Bound to be Good

Mom & Me.

This is our third Christmas in the home we share. It's quite simple, just not always easy.

The unconditional commitment similar to an adoption. The "till death do us part, in sickness and in health" vibes like a marriage. The character-shaping complexities that accompany any mother and daughter dance.

These are the ties that bind.

Our differences are sizeable:

*Her hair almost always looks perfect. Mine almost never does. 

*She has jewelry specific to each outfit. I will wear the same pearl necklace until it breaks and then buy another one very much like it. 

*She follows recipes, dirties dozens of dishes and tools, and sets the oven timer. I pour and stir in one container with one spoon and play it by ear. 

*She loves Hallmark movies. I can't. 

*I love chunky guac. She cannot.

But do you know what we have in common? We are cute. Duh. Plus also we are serious about prayer and patience. And when each of us perceived an invitation from God to step out in faith to partner with one another come what may, we both had the courage to say yes. 

Is it clunky? Yes.

Are we gaining flexibility and strength? Yes.

Are there miscommunications? Yes.

Is there laughter and good food? Yes.

Are there days when each of us low-key longs for the greener grass from our separate yards? Yes, I'm afraid we do.

But then from separate closets, we return to our senses and remember Who we live for and suddenly we feel these ties that bind. Sturdy cords of mercy and love hold us together when all else fails.

God is with us and for us, and He is sure to receive the glory.

Bound to be good.

By And By

I didn't know Mrs. Joyce very well. I've been in her home a few times, and eaten her food on occasion, but I've hung out with her kids on purpose several times. 

Her kids are so great, and based on cumulative hours spent at her house, my husband basically qualifies as one of her kids.

Mrs. Joyce passed away yesterday, and I am sad. I see how sad my husband is. I hear how sad her family is. And even at a distance, I share in this deep sorrow because she was was such a bright light.

The first Christmas that Philip and I were dating (which was incidentally three weeks before our wedding I can explain that craziness later) we stopped by Mrs. Joyce's house. It smelled like a friendly blend of warm cinnamon and garlic. There was foil-covered food blanketing the stove top and surrounding counters. Everyone was in athletic wear. The soap in the hall bathroom was the good stuff. 

Adult kids lounged on the arms of sofas and recliners while a fluffy, fat cat eased into and around all the discussion. Football was on, but you couldn't hear the announcers for all the chatty laughter. The drapes flanking the sliding glass door were as thick and rich as the southern accents, and the leftover pumpkin pie was almost as sweet as the lady who served it.

She insisted that I sit on the couch beside her and she asked me questions about the wedding. She told me how much she adored Philip, and how long she had felt that way. Even now, 28 years later, I can see her wide smile and hear the happy smack of her laughter coupled with the simultaneous jangle of earrings and bracelets. She giggled easily and continued to gently touch my arm or knee or hand the whole time we talked.

As I stood insecure at the threshold of adulthood, she was "goals". I wished in my heart that God would miraculously make me sweet enough to open my home wide and often; that he would bless me with loads of leftovers, good soap in the hall bath, and plenty of people to play football in the front yard. 

Oh, for the grace to fold folks into my tribe the way Joyce did for Philip and me. As she loved others with hospitality and prayer, she planted seeds of belonging and joy, and her life pointed us to Jesus. Her life continues to point us to Jesus. That is exactly where our focus is now, as she rests in His loving arms having served Him well.

RESeT with Us!!

Not sure what it's all about?

Here's the scoop!

It's going to be so good!

Join the next Five-Day Change-It-Up Challenge!

Sign up here: December 26-30, 2021: RESeT

All the Way

You know how some dates just leave a stain in your memory? When somebody left, or something was lost, or maybe it was just the most horrible Thursday you could ever imagine.

For whatever the reason, you remember the date. Like sharpie on your soul it becomes a marker . . . a measuring point . . . and a makeshift altar.

I'm pausing at this Ebenezer for reflection . . . sticks and stones . . . brokenness . . . a breaking away, a laying down, and a miraculous building back up.

Redemption is a journey and healing is a process.

This is what I wrote to a friend when she asked how I was [really] doing about halfway through this revolution:

There is just a rising river of grief with a swift and unpredictable current that I simply must cross. 

No one is chasing me, there is rest on the other side, but for now I just can't relax ... I.must.keep.walking.

My hands are high, holding important things above the stream of ruin. My core is flexed, and my feet are cold (realities of faith and issues of trust).

But I am not alone, and this temporary challenge has a purpose: my ultimate good and God's eternal glory. 

This is the song that ushered me across:

"Sometimes sorrow is the door to peace

Sometimes heartache is the gift I need

You're faithful, faithful

In all things

You're still my rock, my hope remains

I'll rest in the arms of Jesus

Come what may"

This morning, "Goodness of God" served as my usual confession on my solitary commute. I pushed play in the silence. 

Just as Cece and I began to sing (man, I'm telling you, we are pretty fantastic together - she has literally no idea) , I thought of the day and the year and all I could do was marvel at how far we've come - my Savior and I. 

At the chorus my voice cracked, and out rushed an emotional mix of warm tears and fresh faith, and I could barely get the words all the way out . . . but I sang them believing, broken and bold. 

"All my life You have been faithful. All my life You have been so, so good."

RESeT

Something had to change.

Last January I took a break from social media. I wasn't sure how hooked I was, but I could sense an unhealthy preoccupation. Once I deleted the apps, out of habit I still slid one screen and tapped the top right app every time I opened my phone. Muscle memory glitched for a couple days. 

The noticeable hiccups were when I thought of something, or when my kids did something funny ... it was like a tree falling in a forest. If no one on social media saw it and laughed, was it really funny?

Without a daily alert of birthdays across the country,  I was limited to sending well-wishes to friends and family whose birthday was already in my calendar or consciousness.

All our January birthdays and our anniversary were celebrated in the quiet, undocumented vibrance of real life.

I started texting photos and some of my musings to individual friends. I enjoyed the chatting that resulted from my need to be heard.

I started asking people how they were doing and checking in with a wider array of friends. I enjoyed the connection that resulted from my desire to hear from others.

I read books and wrote essays, and organized my closet. I took walks and worked puzzles and wondered what I was missing. And, I started watching TV, which I do not enjoy, but it was an easy filler for those mindless moments of vegetative lounging.

I read the Bible every day. I was present with my kids. I'd like to say I began to floss, but that would be a lie. There is so little hope for me in that area.

Eventually, several weeks later, I reloaded the apps and enjoyed freshly appointed boundaries like "only on Friday night and saturday" or "not while kids are awake". 

One little taste of freedom helped me to reconsider the habits I had coasted into, and to recommit to better manage my media consumption. In May, several friends joined my friend, Erin, and me for five days of swapping our scrolls for the better. The connection and freedom and growth that soaked in and squeezed out of that week changed me for good!

This morning it feels as though it may be time for another reset, so we've decided to host another 5-Day Change-It-Up Challenge!

Who thinks a break sounds timely? It's five days. December 26-30. You can do anything for five days! Just a little rest time. It will be a challenge, but I promise it will be fun!

Everyone who agrees to the challenge will receive five daily emails filled with ideas and inspiration to help you along the way. 👋🏼

You can also opt in to receiving a text each morning and evening for an extra boost of encouragement. 😂

Each person who accepts the challenge is encouraged to gather a few friends who know about the challenge . . . so that whether or not they also join, they at least have fair warning that you may indeed blow up their inbox with silly photos of your pets for a couple days. 🙃

At the end of the five days, we CELEBRATE!!

If scrolling has you bogged, we hope you'll mark your calendar and consider joining us December 26-30, 2021 for five days of Refreshing RESeT. 💛

Join the next Five-Day Change-It-Up Challenge!

Sign up here: December 26-30, 2021: RESeT 

Resolution

I'm not going to make it this year. 

Do you see those pockets of failure? The chunks of consistent inconsistency?

I'll admit there is a little part of my brain that screams, "We can do it!! Tally the missing chapters! Hurry and divide them out and add to each day's reading for December!!! Read, read, read! Heck, fire up the Audio Bible on 1.8 and let's GO!!"

And if reading the entire Bible in a year was my only goal, then that strategy would be one of my greatest hopes for success.

But I looked it up, and to succeed also means to come closely after. And therein lies my real hope.

Following God (as close as I can) is my primary goal, and reading His Word every day helps me accomplish that. 

From this vantage of a year's worth of pages I notice that I looked and listened a BUNCH. And sitting this morning noticing a year's worth of challenges and triumphs with tears, laughter, and gut-punchy growth . . . the Truth is hidden away in here too.

Have I been faithful? Not every day. Has He? Every single minute of each and every day. Praise. 

So I read the Bible today.

The Lord knows it is my aim to be able to say that again tomorrow.

I have also ordered a new journaling One-year Bible for January 1.

I hear my Savior continue to say, "Come close after Me."

Successful measures.

Measures of success.

One day at a time sweet Jesus.

Happy Thanks

A Meditation on Matthew 5:3-10.

Happiness is knowing where we stand, realizing every ounce of goodness is a gift, and intentionally aiming to live emptied; giving thanks for the fulfillment that is ours.

Happiness is knowing we're never alone, feeling separation and sorrow cut deep, but sensing bonds of hope and joy; giving thanks for the communion that is ours.

Happiness is knowing it's fine to be last and there's no need to be loud; giving thanks for the identity and inheritance that is ours.

Happiness is knowing the pangs of purified desires and the diligence of pursuit; giving thanks for the satisfaction that is ours.

Happiness is knowing that life isn't fair, and relinquishing our right to get even; giving thanks for the mercy that is ours.

Happiness is a clean conscience and a humble heart; giving thanks for the holy perspective that is ours.

Happiness is treating others with patience and respect; giving thanks for the royalty that is ours.

Happiness is standing firmly in the light; giving thanks for the future that is ours.

Chemo Buddy

The day before Thanksgiving 2018 . . .

I’d never been to an infusion room, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. She said, “Bring stuff in case I sleep,” so I did. And then Kathy had her purse, and a backpack and some snacks and a tote and a drink. So apparently, “buddy” comes from the latin word for “pack mule”. 😊

From the endearing descriptions on my sister-in-law’s FB posts, I recognized “East Texas” and “Cameroon” immediately. I wanted to hug them, but that would have just been weird.

Once we were settled with all our loot and luggage, and Kathy had happily greeted her friends on staff, an elderly newcomer took the recliner across from us. He was quietly cheerful and handsome in his red plaid shirt and khakis pulled together with a braided leather. I watched as the nurse prepared his arm for infusion while his face rested with a smile.

“You all have the same last name,” the nurse remarked.

And with that connection, we entered into the most delightful conversation of the day. We took turns reporting where we were from and how many siblings and children we each had. Then we asked him about his Thanksgiving plans.

In the most soothing Grampa voice, he shared, “OH, I’m serving a wonderful deep-fried turkey, and bread pudding with a nice rum sauce.”

*Kathy and Cari swoon.

“You can’t beat it … the skin is crispy, but the meat stays moist and tasty. For sides, I’m making green bean casserole and squash dressing  …”

*Kathy and Cari gasp and sigh together, “Squasssshhhhh Dresssingggggg??”

“And listen, if you don’t like bread pudding [‘xcuse, me sir … we don’t include this type of fictional person in our musings, but please continue …] then my wife is also making her homemade banana pudding. And there will be hot buttered yeast rolls!”

*Kathy and Cari blink away their heart-eyes, silently reconsider all standing plans, and begin shamelessly inviting themselves to HIS side of the Walker festivities. 

After a satisfied chuckle, he went on to say what a blessing he considered his cancer to be. He said “to have so many people praying for you and to feel the effects of those prayers – well, it’s just a gift.”

We nodded in agreement, and Kathy told him how encouraging it was to hear people say they are praying for her.

Walker told us stories of times he had prayed specifically for friends’ healing and how God powerfully and specifically answered. I turned to see my dearest girl crying – stirred by tender testimony, her tears streamed down around a hope-filled grin. 

“What’s your first name, sweetheart?”

“Kathy.”

“Well, Kathy, as of today you’ve got me as one more prayer warrior!” 

 

And if that weren’t gift enough, he agreed to send us his recipe for squash dressing!!

*Hours later, Kathy & Cari squeal like fan-girls as they simultaneously check their inboxes, click on “Walker”, and read, “Dear Kathy and Cari … What a treat to visit with you today …”

Indeed.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13

SQUASH DRESSING CASSEROLE (from the kitchen of Maude O’Dell)

INGREDIENTS:

5  - cups yellow squash (sliced) 

1  - stick butter 

1  - pkg. jalapeno cornbread mix (or your favorite homemade cornbread) 

1  - onion (diced) 

1  - cup celery (diced) 

1  - can Cream of Chicken soup 

1  - egg (lightly beaten) 

1  - cup grated or shredded cheese 

1  - tsp. salt 

1  - tsp. pepper

DIRECTIONS:

Cook, drain and mash squash Bake cornbread as per mix instructions; cool, crumble into squash Sauté onions and celery in the butter, crumble into squash Stir egg, soup and seasonings into squash mixture Bake in a 9 x 13 casserole dish for 45 minutes at 350 degrees Top with cheese for last 15 minutes of baking.

Serves 6 to 8

Back to Normal

Everybody's reminding us about setting clocks back. And with all our smart stuff, aren't we just talking about the microwave, some cars, and that one history prof (and me) who still wear a watch?

I need you Mommas to listen. I've been parenting for almost 26 years, and, for the most part, I have zero advice to offer. It's all a flipping crap shoot. Pray. Often. Then pray some more.

HOWEVER, I do know this one thing for certain. Do NOT set your clocks back tomorrow night!!! Don't do it. 

Put them all to bed. You go to bed. Regular. Then Sunday morning, wake up and wake them all up. Regular. Do not even glance at your smart phone ... you lock in on that microwave, sister!

Get ready for church. Regular.

And just when the witching hour begins ... those final STRESSFUL minutes of trying to get out the door when shoes go missing, and breakfast becomes messy, and all toddlers poop their drawers. STOP. Tell everyone to stop. 

And once you have found the shoe and mopped the milk and changed the poo, in your sweetest voice, let everyone choose a book or a chore and you make yourself a slow cup of coffee ... as you set the clock back a big, fat, beautiful hour.

You're welcome. 😊❤👍

Not Great

Expectations are from hell.

That thing you wish someone else would do. The attitude you wish someone would have. All the ways people could be . . . better.  Simply cannot be expected.

Nothing frustrates me more than the apparent freedom that people possess to remain painfully and relentlessly self-absorbed.

That freedom is God-given.

My frustration is not.

Now, our freedom to establish boundaries with selfish folks is a useful tool blessed by God. And our ability to remain un-offendable is also a powerful gift made possible only through the wonder-working grace of Jesus.

But expectations do no one any good.

Standards? Absolutely. God loves them. I love them. 

Requests and preferences? Sure! Why not? God does it all the time.

But expectations are useless burdens silently imposed upon another human and they are not of God. (I'm willing to hash this out if you see it differently so don't shy away from my resolute tone ... I just have given this a ton of thought and I'm a teensy bit provoked this fair evening ha.)

On the bright side: do you know what kind of delightfulness DOES flow from heavenly storehouses?? Unexpected helpfulness. Unmerited favor. Unanticipated generosity.

There will always be selfish among us. I'm here, so ... cased closed. 

But as long as God is guiding His light-bearers in and throughout this dark world, there will be remarkable expressions of love, meaningful contributions of helpfulness, and undeniably selfless offerings of forgiveness. All around.

Heaven on earth.

On the Agenda

Kids come running in to show me this page from MY scrapbook like it's a novel discovery. (Yep. I was there, you guys.)

This happened the week I turned nine. I remember being very excited. I remember trembling in fear. 

I must have heard my dad pray in public hundreds of times by then ... using words like may and might and blessings and courage. 

Today, I would tweak the bit about standing up "for what they believe" and admonish us all to stand on truth. But otherwise, I notice it was a suitable prayer for me personally as I "involved" myself in government and asked the Lord for strength and wisdom to decide.

What a sweet little seed of calling, planted long ago (back when we covered boxes with shag carpet, feathered our middle-part, and popped one wrist to say "cheese").

Threshold Blessing

Father, thank you for today. Only you can see all the many choices that have brought us to this point, and only you can see the future blessings that will emerge because of your presence here with us today.

Through the indwelling presence of your holy spirit, you show your kindness by supernaturally infusing temporal things with meaning, purpose and memories. 

We thank you. 

We confess our dependence upon you. 

Jesus, be near. 

May every spoken word, every shared seat at the table; every gift of thanks (both hard and happy) that is offered in this place bring honor to your name.

Let us become more aware of your presence. Let us experience the glory of your goodness.

Giving Gifts

The note said, "It's your birthday! I thought you'd like to share with your friends!"

My sister-in-law sent a giant take-out bag containing an assortment of individually boxed desserts with eight pouches of plastic cutlery to my office which provided me with the most enjoyable afternoon.

"Hello? Hi! Can you stop by my office in a minute?"

"Hey! Come over here! I have something for you!"

"No, you choose what you like. I like them all so I'll be happy with the last one."

So much joy. Rising and rolling over. Becoming more.

I felt a strange confidence ...

I found myself in abundance and the only reasonable response was to sustain the rhythms of gratitude and generosity by sharing what I had been given. 

It was humbling too...

Since I hadn't baked or bought any of the sweets, there was no room for the credit to be mine. 

Here's the thing about gifts.

God in many ways has delivered a bounty of good into your life as though His personal message says, "This is the day that I have made! Find joy and share with the world!"

I'm not sure what's in your bag of treats - the assortment of ways in which He has gifted you. Maybe you help, or encourage or create. Perhaps you speak wisdom or teach truth or pray power. Is it making music, heavy lifting, taking a stand . . . dreaming, organizing, seeing things through? Whatever you've got, I know it came with extra forks! 

The gifts He has given are not just for you. He intends for you to confidently, humbly, offer them to others as an invitation to participate in the fullness.

The only reasonable response is to sustain the rhythms of gratitude and generosity by sharing what you have been given.  Since you aren't the one who creates or provides the gifts, all the credit and thanks belong to God.

And many more.

Path and Pathos

My student worker pulls a cart loaded with boxes of hand-me-down books, tea-stained cups and mismatched frames. 

I carry my plant. My beloved pathos is the only potted greenery to survive any of my nurturing efforts. I bought her at Brookshire's in 2016.

We gingerly walk the several hundred steps from last season to next.

Five years ago John Harris called from ETBU to say my name had been mentioned, and he wondered if I'd be interested in a secretarial position in the religion department.

He told me about my dad calling him in the 90's from ETBU to say that his name had been mentioned and he wondered if John would be interested in a faculty position in the religion department.

We talked about his cancer in that first call. Somehow I knew I would work for him for the rest of his life.

John had the highest standards: in work ethic, gift-giving, and Turabian formatting.

He had the most answers: always a position, rarely any sway; always a strategy, never a second guess.

He had a tremendous amount of patience with me and reciprocity reigned.

That pathos grew bright and tall as discussions of propriety, ministry, and Seinfeld episodes wafted around the office day in and day out.

Over time, snapped yellow leaves were tossed away while clipped sturdy stems rested and rooted in clean, clear cups of water.

Pruning and productive, five years full.

We slowly walk to the cadence of cart wheels clunking across brickish pavers, and I'm numb. So much change in these last several months. All the grieving and leaving and recalibration. Am I ready for more?

The elevator dings.

Onward and upward. We unload the photos and coffee and books. And we gently set the glazed dish of flourishing vines upon an unfamiliar ledge.

A fresh vista where light will shine through slivers of space, and words will stir purpose and seep satisfaction like water in the soil. The time-consuming, hard and happy work of thriving awaits.

Ready, set, grow.

When At First

You know that person you try to avoid? In the name of peace, of course, you steer clear. The one who makes you uneasy, who makes life not easy? Maybe they are careless or cruel, or just unbearable.

I wonder if you could close your eyes and thank God for them.

This is not easy. 

But can you breathe in and thank the Creator - who gives you both breath - for His image they bear just by being here?  

Can you thank Him for being available to them the way He is available to you? 

Can you exhale and linger in the whispered truth that God made both of you, and He has a plan for each of you, and He loves you both?

Are you able to see God's kindness in it all? 

Can you ask Him to give you gratitude for this person - a real supernatural thankfulness, the likes of which you cannot acquire on your own?

We can believe God and watch while gratitude affects our attitude and His love has room to work ... putting away fear and miraculously making up for a mess of sin.

Thank You, God, for ________________.

All in a Day's Work

I stare at this photo from 2016 like it's a masterpiece hanging in the Louvre.

Sure, I recognize Asa and Phil, and I think they could not be more precious.

But, man, this imagery! Take it in for three seconds or more.

THIS is how my soul sees me and God . . . "making a difference, working hard, fixing things, and making life good."

With one strong and outstretched arm He patiently takes what's wrong and is making it right. 

And with His other strong and outstretched arm He provides a safe spot for me to rest and learn while I wait quietly and watch Him work. 

I ask questions and His responses can range from undistracted silence, to inarticulate grunts, to meaningful demonstrations. 

I feel important and powerless all in the same time. And we are together. 

It seems like I'd have to be the one to move - no longer leaning on everlasting arms - to give Him room to stop working and leave. But even then, I don't believe He would. 

He beckons me back again and again until the work He has begun in me is good and complete.

O sing unto the LORD a new song; for he has done marvelous things: his right hand, and his holy arm, has gotten him the victory. Psalm 98:1

Dove Hunt

**Sarcastic posts exposing the inherent inequalities of hunting season(s) will come another day. Today I'm completely overwhelmed by the good stuff.💛

The pursuit. The preparation and thought that goes before, the determination and patience required to be successful ... the strengthening of these qualities is beneficial in our marriage.💛

The pastime. The hunger for purposeful pause and a change of pace, the pleasing balance of solitude and teamwork ... these disciplines of stillness and fellowship are beneficial in our home.💛

This picture. As domestication and duty blend into untamed beauty for a time, he enjoys recreation. He walks and watches attentively as his soul finds rest and the re-creation of peace. The harvested happiness is beneficial to us all.💛

Photo Credit | Luke Johnson📷

Fellowship Hall

Winter 2018

The rented church space is abuzz with friends and family and LOADS of good food. The celebration seems to be a success as she stands and watches, wiping the same stretch of counter in circular rhythms. A brother walks up from behind, squeezes her shoulders into his side and says, "This is your happy place, Sis. We just need to get you a fellowship hall, and you'll be good forevermore."

Spring 2019

A vacant church house stands empty and still. Sold to a mining company but spared before demolition, the big white boxy building sits quietly among the overgrown shrubs. She calls her husband, "Please get me that church house!  You can convert half the sanctuary into a shop. The kids can each have a Sunday school space for a bedroom. And I want that fellowship hall!"

He takes her seriously and calls around. He trespasses, inspects, and returns with terrible news. "It has been vandalized and ripped to shreds. It's going to take a lot of work. Also, I have no idea how we could even figure out who to buy it from. It seems pretty impossible."

She prays. She feels a seed of faith sprouting with hope up from her deepest longings. She musters courage to just ask God for what she wants. "Dear God, if it would please you, could I have a fellowship hall?" God knows her heart for feeding and tending her growing flock and all their friend-group gatherings. He has shaped the desire and delight within her.

Summer 2019

She keeps asking and seeking and knocking. She cries every time she lets herself believe it could come true. She starts a pinterest board for old church renos as an act of faith.

With little warning, the tables turn and one thing leads to another. Before she knows it she and her husband and her mother have signed a contract on a house that needs zero work. A house where people share bedrooms, where there is a shop, and a sense of sanctuary all around. A house with the most spacious kitchen and dining area she's ever known. Her very own fellowship hall.

The week they close on the house, she stands in a worship service weeping at how rich and kind God is. Her hands reach high to grasp the glory. She is fearfully undone. Just then, a tender-hearted daughter squeezes her momma's hips into her side and whispers, "You've been begging God for a quarter, but He wants to give you a twenty dollar bill."

Summer 2021

She settles in to begin a new decade of living. But what a brutal, challenging patch the last two years have proven to be. She feels weathered and worn, battle-weary and bruised. But also brave. And wiser and stronger and blessed. If God had given her a glimpse of 2020, she would have never agreed to the "twenty-dollar bill". But He is too kind to have done that.  He knows blind faith is a mystery of mercy, so that's what He often requires.

The halls are filled with fellowship as little ones holler for Granna and adult children bless their Momma on her birthday. She sits in the abundance and weeps at the wonder of it all . . . and her husband hangs the hand-crafted sign. 

The best gift: Sala de la compagnia.

She'll be good forevermore.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen Ephesians 3:20-21

Confessional

God, you are good. Your love cannot fail and your compassion never runs out.

You are holy and righteous and perfect.

Because You are so good, it feels like I shouldn’t be able to talk to You so freely. But because You are so good, I also feel that I can, and I must.

O God, have mercy on me.

It is against You and You alone that I’ve sinned. I’ve been sinful my whole life, and I can’t seem to make much progress without falling short again.

For all the wrong things I’ve done, and all the right things I’ve left undone. Forgive me. The ways I’ve wandered from your way, the times I’ve tested my own version of truth, and the life I’ve spent worshipping what I loathe.

You know every heart-breaking detail.

This is why we come to You. Because without you there is no hope.

Our hearts are so messy – cluttered with fear-based restraints, filled with a fog of selfish desires, and oh, Dear Lord, the noise: all that sinful chatter that stirs up strife and puffs up pride. This internal chaos leads nowhere but to more sin and death.

We acknowledge our sin, God.

We ask you to forgive us.

Please clean our hearts up, straighten things out, and refresh us for good. Renew Your spirit in each of us right here in this moment. Restore the joy of our salvation.

Give us courage to repeat these rhythms of repentance so that You might teach us wisdom in the secret spaces of our souls. May the joy of knowing You and the peace of being known by You permeate our thoughts and words and actions.

You are so good. We don’t deserve Your mercy; we could never earn it; and yet, You are good to all of us.

Hear our confession, Lord.

May You be glorified.

*Inspired by Psalm 51*

Well Then

For days and days,

through conflict and crisis,

sermons and sisters,

guilt and grace,

scrolling ads and Bible study,

God has been speaking.

I love you. Love Me. Love Others.

Not a new message, right?

But, man, what a fresh word to renew my mind, refine my motivations and heal this deceptive heart of mine.

I love you.

He really loves me. Not the "best-foot-forward" me ... the "just-as-I-am" me.

I have nothing to offer Him in return, and basically, my selfishness is a daily slap in the face to His provision. My impatience is a hindrance to His perfect will. My chronic unkindness towards Him and willful resistance toward His priorities prove my unworthiness.

But (in phrases of praise) His kindness leads me to repentance. His grace is sufficient. He loves me with a love that never ends. He never gives up.

Love me. Love others.

All that He asks of me is that I love Him back and love other people in the same sacrificial way that He already loves us.

It will obviously take me the rest of my life to fully know and understand and live out the wisdom in this divine relationship.

Right now, there is someone in my life who doesn't seem to love me. (It's not you and no, it's not her either, so we're good.) I have spent too much time dissatisfied in this relationship ... wondering what I could do differently to earn or deserve their love. I'd even settle for kindness or just baseline human respect.

I've been praying for them.

And it's not working.

Guess what? I don't love them.

I say I do. I've always said I do.

But I still want something in return. I have expectations. I am hurt. I feel unloved. I want to be validated and appreciated.

To live well, I must LOVE this person. 

I must love them WELL.

Not waiting for them to deserve my kind attention.

Not waiting for them to reciprocate or return the affection.

This is not something that can be fabricated or faked.

God is going to have to do a miracle deep in my soul. He will have to change the way I see this person, the way I hear this person, the way I speak to this person. He'll have to give me a genuine desire to be around this person ... to want them to be near and dear to me ... like they are to God.

I believe God can and will do this because it aligns perfectly with His greatest desire.

He sets the example and supplies the strength; we simply submit and humbly and joyfully serve. All is well then.

"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." -John 13:34-35

"Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;  it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends." - 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Field of Dreams

Since the tickets were a gift, we weren't sure exactly what to expect. We could tell by the row and seat numbers that we would be sitting pretty close to home plate, so we were super excited for the 1:30 first pitch.

While Philip checked locations for parking options, I made sure to read up on guidelines and restrictions concerning food and handbags. We decided to grab a couple sausage biscuits from a drive through and quickly eat them in the rented parking spot before walking to the stadium toting our carefully packed almonds and cashews. Our plan was to splurge for a refillable souvenir cup in order to remain hydrated without spending a fortune.

We were dutiful in our efforts toward ensuring we had what we would need. You know: "So we can relax and enjoy the game."

Once we arrived at our seats and sat down, an usher greeted us. "May I interest you in a beer or soda?" Philip and I replied with a tidy, unified, "No, thanks." After a few seconds of pause, the usher said, "You don't even know what your ticket includes, do you?"

He proceeded to escort us down a private staircase which opened into an enormous restaurant housing a grand buffet of roast beef, coconut-crusted talapia, arugula salad, cheese cake, made-to-order crepes, and a full service of unlimited beverages. He clarified that we were welcome to come and go as we please throughout the entire game. Additionally, we had the option of simply requesting items to be brought to our seats. Back on our row just behind the on-deck circle, a server passed by our aisle every few minutes offering more drinks and snacks.

Everything we needed was already provided - more than we could have ever consumed. 

I must have looked ridiculous arriving to my plush seat with our regulation tote of assorted tree nuts. And those sausage biscuits gobbled down in the front seat of our car? Also ridiculous.

So because Philip doesn'tchat when the Rangers are playing, I had time to listen to what God was saying to me. How often do I scrounge and scarf to supply my perceived needs? So much energy is spent hashing out the guidelines - I scurry and skimp and cram stuff into compartments of my life hoping my provisions are compliant and sufficient. In the scope of eternity, my anxious posture is ridiculous. 

God promises to meet our needs, not according to limitations and regulations, but according to his riches! He has unlimited nourishment, boundless access and extravagant grace, and it is mine. I didn't pay for it. It is simply a marvelous gift. 

Wisdom, joy and peace come as I stop worrying about what I'll eat or drink (or where I'll park) like it depends on me, and begin again to walk humbly and confidently into His invitations fully aware that everything I need is ready to go.

Will I need to offer forgiveness? Got it. How will that work out? No idea, but He has a way. What if someone needs my patience? Not a problem. How will we be able to serve that person when we're already weary? He is able. Will there be enough? Always. The answer is yes and amen.

Do I need to worry about __________? Not at all. It has been taken care of.

You know what we can do? Receive it and enjoy.

Philippians 4:19 "And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus."

How NOT To Drown

How NOT to drown when life gets drifty and dark and deep.

1. Admit to yourself that you are grieving and afraid. This helps make so much sense of your feelings and reactions. 

2. Tether yourself to the truth that God is good and kind and wise … which means we grieve with hope and we shall not fear. *This doesn't necessarily change one single thing in the dark and drifty deepness, but it keeps you afloat for sure.

3. Tell a trusted friend or two about your overwhelm, and ask them to pray over you. You will recognize the Holy relief - like floating hip-high in the ocean, breathing in several seconds of fresh, relaxed air before plunging back down to  resume the position of neck-deep, splashy-faced water-treading.

4. Say no. Be careful not to isolate, but carefully carve out respites of time for yourself and God and maybe a choice human. A 5-minute pause can preserve your peace. A 50-minute break from perceived obligation can preserve your life.

5. Say yes. God knows your situation and I would imagine He has good stuff (glory type stuff) that He wants to help you be and do … even before there is rescue or resolution. So get golden and look for ways you can treat people in the way you need it most: reach out, pray, encourage, help.

6. Keep talking to your counselor/therapist. Objective listening, expert insight and practical strategies for growth and healing are WAY more valuable than anything else you were going to spend that money and time toward. WAY.

7. Keep moving. (Like literally stretch or take a walk even when you don't feel like it.) But also, keep going. This can't possibly last forever. Mark your calendar for 90 days from now, and call me. Even if circumstances still seem unchanged, we'll be able to look back and find more than one benefit emerging from this difficult and draining season. One blessing I would bet and bank on is that we'll know even more deeply than we do today that God never leaves and His love simply cannot fail.

Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress.

He stilled the storm to a whisper; 

the waves of the sea were hushed.

They were glad when it grew calm,

and he guided them to their desired haven.

Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind.

Psalm 107:27b-31

Heavenly Mercies

We live an unbearable distance from the nearest Torchy's, and I love their queso more than I should. These are the facts.

After lunch, I ordered chips and queso to go. 

When it arrived, I promptly spilled the entire cup all over the table. I told Philip this was the saddest thing that has ever happened to me in my whole life. Somehow he doubted it.

Just as I was attempting to process my grief (which looked like sliding wads of napkins around to form a pitiful pond of queso in the middle of our table), a waitress stepped forward with a neat and tidy to-go bag and cheerfully inquired, "You need chips and queso to go?"

I stuttered words admitting I had already received [and squandered] my order. She listened like, "Cool, cool. But since there is nowhere to set this down (table is queso lava), can one of you take it?" Philip smiled, took the bag, and said, "Thank you so much."

I know God loves me. Every day, I know this to be true. But sometimes when the remedy to my [ridiculous] situation arrives immediately as I'm mourning the mistaken mess ... my soul feels the divine comfort of a God who sees me and who is more than capable to meet my every [real] need.

❤

The Unrest of the Story

This photo was taken nine years ago in Orlando. Ten minutes before this selfie, I had been bawling my eyes out at lunch, trying to hash out all my big feelings about life and calling and joy. 

I was overwhelmed by mediocrity and status quo. I wanted more. I wanted freedom and beauty, but when your life is intertwined in covenant with another human, you can only do so much inner pining.  You have to find a way to let them in on your upheaval. 

*And that might look like blubbering over a basket of fried shrimp across a noisy table at Bubba Gump's. "Waitress, can we have a few more napkins [again]?"

Philip heard me out, shared his own thoughts, and we walked away feeling emptied, filled, and unified. I didn't want to take this picture. But it was like the other thousand opportunities he has offered me over the years to get.over.myself. so I am grateful to have it.

One year later we were back in Orlando eating at that Hard Rock in the distance, looking at photos of baby Asa for the first time, surrendering everything in the hope of gaining something more.

I am learning to no longer fear the unrest. (Still not a fan of selfies in real time ha.)

The tilling turmoil of holy discontent is often a necessary preparation for the growth of something grand.

Memorable Days

Two decades separate my little brother's wedding from my own, but

they share the same building, 

same pews, same aisles, and many of the same people ... even the same pianist. 

But, the old ring bearer ...is the new groom.

The new groomsman ... is the old groom.

The old groomsman ...

... is the new pastor.

And the old pastor is ... missing ... and missed.

Dad died the year after he walked me down the aisle. James was seven.

Life moved on from there ... 

... and then sort of returned again. 

During the weekend of James's wedding, bits of dad's handsome character permeated the places of our togetherness:

All three of my brothers were in the same room with me several times. 

Bliss.

I could see traces of Dad.

Tim's individuality and passion for the Kingdom, 

and his ability to tell the perfect story - 

"enhanced" in just the right places to pique interest and produce laughter.

Josh's mannerisms - the way he looks through his glasses at you with kind sincerity; 

and his humility - 

he knows so much and is so very smart, 

but he is quick to listen and slow to speak, choosing to respond with more questions than answers.

James' confident smile that brightens rooms and lightens moods; 

and his love for people - 

he consistently chooses to put others first with generous grace and subtle style.

There were other reminders, too.

During the ceremony, my oldest son was an usher - and wore my dad's black Rockport dress shoes. 

The symbolism was sobering and sweet ... of filling shoes and walking paths ... legacy, heritage, and honor.

The day before the rehearsal, I looked in my closet and found Dad's black silk bow tie.
I rushed it through the dry cleaners, boxed it up, and sent it with the groomsmen on Saturday
to offer James as he dressed for the big day.
James wore it so well! There were no big acknowledgements ... it was our quiet, happy secret. 

Dad's signature touch was sweetly in our midst.

As the service concluded, the pastor blessed us with a wonderful gift. He said:

"James, twenty years ago I stood on this stage in your sister's wedding. 

In that ceremony your father shared some words that touched me so deeply. 

In fact, they had such an impact on my life,

 that I have shared his words in every wedding I've officiated over the last twenty years. 

I want to share his words with you now. 

In the few moments we've shared together tonight, 

you've made some very sincere and challenging promises to each other. 

But every day after today - you must choose to fill up your words with Christ-like actions. 

As you make your words come true each new day, in each new way, 

God will be honored and you will be blessed."

Mom couldn't have Dad by her side at James' wedding.

But how precious to have [almost] half of his grandkids on every side!

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord! 

I will sing of the Lord’s great love forever;
    with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known
    through all generations.

Job 1:21, Psalm 89:1-2

God is with us and He is for us.

And He promises as we journey through happiness and sorrow,

that not a tear is wasted. In time we'll understand.

He's painting beauty with the ashes.

Our life is in His Hands.
Casting Crowns, THRIVE

*Photo credit:

Jeannie Walker Gaut