A Heart-Melting "Here-ness"

While living in Kentucky, the Army Corps of Engineers removed a mountain from behind our home. For many months, we endured daily blasting and the endless roar of huge dump trucks removing earth from behind our house. A monumental task for one goal to change the path of the Cumberland River in order to avert more destructive flooding.

When I think about making large changes in my own life, I often think this kind of superhuman effort is needed. After all, I try again and again to control my thoughts only to find myself continuing in the old patterns. If nothing else, this experiment has reminded me of my weaknesses and how far away I am from who I want to be. The more I want to seek God, the more my thoughts stray to other things. Soon the task seems overwhelming and well beyond my feebleness.

My dear friend, Frank, struggled with the same thing. As I read his words, I was surprised to hear his own struggle with the great effort it seemed this task should take.  While many entries speak of the extreme joy he found in his own experiment amongst them is one where he speaks of his own struggle. At first, he speaks of the extreme effort he believed it would take to achieve his goal.

"I have to make a greater effort next week. I have undertaken something which, at my age at least, is hard, harder than I had anticipated. But I resolve not to give up the effort."

But then he continues with another profound truth. For he sees that it is not a greater effort which is needed but something which seems so very counter-intuitive to us go-getters and independent folk.

"Yet strain does not seem to do good. At this moment I feel something 'let go' inside, and lo, God is here! It is a heart melting 'here-ness,' a lovely whispering of father to child, and the reason I did not have it before, was because I failed to let go."

What do we do when the going gets tough? We, the tough, get going. But that is not what God calls us to do and it is not what Frank tells me to do. We let go. Or as the saying says, "Let Go; Let God." In my own experience this month, the moments I have felt closest to God are the very ones where I find myself resting rather than working. It is in the quietness of rest where I have experienced the wonder of a "heart melting 'here-ness'." The chaos of work and the need to control are counter-productive to this task ahead of me.

As a fairly young child, my mom taught me the joy of floating on my back in the water. She would float for a long time in the pool not moving but just allowing the water to keep her body up. She talked about how relaxing it was to feel the water holding her up and moving with the gentle waves. I, too, enjoy floating when I have the chance. Nothing is more relaxing than letting go and resting on the water. However, the moment you tense up, the floating takes effort and becomes work. I use this image when I think about letting go in my life. Leaning against the one who loves me more than any other and allowing him complete control. And in the rare moments I can do this, I know the "heart melting here-ness only He can provide.

Beginning All Over Instantly

Many years ago, we hosted a small group bible study in our home. At the time we were having plumbing trouble in our upstairs bathroom. The shower would leak and we hadn't yet figured out where the leak was coming from. As we were wrapping up our study, something caught my eye high on the wall, a very large "bubble" was forming in the paint. Before I knew it water was squirting out of the bubble and our study ended abruptly.

Water will travel the path of least resistance which is downward and will work its way into the smallest of cracks. This is a truth that cannot be denied. I will assert that my thought patterns are no different. No matter how much I would wish it to be different, my thoughts often travel the well worn path of least resistance and lead me to the same place every time. When I began my experiment at the beginning of the month, I had high hopes of changing these patterns. Twenty six days in, I will have to admit the results are truly mixed.

I knew the inherent risks of sharing this with others. When I admitted to even one person I was trying to seek continually God's presence, I opened myself up to both encouragement and criticism. I believe it was the right thing to do as I know it benefited me and I humbly, hoped it would benefit others. After all, I am not a spiritual superpower, rather I am pretty ordinary. Basically, if I could find benefit in this endeavor, I hoped others might be inspired to try it also.

And it has not been easy. I have experienced both great highs and massive lows. I have succeeded in seeking God more this month, but the truth is, that wouldn't have taken much effort.  After my divorce, I almost left my faith behind with my marriage, so God hasn't been a wanted part of my life for some time. The past week has been particularly challenging, I have searched for someone else rather than God.  I have fallen back into the old patterns which destroy rather than build up. But once again, I have found solace in the words of Frank Laubach,

"It is dangerous to tell people, and yet, I must tell and I must start over now and succeed. This philosophy that one can begin all over instantly at any moment, is proving of great help." (Letters from a Modern Mystic)

 What a wonderful thing grace is - we can begin all over instantly at any moment. Frank shared his own struggle with not living up to his expectations and wondering what others must think of his failures. Yet, he states a great and glorious truth we often forget, "one can begin all over instantly at any moment." This is a tough thing to remember when I would rather beat myself up for my failures. But deep inside, I know it is true and I rejoice that God is not a "one and done" God but is a patient and loving Father who helps me along at each and every step. So I will pick myself up, dust off the old once again and begin all over again one more time.

My Imaginary Friend "Company"

As I a child, I had an imaginary friend. Her name was "Company." I remember Company coming around when I was alone. She brought friends with her. Looking back, I see even as a young child I didn't like being alone. So much so my imaginary friend though only a single person had a name which would normally imply a larger group.

To this day, I don't like being alone. My biggest battle is loneliness. I never wanted to live a single life. But here I am, faced with the reality of what I never wanted. Not even my friend, Company, visits me anymore. And I have to ask myself, "What now?"

Honestly, my first response was not to seek God. Rather my first response has been to seek my own solution. Sarah when faced with God's promise of a child for Abraham and the reality of her own old, barren body, took matters in her own hands and made sure Abraham fathered a child with Hagar. Like Sarah, I wanted to hurry along the process. God obviously needed a little help. And I wanted to leave no room for doubt.

As a child, I could create my own "company." As an adult, I now know, I cannot. And this experiment is a way to remind me that God alone provides all I need better than anyone else real or imagined. And His plan is the best plan, no matter how clever or ingenious I might be. The child Ishmail has caused strife from the day he was born. I have wreaked enough havoc in my own life and the lives of other innocent souls.

So I embrace Frank's resolution not to prove a point or make myself holier. Rather I embrace this resolution to bring God closer to me each day as a means of survival and as an act of faith. If God is with me, then I am never alone. And if I trust God with my present, He will take care of my future too. And maybe, just maybe that will include the desire of my heart, but if not, I know He will always be enough. 

Every Other Thing Takes Care of Itself

"To know this gives a sense of security and assurance for the future which is also new to my life. I seem to have to make sure of only one thing now, and every other thing "takes care of itself," or I prefer to say what is more true, God takes care of all the rest." Frank Laubach, January 29, 1930

As a modern woman, I take great pride in my ability to multi-task. Raised to be an independent person who never asks for help, I strive to keep all the balls in the air all by myself. When I became a single working Mom the juggling intensified but the sense of failure multiplied exponentially.

This week has been a particularly bad week. Work has been more demanding than usual with long hours filled with stressful situations. Home has its usual demands with kids schedules and responsibilities. The feelings of loneliness I battle now just get stronger and stronger to the point of despair.

Yesterday, in the midst of my experiment, I felt the pull to the old way rather than my new thinking. After a 12 plus hour day at work, I was driving home and got stuck in traffic because of an accident on the parkway. Alone in my car between my two worlds, I felt painfully alone.  I longed for arms to be waiting for me at home rather than two kids with demands for Mom. And I wanted someone to tell me everything was going to be.

I prayed and I talked to God. But I also sent texts in hopes someone would call me. No calls and I knew I would not find peace there. So I spent the rest of my commute calling out to God. And thinking of Frank's words, "I seem to only have to make sure of one thing."  One thing is all I have to make sure of - asking God into each moment and "every other thing takes care of itself." The rest of my drive was spent focusing on one thing and nothing else.

"My part is to live this hour in continuous inner conversation with God and in perfect responsiveness to his will. To make this hour gloriously rich. This seems to be all I need think about." Frank Laubach, January 29, 1930

In the moment, I cannot say I felt the glorious richness of a moment spent with God as described by Frank. However, this morning, I can say last night was more peace filled than other lonely evenings.  I didn't fall into old patterns which consistently lead me to sadness and anxiety. So maybe it was a small step forward. And I am ready to work more on the "one thing" and letting every other thing  take care of itself.

I Resolve. . .

"I resolve" is not what you normally hear on November 1. Most of us are just coming off the sugar high of Halloween and beginning to muster the energy to face the holidays, not thinking about a new year and it's resolutions. However, I have put off this resolution for awhile now and I don't think there is a better time than the present to begin. So today I resolve. . .

"As for me I resolved that I would succeed better this year with my experiment of filling every minute full of the thought of God than I succeeded last year." (Laubach, Frank, Letters from A Modern Mystic)

Frank Laubach was a missionary to the Philippines who wrote these words at the beginning of 1930 on the island of Mindanao where he was beginning his work with the Moros people. He was alone on the island with no other English speaking people. The letters he wrote to his father during this time have been compiled into a small book entitled, Letters from a Modern Mystic.  The letters focus on Laubach's experiment in filling every moment with thoughts of God. I read this book many years ago but was recently drawn back to it.

After losing the one thing I thought I could never live without, my faith took a beating. In all honesty, I almost walked away from it. I was angry at the world and especially angry at God. Over time, I could feel God's presence and  call to return but I still struggle with seeking my own protection and provision. My battered faith is weak and in need of a great deal of support. I miss the peace of trusting God I knew before, a long time ago before the storms came.

How do I regain that faith? I am going to begin my own experiment, my own resolution.

"I resolve to fill every minute full of the thought of God for the next 30 days."

So, its not a year but I believe in starting small. For the next 30 days, I will make a conscious and concerted effort to think about God more. Not just a 30 minute devotion in the morning or a prayer at night. But will strive to have the thought of God in my mind throughout the day - while I am at work, while I am driving in traffic, cooking dinner, watching TV with my daughter. And I resolve to share my experiment on a regular basis through this blog. Keep watching and share this adventure with me. Frank will join us as I continue to read through his book again.

What do I expect? How will I do it? I don't know. I will explore the questions as I go along. For now, "I resolve to fill every minute full of the thought of God" is enough.

Stand Up!

"Would you like to get well?"

When Jesus asked this question to the lame man at the Bethesda pool, don’t you think someone thought it was a stupid question? Even though there is no such thing as a stupid question, doesn’t this seem to be one? The man had been sitting beside the pool for 38 years waiting for his chance to be the first one in when the angel stirred the waters. Of course he wanted to be healed, didn’t his perseverance of staying close to the pool for that long prove his desire?

However, I wonder if it was a stupid question or not when I think about my own life. How many times have I struggled with the same problems over and over again? My friends have the patience of Job for listening to me lament the same things over and over again. Don’t we all struggle with those perpetual sins or habits that we just can’t seem to get the upper hand against? Is it a stupid question to ask myself in regard to those struggles, “Would you like to get well?”

Of course, I want to get well. Of course, I want to stop doing the very same things which keep causing me pain or keep me from achieving the life I hope for. So why do I keep struggling? Why do we all keep struggling? The man at the pool had an excuse ready for Jesus rather than an answer to his question. “I can’t , sir, for I have no one to help me into the pool.” And don’t we all have similar excuses when faced with letting go of a habitual and sinful behavior. “I can’t right now I am too busy.” “I can’t do it alone.”

We answer the question with excuses rather than honesty. We hold onto patterns because they are comfortable. Because we feel safer continuing in a painful behavior than risking the insecurity of trying something new. And ultimately, we doubt the possibility of success. Because just like him, we can’t imagine the answer would end up being so simple. “Stand up! Pick up your mat and walk.” After years of waiting his turn and following the rules, the man was healed with two words, “stand up!”

I want to yell in my most cynical voice, “It’s not that simple!!” My own problems are not so easily solved. More excuses, I wonder if the lame man tried to stand up more out of spite than trust. I can hear him saying sarcastically in his head, “Sure, whatever, I’ll stand up.” And he was probably just as surprised as everyone else when he moved his legs and stood up. So why do I doubt? Why do I not trust Jesus to work miracles in my life?

Because I don’t believe and I trust in my own resources more than God's power. In the end, I would rather make excuses about my own weakness than trust in the power of God.And so I sit beside the pool grumbling about my situation and hoping for someone to ask me the question, that stupid question. “Would you like to get well?” When, instead, I should be listening and following the command, “Stand up.”

God will Provide, God will Provide For Me

God will provide. God will provide.God will provide for me. God will provide for me.

Not too long ago, I found myself writing these words over and over again in my journal. Like the sentences I had to write in elementary school when I forgot to turn in my homework, I filled a page with these words. Over and over again, I looped the letters and scratched the ink on the page in an effort to end the anxious thoughts in my mind and the burning feeling in my stomach.

God will provide. God will provide. God will provide for me. God will provide for me.

I have a hard time trusting God at his word. He promises to provide for us and I can recount innumerable times that He has provided for me and my family in miraculous ways. Yet, I still wonder when and if my hopes and dreams will ever come to true. I lament the things I lack and I long for an easier life. If God will provide the desires of my heart, where exactly are they?

God will provide. God will provide. God will provide for me. God will provide for me.

Isn’t there a passage in the Bible – “God helps those who help themselves?”Of course not, Dr. Knox would be disappointed in me and my Bible College degree if I made that mistake. However, I often live my life by that phrase rather than by trusting God as my provider. Instead of waiting for God to provide, I forge ahead trying to make sure things happen the way I want them to.

I will provide God is absent. I will provide God acts too slowly.

Abraham’s faith in God’s provision has always impressed me. When God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac, the one who he loved so much, Abraham’s response was to trust God. When Isaac asked where the sacrifice was since he was a smart boy and knew something was missing. Abraham replied

“God will provide a lamb, my son.” “God will provide a lamb, my son."

If I was Abraham, my response would have been to stop by the local Sacrifice Depot and purchase my own do-it-yourself sacrifice kit, lamb included. Just in case God forgot to provide a suitable sacrifice to replace Isaac. It never hurts to have a back-up plan when God doesn’t follow through with his promise. Ok, so maybe it’s not a good idea. But it is the honest response because Abraham’s response seems super-human to me.

“God will provide a lamb, my son.” “God will provide a lamb, my son.”

If I am honest, my feeble attempts to get what I need often turn out as a mess. Bad relationships, dead end turns, lots of energy expended with no results, time wasted.However, Abraham was blessed when he trusted God to provide. When Abraham willingly let go of his son whom he loved, God told him,

“I will bless you richly. I will multiply your descendants into countless millions, like the stars of the sky and the sand on the seashore.”

What am I holding onto rather than letting God control? What am I trying to control when I should be letting God lead? And how can I find a faith as strong as Abraham’s? What blessings are in store for me when I stop trying so hard and trust? Can I give up my dreams and trust God to lead me to His will? I think I better keep scratching those words in my notebook.

God will provide. God will provide. God will provide for me. God will provide for me.

New Every Morning

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  Lamentations 3:22,23

 God's grace in my life is truly amazing. I am humbled by His absolute provision for me and my children. Even in the midst of the darkest times, I can see God's hand providing new mercies for me all the time. Sometimes, I have to look really hard and often it is not the mercy I was hoping for. But grace is grace, a gift of unmerited favor, no matter what if not exactly to my choice.

Allow me to share some of the recent mercies in my own life:

•  I rode my first roller coaster in over 20 years with my 16 year old son. God's grace - not only did I survive the ride in the very front of the car (my son's choice) but I had a blast. And made a memory with my son which included my unending screams and a slipped curse or two (Guess I received some forgiveness, too). 
• After over a year break, I have been able to walk again around the track at work. My ankles would hurt when I walked even physical therapy had done little to take away the pain. God's grace - pain free walking 3 times a week for a half hour on my lunch break. A special mercy since I thought I would never walk like that again.
• My 11 year old climbing on my bed at midnight when neither of us could sleep (not a mercy) and sharing with me her recent music downloads. God's grace - the sharing of my daughter's passion without any arm twisting. As a parent of teenagers I know not to take these moments for granted.
• Consistent and restful sleep is a blessing and very healing to our bodies. With a recent diagnosis of severe sleep apnea every time I string together 4 good hours of sleep I know it is God's providential care. God's grace - dreams; I don't get REM sleep often so when I dream and remember them the next morning, I rejoice.

God's wonderful, amazing, un-matching grace is truly new every morning. I recently wrote the following in my journal:

God's grace keeps us on our toes because it's new every morning. Wake up and wonder what new grace today will bring!

Silencing the Accusers

     The voices in my head would not be silenced. Even after three years, they would attack at my weakest moments. Often I was alone when the onslaught would come.

"You are a failure."

"You are flawed."

"No one will love you ever again."

"You will be alone forever."

     The words like accusers’ stones flew at me. Their damage was not visible on the outside but my insides took a beating. My self esteem was low and I struggled to keep from falling even deeper into depression. I tried to stop the voices by distraction – looking for someone to love me.Or I would try to shut them up by casting blame. Or I would just hide behind the busyness of three kids and a full time job. But I couldn’t get away from the voices saying I would forever be defined by my divorce.
   
     On a recent Sunday I was particularly frustrated that the assault came while I was sitting in worship. Couldn’t I worship without this pain? Wasn’t this place supposed to be a sanctuary? At first, I was angry and wanted them to go away. Then, as Chuck began his sermon about the Holy Spirit, I felt led to ask myself the question, What might God want to do with these voices while I was in His house?

     I had prayed for healing for a long time. I knew the peace and growth I desired would be elusive if these voices continued. The miracle would come on this day but not in the manner I expected. Rather than through retribution and revenge as I selfishly hoped, instead it came through forgiveness. Not by someone else being forgiven but by my own forgiveness. And even more surprising, the one who needed to forgive me was also me.

     As I allowed God to help me face the voices in my head, I remembered one of my favorite stories about Jesus. In John 8, Jesus is confronted by a crowd accusing a woman of adultery. These angry accusers held the stones to punish the woman and asked Jesus if she should be stoned. Jesus tells her accusers, “All right, stone her. But let those who have never sinned throw the first stones!”(John 8: NLT) The woman’s accusers were rendered powerless in the face of their own sins and their own need for forgiveness.

     I realized the accusers in my head were not the voices of many other people but my own, my voice accusing me of being a failure. I was angry at myself for failing to keep my marriage together. And I heard Jesus’ words to the accusers pointed back at me, “All right, stone her. But only if you have never sinned.” When confronted with my own need for forgiveness, the voices were finally silenced.

     And so while Chuck preached, I confessed I had failed to keep my marriage together. I confessed that even though I know I did all I could the vow I had taken before Him was now broken. I confessed even though my intention was to never hurt my children, I was part of the cause of the pain they have endured. And I sought God’s forgiveness. I put down the stones aimed at me and allowed God’s forgiveness to wash over me.

     A verse came to mind as I prayed, I John 1:9 “On the other hand, if we admit our sins—make a clean breast of them—he won't let us down; he'll be true to himself. He'll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing”(The Message).Tears began flowing down my cheeks as I realized God was answering my prayer. Jesus silenced my accuser through forgiveness just as he silenced the woman’s accusers. And I could hear his voice saying to me,

“Where are your accusers? Didn’t even one of them condemn you?”

“No, Lord.”

“Neither do I. Go and sin no more.”

When I was Daddy's LIttle Girl

My favorite place as a young girl was the cab of my Dad’s pickup truck. During the week his hugs would smell of aftershave and freshly dry cleaned suits. On the weekends, his hugs smelled like the cab of his pick up – fresh air and the out of doors. We would often travel to the beach or a local lake on the weekends. I would bounce beside Dad on the bench seat my stubby legs propped up on the steel gray tool box set in the wheel well. Dad’s favorite green hunting hat hung from the gun rack with his favorite red flannel shirt. In that place I knew exactly who I was, Daddy’s little girl.

My earliest memories in the cab are of Dad singing old hymns. “There’s within my heart a melody. . .” his baritone voice bellowed. He was not a trained singer but to my young ears his was the most beautiful voice in the world. Those old hymns remain among my favorites; In the Garden, Just a Closer Walk with Thee, I Love to Tell the Story, and The Old Rugged Cross. I first learned about Jesus and his love for me listening to Dad sing.  No sanctuary could have been more sacred than that rattling old cab as we drove along the mountain roads singing together.

Later, the singing stopped but the music didn’t.Dad kept a large collection of cassette tapes organized in two tattered shoe boxes in the middle of the bench seat of the truck.These boxes were filled with Dad’s favorites: Tammy Wynette, Hank Williams, George Jones, Crystal Gayle.Sometimes Dad would allow me to pick out my favorites and I would sing along imagining I was performing on stage. “D-I-V-O-R-C-E” by Tammy Wynette and “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue” by Crystal Gayle were two of my favorites. My own small voice dripped with all the emotion of a 10 year old who had never known heartache and drawled as much of southern accent as a northerner could. Dad never told me to be quiet or critiqued my delivery. He was my own personal audience in the grandest of concert halls.

As time passed my singing stopped and the concerts turned to discourses. Dad and I discussed many serious topics and a few trivial ones. Together we solved the cold war years before Reagan went to Moscow. My teenage mind struggled to wrap around theological quandaries and philosophical challenges. Dad shared his opinions and treated mine with great respect. I would listen to his memories of being a young man in the mountains of Oregon and I would share my big dreams for the future.In our private classroom, I learned to think and to dream.

Over 20 years have passed since I sat in the cab with Dad but I think of our many rides together as my own daughter sings in the backseat of my car. Her little voice climbs to the ceiling dreaming of a stage somewhere. Or my son shares his life and dreams with me as we drive down the turnpike. And hopefully they will remember those times in Mom’s car as fondly as do when I was Daddy’s little girl.

Happy Birthday Dad! From Daddy's Little Girl

Whistling Girls and Crowing Hens

    

     "If you are going to make that noise, go outside," Mom sighed wiping her hands on the dish towel as she finished the morning dishes. Her patience worn thin from the endless airy breaths of spittle and shrills I was making. 

      "It's not noise," I replied heading out the back door. "It's whistling." I was bound and determined to learn how to whistle that summer.

      "You know what Grandma always said, 'Whistling girls and crowing hens, always come to some bad end."

     "Yeah, right," I whispered under my breath, rolled my eyes and headed out the back door. Grandma had a lot of these odd sayings, old superstitions for a time gone by when acting like a lady was important. She never let my Mother lick her ice cream cone in public when she was a girl. I never understood how you could eat an ice cream cone without licking it? I wasn't worried about being ladylike in my blue jeans and braids. What kind of bad end could come from whistling? It was just a saying and held no real threat, right? By the end of the summer, I had learned to whistle and seemed none the worse for wear.

     I raised chickens in a small coop in our backyard. Out of my first batch of fluffy yellow chicks came a black-feathered pair. Henrietta and William ruled the coop for several generations of chickens. William became the compliment to my Mom's dumplings after his orneriness overtook his usefulness. I missed his morning song but I doubt the neighbors did. Henrietta continued her grandmotherly presence, a mainstay in our hen yard. Then one quiet afternoon, a distinct "cock-a-doodle-do" came from the backyard.

     "What was that?" Mom questioned me.

     "I don't know," I said the back door slamming on my way out.

    The crowing got louder as I neared the hen yard. I wondered how a rooster had found his way through three fences to get in the coop.  But when I turned the corner, only our hens were in the yard.  Dumbfounded, I stood still for a moment. And then I saw Henrietta scratch a couple of times in the dirt, lift her head to the sky and in a cloud of dust begin crowing. She strutted a bit when she finished quite proud of herself like a little old lady who decides she has reached an age when all propriety can be dropped.

     However, Henrietta wouldn't relish in her new found talent for long. And within a week, the echo of Grandma's saying reverberated in my mind. "Whistling girls and crowing hens always come to some bad end." I found Henrietta's lifeless body in the hen yard one morning. Our crowing hen came to her bad end, but this whistling girl seems to be none the worse for wear after over 30 years of whistling. 

     Though, I have been known to look behind shoulder after a particularly exuberant whistle, you just never know.

Directionally Challenged

My children will tell you that every car ride to a new location with me is an adventure. This is not because of my effervescent personality or penchant for fun. No, it is because they know I will get lost at least once on every trip. I am the first to admit I am directionally challenged. If you ever to travel with me, don't hand me the map. I consider myself a fairly intelligent and capable woman, but not when it comes to directions.


The other day we had to find our way to my youngest daughter's away swim meet. I used mapquest and studied the route. I knew there was construction on several of the roads I was instructed to drive on (I do live in Pittsburgh where there is always construction between the months of April and October).  At least I was a little familiar with where we were going. Of course, the kids were not reassured since they buckled up and said "Let the adventure begin!"

Things were going well and as always, I was hopeful that this would be the time I didn't get lose my way. The naysayers in the backseat kept asking if we were lost yet. My navigator in the passenger seat kept reading the directions and looking for street signs which didn't seem to exist. Twenty minutes into the drive the doubts began to build up. Were we on the right track? I was following detours and I was following directions. Had I missed a turn? Should I turn around or keep going? I could feel my anxiety level rising.

Those in the backseat were beginning to talk about where this adventure might lead us and thinking this year Mom was definitely getting a GPS for Christmas. We tried calling another swim team member but soon discovered we were on our own. I took a deep breath hoping to lessen the panic building in me and mellow the tone of my voice as I ordered the adventure seekers to be quiet. Then did the only thing I knew I could do, just keep driving and trust the directions.

And sure enough, the detour ended and the streets we needed started appearing. We arrived safely at the swim club with time to spare.

Being in an unknown area without being able to see the big picture causes me to feel anxious. I don't like not knowing where I am or where I am going. How can I know if I am headed in the right direction? Have I gone too far or not far enough? I get the same feeling when I think about my life and God's plan for it. Am I going in the right direction? Did I miss my call? Or do I need to keep going?

I learned on this latest adventure if I trust the directions and keep going, I will arrive at my destination eventually. And I am learning the same thing in my own life. If I trust God and his plan for my life, I just keep going and He will continue to lead me. I don't have to worry about how I will get there, what detours might lie ahead or what adventures may arise, instead I can rest in his care knowing that eventually He will lead me to just the place I am supposed to be.

Leaving the Foolish Behind

Dexter is my buddy. He more than anyone else looks forward to my return at the end of the day. He faithfully sits beside me on the couch and will defend me in the face of any danger, even at the risk of his own safety. Dexter is my 8 year old Jack Russell Dachshund mix who cannot be faulted in terms of loyalty but can be questioned when it comes to logical thought. I continue to be dumbfounded by his total lack of reasoning.

This morning, I knocked over the kitchen garbage can causing coffee grounds and other garbage to fall on the ground. Dexter with tail wagging began eating like he had just been served the choicest selections from a 5 star restaurant. All the while a full dish of dog food was less than five feet away. Why would he choose to ignore the healthy food for the garbage?

A couple of years ago, Dexter almost died from consuming chocolate, not once but twice in a matter of one month. After the first poisoning, we became passionate about keeping the stuff away from him. He became passionate about finding it. We lost the battle when he ate a bag of chocolate chips he sniffed out of its hiding place. The poison caused him to vomit and shake uncontrollably for almost 24 hours. And still we have to be vigilant to keep chocolate away from him. Why would he pursue something that makes him feel so awful?

And when Dexter vomits I rush to remove it before he comes back to eat it. This is truly a disgusting pattern of behavior. But not new since the Psalmist also described it, “a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool repeats his foolishness” (Psalm 26:11, NLT). The comparison he makes is no less pertinent today. Because even though I can see the foolishness of Dexter’s behaviors and the wisdom of not repeating them, I am often oblivious of my own foolish choices and the consequences. And I repeat the same destructive behavior over and over again.

Dexter will always be a fool. There is no hope for my little buddy. As impossible as it sometimes seems, there is hope for me. My hope is in God who offers to transform the lives of those who seek him. Without God, I remain a fool just like Dexter. With God, I have a chance of leaving the foolish things behind me. At least that is what I am hoping.

Grandma's Tears

My Grandma cried at the drop of a hat. Our family wasn't always sure what to do with these tears randomly falling from her eyes. They would well up and she wouldn't be able to speak. We learned to just smile and later laugh at Grandma's wellspring of tears.

Most of the time the reason she teared up was quite obvious; she never liked saying good bye even if it was just for a few days. Other times the reason seemed a bit more obscure; she would cry when we passed a train station, talked about a train station or even just heard a faint train whistle. This caused a young porter to almost faint when he was helping her depart from a train and feared he had hurt the weeping old woman.

In the past two years, I, too have begun to find tears in my eyes more and often rolling down my cheeks. I recently cried when entering a Sam's Club. The woman asking for my membership card looked at me like I had lost my mind. My young daughter questioned my sanity when I cried in the previews and throughout the entire main feature recently. Church friends have come to expect the flood of tears I shed during worship and run for the tissue box as the worship begins.

When she was five years old, Grandma and her parents boarded a train in Missouri and moved to Washington state. It was this "good bye" she remembered with her tears for the rest of her life. I remember being told this story as a young girl and wondering what it was like to experience a goodbye which lasted a lifetime.

Some "leavings" cast an indelible mark on our hearts. These partings can make us bitter and hard. Or they soften our hearts to the pain of others. My Grandma had a soft spot for those who were away from home. Weekly until she died she wrote letters or notes to those she knew were hospitalized or away from home. When I left for college and subsequently moved across the country, I received a letter weekly from Grandma for over 10 years.

So maybe I won't begrudge Grandma for my tears. Instead, may my own heart stay so soft that I become aware of others pain and do what I can to help. And if tears are necessary for this to happen, then pass the tissues cause I will proudly follow in Grandma's footsteps.

How am I Going to Explain that One

How am I going to explain that one? As a parent, I come across these moments all of the time. When the children were young, it was how am I going to explain where do babies come from in an age appropriate scientifically correct manner. Or every year when telling of the Christmas story in church, the astute 4 year old hears the word “virgin” for the first time and requests a definition. I remember being told of a sweet 7^th grade girl asking one time what a “eunuch” was in Sunday School. Exactly how do you tell her the correct definition in the middle of a group of young boys without it being totally embarrassing?

The writing process is a lot like asking this same question over and over again. How am I going to explain that one? It is both an exciting question since there are a gazillion (great word by the way) different ways to say the same thing. Each word used in describing the situation can bring a different meaning or nuance. Culture and exposure affect how we hear words. These layers of meaning can on one hand make the process more difficult but also if explained can bring deeper meaning. When I was young toboggan meant a sled, when we moved to the south it was a hat. Everywhere else I’ve lived, pasta means spaghetti. In Pittsburgh, it is the umbrella that covers over a multitude of different types of noodles. If my shopping list said pasta here, I would have to make sure I knew what kind of pasta I was asking for, penne, linguini, fettuccine, spaghetti.

Language is fun and trying to determine the best way to get my point across is the joy of writing for me. As a kid, I remember carefully opening up my new box of 64 crayola crayons, breathe deep the vapors of new waxy crayons and contemplate which color I would choose first and what would I draw first. Endless possibilities awaited, of course I always chose the green and colored the grass first. As I sit down to write with a thought I want to express words and images float through my head like the crayons in that newly opened. Which ones will I use and which ones will get this important point across best. It is a frustrating and invigorating task. When the inspiration is there the words flow and the choices are easy. But when the words aren’t there it can be like trying to color the sky without a blue crayon.

When the thought is about something important it can be even more difficult. Like today, I have these thoughts running through my head that are amazing, or at least seem amazing to me. And I really want to share them and I want others see just how amazing this thought is but I am not sure I have the right words yet to get this point across. The crayon box is open but none of the colors seem adequate. These are even more important words because they are words about God, thoughts about who He is and what He means to me. How do you explain God in mere words?

The joy of scripture is that it is God using language through human writers to describe who he is – the unexplainable one. Scriptures are words – the same limited and inferior words that I have to choose from. But they are words used for a divine purpose – limited and inferior words become sacred when touched by God’s inspiring hand. Every time I sent down to write about God or anyone else does for that matter, we undertake the task of trying to explain the unexplainable in words and the result is sacred. And when someone tells me that they understand what I was trying to say or that they were touched or moved by what I wrote – that is divine inspiration. Because really it was just me and my little old green crayon trying to make something that looked like grass – if it did look like grass, than that was God’s handiwork, not mine.

It Was There All the Time

For a couple of years now, I have been wrestling with God. My struggles are not unique, many others pose the same questions. My questions come out of a painful end to my marriage and those events effects on my children. But others will ask the same ones:

• Why did God allow this awful event to happen?
  
• If God really loved us, wouldn't he have protected us from this pain?
• I was trying to serve God, yet He didn't keep his promise to protect us. Why should I continue to follow Him?

The temptation to abandon my faith was very strong. I cried out to God to help me understand and I turned my back on him like a child who didn't get her way. And I threw tantrums and said angry words to him. Why Lord? I thought you promised me the desires of my heart if I followed you. You promised to love me and never abandon me but that is exactly what it felt like happened.

In my wrestling, I found no easy answers. God didn't hand me a neatly wrapped package explaining why this all happened. Oh, I have some answers. Selfishness, sin and such by me and others all can be factored in. But the question remained. . . if God really is all loving and all powerful, He could have stopped it. Afterall, in my case, not only was my family affected but also innumerable other people as it tore about another family and our church family too. In my mind, it was only fair to question why God didn't choose to step in at least to lessen the collateral damage.

After three years, I have given up trying to make sense of it. But there is an unmistakable pattern I can now see. Perhaps I can say that God's favor hasn't been present throughout this time. However, I can say without a doubt that none of us has lived outside of God's love. In the past few days I have rediscovered some amazing verses about God's love. A love that Paul talks about as being beyond understanding, a love that surrounds us and will never let go of us. A love that when rooted deeply in our lives will give us power and abundant life. (Romans 8:35-39; Ephesians 3 &4)

I have come to see that circumstances do not demonstrate God's love for us. We are not loved more or less by the good or bad things that happen in our lives. God's love is so amazing that it is not tied to anything I do or anything that happens to me. He loves us. That is it. That is everything. He loves us.

• In the storm, He loves us
• In the darkness of divorce and betrayal, He loves us
• In failure, in pain, in illness, in death, He loves us
• In our selfishness and sin, He loves us

This isn't easy to wrap my little ol' head around. But in the briefest moments, I do and then, I can find hope that the pain will not last forever. Hope that even though I have been abandoned by some, God never did and never will abandon me. Hope that this love requires nothing from me, it is unchanging whether I cling to it or push it away.

He loves me.

Enough said.

Waiting for the Blooms

Peonies have long been my favorite flower. In the world of flowers, they are all petals and no fluff. There is something about them that remind me of abundance and fullness of life. When we bought the house 10 years ago, I had dreams of planting several bushes along the side of the house. After all, even though it was fall and the bush wasn't blooming, the previous owner spoke of a peony bush already in that spot.

As is often the case, I slept too many times between October and April, and I forgot about the peony bush. And before my memory could be jogged, Nathan had mowed the side yard flower beds and all. In the subsequent springs, I would wonder what that plant that kept coming up in the my flower bed was. I had since filled the bed with daylilies and pulled the odd plant out each year. Obviously, my gardening prowess is extremely limited and the poor peony was its casualty.

Three years ago, my marriage was failing and my family's life would change forever. Like a giant lawn mowing taking down everything in its path, every part of my life was changed. I was no longer a wife, no longer a pastor's wife and I was now a single parent. In the wake of the final traumatic event, my life felt like a shorn path without any blooms. It definitely had become something I hadn't planned or dreamed about. And many days, I would wonder if it would ever be anything more than an ash heap of what was or what might have been.

Quite unexpectedly during that spring, the memory of the previous owner telling me there was a peony bush on the side of the house came back to me. And I remember watching the plants come up in the spring and inspecting them. Looking at peony bushes in my friends house and comparing the leaves. Sure enough, there it was a peony bush on the side of my yard. I was ecstatic. I couldn't wait for the big blooms to come out, instead of pulling the plant up, I babied it.

But no blooms came. The leaves were green and healthy looking but nothing even close to a bud developed. I was very disappointed. My friend Joanne assured me that peonies can be a bit persnickety when it comes to be treated poorly. She told me it was not uncommon for them not to bloom for several years after being replanted. And who could blame this poor plant who had been mowed and pulled and ignored for many years already. So began my hoping and waiting for the blooms to come again.

Another two springs passed with no blooms. Early every spring I would go out and look for buds. Last year, there were finally buds. Small and tightly wrapped, the buds never loosened to reveal the abundant petals inside. For many weeks I would go out and look to see if there were any signs of loosening and blooming. But it was another spring of disappointment. This year I was cautiously optimistic that finally the blooms would come.

Once again, among the leaves were buds but this time they did not stay tightly shut. This time I could watch daily and see the petals begin to break out of the buds. My peony is pink - I never knew what color it was until two days ago when an overabundance of beautiful pink petals burst out from the leaves. (see pic below) After three years, something beautiful had finally come out of what once had been pile of rubble. After three years, of waiting, I could enjoy the abundant growth.

When I first realized that my marriage was over, I felt like nothing would ever be ok again. I was damaged goods and the pain was so great, I never imagined life without it. Someone had told me that it takes 6 months for every year of a relationship to truly find healing. I couldn't imagine feeling bad for that long - it was like a 8 year jail sentence. And like waiting for the peony bush to bloom, I wondered if my own life would bloom again.

The peony beat me to the bloom. Its perseverance and strength give me hope that life can go on. That out of death and pain, new life does come and it just takes time. After three years, I can see the growth already. There are leaves and maybe some tight little buds. And in time I am sure like the peony, there will be new blooms bursting out and maybe I will be surprised by the color. Because I still don't know what this new life will look like. Or what is waiting to come out of the ashes. I just know it will. So now I wait and hope. I rest in my Father who knows best and who will always,

. . . give beauty for ashes, joy instead of mourning, praise instead of despair. For the Lord has planted them like strong graceful oaks for his own glory. (Isaiah 61:3)

Taking my Time

Oh but I won't worry 'Cause there's no hurry
The World's not passing me by 'Cause the Lord, He knows
Just where each day goes I know he won't leave me behind
And I won't be bringing A single thing That my heart can't carry inside
'Cause I'm going home And I'm only taking my time
- Taking My Time; lyrics by Christine Dente' and Charlie Peacock

Between April and October, I work in one of the prettiest places in Pittsburgh. Our campus is nestled into the urban sprawl and quaint character of the Shadyside and Squirrel Hill sections of the city. In fact, the 33 acre campus is a nationally registered arboretum. In addition to the abundance of trees and plants, the campus has a fair amount of grass which adds to the aesthetics. And in the spring especially, the hum of the lawnmowers are a constant during the day.

Not too long ago, I watched the groundskeeper's red tractor slowly make its way back and forth across a particularly large portion of lawn. This particular section of grass is on a hill (most recently it was the scene of sled riding). There were lines and small piles of grass clippings in the section that he had already crossed. In front of him, the darker green and longer grass waited for him to pass. The tractor just kept going neither slowing down or speeding up. My reaction was a mixed one both finding it relaxing and a bit troubling.

In my own life, I find it difficult to take my time. I rush ahead trying to problem solve, expedite and move things along. Our society covets things that make life easier and tasks quicker. We don't see ads for products that take longer to use or slow down our lives. Its all about multi-tasking and using our time wisely. Which can be translated as being able to do more things in less time. We want to be efficient to the detriment of everything else. I can only imagine if I was on the tractor, I would be rushing along, trying to get from one side to the other as fast as I can.

But as I rushed from the busyness of work to the busyness of home on that warm spring day. I think I was a bit jealous of the tractor that was trudging along. He didn't seem in a particular hurry and moved along without care. A luxury that I currently didn't have, the leisure to complete a task without looming deadlines or multiple demands. In the end, I guess I would have rather been on a tractor slowly but surely completing a task, than climbing into my car running to the next doctor's appointment or softball game or load of laundry.

In the briefest of moments, the lyrics from the song "Taking my Time" came into my head. A very little known song recorded in the 90's by Susan Ashton, Margaret Becker and Christine Dente', it has been a reminder to this impatient, control freak, that speed and control don't really matter. And worry is unnecessary. . .

"'Cause there's no hurry The World's not passing me by 'Cause the Lord, He knows Just where each day goes I know he won't leave me behind
And I won't be bringing A single thing That my heart can't carry inside
'Cause I'm going home And I'm only taking my time"

Out of breath and Covered in Feathers

My kids and I have watched the new show "Minute to Win It" a few times over the last month. If you haven't seen the show it is on Sunday nights on NBC. Contestants perform a series of tasks each lasting one minute and after successfully completing so many can win a bunch of money. The tasks give me flashbacks to the games I culled from Youth Specialties books in the 90's for youth group activities. Household items are used in challenges that are more about thoughtful and logical action than about strength or physical prowess. A cast of very ordinary people, a timer counting down and hope for a "regular joe" making it big, make the show watchable at least once.

One of the challenges has the contestant keeping two feathers in the air for 60 seconds by blowing them in the air. In a Pavlovian way, my stomach clenches more for this task than any other that I have watched. At first, the feathers float gently through the air and as long as the contestant can keep the feathers above her head, it seems like an effortless task. However, as soon as one feather floats below her shoulder, all hope is loss and she begins running around trying to keep the feathers in the air.

I think my extra reaction to this trivial task stems from the fact that the task reminds me of my own life. I am keeping many more than two feathers in the air at all times. I am a Mom, an employee, a homeowner, a friend, etc. All of these feathers float above me and sometimes it feels effortless to keep them there. But then something changes and one feather needs more attention than another. And the as one dips down, my life becomes chaotic as I try to play "catch up." Soon all the feathers are falling and I am running around like a chicken with her head cut off.

For the past month, this is the image of my life. The feathers are falling and I am unable to keep up. For a single Mom, it feels especially lonely in this place. And I cannot claim success in either keeping the feathers a float or not breaking down in a tantrum of "it's not fair" feet stomping. However, in a precious quiet moment this morning, I can make a couple of observations.

1) Friends are invaluable. Self-sufficiency is both my blessing and my curse. It becomes a matter of pride for me that I prove to the doubters in my life that I can do all of this on my own. And I will sacrifice my own sense of self worth and physical health to prove I am capable. But I have learned in the past 3 years, that going it alone is not a show of strength but a show of my own pride and ignorance. I am thankful for my friends here in Pittsburgh who have stepped in to help me. And I am thankful for my friends around the country who have propped me up in many ways even without being here.

2) Success is relative and sometimes not easily seen. On the game show, when the timer counts down to zero with the feathers still in the air, the audience erupts in applause and the contestant celebrates. In life, we don't get many of these highly visible moments of success. And sometimes the successes are not visible on the outside. They are small things like replacing the seat on the commode by myself (I actually took pictures) or seeing your child smile at the dinner table. And often the victories are unnoticed with no chance for applause or celebration. No matter how quiet or small, a success is a success.

3) Its all in the steps. The trick to the game is to keeping the feathers afloat one breath at a time. Losing focus can mean disaster and it is not possible to make the timer move faster or thinking beyond the next breath. And I am learning that with each challenge, its about focusing on the next step and not the journey's end. The feathers will float on their own whim. So a well choreographed plan can't be made, you go where the feathers take you. And life is often like that, I can make a plan to reach a goal. But things change and I have to adapt. Focusing on the next step and trusting that it will take us where we need to be is the key to success or at least my sanity.

4) God is more than enough. I have come to discover that when I feel like saying "Enough is enough" God says He is more than enough. So things are not what I had planned when I was 18 and my kids have had to face more challenges at their ages than some ever face in their lives but God is still in control. I am angry and I can be bitter but it gets me no way. God has been faithful and has never abandoned us. And that gives me hope that even if life contains more challenges than moments of victory, God will hold me close. And there is joy in this crazy journey.

In the end, I have come to figure out that I don't have to fear the feathers falling. When the final buzzer rings, the applause will be no more or less whether the feathers fell to the ground or stayed in the air. Because the goal is not about keeping everything afloat but about trusting the One who will never let me fall, sharing each other's loads and loving those around me. And that is enough for me.

In between the Blink of an Eye and a Month of Sundays

The older I get, the more I see that life is really about living "in between." Our lives will be marked by a beginning and an end but the living happens in between. I start work at 8 am and leave at 4 pm - if I get a lot of work done in the time between. The problem is that I sometimes I forget this incredibly simple thought.

At the moment, I am surrounded by the passages of time both beginnings and endings. My good friend, Wendy, just lost her father. My other good friend has been placed on bed rest so that the little boy growing inside her will wait until he is a little bigger to make his grand entrance. Beginnings and endings, and in betweens, my own father has been diagnosed with a form of Parkinson's disease. A diagnosis that places us in between being able to give a name to the symptoms but not knowing what lies ahead or how soon the the ending will come.

Life happens in the middle, like an Oreo cookie, the good stuff happens in the middle. Even things that turn out bad or cause a lot pain often had good "middles." I am reminded of my own failed marriage, while not a perfect union, had plenty of good things in the middle. And as Hannah graduates from high school, while I will remember the first day of kindergarten and the walk across the stage to receive her diploma, she is a wonderful young woman today because of all of the middle stuff.

The in betweens can seem to rush by us in a blink of an eye. It seems like only yesterday that I talked to Rachel about the hope of babies, now she awaits the birth of her third. Where did the time go? Only yesterday, Hannah dreamed of being a gypsy and spoke her own created form of Spanish. Now she aspires to be a neurologist and well, speaks some sort of teenage language that I seem to old to understand. In the blink of the eye, the in between has passed. The in between is our cherished friend.

Or the in betweens can seem to move slowly, the progression from beginning to end feels like a month of Sundays. I think about the things I want to change but don't change. The healing from a failed marriage seems to take a month of Sundays or the waiting for the meds to work and the seizures to stop can feel like forever. The in between is now the enemy.

In between the blink of an eye and a month of sundays is where our lives happen. It is where I find my most proud moments and my most embarrassing moments. The in between is where I learn and grow and love. And while I find myself looking ahead with worries or looking behind with regrets, the truth is the in between is where the real living takes place.

Fair to Midland

I like colorful language. Not the vulgar kind which is sometimes referred to as colorful, that is colorful in broad harsh strokes like spray paint on playground equipment. I like descriptive and colorful language of metaphors and similes, figure of speech and idioms. Language that uses imagery to convey a meaning. Language that needs to be unpacked.

My daughter Emily on the other hand dislikes idioms. She wonders why she should wait for the cows to come home or why she would want to knock on wood. And what difference it would make if she did. She says that all are useless except her favorite - Whatever floats your boat.

Recently, I decided it was time to start a new blog. It was time to have a title that reflected my life now and not my life previously. While I have never been much of a feminist, if in relation to my name, I was to peel away everything that connected me to a man. All that remains is Fara Linn. And so I wanted to incorporate that into the title of my new blog.

But Fara Linn is boring so how much better to add a little colorful imagery to the title. With the addition of two small words, I discovered I could create an idiom (albeit a bad play on words). And after thinking, I came to decide that in fact it was descriptive of what I would like the blog to be.

"Fair to midland" originates from weather reports in England. It referred to the weather being fair from the coast to the midlands. The idiom has evolved to mean that something is neither good nor bad. So when someone asks how you are if you are neither good nor bad, you can respond with "I am doing fair to midland." It has of course, been shortened and really sounds more like "fair to middlin'"

After several years of high stress, turmoil and change, I hope I can say "fair to midland." In fact, my happiest memories are the small things, the things that are neither great or terrible. It is having dinner with my kids at the table. It is laughing with Emily while we drive in the car. It is listening to my kids sing. It is sharing fries with a friend at Denny's (even better if that friend thinks I am nifty). And it is waking up to birds, having a job I enjoy, a church family who holds you close.

And so I hope to share my "fair to midland" moments here and maybe even some "it's the bee knees" moments or some "axes" I have to "grind." And all the while exploring language, writing, single motherhood, midlife and the small things that make my life my own.