The Return Policy

This morning I am thinking about the return policies of department stores and other places of business.  Such policies take into account the fact that some items may not fit right, work right, or just be right, particularly if they were purchased as gifts.  Nevertheless, there are usually clear terms and restrictions for making returns.  A common restriction is the condition of the items being returned.  Usually, it is expected that the items will be unopened, unused, unstained, and unbroken.  Another typical restriction is time.  In some cases, the window of opportunity is as little as seven days.  Almost always, the return must be accompanied by a receipt.  So, I’m imagining what might happen if a person went to a store seeking an exchange for something that was misused, broken or stained, after what would be considered a reasonable time frame, and without a receipt.  I suspect that the person would likely be denied and sent away. 

The reason I have store return policies on my mind is not because I have received any material gifts that I need to exchange.  It’s actually because I have engaged in some spiritual “closet cleaning” as another year comes to a close.  In the process, I uncovered some precious, non-material gifts that I’ve received by God’s goodness over the years.  Truthfully, I haven’t really treated them all as precious.  Without going into detail, I can say that I misused and mishandled some God-given gifts because I didn’t fully understand or appreciate their true value.  As a result, these gifts were shattered and broken.  There are also gifts that I neglected or failed to properly maintain, and I now find that essential pieces are lost or missing.  I allowed other gifts to become stained and torn by the opinions of others or by my own ignorance and arrogance.  But, my heart is overflowing with thanksgiving as I contemplate the beauty and liberating power of God’s return policy.  Unlike others, He doesn’t impose a restriction of perfect condition.  I don’t have to make excuses, place blame, or try to prove it was an “accident.”  He doesn’t impose a restriction of time, either.  The damage may have been done forty years ago or forty seconds ago.  He knows all the details.  Still, I won't be denied or turned away.  By His Spirit, He earnestly beckons, “Bring it to Me.  Just come!”  So, as I sit here, I am lifting up to Him my receipt called Faith.  I am asking to exchange what is broken and stained for that which is whole and pure.  I am trusting in the One who makes all things new to redeem and restore.  I am preparing for a new beginning, girded with a lifetime warranty of grace.  Amen.

No Comparison

This morning I am thinking about a somewhat embarrassing condition with which I struggled for several years.  It’s a condition called CGI…an acronym for Collard Green Insecurity.  It manifested itself as an irrational, but persistent avoidance of cooking collard greens for fear that they wouldn’t turn out as good as someone else’s.  In my case, that “someone else” was my mom.  I was self-diagnosed with CGI in 2005.  That’s when my mom came to live with me.  Before she moved in, all was well.  I would prepare and enjoy collard greens whenever I wanted.  But, the first time my mom cooked collard greens for dinner as my housemate, I knew I had a serious problem.  All of a sudden I was thinking to myself, “Hey, mine don’t taste like this.”  It didn’t help to hear my siblings tell her, “Mom, you put your foot in those greens!”  (FYI, that’s an expression that means they’re exceptionally yummy.)  Oh, how I wanted someone to tell me I’d put my foot in my collard greens.  But now I was afraid to try, because what if they didn’t?  At first, I started comparing my collard greens to others.  I’d say, “I know mine taste better than so-and-so’s” or “I know mine taste just as good as so-and-so’s.”  But in my mind, they never quite compared to Mom’s.  So, eventually, I just stopped cooking collard greens altogether.  I really did.  It was an all-out CGI flare-up that had me completely paralyzed until about a year ago.  That’s when my mom moved into what used to be my brother’s house.  That’s when I felt safe to cook collard greens again, even if I enjoyed them all by myself.  The humor in all this is certainly not lost on me today.  However, I have also been moved to seriously contemplate the unproductive, paralyzing effect of comparing myself to others in any context.  I believe that when God blesses my life with the gift of other people, these divine connections are absolutely loaded with potential, power, and purpose.  I believe we are given to one another to serve, to share, to protect, to encourage, to comfort, to exhort, to inspire, to lift, and to love one another.  It is sobering to think how much time I have wasted and how many things I have left undone while engaged, instead, in the vain exercise of comparing.  Moving forward, I will do well to keep this in mind:  On the list of holy purposes for relationships, there is no “comparison.” 
     

I have to share that my mom called one day recently and asked if I would bring her a plate of the Sunday dinner I’d prepared.  It turns out that collard greens were on the menu.  I was terrified, wondering what she would think and what she would say.  Like a big scaredy cat, I asked my son-in-law if he would drop the plate off to my mom for me.  I was on pins and needles when she called me later that day.  What she said was, “Girl, you put your foot in those greens!”  No joke…she used exactly those words.  I believe I am healed.            

The End of the Story

This morning I am thinking about the significance of a familiar four-letter word that stands out to me in the scriptures concerning Christ’s birth.  The word is “Fear.”  Specifically, I noted that the phrase “fear not” was used by angelic messengers while addressing Joseph (Matthew 1:20), Mary (Luke 1:30) and some shepherds (Luke 2:10).  I had never given a whole lot of thought to the presence or potential influence of fear during such a joyous, miraculous event.  After all, it was a time of love demonstrated, of peace declared, and of promise for hopes fulfilled.  What place should fear have in that?  I have gained a bit of insight while considering this.  When I celebrate Christ’s birth, it is from the perspective of one who has already seen the end of the movie, so to speak.  I know the story of power and grace, of salvation and deliverance, of reconciliation and restoration.  However, the ones who were first given those messages concerning Christ’s birth did not “see what I see” or “know what I know.”  They were told of things that would come to pass in ways that were new and unexpected.  A child being conceived of the Holy Spirit.  A virgin giving birth to a son.  A newborn king lying in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes.  These things were a far departure from norms and traditions, in shocking contrast to the comfortable and familiar and, quite frankly, hard to believe. They didn’t fully know the end of the story.  Nevertheless, Joseph, Mary, and the shepherds received the words of truth they had been given by faith.

During this season which represents wonders and miracles for many people, I have been compelled to reflect on my own response when certain words of truth...when certain promises for hopes fulfilled…are given to me.  Admittedly, I have sometimes responded with fear rather than faith.  As I ask myself why this is so, it becomes clear to me that I really tend to get stuck on the “how.”  I know that sometimes God’s way involves sacrifice, pain or circumstances that don’t always work out the way I think they should.  Often His leading goes against my reasoning and challenges the subjective logic of my experience.  Almost always, His plan requires me to discard old ways of thinking and behaving to which I have become accustomed.  So, fear manifests itself through my making excuses, putting up defenses, trying to hide, and running away.  But at this moment I find myself in an awesome place of freedom and peace.  I am making the choice to surrender my fears so that I can  more tightly embrace faith.  And I know this: “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear…” (I John 4:18).  Today I will go forth, giving thanks for a heart to perceive and receive the life-shifting blessings God sends my way.  I will trust His heart for the “how,” knowing that the end of the story will be very, very good.   

Reaching

This morning I am thinking about the persistence of my grandson, Princeton.  At fifteen months old, he is at a stage in which he actively pursues and attempts to take hold of various items or objects that catch his eye.  But I am particularly fascinated by what he does when there is something of interest to him, even if he can’t see it.  Lately, I have noticed how he will position himself as closely as he can to things that are above his head, such as a table, a counter, or a bookcase.  He’ll spring himself up on his tiptoes, and with his little hand he’ll reach as far as he can.  If there are objects close to the edge, he will readily grab them and pull them down with a triumphant grin.  If he doesn’t immediately feel anything he can snatch down, he will pat his hand across the surface, scanning for just the tip of something that may be a little further back…something that can at least be touched, if just barely.  I really don’t have to wonder why Princeton does this.  It’s because he has seen me putting things up there.  He has observed this enough to conclude that there are some good things in high places.  And he has determined that, in order to get those good things, he will have to reach.  Today I’m feeling a lot like Princeton in this sense.  In my life, there have been many things that caught my eye and my desire.  With childlike confidence, I went after those things with great eagerness and determination.  Many times I was able to take hold of them, too—a new job, a beautiful new place to visit, an opportunity to earn another degree.  I give thanks as I reflect on the lessons I have learned about pursuit, persistence, and possession of countless blessings so far.  However, I have also observed enough to know that there are still many good things yet to be obtained; good things that have been laid up in high places, above and beyond what I can always readily see.  In fact, the Word comes to mind: “Oh, how great is Your goodness, which You have laid up for those who fear You; which You have wrought for those who trust in You before the sons of men!” (Psalm 31:19)  So, lately I have been positioning myself as closely as I can to the Word.  Yes, I admit that sometimes its Truth is above my head.  Sometimes there are things I just don’t understand with my natural mind.  But, by faith, I’m springing up on my tiptoes and I’m reaching as far as I can to touch what I know is there.  I envision myself pulling down blessings of wisdom, peace, hope, joy, and love—purer, stronger, and greater.  I envision pulling these good things down, with a triumphant grin and with one hand yet reaching upward in praise.                     

To Be Honest

This morning I am thinking about the liberation that comes when I honestly share from my heart, although the accompanying sense of vulnerability can be quite scary.  Even as I started to write today, the thought came to me: “If you share this, people will think you’re a dork and a loser.”  There was a time when I would have been intimidated by that, but not today.  In fact, I chuckled as I thought to myself, “If someone thinks I’m a dork and a loser, they’re going to think that whether I write about it or not.”  So, here goes.

For the last seven years, I had a most miserable standing date with Sorrow.  The pattern was always the same.  Right around this time of year, when the holidays were in full swing, it would suddenly show up on the doorstep of my heart with a message that went something like this:  “Everybody has somebody, except you.  It’s another Christmas, and you still don’t even have a boyfriend…much less a husband.  You’re still alone.  Why don’t I come in and keep you company?”  And I would invite it in.  With my very own original blues soundtrack playing in the background of my mind, I would rehearse every failed relationship and every heartbreak since I was about sixteen years old.  I would contemplate all the things that must be wrong with me, since no one seemed to want me.  I would even wonder if there was something I had done that made God really mad at me.  All the while, Sorrow would keep replenishing my glass from a bottle of 100° proof self-pity that I’d drink until I had cried myself to sleep, utterly intoxicated.  Yes, it was a most miserable date indeed.  To make matters worse, I’d wake up the next morning to find that nothing had changed.  I would still be alone, except for Sorrow, that is.  But like a forbidden lover, I had to keep its presence a secret, out of respect for the joy and happiness of those around me.  Well, just like clockwork, Sorrow showed up last evening.  However, I resolved that we couldn’t…that we wouldn’t…keep meeting like that.  So, this time I didn’t invite it in.  Instead of queuing up a soundtrack of the blues, I filled my mind and my mouth with songs of praise and worship.  Rather than rehashing past hurts and disappointments, I gave thanks for lessons learned, for wisdom gained, and for faith that remains.  In place of a bottle of self-pity, I drank from a deep well of gratitude.  I realized that, through every trial, my heart is being purified and perfected for a love that will be special indeed.  And I fell asleep, making declarations of God’s goodness to me. 

I awakened today to find that there is still no boyfriend…not even a prospect.  On the outside, nothing has changed in that respect.  (Not yet.)  On the inside, however, it’s a different story because I am changed.  Although some evidence of a change became clear last night, it certainly didn’t happen overnight.  Since this time last year, I have been deliberately choosing each day to make a big deal of God’s favor and faithfulness rather than my fears and failures.  Little by little, my mind is being renewed.  I guess you could call it an inside job.  To be honest, I am looking for changes on the outside too.  I want to write about those as well.  Through it all, I pray that others will also be encouraged to believe, to be renewed, to be honest…to be free.  Amen.                               

Just Like Dear Old Dad

This morning I am thinking about my daddy.  It’s hard to believe he passed away thirty years ago!  It just seems unreal that it has been that long.  Perhaps it’s because I think of him so often, remembering his laughter and kindness and strength.  I also remember how he always made me feel adored and safe.  Today, fond memories of my daddy sent me digging to the bottom of my cedar chest.  There I found something I wrote many years ago.  I was in my early twenties, and I had started praying about the kind of husband I wanted.  After all these years, I am amazed at how well it still captures the desire of my heart.  It reads:

For most of my life, I guess, I have tried to imagine just what my Prince Charming would be like.  I’ve given a lot of thought to the qualities I desire in my future husband.  It occurred to me, one day, that my list of attributes could almost be a personality profile of my daddy.  Let’s see, “kind and caring…strong and courageous…a good sense of humor…faithful and reliable…,” and the list goes on.

I was encouraged recently by the revelation that I need not be anxious about how my Prince Charming will turn out after we say, “I do.’  My daddy was a truly wonderful man, but he certainly had his shortcomings.  It was not his flawlessness that made me love him.  In fact, some of my fondest memories are of those times when he was being rather imperfect.  Far beyond any specific character trait or quality, it was what my dad gave me that yoked my heart to his.  Throughout our relationship of nineteen years, he was constantly showering me with some very special gifts.  It didn’t matter that these gifts were always the same.  I never ran out of the need or desire for any of them.  The gifts were love, acceptance, and security.

It was only after I entered into a relationship with my Father that I could fully understand what a treasure I had in my daddy.  It was not until then that I realized my heart belonged to my daddy because my daddy’s heart belonged to my Father.  Somewhere in his life, my daddy must have come to learn that there is no greater, richer, or more complete love that anyone can give to another than the love of God.  My daddy made the choice to offer me His best, rather than merely his best. 

I regret that my husband won’t know my daddy, but I find great peace and reassurance in the fact that he will know my Father.  Somewhere in his life, my husband will have come to understand that the love he has to offer me, in and of himself, has its limits.  He will make the choice, instead, to offer me the irresistible, immutable, everlasting love of God.  My heart will be forever yoked to my husband’s because he will give me His best, rather than merely his best…just like dear old dad.”

Let it be so.  Amen.

 

New Socks and Underwear

This morning I am thinking about a delightful WestJet Airlines video that has been widely shared across various media outlets.  The video features an amazing act of imagination, coordination and kindness demonstrated toward the unsuspecting passengers on two flights to a Calgary airport.  At the airports from which they were departing, kiosks were set up where passengers were invited to share their holiday wishes with a virtual Santa.  What they did not realize was that their wishes were being recorded and relayed to WestJet staff members who were strategically stationed at their destination.  While the planes were en route to Calgary, teams of WestJet employees scurried to obtain various items that had been specifically requested by passengers.  When their flights arrived, passengers gathered and stood around in the baggage claim area, waiting for their luggage.  To their surprise, beautiful gift-wrapped packages, with individual names on them, emerged from the baggage chute and began circulating on the conveyor.  Inside the packages were the very things passengers had said they wanted!  The place was abuzz with joy and excitement as packages were opened to reveal toys, games, a phone, a snowboard, plane tickets, an Android tablet, a 50” LG television and other wonderful surprises.  One passenger that stood out to me was the man who told the virtual Santa, “What I need is new socks and underwear.”  I wondered if he would have asked for something more, perhaps something he really wanted, if he had known he would receive exactly what he asked.  I also wondered about those who opted not to participate at all…those who were too busy or who considered speaking to a kiosk Santa to be somewhat foolish.  I have gleaned quite a wake-up, shake-up lesson from this profound example of charity and goodness.  It reminds me that I have something much better than a virtual Santa.  I have an open invitation in God’s Word to “ask, and it shall be given; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened.”  But, like some of those WestJet passengers, I don’t always fully avail myself of this treasure.  Sadly, there were times in my life when I just didn’t ask at all.  I’ve certainly moved beyond that, but I have to admit that I still sometimes offer up “sock and underwear prayers” when my true heart’s desires are more along the lines of a 50” flat screen TV and a beach vacation.  My faith is stirred today, and it is convicting me of three things.  First, God knows exactly where I am, and He knows where I’m going.  Secondly, God hears and responds to the petitions I make in prayer.  Third, when I pray in faith, a host of spiritual forces are released to manifest the very things I speak.  Bearing these things in mind, I know I can boldly ask for more than new socks and underwear because God is able to do above and beyond what I can even imagine.  And once I make my petitions known, I don’t need to fret about it.  I can just enjoy the ride, knowing that at every stop along this journey of life, I will always find blessings with my name on them...blessings lovingly provided just for me.                          

Like Fried Pork Chops and A Mother's Love

This morning I am thinking about a wonderful chat I had with my mom the other day.  I wanted to surprise her by bringing her lunch, so I didn’t call before stopping by.  Consequently, she had already started cooking up something in the kitchen, and a mouth-watering aroma filled the house.  “I didn’t know you were coming,” she grinned, as she gave me a hug.  “I was frying me some porch chops.  But that’s okay.  I can eat those for my dinner.”  So the two of us sat and enjoyed our lunch, as well as some great conversation, until it was time for me to head back to work.  In the car, I smiled to myself as I acknowledged two things.  First, I was heading back to the office with my hair and clothes bearing the lingering smell of fried pork chops!  Secondly, I was completely saturated in the priceless fragrance of my mom’s immeasurable love for me.  This fragrance went far beyond my hair, clothes, or any other superficial layer of my physical being.  It penetrated through to my very soul—soft, but powerful and distinctive.  Today, this has provoked me to ponder and wonder:  What is the scent that lingers on those who have spent time in my presence?  What are the things I have been “cooking up” in my life, which permeate the atmosphere around me?  I thank God for the people He sends my way for different reasons and through different seasons.  I can’t always predict the circumstances under which they come to me, and quite frankly that’s none of my concern.  But once they’ve encountered me, whether for a few moments or for decades, I desire that their lives will be infused with things that are pleasant and beautiful.  Just as God has perfumed my life with His indescribable grace and goodness, I pray to impart something to others that lingers, something that sticks to them and causes them to smile even after they’ve gone on their way.  Something like peace and mercy…like friendship and faithfulness…like joy and laughter…like hope and strength…like fried pork chops and a mother’s love.  May it be so.          

Positioned For "Yes"

This morning I am thinking about a lesson I learned from my Chihuahua over the weekend.  I was preparing to go out to run some errands, and I noticed that he was following closely on my heels as I went about getting dressed.  When I looked at him, he fixed his “Please, Mommy, please” eyes on me, while wagging his tail.  I had already taken him out to do his “business,” so I knew this behavior could only mean one thing.  He wanted to go out for a walk.  The thing is, it wasn’t time for his walk, and I had other things I needed to do.  So I told him, “Not this time.”  Usually when I tell him that, he just trots off to curl up for a nap until later.  But this time he did something he had never done before.  He went and positioned himself right in the entryway.  And there he sat, still as a stone, just staring at the front door.  The instant I saw this, my schedule changed.  Before doing another thing, I took my Chihuahua for a walk. 

While I’m not one to believe in coincidences, I absolutely do believe that my life is graced with undeniable God-moments that come to strengthen and encourage my faith, if I am wise to discern them.  Such was the case this weekend.  I’m getting better at recognizing these moments, too.  They always challenge me to envision, imagine, believe, or wonder beyond the boundaries of what I’ve always known and what I’ve always done.  They stir up my hope with questions of “What if?”  Every day I delight to make my needs and desires known to God through prayer, and I give thanks as He answers.  Occasionally, however, circumstances clearly indicate that the answer to a particular prayer is “Not yet.”  In such cases, I tend to just trot off, resolved to accept that it will have to be later…kind of like my Chihuahua usually does.  But there are new questions burning in my heart today.  What if I believe God for “right now,” while facing overwhelming evidence of “not yet?”  What if I exercise protocol-breaking, agenda-altering faith like the Syrophenician woman in Mark 7:25-30 or the importunate widow in Luke 18:1-8?  What if I boldly position myself as never before to receive what I have asked of God, trusting in His love and compassion for me?  Well, I am about to find out.  I am going to position myself for “Yes,” and I will wait in stillness and in confidence until He opens the door.  Amen.       

He Answers

This morning I am thinking about how excited my daughter was the first time my 14-month-old grandson called her “Ma-ma.”  The significance of that moment, one of pure and mutual delight between my baby and her baby, was not lost on me.  And I smiled.  I knew it was only the first of countless times she would hear that precious utterance for years to come.  Of course, the way it is spoken may evolve over the years.  “Ma-ma, eat?”  “Mommy, I don’t feel good.”  “Mom, can I go out with my friends?”  Yet, all are simply variations on a moniker her sons’ hearts will reserve for no one else but her.  How often my daughter will hear “Ma-ma” in one form or another, I can’t imagine.  What I do know is that she won’t grow weary of hearing it.  I know there’s something about a mother’s heart that always quickens with inexpressible affection to hear a child’s call.  And I know that when her sons call, my daughter will turn her attention toward them and she will answer.  It brings a smile to my face again today, as I consider how this applies to my relationship with my heavenly Father.  It was many years ago that I first spoke in faith, “God, I believe that You are.”  I cannot even venture to guess how many times I’ve called on Him since.  The way I call His Name may differ.  “Father, I need Your wisdom.”  “God, it hurts.  Please help me.”  “Lord, give me strength.”  All are simply variations on the matchless Name my heart reserves for none other but Him.  I rejoice to know that He never gets weary of hearing my call.  I am filled with hope to know that His heart still quickens with inexpressible affection when He hears my spirit cry, “Abba, Father!”  And it is even more wonderful to know that He answers.  Sometimes He answers through the loving counsel of a friend.  Sometimes He answers with an unexpected turn of events.  Sometimes He answers with an overwhelming peace.  I don’t always know when or how, but I do know this:  With just what I need, just when I need it, He turns His attention toward me and He answers…always.  Amen.                                   

If I Didn't Know Better

This morning I am thinking about a joke my brother, Steve, told me.  Ironic in its sadness, the joke went something like this:

A man was preparing to jump to his death from the top of a bridge.  Seeing what was about to happen, the man’s friend called out, “Don’t do it!  Please, just let me come closer and talk to you about it.”  So, the man agreed to wait and talk to his friend.  After he was done pouring his heart out, they both jumped.

The joke, such as it was, quickened my awareness of how the holidays can be such a tough time for many people.  For some, there are memories of precious loved ones and dear friends lost through death or, perhaps, somehow lost in life.  There are recollections of days of joy and laughter that seem far gone.  For others, there is a tag-team of haunting and taunting from guilt over past mistakes, unrelenting sickness, painful secrets undisclosed, and heart-felt desires that never seem to come true.  A cloud of heaviness and sorrow hovers, almost palpable.  Tragically, there are those who wearily release their grasp on any sense of hope, and death is chosen over even one more moment of hurting.  A sobering thought is that I can totally relate to both the jumper and the well-meaning friend in the joke.  (Minus the actual jumping, that is.)  I know what it’s like to feel truly overwhelmed by sorrow.  I know what it’s like to persist in prayers that are answered only with persistent silence.  I know what it’s like to be daily bombarded with facts that are completely contrary to my faith.  I know what it is like to feel that there is no hope. 

If I didn’t know better, I might say there comes a point when continuing to hold on to hope is foolish and cruel.  But I have learned a lesson through my suffering.  I have learned that this scripture I’ve heard quoted so often is really true:  “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5b).  Lord knows I have become well acquainted with night weeping, the kind where I’ve had to sit up because my nose was too stopped up to breathe lying down!  But I have also become well acquainted with the joy of awakening to realize that I was stronger than the darkness tried to convince me.  I have learned that the duration and substance of one person’s “night” may be vastly different than that of another.  Yet I am convinced that there is sufficient grace for everyone who resolves to trust God until the morning.  Today I pray for those who are enduring a night season in their lives…those who are confused, broken, lonely, cast down, or in despair.  I also pray for their families, church members, friends, colleagues, or others who are assigned to encourage and support them.  I pray that hope and life will prevail in people’s hearts and minds, even through the night.  Dark and desperate circumstances often suggest that God is not faithful or that God is not at all, but I’m glad I know better.  I pray that others will know as well.