My Super Power

This morning I am thinking about the night I surprised myself with an unexpected display of “super power” that was provoked in me.  I was awakened from sleep by a loud banging, which sounded like someone trying to break in the back door of my house.  My first and only thought was to protect my daughter, Ari, whose bedroom was closest to the back of the house.  In no more than three motions, I flung the covers off and catapulted myself over the footboard of my bed.  Then I sprinted down the hallway towards the back door, with my barking Chihuahua in tow.  I passed a drowsy Ari coming out of her bedroom, having also been awakened by the noise.  Not knowing who (or what) I’d find on the other side of the back door, I flung it open.  Of all the things I could have imagined, I didn’t expect to see what I saw.  It was nothing.  Only the still, dark screened porch.  Nothing was disturbed, and the porch doors were securely shut.  Operating on a pure adrenaline high, I turned my search to the inside of the house, angrily snatching open the doors to every room and closet.  I suspect there was a very strong, “somebody-is-going-to-get-a-beat-down” vibe emanating from me, as Ari and my dogs watched with curiosity and caution.  After I had checked out every possible entry place and hiding place, I began to calm down, concluding that all was safe and sound.  My daughter began to chuckle a bit.  For one thing, I believe she was relieved to see me slowly start to look more like her mild mannered mom again and less like The Incredible Hulk.  But I also believe she was somewhat fascinated and tickled by my recklessness.  “Mom, you were mad,” she laughed.  I couldn’t help but laugh, too.  Then she asked, “What were you going to do?”  I said, “I don’t know.  I was just thinking, ‘how dare you come in my house?’”
 
The next day I learned that the “banging” we heard was the sound of a high-powered rifle used in a shooting at the lake nearby.  It was confirmed that no one had been trying to break into the house.  Nevertheless, the incident certainly revealed my willingness to lay it all on the line for that which was truly of value to me, namely, my precious child.  Remembering that night, I find myself sitting here feeling provoked again.  This time, though, it’s not because of a threat to my physical dwelling.  Rather, I am provoked by lurking mental, emotional, and spiritual burglars that persistently case out the residence of Hope and Peace I have chosen for my life.  Doubt, fear, and unforgiveness are among the usual suspects.  These would-be intruders are sometimes subtle, attempting to enter quietly without my notice.  At other times, they are brazen, throwing themselves violently against the doors of my heart and mind.  Inside are things that are of value to me, like faith, joy, integrity, and love.  Inside are things these thieves could steal, kill, or destroy.  But today I remember that I have a super Power that is far greater than adrenaline.  It is the Spirit of God, which enables me to respond to these thieves with swiftness, boldness, and fierce courage.  It makes me smile as I envision myself putting these thieves to flight, all the while shouting, “How dare you?!”

Sometimes

This morning I am thinking about the double life I live in this flesh.  Daily I endeavor to abide in a place of peace, wisdom and grace, rooted in faith.  However, I recognize that shifting circumstances can sometimes move me, both unwillingly and unwittingly.  Sometimes I feel powerful and strong on the inside, believing I can do absolutely anything I set my mind to do.  At other times I feel inadequate, and situations seem so out of control that I fear there may be no favorable solution.  Sometimes I am so filled with joy and hope that I can’t help singing, dancing, and jumping around.  At other times, sadness and regret hang on me like a cold, wet, heavy jacket.  Sometimes I am flying high, fueled and driven by the dreams, visions, and goals in my soul.  At other times, “Common Sense” and “Reality” are sharp daggers that poke holes in my aspirations and leave me feeling deflated.  Sometimes I enthusiastically write pages and pages in my journal to my future husband.  At other times, I can’t even pen a paragraph as I question, “Will I ever really get to share this with someone?” Sometimes I pour out my heart in prayers and petitions, with passion and bold confidence, until I lose track of time.  At other times, my heart is so overwhelmed that I can only manage to pour out tears, and time feels like a palpable enemy as I wait before God.  Sometimes, when I find myself feeling a bit dizzy from all the back and forth (like right now, today), I experience a truly wonderful thing.  I am embraced, held, and steadied by Love.  He helps me regain my bearings by remind me that I am His child.  He reassures me of this unshakeable truth:  In the midst of this unpredictable, inevitably ever-changing external landscape of life, His faithfulness is a steadfast and constant focal point to which I can fix the eyes of my spirit…all the time.

Pot Roast And Orange Soda

This morning I am thinking about the night my Grandma Elsie passed away.  I had gone directly from work to see her at the hospital and to relieve my mom and sisters, who had been there most of the day.  Upon entering the room, I found them trying to coax her to eat a bit of Jell-O or drink some of her juice.  She was stubbornly refusing both.  When she saw me, she entreated, “Could you please bring me an orange soda?”  I walked to her bedside and reminded her, “Grandma, the doctor said you can’t have orange soda.  But, you can have some juice.”  Holding the cup of juice with one hand, I turned the little straw toward her mouth with the other.  She leaned forward and started to sip.  I kissed her on the forehead, rubbed her hair, and told her she was doing a good job. 

Once the two of us were alone, she dozed off and slept for a while.  When she awoke, she smiled and addressed me by my nickname.  “Chet, could you please bring me an orange soda?”  I answered with a question. “Do you want some more juice?”  She just stared at me, silent for a moment.  Then, she said, “Thank you so much for the dinner.  Tell your husband the pot roast was delicious.”  Supposing that she was confusing me with one of my sisters, I said, “Grandma, I’m Chet.”  With a tone of indignation, she said, “I know who you are!”  I started to say, “I don’t have a husband.”  But something told me, “Don’t say that.  Just listen.”  She went on.  “I’ve had a lovely time, but I really must go now.  Could you please call me a cab?”  I wasn’t at all sure what to say to that, but she continued.  “I have to go.  Your grandfather will be looking for me.  Could you please call me a cab?  I really must go.” 

From there, she became increasingly agitated.  I prayed as I sat next to her, holding her hand and listening, until finally, mercifully she dozed off once again.  Not even two hours later, she passed away peacefully.  As I recall those last moments with my Grandma Elsie, I am convinced that she saw her future, joining my Grandpa Johnny in heaven.  This makes me smile.  I wonder if she saw my future, too...with a husband who makes an awesome pot roast!  That possibility makes me smile as well.  In any case, I hope that somehow she got to enjoy a giant glass of orange soda that night as she was welcomed home.

Consider The Source

This morning I am thinking about my recent conversation with an ex-boyfriend.  Initially, his sweet compliments and sincere-sounding confessions bounced hollow off the walls of my heart and mind.  What reverberated deeply, however, was the question: “Isn’t he still married?”  He got around to answering the question before I could ask.  His line was, “You know how you go to a restaurant and there’s two meals on the menu that you really want, and after you’ve chosen one, you wish you had chosen the other?”  I silently gave thanks to God for sparing me from life with a man who would use such a bad analogy.  After learning that I was single, he went on to give me relationship advice, peppered with terms of endearment about all my virtues he once enjoyed.  Honestly, I found myself feeling flattered, even though his intimations made me quite uneasy at the same time.  Then he said, “I know you loved me.  And, to be honest, I think you still do.”  So, that’s where his words registered about a 10.5 on the WRONG Scale!  It shook me completely back to my senses.  It shook me back to a place of remembering that, for all his lovely words, I was the meal not chosen.  Yet, there he was, trying to sneak a bite.  It’s funny, I had always associated the expression, “Consider the source” with counsel or information that was negative or unfavorable.  However, this encounter helped me see that I should be equally cautious about messages I receive that are gratifying and pleasant.  I must be wise to discern when words are from a source that may be tainted and impure, even if it’s exactly what I think I want to hear.  Anyway, when I saw him with his wife at the store not even a week later, I resisted the urge to say, “Listen, thanks so much for the other day.  You really made me feel good!”  I chose, instead, to operate from a source of wisdom and grace.  And for now, I’ll silently give thanks to God for the chosen man who will one day speak genuine words of love and respect…from the source of a heart that is sincere, faithful, and true…just for me.

Laughing It Off

This morning I am thinking about the healing power of laughter...especially a good laugh at myself.  I experience this every time I recall or share my airport restroom story.  I was on my way home after spending a week in Hawaii.  I’m really not a fan of those cramped, little airplane lavatories.  I find that the motion makes it exceptionally challenging for me to do my public restroom safety squat.  So, I opted to just “hold it” for the five and a half hour long flight from Kona to Los Angeles.  That was not a very wise decision.  As soon as I was able to un-board the plane, I rushed to the nearest ladies’ room.  Once inside a stall, I hurriedly hung my purse and carry-on bag on the convenient hook, closed the door, unzipped, and took a squat.  I closed my eyes and literally breathed a sigh of relief.  “Aaaaah!”  When I opened my eyes, I was more than a bit shocked to see that the door of the stall had swung open!  Other travelers were passing my stall, eyeing me curiously.  With leg and thigh strength I didn’t realize I had, I quickly leaned forward and grabbed the door to pull it shut.  I got myself together, and I stood there for a moment wondering if and when it would be safe to go out.  I wanted to wait until all potential witnesses were gone.  As I stood there, I started laughing.  I laughed and laughed, all through the airport, all the way to my connecting flight.  I laughed until I could barely see, or stand, or speak.  And it felt so good!  The wellness guru who works in my office says laughter releases certain chemicals in the brain that create a sense of well-being.  For me, laughter releases something even more important.  It releases ME.  It frees me from the ridiculous, burdensome notion that I am in control…that if I plan well enough or try hard enough, I can make things work out just right.  If I’m not careful, this illusory conception can weigh me down like a merciless ball and chain.  So, every now and then I have to remind myself that life is not perfect and that I am not perfect, no matter how hard I strive.  But I’ve learned one important thing:  It’s in my imperfections that grace lives.  This causes my soul to rejoice, and I am restored to a place of strength and liberation each time I simply allow myself to laugh it off.                

Proficient Pretenders

This morning I am thinking about soap operas.  I haven’t actually watched one since college…a very long time ago.  However, I was recently reminded of my days as a soap addict when one of my Facebook friends posted that Katherine Chancellor had died.  That’s the name the person used: Katherine Chancellor.  It really struck me that I had no idea what the actress’ real name was.  But I knew it wasn’t Katherine Chancellor.  The thing is, she played her role so well for so many years that fans of the soap opera came to know her persona, rather than actually knowing her as a person.  Other examples come to mind.  Jack Abbott, Lucinda Walsh, Reba Shayne-Lewis.  I recall how I literally spent hours of my life, and untold emotional energy, engaging with these people.  And as I sit here, I realize I don’t know any of their real names!  They were all such proficient pretenders.  How sobering it is for me to question myself honestly, “When I interact with others, am I letting them truly see and know me as a person, or am I putting forth a persona?  Am I genuine in the things I do and say, or are my words and actions merely performances driven by roles into which others have cast me, and to which I have acquiesced?  If I had no fear of being rejected, judged, or embarrassed, what would I do and say, and how would I live?”  As I ponder these questions, there is one thing I know for sure.  I don’t want to live my life as a proficient pretender.  I want to be real.  I want to be real when I am broken and hurting, as well as when I’m having the absolute best day ever.  I want to be real when I’m struggling and when I am strong.  When I speak, I want it to be words of truth.  When I love, I want it to be from a heart that is pure.  When I give, I want it to be without hypocrisy.  I’m not looking to win an Emmy or an Oscar.  I’m not even interested in a People’s Choice Award.  My heartfelt desire is to please the One who made me for good and beautiful purposes that can only be fulfilled by me…the authentic and unrehearsed and imperfect, but sincere me.

Under The Influence

This morning I am thinking about the coffee that smells so good brewing in the kitchen.  I actually bought that brand on purpose.  While I was strolling down a particular aisle at the grocery store, I heard the song in my head: “The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup.”  And into my cart the large, red container went.  Sitting here now, I’m being a bit more realistic.  Sitting here now, I would say that the best part of waking up is…well, not being dead.  I’m pretty certain I could list a number of other things about waking up that are better than Folgers in my cup, too.  Nevertheless, I bought the coffee because I bought into the message.  Well, that was not the first time I’ve ever made a decision that was influenced by a familiar refrain that was playing in my head.  Regrettably, not every message I’ve ever bought into was as charming or harmless as a jingle for a coffee commercial.  In fact, some of them were downright destructive.  Consequently, I would pile up my emotional grocery cart (so to speak) with things I didn’t really want or need because I was under the influence of “commercials” in my head about Rejection, Shame, Condemnation, and Loss.  Just like my large, red container of Folgers coffee, I have had to pay a price for those things.  Unlike my Folgers, however, I have received absolutely no return on investment for products such as fear, unforgiveness, and confusion.  They are of no value to me at all.  They simply have to be thrown out.  So, daily, I open my heart and mind, and I continue to let them go.  And daily, I renew my mind with messages about Forgiveness, Hope, Peace, and Restoration.  I have to smile, as I realize I’m growing to become a much more discerning emotional shopper.  I’m learning to reject things that have no business in my cart.  Instead, I’m piling it up with the good things that do belong there.  I realize that the products of love, kindness, truth, and wisdom are not only of value to me, but also to those precious ones in my life whom I value.  So, I’ll go forth today ready and eager to share.  But, first, a cup of coffee. 

Crazy

This morning I am thinking about the man I encountered while I was stopped at a red light one day this week.  It might be more accurate to say that we encountered each other.  He was about 20 feet away when I first noticed him there on the sidewalk to my left.  In odd defiance of the blazing afternoon sun, he was donned in a red knit cap and a green and black, long sleeved flannel shirt.  He was standing, almost posing, with one hand on his hip.  In the other hand, he was wielding a banana as if it were a gun.  And he was cussing up a storm.  I was saying to myself, “Oh boy.  He’s crazy!”  Then he turned and looked directly at me.  It was a strange and awkward moment when the two of us made eye contact…when I knew that he saw me seeing him.  Ordinarily, I would have just looked away.  Ordinarily, I would have been thinking, “If I look away, then he’ll go away.”  But, for whatever reason, this time I didn’t look away.  Perhaps that is why he started walking toward my car.  When he was about 10 feet away, I wondered if he would just cross the street in front of me.  After all, he had the green light.  When he was about 8 feet away, I realized he was actually, intentionally approaching me!  Still cussing.  When he was about 5 feet away, I thought about what I might say if he came any closer.  At 2 feet, it came to me what I would say to him.  I would say, “Hi.”  But, then, he suddenly stopped.  He turned his body, as well as his gaze, and started to walk away.  He gave me a quick glance over his shoulder, as he departed.  As I drove slowly through the green light, I tried to imagine what he might have done had he come any closer.  Maybe flashed me.  Maybe just cussed me out.  Maybe smacked me with the banana.  I began rehearsing an old platitude in my head:  “That might be someone’s father or brother or husband.”  But then it occurred to me that, even if he was none of those things to anybody, he was still somebody.  He was somebody with a mind (however broken), a life, and a story.  He was somebody to whom I could choose to show compassion and respect rather than judgment.  As I sit here today I believe we were both stationed at that exact intersection, at that exact time, because he was somebody who needed to know that someone else sees.  Call me crazy, but I’m really glad it was me.