It Has All Been Arranged

This morning I am thinking about Simina, a woman I met the other day.  I described Simina to a friend as “an energy giver,” in contrast to an energy zapper.  Her kindness, humor, and keen insights were all engaging enough, but it was her personal story that really captured my attention and my heart.  She shared how she had grown up in Pakistan as one of seven children, her father being the only English speaker in the household.  At the age of eighteen, Simina was introduced to the man who would become her husband through an arranged marriage.  She described how the young man had come to her house one evening with his sister, so the two of them could have a chance to check each other out over tea.  She recalled the encounter being very brief, giving her just enough time to conclude that “he seemed a little small…but he was okay.”  When she turned twenty years old, they married and moved to America, where she knew no one and still did not speak any English.  Filtering her experience through my own limited and biased perspective, I felt a great sense of unfairness.  Everything in me seemed to kick against what I perceived as her lack of choice and decision-making power in such an important matter.  Rather than risk saying something stupid and offensive, I simply asked, “Were you afraid?”  Her answer was spontaneous, simple, and sincere:  “No.” She went on to describe how she and her new husband had sat and had a heart to heart talk about what they both wanted and needed, what each person’s roles would be, and how they would communicate with each other.  After twenty-two years of marriage, they now have two sons…one nineteen years old and the other ten.  She and her husband are both successful and happy in their careers, have a nice home, and enjoy their life together as a family.  “People always ask me if I love my husband,” she revealed.  “I tell them, ‘Of course I do.’  Is our marriage perfect?  Of course not.  But is it any different for people who choose?”

As I reflect on this encounter, I feel so blessed.  Of all the people who could have been in that place at that exact time to interact with me, there was Simina.  I know it was not by chance, but by design.  She reminded me that my own life is unfolding according to a purpose that has been ordained and arranged for my good and for God’s glory.  Sometimes, in my pride and ignorance, I kick against the circumstances that are presented to me, feeling that I would much rather choose something else.  Yet, through Simina’s story, I see that I always have the power to decide.  One choice is to lament and resist my situation, giving in to fear, disillusionment, regret, anger and resentment.  In doing so, I believe I become an energy zapper.  The other choice is to accept my God-ordained calling for what it is and pray for the grace and wisdom to live it out with confidence, hope, joy, and peace.  In doing so, I believe I become an energy giver.  When I assume a mental posture that is focused on my role in a greater overall purpose, rather than on my individual temporal pleasure, I know that I will always have absolutely everything I need.  Not only will God’s grace and favor begin to saturate my life as never before, but He will strategically guide and place me along paths to be a blessing to others.  All I need to do is embrace it and walk in it.  It has all been arranged.   

Speaking to the Not-Yet-Born

I am thinking about my new grandson, Princeton.  From the moment I learned that my daughter and son-in-law (Ari and Jermaine) were expecting a little boy, I started talking, reading, and singing to the baby.  I let him know how much I looked forward to meeting him.  I shared with him that there will be so many wonderful things to see, and do, and learn.  I talked to him about my family and how much fun we have whenever we get together.  I told him that he was beautiful, gifted, anointed, and deeply loved.  Sometimes I even posed questions to him.  And I prayed for him.  Ari and I enjoyed a good laugh the other night when she recalled telling me one day, “Mom, he doesn’t have ears yet.”  To that, I replied, “But he has a soul.”  So, when I finally got to physically meet Princeton last Sunday, we were not strangers.  Upon hearing my voice for the first time outside the womb, he opened his little eyes!  My connection with this precious little miracle was confirmed, and I knew that his life would manifest every faith-filled affirmation I had spoken…and would speak…over him.  As I reflect on this, I am quickened in my awareness of how important it is that I speak to other things not yet born, both physically and spiritually.  I am earnestly praying today that God will open my eyes.  I desire to see the beauty of His potential and purpose in the people and situations He has placed around me.  I am so grateful for how He speaks to me in my own imperfection, telling me that I am accepted, forgiven, whole, anointed and deeply loved.  Rather than taking a passive, wait-and-see attitude, I pray that I will boldly speak words of life and light in my world--even to those things that “don’t have ears yet.” 

Second Chances: Missed Opportunities Part II

This morning, I am thinking about second chances.  While visiting my daughter and my new grandson at the hospital this week, I encountered an old nemesis…the parallel parking space.  I spotted at least eight of them, sitting smack dab in front of the entrance I needed to take.  Only one space was empty, situated between the first and third car, near the traffic light.  I imagined if I held up cars in this busy location, while trying to navigate into a parking space, it would not be good.  I knew that, if necessary, there were two nearby parking garages I could use.  They were not as convenient, but they were easy.  I circled the block, mentally coaching myself that I could do it…that I WOULD do it.  I could feel myself become increasingly tense and anxious as I approached the space.  I slowed down, lined up parallel to the first car, and turned the wheel to start backing in.  The angle was too sharp.  Had I backed up any further, I would have ended up on the curb, possibly taking out the parking meter.  So, I had to pull back out and try again.  I was mortified, but I didn’t give up.  Again, I lined myself up parallel to the car in front.  Slowly (and more carefully), I backed into my space.  I then turned the wheel to start straightening up as I drove forward.  And, just like that, I was in!  The cars that were behind me simply moved forward…no yelling, no horns blaring, no dirty looks, and no one-fingered salutes.  Before heading into the hospital, I sat and thanked God.  As we communed for a while, He made it clear to me that this lesson was about much more than parallel parking.  It was about having the confidence to know that when He opens a door of opportunity for me, He also equips me with the wisdom and grace to walk in it.  This lesson was about trusting Him enough to claim and receive His promises and blessings, without fear of what others think or how they may react.  He wanted me to know that He strategically orchestrates and presents opportunities for me to exercise faith.  Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the ordained “spaces” He has prepared and shown me.  Yet sometimes I get scared and think I can’t do it.  I opt to take an easier way, saying, “If it was of God, surely it wouldn’t be hard.”  But while I waffle and waver, He waits.  In patient love, He waits to give me another chance to try, to trust, and to triumph.         

Big Words

This morning I am thinking about big words.  I had a colleague (I’ll call him Joe) who was known for using really big words in every conversation and presentation.  Joe was not inclined to choose words like “mean” or “excited” or “ponder” when speaking.  Instead, he would use “vituperative” or “ebullient” or “excogitate.”  Yes, he was quite a sesquipedalian.  (See, I actually enjoy big words too.)  One day while Joe was making a presentation, I was seated next to another colleague (I’ll call him Jim.)  Jim and I had in common that day that we would both rather be somewhere else than in a meeting and that we were both amused by Joe’s use of big words.  To entertain ourselves, we started playing a game we made up called “Big Word Bingo.”  Every time Joe used a big word, we wrote it down.  At the end of the presentation, whoever had written the most “big words” (and they had to be spelled correctly) was the winner.  We decided that, in case of a tie, the one who could actually define the most words would be the winner.  I have to say this game kept the two of us much more engaged than we might have been otherwise…although it admittedly wasn’t the most mature way.  And we both actually learned words that could enrich our language!  I certainly don’t know the motivations and background experiences for Joe’s love of big words, but as I reflect I realize there are some big words for which I want to be known also.  These words are not necessarily multisyllabic (there’s another one) or hard to spell.  I want to be known for big words like love, faith, kindness, loyalty, strength, truth, hope, and peace.  It doesn’t matter if I’m in a one-on-one conversation or addressing a large audience.  Whether I am speaking through my words or my actions, I always want the vocabulary of God’s power and grace to come across, loud and clear.  I pray that those who listen may learn Words that will enrich their lives.    

Hidden Pictures

This morning I am thinking about hidden pictures.  When I was little, my mom subscribed to Highlights magazine so I could be entertained with the stories, puzzles, riddles, and games.  One of my favorite things was the page with the Hidden Pictures.  In what looked like an ordinary scene or photograph, various objects and figures were embedded.  They were cunningly drawn, such that they blended into a bigger picture and were essentially “invisible” if I didn’t look carefully.  There were directions that told me which objects were hidden, and it was my job to find as many as I could.  When I located one of the items, I would eagerly draw a circle around it.  What had previously been cleverly concealed then seemed rather obvious.  Today, I am praying for God to sharpen my spiritual sight to discern the “hidden pictures” to which I am often oblivious in my everyday world.  I know that my eyes sometimes become glazed over as I go about my business, but I desire to really see the people and things I can so easily miss.  I want to see the woman who is broken, hurting, and feeling hopeless.  I want to spot the man whose circumstances have caused him to doubt his worth and his purpose.  I want to notice the child who has begun to internalize negative and false messages about who she is and what she will become.  I need His direction to show me who may be hidden in the familiar places I take for granted…at work, at church, in my neighborhood, and even in my family.  I want to find as many as I can.  And when I find them, I want to encircle them in His love and kindness so they will say, “Now I know God sees me, and I know He cares.”

Name-Calling

This morning I am thinking about name-calling.  As the saying goes, “Kids can be cruel,” and we were no exception as children.  In my neighborhood, we all called one boy “Fat Kenny.”  There was no “Skinny Kenny,” so the moniker was unnecessary as well as unkind.  We called another boy “Crook Neck.”  I think he must have had some kind of musculoskeletal disorder, but rather than sticking straight up, his head was angled about forty-five degrees to the right.  There was a neighbor we called “Booty” for reasons that may have been obvious to anyone who saw her.  Then there were “Boo-Boo,” “Lurch,” “Dead-Eye,” and “Mr. Mullet.”  Not all of our name-calling was cruel, though.  Some nicknames, like “Precious” and “Bay-bro,” were used as terms of affection.  When the Commodores’ song “Brick House” was released, my dad started calling me “Condo.”  He said I was too fine to be just a regular brick house, and it did wonders for my 13-year-old self esteem.  It fascinates me now to think that we all actually answered to these names we were called.  (Well, everyone except “Booty” because she was older and we only called her that behind her back.)  It makes me wonder about some of the names that have been ascribed to me by others and by my life experiences.  I suppose some of these names are cruel, and others are kind.  I realize that two things really matter—one is what names I choose to answer to and the other is what I choose to call myself.  Like my dad, my Father only calls me those things that reveal His great love, favor, and purpose for me.  He calls me “Blessed” and “Anointed” and “Chosen” and “Victorious.”  He calls me His Child.  And I answer, “Yes, that’s me!”  

Flipping the Script

I am thinking about a set of puppets I had as a beginning teacher.  The puppets were part of a conveniently packaged curriculum, designed to teach children “appropriate” ways to act and interact through daily lessons.  A script was provided for what each puppet should say and do, to model certain behaviors in given situations.  I tried diligently to follow the script, although there were story lines and language to which my students clearly could not relate.  Outside of the twenty minutes per day that were designated for those formal lessons, I used the puppets to engage my first graders in other ways…from telling jokes, to singing “Happy Birthday,” to helping me share favorite books during our read-aloud time.  I would also leave the puppets out, so children could have access to them for learning centers.  Most times, students used the puppets to mimic things I said and did.  It was both intriguing and amusing to observe how they perceived my mannerisms, attitude and tone of voice.  It became quite evident that, in spite of the packaged curriculum, they were learning a whole lot about social interactions from ME.  I can admit now that I eventually stopped using the scripted curriculum altogether.  As I reflect on this, I draw some interesting parallels to my life.  I recognize that a set of daily lessons was handed to me from the day I was born.  Not knowing any better, I once tried desperately to adhere to the “script” of a flawed world system that dictated what people could do and should do, and how they should think and feel.  I didn’t give a whole lot of thought to what I was modeling for others as I implemented those lessons.  But I thank God for GRACE!  By His mercy, He has liberated from the script of bondage to mindsets and behaviors that are convenient, but are ultimately false and hollow.  He has ordained me to engage with others in ways that are genuine, relevant, and meaningful.  I pray that, in spite of the scripts the world may prescribe, He will use me to bring to life lessons that are authentic…lessons that others may desire to emulate…lessons of His great power, favor, deliverance, and love.