, that honesty, that I, too, am striving. I don’t have all the answers. I am in the battlefield. I hope you will join me.

Deserts

     I’ve been thinking about deserts lately. There are many people wandering near a desert in a land of crippling fear. They long for nothing more than to be whole, but to find the stream of healing or the well of salvation they will have to cross a great expanse of nothing but sun and sand. Many aren’t certain where the water source is located. To most, the desert looks too terrifying to embark upon alone. They are sure they will die before they reach the source of miracles.
    This is where the rest of us come in. Each of us has our own gifts to offer. Some may offer a map, others encouraging words, still others might send a bottle of water with the traveler. And often someone will have it laid on their heart to travel across the desert with seeker. It is these companions who often face the greatest challenge. Because their eyes are not clouded with fear and memories of the past, they are able to see the way much more clearly. To them, it seems obvious which direction to travel.
    In an over-zealous attempt to help, these companions sometimes race ahead so far toward the source that the person they are trying to help gets lost in the spray of sand, unable to make their crippled feet run at the same rate as the healthy person ahead of them. There are other times where the companion grabs the hand of the person they are trying to help and pulls them toward the goal. “Can’t you see it?” they say, “It’s right there! Just look!” But the seeker cannot see that far, and the companion soon becomes exhausted from all the tugging and pulling, and the two crumple exhausted on the desert floor, neither with strength left to continue.
    There is another scenario. Perhaps the saddest of all. Sometimes the companion forgets that each must find the way for themselves, that they are only there to walk with the seeker. In an attempt to be the best companion they could ever be, they march in front of the seeker, plowing towards the Great Source of Life. Sometimes they even reach the well, and they urge the seeker to drink. But the seeker cannot. For in the great desire to help, the companion has placed himself between the seeker and the well. The seeker has no strength left to go around the companion. They love the companion, after all, and want to follow where they are directing. But the companion stands in the path, their presence keeping the Source from doing His healing work.
    What, then, is the job of the companion? We must remember it is not our job to set the pace. It is not our job to do all the work. It is not our job to get between the seeker and God, trying with our limited wisdom to lead. Our job is so much simpler.
    Just because it is simple does not mean it is easy. When you love someone, it is difficult to step back and let them find their way. We see the agony they are going through and we want to hurry their journey to joy. But we need to relax. We are there to walk with them. We are there to encourage, to sometimes give advice, but we are not there to take over the journey. We dare not stand between the man in the desert and the well. We do not walk ahead, but beside.
    God has ordained choice since creation. We, as companions, must be careful not to give the impression we are taking away that freedom. We must love with the love of our Father. Love that is willing to let go. Love that knows loving is painful, but chooses that pain with joy.
    And as we step back, walk with, and offer support, the chances actually increase of the seeker finding the well and plunging into the healing stream. They will be stronger and more surefooted for having found the Source in the timing of the Father. They will be able to walk through future wastelands with more confidence.
    And someday, both the seeker and the companion will walk together in another land, where there is not desert, but golden streets. Where the beating sun is replaced by the light and love of the Father’s Son. Where joy will never end.
    It doesn’t matter if you are the seeker or the companion. Sometimes, perhaps, we are a little bit of each. Both can reach the well, both will find it expedient to bathe in the stream. Do not fear the journey. It is the most hopeful thing you can ever undertake.
    Sending each one of you love and courage!