Proof of Life

This morning I am thinking about an email I received the other day. The subject line really captured my attention. It read, “Your immediate response is required if you are alive.” I laughed out loud at the message, which contained the telltale grammar, spelling, and punctuation errors of a scam. It said:

Hello. Please confirm if you are still alive because two gentle men walked into my office this morning to claim your inheritance with our bank. They said that you are dead and that they are your representative. I got your email from the file of your relative for the Contract he has executed before his death several years ago. You the beneficiary of this fund has not been in contact with the bank to claim your fund. If you are still alive, please indicate by sending your full contact details within 7 day of receiving this message, faliure to do so, I will send the card to the address submitted by your representatives.

Later I shared with my secretary how a sobering thought pierced through my amusement. As I’ve seen images and heard accounts of traumatized children who have been cruelly separated from their parents and warehoused in detention centers, I have been sickened and saddened. I have also been embarrassed by the relative silence and seeming indifference from so many who identify as believers in and followers of Christ.

I am compelled to send a “proof of life” request to everyone (including myself) who goes under the label of Christ-ian! My message is this:

“Hey! Are you alive?” Because there are those who are saying they represent you. You have an inheritance that was bequeathed to you by a Relative through His death many years ago. Your purported representatives are characterizing you as dead, and they are attempting to take your inheritance by default. But their callousness, arrogance, and deflection are all telltale signs of a scam. 

So open your eyes. Open your heart. Open your mouth. Because at this critical juncture, you are on the verge of forfeiting a treasure you will never be able to reclaim. My earnest plea is that you will stand up. Say something. Do something. Prove you are alive! Then take possession of what has been willed to you—an inheritance of mercy and compassion; an inheritance to be light in the midst of darkness; an inheritance of God’s love.

The Right Lane

This morning I am thinking about a minor frustration that turned into a major exhortation. In the middle of a busy day, I decided to grab a quick bite from the drive-thru of a favorite fast food restaurant. It was a road I travel often, so I knew the restaurant would be coming up on my right. I was in the middle lane, and I knew I’d need to get over soon. That’s when I noticed the convoy of cars in the right lane. They were ahead of me, next to me, and in my rearview mirror. I tried signaling, to no avail, for someone to let me over—to let me in. A feeling of aggravation turned to exasperation as I got closer to and, eventually, passed the restaurant. The thought came to me, “Just go to the next restaurant. It’s a little farther down the road, but it’s on your way.” Well, obstinacy outweighed my sense of reason. Once I was able to get into the left lane, I made a U-turn and circled back. I was determined to get in THAT right lane and go to THAT restaurant. I successfully did both. However, as I triumphantly pulled into the parking lot, I noticed there were no other cars. To my shock and chagrin, that restaurant had closed! I couldn’t help laughing at myself as I drove down the road to the other restaurant.

The lesson I needed was this:  Sometimes I try to force my way over into a metaphorical right lane, not realizing it will lead me to a wrong place. Sometimes I need to accept that, regardless of how I may be positioned in relation to other travelers, I am in the right lane for where I really need to go. Sometimes I perceive things negatively, as if they are blocking me, hindering me, or shutting me out from something I want. In fact, they may be divine guard rails to keep me “in my lane” and guide me in a different direction for a reason I can’t immediately see. Sometimes I may think I have arrived, only to find myself in an empty situation that no longer serves a purpose. Sometimes I need to be patient and go just a little farther down the road, trusting that I am being led to a destination that is truly fruitful and favorable. 

In the Beginning

This morning, I am thinking about my walk of faith.  Over the years, my faith has been tried in ways that stretched, pushed, pierced and crushed me.  It has also been affirmed in ways that lifted, guided, restored and healed me.  Today I found myself in the familiar place of seeking to commune with God, the Source of my faith.  I was desperate for direction.  Among other things, I confessed, “God, I feel lost.”  The tender, holy guidance I received was simply this: “Retrace your steps.”  I was led to go back to the beginning—specifically to Genesis, the book of beginnings.  In the Creation narrative, my eyes were enlightened to five guideposts of grace.  When I don’t see these guideposts in my life, I invariably begin to feel lost.  Conversely, when these guideposts are present on my walk of faith, they bear witness that I am on the right path.  The five guideposts are: 

Light- It feels great when circumstances around me are all bright and sunny.  However, that is often not the case.  Sometimes it is right and necessary for me to leave a dark situation and seek a place where there is light.  At other times, it is right and necessary for me to be a light and transform dark places.  In whatever situation I find myself, I pray for illumination to SEE—to act with wisdom, knowledge, and understanding.  I want to help others see, too.

Order- A very liberating lesson I’ve learned is that there is a difference between structure and stricture.  While one is intended to confine, the other is intended to define.  I realize there is no schedule or flow chart that can prevent random, unexpected events from occurring.  Still, having an intentional, thoughtful plan helps me clarify and sanctify the things I value most—those things for which I will prioritize commitment of my time, attention, and affection.

Purpose- There are two questions that seem to arise and confront me at various times and in various contexts. One is, “What am I doing here?”  The other is, “Why am I doing this?”  Sometimes my answer is, “I don’t know.”  At other times, the answers I give ring hollow.  But sometimes when I answer, I feel as if I am plugged in to Life itself!  I feel a great sense of power, joy and meaning.  This is the “sweet spot” of purpose, and there is nothing like it.  This is where I strive to be.

  

Fruitfulness- A particular orange tree may have been the lone survivor of an unseasonably cold winter, and it may have also escaped a crop-killing blight.  Nevertheless, the greatest testimony that orange tree could have is sweet, juicy oranges.  I want to keep this in mind, when I’m tempted to boast about obstacles I have faced or challenges I’ve overcome.  At the end of the day, I want to know that I am providing  something fruitful--something beneficial, pleasant, nourishing, refreshing and sweet—for those who need it. 

Relationship- As much as I enjoy my alone time, I understand that I am not designed to experience life disconnected from others.  Time after time, I have seen Love absolutely demolish the pitiful walls of defense I’d constructed around myself to avoid frustration, disappointment and a broken heart.  I now know it was brokenness that taught me mercy, compassion, patience, forgiveness and hope. Indeed, these things have equipped me for authentic relationships in which Love can be given and received, flowing freely.

I Want You

I am thinking about the priceless moment I shared with my oldest grandson when he spent the night with me recently.  As he usually does, he had beckoned me to a closet in my spare bedroom where I store several grandchildren toys—some of which they are aware, and others that are new surprises.  As I always do, I slid open the closet door to let him look around.  He stood expectantly, waiting for me to ask the question:  “What do you want?”  After he told me the things he wanted, I said, “Okay, let’s get it!”  He grabbed the bags of blocks from the floor.  I got the Play Dough and crayons from a shelf that was just above his reach.  I spread out a large sheet to cover the floor, and we plopped down to play.  While he was engrossed in a building project, I decided to go get a load of laundry started.  Just as I closed the lid to the washer, I turned to see my grandson standing in the doorway to the laundry room.  He had an unmistakable something-has-me-upset-and-I’m-about-to-cry look on his face.  I asked, “What’s the matter, honey?  What do you want?”  I figured there was something else in the toy closet he couldn’t reach.  With tears welling up in his eyes, he reached out his little arms and said, “I want you.”  Before I knew it, I was on my knees and holding him tightly in my arms.  My eyes were brimming with tears, too, as I said, “I’m here, sweetheart.  I’m right here.”  This reminds me of how it is sometimes in my relationship with God.  A lot like my grandson with his toys, I can easily become preoccupied with the countless blessings that surround me.  I am sincerely grateful for these manifold gifts!  Yet, sometimes, when I look up and look around, I perceive that something is missing.  I become keenly aware that I have lost that closeness, that connection with God that gives a profound depth of purpose and joy to everything else.  And just as my precious grandson came looking for me, my spirit compels me to earnestly seek Him until the intimacy of our fellowship is renewed.  Sometimes I don’t come into His presence with a list of petitions or wishes.  Instead, I just want to let Him know that I adore and appreciate Him so much.  Sometimes I simply want to say, “I want You.”  And as He encompasses me in an embrace of love and peace, He lets me know, “I Am here.  I Am right here.”     

Overtaken

This morning I am thinking about the words spoken to me while I was taking a walk the other day.  There is a part of my walking trail (which I call the Boardwalk) where it is not uncommon for people to utter brief greetings to one another.  As a matter of courtesy, many of us will say something like, “I’m right behind you” or “coming up on your left,” as an alert when we’re about to pass someone.  So, I wasn’t surprised by the greeting itself.  Nor was I surprised when I turned to see the bright, familiar smile of one of the jogging regulars.  What did surprise me was what she told me.  She said, “You’ve really got the pace going today!  I’ve been trying to catch up to you since back there.”  She pointed all the way across the lake to the place where I had entered the Boardwalk.  I didn’t have a chance to respond before she said, “Keep it up!” and darted ahead of me.  I broke out in a big grin, bolstered by her encouragement.  I glanced once again across the lake and marveled at her words, “I’ve been trying to catch up to you.” It struck me that I had not seen, heard, or otherwise noticed her until I was caught.  I had been focused on my pacing and lost in my thoughts. 

      

Reflecting on this, I was reminded of a scripture that speaks about how blessings will overtake me when I make a deliberate, committed choice to live…to walk…in a way that honors God.  Being overtaken implies I am moving in a particular direction, not just sitting or standing still.  More precisely, I believe it means I am moving, purposefully, in the direction of the prayers and goals He has set in my heart.  I like to imagine the blessings that are dispatched to track me down from the moment I begin taking steps of faith, every time.  I may not immediately see, hear, or otherwise perceive these blessings.  But inevitably, often unexpectedly, when I am focused on His promises and lost in His favor, I can feel them breathing down my neck.  I can hear them saying, “I’m coming up right behind you.”  I have sensed this lately, and my heart is greatly encouraged.  Today I say to those blessings, “Bring it on!  Overtake me.”

My Significant Other

This morning I am thinking about the woman I was in my past and the woman I am today.  Sometimes it feels like the two are engaged in an epic game of Whack-a-Mole.  Semblances of my past will rear their ugly heads, often popping up unexpectedly.  It goes something like this:

 

“Peek-a-boo! Remember how you’d party all night on Saturday and direct the children’s choir at church on Sunday?  Peek-a-boo!   What a hypocrite.  Peek-a-boo!  Remember how you trusted people with your heart, only to have it broken?  Peek-a-boo!  You have every right to be cynical.  Peek-a-boo!  Remember all those nights you spent at home alone while everyone else was out on a date?  Peek-a-boo!  Some things never change, huh? Remember the guilt?  Remember the pain?  Remember the sense of hopelessness?”

 

All the while I’ll be swinging and swatting with my very best retorts:  “I’ve stopped pretending now.  I’ve come to terms with what happened now.  I understand everything happens for a reason now.  I’m happier now.  I’ve stopped leaning to my own understanding, and I’m trusting God now.”  I must say, the woman I am today is winning most of these rounds lately.  Still, the back and forth can be exhausting. 

I have discovered that something truly delightful happens whenever my significant other enters the picture.  That is, the woman I aspire to become.  She sees and points out the beauty and purpose in people and circumstances all around me.  She inspires me to imagine, to dream, to laugh and to believe.  She celebrates my strength, resilience, and faith.  She honors my heart’s desire to love and be loved.  She speaks to me in a joyful tone, calling me to look forward.  On the best of days and the worst of days, my significant other reminds me of wonderful, amazing things that are yet to be for me.  I need to listen to her more often.                 

Life After Shrimp

This morning I am thinking about my discovery that I have a pretty severe shellfish allergy.  The effect of ingesting shellfish started out as relatively mild.  It was just a slightly annoying itch.  Barely noticeable.  Over time, however, the reaction became more dramatic.  Specifically, it made my whole mouth tingle, followed by swelling of my tongue and tightening of my throat.  Totally noticeable.   Still, I tried to deny it.  That is, up until the night I found myself alone, having eaten only about two bites of shrimp-fried rice, unable to swallow, my heart racing.  It was only then that I confronted myself with the sobering truth.  I asked, “Seriously, is it worth your life?”

Upon learning of my shrimp allergy, one friend tried to offer some hope.  She said there might a way to gradually reintroduce shrimp back into my diet by ingesting very small amounts at a time and increasing the amount gradually.  It sounded tempting, but I declined.  I know myself better than that.  I acknowledge that I am a shrimp-a-holic, so I just have to go cold turkey.  As much as I may still want to partake of a delicious shrimp dinner every now and then, exercising wisdom and self-discipline is now a matter of life or death. 

Interestingly, I feel like an allergy of sorts has also started to affect me mentally and emotionally.  For years, I was prone to devouring doubt, anxiety, and fear whenever and wherever they were served.  But, more and more lately, I find that these things irritate me.  They swell my tongue with words that are contrary to love and truth.  They choke the joy and peace right out of me.  I have to be honest with myself when tempted with the notion that I might somehow be able to indulge in harmful, unproductive thoughts and behaviors in small, manageable doses.  The truth is, every little bit hurts.

There are three important lessons I’ve gleaned over the past two shrimp-less years.  First, not everything that’s good to me is good for me.  Secondly, there are some things I just have to let go, no matter how “tasty” they may be.  And finally, rather than fixating on what I can’t have, I can re-train my appetite to delight in the countless other things I can have.  Does it require sacrifice?  Indeed it does.  Does it mean I sometimes have to sit by and watch others indulge in things I cannot even touch?  Absolutely.  But my prayer is to be an encouragement to others who find themselves at a crossroads, needing to make tough changes but not quite believing it’s possible.  I want to tell the story—not just with my lips but by example—that there is wholeness and healing beyond the things that have proven only to kill, steal, and destroy.  I want to be living proof that there is life after shrimp.            

    

My Hilarious Humiliation

This morning I am thinking about a funny thing that happened to me at the airport a few months ago.  It’s funny in retrospect, at least.  I was in line, waiting to pass through security as I had done countless times before.  I observed a few random travelers being stopped after passing through the body scanner.  Some were asked to empty pockets.  Others had their back, sides, or legs patted down.  All were quickly cleared and allowed to continue on their way.  I had always been able to breeze right through the body scanner, and I was expecting nothing different this time.  Well, I was in for quite a surprise.  When I exited the scanner, two uniformed officials asked me to wait just a moment.  I noticed that they were both looking and pointing at something behind me, so I turned to see what it was.  It was a monitor.  On the monitor was a two-dimensional figure of me.  The “me” on the monitor mimicked the pose I had taken inside the body scanner—legs apart, arms up over my head as if I were doing jumping jacks.  Then I saw it…the thing that had captured the security officials’ attention.  It was a yellow, rectangular shape.  And the shape was positioned squarely over my crotch!  I thought to myself, “Surely they don’t think I’m packing heat in my pants.”  At first I joked within myself, thinking, “Well, I guess it has been a really long time since…”

I was no longer amused when the female official said, “Okay, I’m going to have to check you.”  I can only imagine the look on my face, but whatever it was it seemed to give her pause.  She was suddenly more tentative, trying to reassure me with, “I’m going to use the back of my hand.”  I stood there, utterly embarrassed, as the back of her hand briskly bumped against places that just shouldn’t be touched by another without my willful invitation.  The pat down took less than three seconds; then she told me I was cleared to go.  But, before I could even take a step, two more female officials approached me.  One of them announced (a little too eagerly, I thought), “We are going to have to pat you down.”  I said, “No, they just did!”  The first two officials nodded in confirmation, and I quickly walked away.  All the way to the gate to catch my flight, I thought about what had just happened.  And the more I thought about it, the more I became angry.  I couldn’t wait for my two travel companions to arrive so I could tell them about the harrowing experience.   As I recounted the sequence of events, both of their faces lit up with amusement.  By the time I finished the story, the three of us were laughing hysterically.  In just a few moments, they helped me realize that the source of my anger was my own vanity.  It had always been perfectly okay with me if other travelers got stopped and patted down.  After all, it was for a greater good.  Yet, truthfully, I had fancied myself to be above such a thing.  For me, the experience was so much more than a security check.  It was an ego check.

Today, as I prepare my heart and mind for the start of a new work week, I give thanks for life’s ego check points that have taught me humility when I didn’t think I needed such lessons.  I am truly grateful for the disappointments, the trials, the tests, and the moments of humiliation that I didn’t think I deserved.  I find that I can now relate more deeply and more genuinely to fellow travelers on this journey of life, because I have been “touched” by the same hands of experience.  I am learning to be less critical and judgmental, but more sympathetic and compassionate.  Moreover, I am learning how to laugh at myself…to lighten up…because there really is a greater good.  Ultimately, it is my joy and freedom and peace.

Re-establishing Lost Connections

This morning I am thinking about an error message that flashed on the screen of my phone yesterday when I was attempting to check emails.  The words said, “Re-establishing lost connection.”  It wasn’t the first time I’d seen that message.  I knew it meant I had been in a dead zone, where my phone could not access a wireless network.  I have come to recognize two tell-tale signs that I am probably standing in a dead zone.  The first sign is that a long period of time will pass without me hearing a ring, chime, or buzz alerting me that I’ve received a message.  The second sign is that, when I attempt to send a message, it won’t go through.  When this happens, I know that if I want to send or receive messages, I will have to move from wherever I am to someplace else.   An interesting thing I’ve observed is, once I leave a dead zone, numerous email and text messages that had been previously sent—but not yet received by me—will suddenly begin to appear.  This was my big “aha” as I sat meditating during my quiet time.  Lately, I have found myself in some spiritual and emotional dead zones; sporadically separated by time, distance, and busy-ness from the genuine life-giving, loving relationships for which I often pray.   Well, today, a question rose up in my spirit, so sweet and so clear:  “Where are you standing?”  I literally got up and danced around, before being overcome with laughter at the curious gaze of my Chihuahua.  The message that came through for me was this:  I have the power and choice to reposition myself.  When I discern that I am in a dead zone, I am free to move to places where true kinships and friendships are established, re-established, and perfected…to places where connections are pure and strong.  I will know where I’m standing when evidence of answers to this prayer—previously sent, but not yet received by me—suddenly begin to manifest.  I can hardly wait.  

Little Thorny Things

This morning I am thinking about the little thorny thing I plucked from my shoe before taking a walk one day.  I started out as usual, but after only a few steps I felt a slight stabbing pain in my big toe.  The first time I stopped, I removed my shoe and shook it a bit, convinced that a piece of rock had gotten inside.  When I didn’t see anything fall out, I guessed it must have been something very small.  I put my shoe back on and resumed my walk.  After taking a few more steps, I felt the stabbing pain again.  I stopped a second time, removed my shoe, and looked inside.  I saw something sticking up, about one-eighth of an inch, through the insole.  I slid my hand inside the shoe and tried to grab whatever-it-was by the tip, but I couldn’t get a good grip.  Since that didn’t work, I decided to take my house key and push it down.  After pressing on it a bit, I was pleased to see it disappear beneath the protective cushion.  I slid my foot back into the shoe and started out once more.  I was feeling quite triumphant until the pain in my big toe returned, more intense than before.  Stopping for the third time, I yanked the shoe off in frustration.  When I peered inside my shoe, it seemed as if the little thorny thing was peering back at me.  I knew exactly what I needed to do, but I really didn’t feel like doing it.  I considered just going for it…just finishing my walk, with the thing still in my shoe.  I figured I could deal with it later, after my walk.  However, when I noticed the puncture marks on my big toe, I knew it would be foolish to continue.  So, I sat down on a nearby stoop.  I took my time, unlaced my shoe, and opened it up wide.  In no time, I was able to grab the little thorny thing by the tip and pluck it out.  As I examined it, I wondered what kind of plant it had come from.  I wondered how in the world it had gotten inside my sole.  I wondered how it had positioned itself in such a way as to cause so much pain.  After these brief musings, I simply flicked the little thorny thing away.  I wanted to take a walk, and that’s what I did.

What excites me today is that, lately, I have been sensing it is time for me to walk into a new season of learning, living, and loving.  I am indescribably eager and excited to get started!  However, I realize I will first have to deal with some little thorny things.  These are not the kind that could get embedded in my s-o-l-e, but the kind that are embedded in my s-o-u-l.  I realize I must first deal with little thorny things like nagging insecurities, unrelenting regrets, and lingering hurts.  As I begin to take steps forward, I feel these things stabbing and pricking, causing pain that cannot be ignored.  I could try “shaking it off” or suppressing these things beneath the protective cushion of my well honed defense mechanisms.  I could also attempt to just carry on as usual, with these things still lodged in my soul, hurting myself and likely hurting others.  I know avoidance and denial will ultimately prove futile and foolish.  So instead, I have made the choice to just stop for a while…to sit, still...to open myself up wide to the hand of Grace that will deliver, heal, and make me whole and free.  I want to walk confident and unhindered toward the blessings that are destined for me.  And that’s what I am going to do.       

Confessions of a Hater

This morning I am thinking about how, when I was little girl, someone said I should never say the word “hate.”  She said it was just like swearing.  Well, I don’t know about that, but for the past few days I know I’ve been feeling it—full throttle, real and raw.  So, at the risk of offending some, I’m going to drop the H-bomb.  I hate that, upon hearing the news of nine people being killed at their church in Charleston, South Carolina last Wednesday night, I had to make myself be okay all day at work and wait until I got home to cry.  I hate that, while walking the aisles of the grocery store this past weekend, I didn’t want to make eye contact with White people.  I hate that I wondered if any of them secretly shared the sentiments of the shooter or, worse yet, shared his deadly intentions toward me and other Black people.  I hate remembering some of the memes and messages previously seen posted on social media by people I’ve called friends, referring to young Black men as “thugs” and suggesting that, “if they would just follow the law, they wouldn’t have to worry about being killed.”  I hate realizing that, on the issue of the nine law-abiding Black people who were murdered last Wednesday night, those friends have been virtually silent.  I hate that I have been seriously wondering, who really are my friends?  I hate that, of all the White people I call “friend,” only one has spoken with me about this.  I hate every reason that hindered others who wanted to say something but didn’t.  I hate believing with all my heart that, if a young Black man had killed nine White people at a church service, he would not have been donned in a bullet-proof vest and escorted to protective custody.  I hate believing that, if the circumstances were reversed, a young Black man would have been shot and killed, without question.  Beyond the events of last Wednesday evening in Charleston, I hate the social system that allows for assassination of the character, confidence, and consciousness of Black people while the perpetrators are shielded in protective vests of power and prejudice.  I hate accepting the truth that education, quite often, is not the great equalizer.  I hate knowing that, as a teacher, I can’t share enough visual aids to overcome blindness of the heart and mind.  I hate knowing that I can’t provide enough real-world, concrete examples to break through the age old walls of privilege, apathy, or intentional ignorance.

I hate that I felt tears well up in my eyes each time a White person greeted me with “Hello” or “How are you today?” or a deliberate smile while I was out taking my walks the past two days.  I hate that I could not resist responding in kind.  I hate that, even now, I feel the undeniable force of Love poking through my armor of sadness.  I hate that I don’t know quite what to do with the tangle of emotions on the inside.  I hate knowing that a decision to believe things can somehow be better will make me vulnerable to potential hurt and disappointment.  But, more than anything, I hate the thought of giving up.  So, for today, I will lay down one H-bomb for another.  For today, God help me, I will hope.                         

The Path

                                      Photo by Elliott Sheppard

This morning I am thinking about the photograph a friend shared.  Looking at the picture reminds me of the walking path I take for my (almost) daily exercise.  I have found the path to be a place for me to gain perspective, especially when I’m feeling pressed.  It provides me with a beautiful space to meditate and be renewed in my mind.  Today this photograph has prompted me to recall and reflect upon some of my experiences on the path.  In doing so, I stumbled upon some interesting insights and lessons just for me.

   

1. Some people on the path notice what I’m wearing.  One day a complete stranger excitedly struck up a conversation with me about the new quarterback who had been drafted by our local NFL team.  I was perplexed by his apparent confidence that I gave a flip about football.  Then it dawned on me that I was wearing my Tampa Bay Buccaneers visor.  Another time, a woman smiled and said, “I’m from Atlanta, too!”  That day, I was wearing a t-shirt with “Atlanta” splayed across the front.  Little did she know that I was a native Floridian and had only bought that t-shirt for myself as a souvenir. 

Lesson:  I need to be mindful of what I choose to wear…mentally, emotionally, and spiritually…because people notice, and they will draw conclusions based on what they see.

 

2.  There are people on the path who jog or sprint past me.  Others move at a pace that allows me to easily breeze past them.  Still others are walking in the opposite direction.  Some people are already on the path when I get there.  Others appear, all fresh-faced and energetic, after I have been walking for a while.  People on the path vary in their entry points, starting times, direction, speed, and distance traveled. 

Lesson:  My part is not to compare or compete, but to complete the path that is laid out for me, guided by God’s Spirit, day by day.

3.  Some people on the path cause me to break my stride, like the man who was lost and needed directions to the grocery store or the elderly couple who wanted me to meet their dog, Fanny.  Then there was the woman who cautioned me, pointing out the very large alligator that was gliding across the lake in the direction I was walking.  Sometimes I want desperately to tune everybody out and just walk, but I realize it is the right thing to stop and connect with others or to help.  And sometimes I am the one who needs to be helped. 

Lesson:  Some encounters may feel like a distraction, but they may actually be for my instruction.  Sometimes my experience supplies me with wisdom and grace that can benefit others, and sometimes—if I take the time to stop and listen—the experience of others may supply wisdom and grace that is of great benefit to me.

 

4.  Typically, I try to walk between four and five miles on the path, but a few days ago I purposed to walk at least seven miles.  Most people walk around a part of the path called The Boardwalk about two or three times.  I wondered if people would think I was crazy for walking around it six times.  Then I reminded myself that reaching for a new goal might require that I look a bit crazy to some folks.  At the end of the fifth mile, I wondered if I had enough “juice” to continue.  But, suddenly clouds blocked the sun, and a gentle breeze began to blow, as if to encourage me.  As I finished the seventh mile, I marveled at how strong I felt.  I was so happy that I had made the decision to go further.    

Lesson:  When I stretch myself by faith, God’s grace, like a gentle breeze, encompasses me and encourages me to endure.  In His faithfulness, He refreshes me just when I need it most, so that I can go further.   

5.  One day I noticed that someone had written encouraging messages in bright, colorful chalk about every 20 feet along part of the path.  Some of the messages were:  “You rock,”  “Life is good,”  “Enjoy the view” (with an arrow pointing toward the lake), and “Mary, I love you.  Will you marry me?” (in my imagination J).  Some people on the path trod right over these messages without ever looking down.  I, on the other hand, took time to carefully read each one.  I smiled as I imagined the messages were intended expressly for me. 

Lesson:  I will look for the signs of God’s favor, goodness, and grace…tokens of His love for me...each day.  Moreover, I will be sure to leave such signs to encourage others on the path who just may be following in my footsteps.

Something About Kenny

This morning I am thinking about my uncle Kenny.  For many, many years we didn’t see or communicate with each other at all.  It seems the only reports I heard from others were that he was either out of jail or back in jail.  Apparently he was not one to pass up on any opportunity for a good brawl.  Anyway, he suddenly popped back into my life about four years ago, while I was out and about on a Saturday morning.  He looked terrible, at least in my estimation, with his hair growing wild and his clothes unwashed and unkempt.  Yet, when called me “niece,” I found myself wrapped in his smelly embrace, wanting desperately to do something to help him.  For starters, I offered him a ride.  I wanted to get him something to eat, and I also wanted to see where he was living.  He directed me to his modest apartment in a local housing project, and there I met his live-in girlfriend.  “This here is your auntie,” he told me.  I just smiled and shook her hand, though in my head I was saying, “Oh no, she’s not!”  I invited them both to come to church with me.   She laughed and laughed and told me she didn’t have anything proper to wear to church.  To my surprise, however, Kenny said he wanted to go.  When I arrived the next morning to pick him up, he was sitting outside.  Clad in his Sunday best—a clean shirt, jeans, and sneakers—he was ready.  And so began a routine.  At some point during the week, he’d call to check in with me and confirm that he would be ready for church on Sunday.  I’d pick him up, and then I’d take him to get something to eat on the way home.

    

One morning, while on my spring break, I stopped by and told Kenny I had a surprise.  I was going to buy him a new suit to wear to church for Easter Sunday.  I remember the joy and pride on his face as the salesman showed him different suit, shirt, and tie combinations.  Finally, he decided on “the one.”  I could tell he was disappointed when he learned that alterations had to be made, so he couldn’t take the suit home right away.  But, my goodness, when I picked him up for church that Sunday, he looked like a new man.  He had even gotten himself a haircut!  And, to top it all off, his girlfriend was waiting to go to church, too.

I was disappointed, and concerned, when Kenny went missing in action again about three years ago.  My calls to his cell phone yielded a message that it was no longer in service.  When I stopped by the apartment, it had been vacated.  Then one day I received a call from a hospital.  Kenny had been taken there by ambulance, and he had given them my number as a contact person.  When I got to the hospital, he was being quite ornery, insisting that they let him go home.  He looked awful.  A substantial weight loss, on his relatively tall frame, was quite dramatic.  I stepped into the role of “Kenny whisperer,” ultimately getting him to calm down.  He told me about how he and his girlfriend had broken up and how he had moved to another place.  I’m glad I made note of the address, because he had stubbornly checked himself out of the hospital the next day.

I stopped by to check on Kenny just a few weeks ago, during my spring break.  He said he was doing okay, but I didn’t believe it.  So I stopped by again the next day.  I wanted to say, “I love you, Kenny” because I hadn’t told him the day before.  He responded with a toothless grin and nodded his head.  I can’t explain it, but as I drove away I had the sense that I would not be seeing him again.  I was saddened, though not surprised, when I got the call that he had passed away yesterday.  I am grateful that our paths crossed again, though for a short time.  I appreciate the lessons I learned about humility, kindness, and compassion.  I don’t know what his last moments were like, but I pray that somehow he remembered that he was loved.    

The Emptying

This morning I am thinking about my recent experience of emptying one of my purses.  It’s the one I tend to carry with me most of the time.  The emptying was prompted by a question my chiropractor posed to me.  After having given me an adjustment, he briefly held my purse and asked, “What are you carrying in there?  Gold bars?”  His question made me laugh heartily.  It also made me wonder.  “What was I carrying in there?”  I had some ideas, but I wasn’t altogether sure.  So, as soon as I got home I took everything out of the purse and placed each item on a table.  Among other things, I found an empty bottle of hand lotion; 3 empty cases for reading glasses that I had either broken or lost; a cable for an electronic device that is not mine; 3 packs of sticky notes; 4 individual packs of Bigelow Spiced Chai tea; 2 books; 10 pens, 3 highlighters, a pen/highlighter combination; and $5.25 in quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies.

First, I let the reality sink in that I was being a purse hoarder.  Next, I marveled that each individual item was relatively light, but all together they had some serious weight.  (Interestingly, I had gotten used to the weight, although it was causing me pain.)  Finally, I began to throw some things away and put others into their rightful places.  I conceded that there were only a few things I truly needed to keep in there, most importantly my ID and my bank cards.  What a difference it made!  My purse was so much lighter. 

    

Right now I am pondering how the emptying of my purse is profoundly analogous to the way I endeavor to guard my heart.  At those times when I find that my heart is heavy and weighing me down, I have to honestly ask myself, “What are you carrying in there?”  Sometimes I carry things in my heart that once served a purpose, but no longer do.  I carry memories of that which has been lost, broken, or all used up.  Sometimes I carry things in my heart that don’t even belong to me.  I carry burdens, bruises, and battles of others that I have taken personally.  Sometimes I carry things in my heart because I am operating from an “I want to be prepared, just in case” mentality.  I carry concern for eventualities that are about as likely as an impromptu bring-your-own-Chai-tea party.  Sometimes I carry things in my heart that are intended to be put to use, not just collected and stored up.  I carry ideas, dreams, and intentions that are meant to be purposefully shared.  Sometimes I get used to the combined weight of these things, even when it causes me pain. 

I concede that there are only a few things I truly need to carry in my heart consistently—namely my identity in Christ and knowledge of the boundless provision of God’s grace toward me.  When I live and love like that, it makes my heart so much lighter.  Knowing this, it is up to me to discern what needs to be discarded.  There is a significant difference between being fulfilled and being burdened.  Ironically, it is in the emptying…when I decide to lighten up…that I realize I am really made complete and whole.                

  

For the Record

This morning I am thinking about the lists I made after reading through one of my old prayer journals.  Every now and then I like to take a look back at the intercessions, the requests, and the urgent pleas I have recorded.  As I pore over pages and pages penned from a sincere heart, I typically find that there is a stirring within me—a stirring of compassion, of strength, of joy, and of hope.   This time, however, it was different.  Instead of finding encouragement, I found myself wrestling with a vicious pair of foes named Doubt and Discouragement.  Their taunts were unrelenting.  “What are you praying for?  What a waste of time!  Your prayers don’t matter.  What’s meant to happen is going to happen, whether you pray or not.”  Well, that’s when I started making the lists.  I wanted to have a record that my prayers do matter…at least sometimes.  I ended up with four lists.  The first was titled “Yes.”  It was all the things in the journal that had turned out the way I prayed they would, like when a dear colleague got the job she wanted.   The second list was titled “No.”  It was all the things in the journal that did not turn out the way I prayed they would, like when my big brother passed away.  The third list was titled “WIP,” for works in progress.  It was things I still pray about, like my prayer to have the experience of growing in love with someone and enjoying a great marriage.  The fourth list was titled “DK,” for don’t know.  It was prayers for people I’ve never seen or heard from again, like the young woman named Ann who said, “Please pray for me” when I encountered her one day in a parking lot.  When I was done compiling my lists, I proceeded to tally all the prayers and calculate percentages.  Yep, I sure did.  I suspect things like that happen sometimes when geeks meet God.  In any case, the No list represented 5% of my prayers, while the Yes list represented 65%.  The WIPs were 17%, and the DKs were 13%.  While contemplating my four lists, I got a revelation of something quite wonderful.  ALL of my prayers matter.  They matter because the merciful, mighty God of all creation inclines His ear to me whenever I pray!  Far beyond simply keeping a record, I pray because I believe that God is and I am rewarded greatly when I seek Him.  I pray because I have the privilege to pray, about anything and everything.  I pray because I want to grow in grace, endurance, and faith.  I pray because I believe that God encompasses a breadth and depth of wisdom, love, peace, truth, and freedom that I have scarcely begun to fathom.  So, even in the face of doubt and discouragement…even with the reality of No’s, WIPs, and DKs…I will pray.  For the record, I will always pray.                         

Jesus Said, "Yes!"

This morning I am thinking about the story I heard a man tell on the radio.  He shared how he was engaged in a conversation with his wife while driving home from church one Sunday.  From the back seat, their young daughter interrupted with a question.  “Can I have some candy?”  His wife answered the child glibly, “Why don’t you pray and ask Jesus about that?”  Then he and his wife continued their conversation.  After a few minutes, their daughter interrupted again, with this joyful announcement: “Jesus said, ‘Yes!’”  I’m not sure if the mother’s suggestion for her little girl to pray came from a place of sarcasm or sincerity.  What does seem clear, however, is that the child was not deterred by the question.  In fact, it seems the question empowered her.  She took it to heart that all she needed to do was ask!  As I sit here, I acknowledge that this is not always the case with me.  When there’s something I really desire, the question typically occurs to me also: “Why don’t you pray about it?”  Instead of praying, however, I sometimes do a number of other things.  I strategize, and I rationalize.  I pine, and I whine.  I doubt, and I pout.  I sigh, and sometimes I cry.  The lyrics to an old hymn come to mind:

 

“O, what peace we often forfeit.  O, what needless pains we bear

all because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.”

I imagine the little girl, riding in the back seat of her parents’ car, didn't forfeit one bit of peace.  Having been invited to ask, she essentially declared what she desired.  I believe there’s much to be said for the faith of a little child, and today I won’t miss the lesson.  It’s just a part of life that I will sometimes find myself in the backseat of circumstances beyond my control.  In those times, questions may be presented to challenge my faith.  But there, in my most vulnerable moments, I have the power to pray.  There, even in my most vulnerable moments, I can still shout with a triumphant testimony, “He said, ‘Yes!’  Jesus said ‘Yes!’”  And maybe, just as that little girl’s faith encouraged me, my faith may encourage another.  I’m going to pray and ask Jesus about that.      

          

Palate Cleansing

This morning I am thinking about the great meal I enjoyed while out with a friend.  Before bringing out the main course, our server offered each of us a little cup of sorbet.  He said it was to cleanse our palates.  My friend said, “Sure!”  But I declined.  I cynically suspected it was just the server’s way of buying time.  I figured if I said “No thanks,” it would make him bring our meals more quickly.  It didn’t.  So, while my friend consumed the palate cleanser, I had to sit and watch…and wait.  I should have just agreed to partake, too.  When the server finally presented us with the main course, I said, “So, tell me about that palate cleanser.”  He explained that it was intended to clear our taste buds of the flavors from our appetizers to prepare them for the flavors of the main course.  Although my meal was absolutely delicious, I couldn’t help but wonder if it might have been even better had I cleansed my palate first.  Being completely intrigued, I Googled “palate cleansers” as soon as I got home.  I learned that some palate cleansers are bland—like milk, bread, or just plain water.  Other palate cleansers are tart—like the sorbet I had been offered earlier that evening.   In either case, their purpose is to neutralize the taste buds and remove competing flavors.  As I reflect on this today, it is helping me make sense of some of the seasons of my life that seem a bit bland or maybe even kind of tart.  Perhaps these seasons are intentionally ordained to cleanse my heart, mind, and spirit of things past…of courses that may have been quite enjoyable, but they were only appetizers for something else, something greater.  I recall that my rejection of the palate cleanser in the restaurant didn’t hasten the appearance of my main course at all.  Likewise, my resisting the seasons of waiting, of silence, and of stillness won’t usher God’s perfectly prepared courses into my life any faster.  In these seasons of preparation, I would be wise to yield myself to a thorough cleansing from the taste of what was, so that experiences from my past will not overpower or taint the taste of my tomorrows.  Now that I understand it a little better, I will gladly partake of that which prepares me to fully enjoy and appreciate what is to come.  

Why Me?

This morning I am thinking about the question that was posed to me by a fourth grade girl.  She is one of six students with whom I am currently engaging in a book study at her school.  To give a bit of background, I asked the principal to intentionally select students for the book study who were not at the top of their class.  I wanted those were not strong readers and whose classroom conduct was not necessarily exemplary.  What I really hope to do is to provide something for these students they may not have previously experienced…something I feared they may never get to experience if I didn’t take action.  I want to expose them to interesting literature and support them as they interact with it in meaningful ways.  I want to help them make connections between the literature and their daily, lived reality.  I want to guide them to reflect, speak, and write in response to literature.  I want them to be part of a group in which all are accountable and all are successful.  So, the first day I met the students I shared how we will learn together through our book study, and I invited them to ask me questions.  That’s when one girl, who had been relatively quiet, asked “Why did you choose us?”  The look on her face was one of puzzlement.  It was not so much that she didn’t understand what I had said.  The truth is that she was incredulous.  Looking in her eyes, I discerned that there were other questions, unspoken.  “Don’t you know we can’t read?  Don’t you know we failed the big reading test?  Don’t you know we get in trouble a lot?”  I was pierced by the bare honesty of the moment, and I answered the one question she had dared to ask out loud.  My answer was simple: “I chose you because I wanted to.”  After I had dismissed my little group to rejoin the rest of their class, I was quickly writing some notes to leave for the teacher.  I was startled when I felt arms wrapping around me from behind.  I turned to look into the face of the girl who had earlier asked me such a poignant question.  She didn’t say a word…just smiled.  But, once again, I could see in her eyes something unspoken.  It was “Thank you.” 

Well, I can surely relate.  Sometimes when I think about God’s goodness, mercy, and favor toward me, I find myself incredulously asking, “Why did you choose me?  Don’t you know my brokenness and pain?  Don’t you know the terrible choices I have made?  Don’t you know all the times I have tried and failed?”  It makes me smile to realize that, in spite of myself, I was purposely chosen.  It was not because I was good at anything.  It was because He wanted bless my life with things I had never experienced before…things I would never have experienced if He had not intervened.  He continually showers his love and grace upon me so that I can have the privilege of knowing joy in my moments of deepest sorrow, strength in my weakness, peace in the midst of life’s storms, and love without fear.  When my heart asks, “Why me?” the answer is simple. It’s because He wants to.  This means the world to me.  And this is why I embrace Him with my worship.  Though I don’t always have the words to express my gratitude, He hears what resonates in the depths of my soul:  It is “Thank You.  Thank You.”

Who I Am

This morning I am thinking about the exceptionally wonderful experience of seeing my name in print recently.  My boss had emailed me the agenda for an upcoming meeting, at which she wanted me to share some information.  My eyes moved quickly down the page, as I previewed the scheduled topics and presenters.  Then I saw my name with these two letters in front of it: “Dr.” I was suddenly overcome with emotion, and I started to cry.  After four rigorous years of reading, writing, and research, I had finally completed my doctoral program!  While I was overjoyed to have achieved this goal, I hadn’t asked anyone to start calling me “doctor.”  I didn’t want to make a big deal about it.  I wanted to convey, through humility and sincere gratefulness, that I am still the same person.  However, something is different.  I have been forever changed by the knowledge, experience, and insights gained over the past four years.  Sure, I could choose not to apply the lessons I’ve learned, but I cannot unlearn them.  The reality is that whether or not anyone likes it, believes it, supports it, or agrees with it, “Dr.” is a part of who I am.  Reflecting on this, I have gained a bit of confidence to share about another rigorous course of learning in which I have been engaged.  It was not a program for which I signed up.  Yet, I found myself enrolled full time after my beloved big brother passed away in July 2012.  Up until then, I believe I held a metaphorical Bachelor’s degree in Faith.  I knew some stuff about God, for sure.  But, in order to acquire the conviction and character that are prerequisite for the next level of my ministry and destiny, I needed to complete some graduate level courses.  The last five months, in particular, have felt very much like a dissertation and defense!  I haven’t spoken to anyone about it.  I haven’t shared about the tests…or the tears…not even to those who are closest to me.  Through a process I cannot adequately describe, I am being made aware of and liberated from the limits of reliance upon two gods—my emotions and my intellect.  I have been learning how to walk in wisdom that says, “Trust God,” even when my emotions and intellect tell me otherwise.  I have been introduced to Truth that transcends logic, and it is not something I can unlearn.  Whether or not anyone else likes it, believes it, supports it, or agrees with it, it is a part of who I am.  I don’t want to make a big deal about it, though.  In fact, I have to smile as I recall something my big brother used to say.  He’d say: “Notice, you never hear a tree screaming, ‘Hey, look at me!  I’m growing!’ It just grows.”  So it is for me.  I have been planted in the soil of hope, in a field of miracles.  Here is where I will grow into who I am meant to be.  

On Purpose

This morning I am thinking about the peculiar sight I beheld on my way to work the other day.  It was a hearse.  Seeing a hearse was not, in itself, unusual.  But, hitched to the back of the hearse was a trailer filled with a variety of lawn equipment.  My initial reaction was to chuckle.  It was just so odd.  Then I began to question exactly what I was seeing.  Clearly, the trailer wasn’t attached to the hearse by accident.  It had been hitched there on purpose.  But, what was the purpose?  Was he going to show up to do lawn maintenance at people’s homes driving a hearse?  Would that same hearse, on another day, be leading the solemn procession of someone’s dearly departed?  Could that vehicle really be serving such a disparate double duty?  And, while it sure looked like a hearse to me, maybe I was dead wrong.  Perhaps it was someone’s personal vehicle.  If it was a personal vehicle, did he use it for everyday things?  Did he periodically get unhitched and drive it to the grocery store, the movies, or the beach?  I never got to ask the lawn-dertaker any of those questions.  I was just left to wonder.  So, now I am posing an important question to myself.  “What kinds of things might I be dragging around that cause others to wonder about my true purpose?”  Certainly, I have been guilty of hitching myself up to some odd things that don’t fit with who I am called to be.  Regrettably, I know that my hypocrisy has sometimes left people to wonder.  As I ponder this, a favorite psalm comes to mind: “Teach me Your way, O Lord; I will walk in Your truth: unite my heart to fear Your Name” (Psalm 86:11).  For me, this is a continual prayer, because I have experienced the paralyzing prison of double-mindedness and a divided heart.  Today, I lift this prayer yet again.  I pray for grace to conduct myself with integrity.  I pray for power to become unhitched from things that are merely distractions and deterrents.  And I pray for wisdom to walk confidently in my true calling to be a conduit of love, compassion, understanding, and peace…with purpose, on purpose.