Termite Theology

May 10, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 5 Comments

It’s time for house church.  Picture this:

We were gathered around the dining table, two couples, a single mom, two kids, two toddlers, and a teenager.  On the lazy susan at the center of the table sat my laptop, with our dear friend’s face on the screen.  (She’s homebound and so we Skype her in for church.  We spin her around on the lazy susan so she can see who’s sharing in the discussion.) Kids were sleepy and cranky, Dads sleepy too from long hours at work.  Everyone was distracted it seemed.  I was presenting our lesson and it seemed like no one was paying attention or interested.  Then it happened…

Termites invaded our church time.  (In New Orleans, we are blessed seasonally with swarms of termites.  These pesky creatures swarm (think plagues of Egypt) and are especially fond of light.)  In the midst of what seemed to be a particularly chaotic church time already, we began to see termites flying around us.  People around the table began smacking their hands together in an effort to annihilate the intruders, but to no avail.  They just kept appearing! I looked down and saw, to my horror, that there was just enough space between our door and the threshold to admit a veritable flood of termites, drawn by the light over our dining room table. 

At this point, we descended into all-out armageddon as we tried to stuff something in the entry point and kill the termites already invading us.  Everyone was on their feet, kids alternately screaming and giggling, teenager totally grossing out.  A few dead termites landed on my Bible as I tried to figure out what to do.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to laugh.  I wanted to stomp my feet in frustration at the absurdity of a termite swarm on an already out-of-hand evening.  I wanted to quit.

I fought the tightness in my stomach and the lump in my throat, barely controlled the irritation in my voice and finished the lesson in our much darker living room.  I was relieved when it was over.  It had felt like nailing jello to a tree! 

In hindsight, we’ve laughed a lot over our little invasion.  But I’ve been wondering to myself just why it got me so irritated.  I think there are still a few old habits and ideas stuck inside me.  Ideas that I picked up in a brick-and-mortar church but really have no bearing on church done at home:

1)  You must sit very still and quiet as the preacher preaches his sermon.  You must not get up to go to the bathroom unless absolutely necessary.  A reverent quiet must be maintained in “the Lord’s House.”

I think this is one of my main obstacles to being positive and confident about what we do to worship at home.  The reverent hush in a church building is a precious thing, dear to my heart and comforting to the soul.  That said, the rules and regs of church are really simple etiquette for any type of formal meeting or performance.  The same rules apply for a play at the theatre, an opera,  or even a matinee movie.  As we worship together at home, there really is no need for the type of formal behavior expected at a traditional church meeting.  Yet I stress out when we can’t maintain absolute quiet, or I feel like no one cares when all eyes aren’t trained on me as I’m attempting to share a scripture verse or Bible lesson.  Why is this? 

2)  Noisy, wiggly kids shouldn’t be disrupting the church.  They should be escorted out or maybe taught in children’s church.

This again comes back to etiquette for a formal meeting or performance.  At home, we are teaching our children about worship, about God, and about how to follow Him, and I want them to be included in our “services.”  Yet I can’t escape the fact that I’m not going to accomplish the totality of their spiritual training in a two hour meeting each week.  What did the early church do with their children?  As I consider this idea, a scripture comes to mind where God commanded the Israelites to teach His commands to their children.  He instructed them to talk of these commands as they come in and go out, as they wake and go to bed.  I think I’ve had it backwards.  Teaching my children about Jesus is something I need to do 24 hours a day.  I must do it at bedtime, wake up time, mealtime, bathtime, and playtime.  If the children miss something at our church services, or can’t quite sit through the whole time, well, what’s the big problem if I’ve spent every possible waking moment teaching them of Jesus at other times? 

3)  You must “get fed” every week by the preacher’s sermon.  Sunday services are your source of spiritual growth and so if you don’t receive adequate encouragement, exhortation, learning, and so forth, then your preacher is probably doing something wrong.

I hate the phrase “get fed” when it comes to church.  Part of my spiritual training by my parents and even my childhood pastor and his wife included the instillation of enough scriptural knowledge to enable me to “feed” myself!!  I feel it’s a poor excuse to say “I’m not getting fed” as a way to blame one’s lack of spiritual growth on the church one attends.  That said, I also know that there was a time that Jesus commanded Peter, “If you love me, feed my sheep.”  I know that there are those in my home church who need leadership and teaching.  So during a chaotic moment when no one seems able to focus or when termites are swarming, I feel inadequate as teacher.  I know that the scripture commands us not to forsake meeting together, and further exhorts us to continue doing so to encourage each other. (Hebrews 10:24-25)  There are times of great learning that occur at our home church, and yet I return to the idea that, much in the way a child is spiritually trained, discipling of other believers should take place constantly, not only during one weekly timed meeting.

4)  You need “good worship” in order to really connect with God.  If your music doesn’t compel people to stand, sing enthusiastically, lift their hands or shed a few tears then you haven’t “let the Spirit flow.”

This one’s a doozie!  The phrase “good worship” is like nails on a chalkboard to me.  As an experienced church musician, I know, love and appreciate the church music.  I also know that chill bumps are induced as much by well-timed dynamics, well placed acapella measures with triumphant instrumental re-entry, or well-chosen instruments as they are by the “flow of the Holy Spirit.”  Don’t get me wrong.  I love to worship God through music.  It’s biblical, it’s wonderful, it’s fulfilling.  There have been times I know the Holy Spirit has enabled me to play or sing a song in a very supernatural way, and I know I could not repeat it of my own ability.  I just can’t help feeling ashamed of the direct correlation placed in today’s church between the quality of music and the “flow” of the Spirit.   I know the scripture tells us to play skillfully on our instruments to the Lord.  I know there is merit in giving God the best of our abilities.  Yet sometimes I’ve worshipped through music, with sobs, with tears, with mistakes.  It didn’t sound good, but it WAS good.  There’s a difference between “good worship” and professional sounding music.  At home, all the trappings of mics and drum sets, sound boards and screens are stripped away.  Music takes some of its most primitive forms as our little group finds ways to use it as we worship together.  Again, I wonder, shouldn’t music be more prominent in my DAILY interactions with God, my family, and those I disciple.  Shouldn’t it go beyond the performance during a service?

There seems to be a theme here.  A theme that would apply whether one worships at a traditional church or in a home or wherever:  Spiritual growth, training, and worship is a LIFESTYLE.  Church meetings, wherever they are, are simply one PART of what we should do as followers of Jesus, most specifically for the purpose of encouraging each other. 

This definitely lessens my stress when I think about trying to structure our home church meetings.  They are a valuable tool in our spiritual growth, but not the “be all, end all” of our interactions with God.  I knew that embracing home church would be a lifestyle change for me, but I can’t help wondering if embracing the idea that our spiritual lives should permeate our WHOLE lives in an all-consuming way might enhance the church experience for anyone, no matter what their church situation.  If church is our only method of spiritual practice, then when church meetings go awry (as they often do at any church) we are left with nothing to fall back on.  But if church meetings are simply a wonderful tool to assist us in our spiritual growth, not our only source of spiritual nutrition, then we are much more free to be ourselves, worship together, and handle the occasional termite invasion. 

Those termites might be pesky alright, but they’ve sure given me some theology to consider!  Let ‘em swarm!

Femininity Forgotten? (A lesson in alliteration)

May 2, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 3 Comments

Somewhere in the avalanche of my life it’s here.  Maybe I lost it in the piles of practical shoes in the bottom of my closet.  Maybe I left it at the security checkpoint in the airport, or the self-checkout line at Winn Dixie.  Perhaps I dropped it as I ran to catch my two year old boy, or maybe it fell out the window as my car whipped around the corner just in time to get my nine year old to school.  It could be under the papers on my desk, or maybe I forgot to save it on my computer.  It’s probably beneath that baby weight I still haven’t lost, or lying beneath the mountain of ideas and thoughts labeled “save for later” that I keep in the back of my mind.

It’s my femininity.  My mystique.  My girly, giggly, high-heel-shoe-loving, red-nail-polish-painting, hot-tea-and-honey-drinking femininity.  The part of me that sleeps in lace and shaves her legs every day.  That little itch to go shopping, try on clothes at leisure, make cupcakes and light candles.

I’m not sure exactly when or where, but at some point I let my femininity slide to the back burner.  It’s always there, mind you.  I’m not saying I’ve been less feminine.  I guess I’ve just been allowing my femininity to manifest itself in a different, less desirable way.  More fussing than flirting.  More lamenting than laughing.  More stress than sweetness.  More stomp than sashay.

Aw, sure I have plenty of reasons why.  Plenty of excuses about time crunches, weariness, stress, money worries, and crazy schedules.  But all that never seems to go away.  There’s really no reason I should stop enjoying the gift of being a woman.  It may mean making time for the fru-fru, or stopping to smell the roses—literally.  But whatever it takes, there must be some prettiness preserved, some girly-ness glorified in my day to day existence.

It’s odd, I let the fun part of femininity fall by the wayside during times of overload and stress, but that fun femininity may be the very thing that relieves or at least makes the chaos more enjoyable!  Really, what stress can’t be lessened by a bubble bath or a pedicure (or both)?  If I must rush out the door, wouldn’t I rather do so in a cute pair of shoes?  Is there any outlook that isn’t improved by the right lip gloss or a spritz of my favorite scent?  Why not write my to-do list in pink ink?  Why can’t the practical be enhanced by the pretty, the everyday be shrouded in just a bit of mystique?  Why not trim the trials in a little lace?

God made me a female and I’m glad He did.  I just sometimes let the pressures crowd out the pleasures when it comes to being a woman.  So this is a reminder for me, and any others out there who may need to recall the fact that being a girl is glorious, femininity is fabulous, womanhood wonderful.  My femininity isn’t exactly something that can be forgotten.  But it can be flattened a little if I let it.

And I don’t want that.  I want the sugar and spice, swirl-around skirts, patent leather pumps, and polka dotted purses.  I’m glad I know what cucumber water is, and how to keep mascara from clumping.  I’m glad I can be sincerely grateful to God for gel nail polish and purse-sized hand sanitizer.  So bring it on, crazy life!  I’ve got laughter and love, lotion and lipstick.  I’m female, and THAT is FUN!!

 

A Crazy Reckless Legacy

April 27, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 5 Comments

It was late at night and everyone else was asleep.  She crawled out of her bedroom window to meet her boyfriend.  She was 16.  He was 26.  They drove to the next town and got married.  It was crazy.  It was reckless.  It made her mama really mad.  I didn’t know them at their start, but I was there 60 years later when they were parted by death.

That girl was my grandmother.  It always amazes me that the statuesque lady I knew did something insanely rebellious like elope at the age of 16.  It’s hard to picture that classy woman climbing out of a bedroom window.  Did my Papa catch her?  Did they squelch giggles and run hand in hand to the old truck?  What did she wear? 

However it went down that first crazy night, here I am because of them!!  They stuck it out and made it last.   They built a family and left a legacy.

Fast forward  around 80 years from their elopement and you’ll find me, their granddaughter, three years ago today…

ELOPING!!

It was crazy.  It was reckless.  It made some people mad.  But we’re still here!!

That sixteen year old girl grew into a major hero in my life.  I’ve always wanted, and tried, to be like her.  I’m most flattered when someone says I am like her in some way.  I know she had a daring side.  She crawled out of a window at sixteen for Pete’s sake.  She knew about taking a risk, she no doubt felt the passion and swirled in the vortex of a crazy attraction.  But she also knew commitment.  She knew how to stand her ground through life’s ups and downs. She knew her God and called on His name for her family. 

And guess what?  I do, too.

We may not get the sixty years they had.  (We started a little later than they did!) But we have the same kind of love and the same determination and most of all we know the same God.  We’ve crammed a lot of stuff into three years.  A surprise baby, two moves, serious illness, financial disaster, parenting a teenager and toddler simultaneously, wrestling with our faith and hosting a church in our home.  We definitely did not take the easy way.  Sometimes we feel like giving up.  But we won’t do that.  We’ll hang onto the crazy, reckless, passionate love that started all this.  We’ll look to God and keep going.

It’s definitely not the wedding that matters. (Even though I thought a crazy elopement was tons of fun!) It’s the marriage.  And marriage is what we are living every day.  Three years down, many more to go.

Memory Magic

April 25, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 3 Comments

Recently I attended a solo opera “Paul to the Church At Philippi” performed by Dr. Ed Steele.  It was actually my second time to see the performance (my first was a birthday present to myself!) since Dr. Steele came to perform the opera for our Origins network of house churches.  The music, written by Dr. Steele, is the perfect accompaniment.  He had no need of a lyricist, since the text is word for word the entire book of Philippians.

My tears started flowing as the first few verses were sung and recited.  When I heard the words “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion…” God reminded me that He was talking to me, and that He is far from finished with the good work He started in me personally.

I glanced around the room and noticed something else that moved me nearly beyond what I can express.  A few guests had joined us for the performance.  One was an older gentleman, a good friend of mine, a minister, and a leader in our state among other ministers and missionaries.  I happen to be aware (most others in the room were not) that this awesome man is struggling with memory problems.  In my career in assisted living, I deal daily with the effects of dementia and short term memory loss, and they are heartbreaking, frustrating, and debilitating to say the least.  I glanced over at my friend and saw that as the words of Philippians were recited and sung, his lips moved along, not missing a beat.  His grin was ear to ear, and he nodded in affirmation at words that held deep meaning for him.  The words flowed freely from his memory with absolutely no hesitation.

I was already in a puddle, but melted further still as I saw played out in the flesh the truth I already know:  God’s word stands forever.  Even this moment, the words come to mind that I memorized as a child:  “The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of our God shall stand forever.” (Isa. 40:8) There’s something LIVING about the words of scripture.  They come back at the Holy Spirit’s bidding, they appear at just the right time, they apply centuries after they were written, and in every different situation.  I loved seeing and knowing that God’s Word and His Spirit are not limited by our minds or our ability to remember, think clearly, or express ourselves.  In my own times of deepest despair I know I’ve been able to cry to God, (not necessarily able to say anything intelligible) read and remember His Word.  He’s always been there, and always will be.

This, I love knowing.  I love knowing that my friend who struggles to remember some day-to-day things has God’s Word planted deep in the recesses of his brain.  I love knowing that if and when those words do fade from his memory, they will be no less true, and God’s Holy Spirit will remain, bringing comfort where there may be no words.  I love knowing that God is able to permeate every layer of our conscious and subconscious and is not subject to our limited abilities, not sickened by our illnesses, not destroyed by our mistakes. 

This comforts me beyond measure and inspires me to memorize even more, to stuff every possible word into my own gray matter so that it’s there for God’s use and at His disposal.  I’m reminded of more words from Deuteronomy that Jesus Himself used in his own battle with Satan: “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”  Those words are alive.  They are real, and they are good.  Give them a try!

Blast From The Past!

April 19, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 6 Comments

In honor of my amazing sister and all those times that there’s nothing left to do but throw back your head and laugh… I love you, Angie!!

>Weird (by Becky)
January 2, 2007 in Uncategorized, Where I’ve Been with 4 Comments

>I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to notice how my life constantly teeters on the edge of the ridiculous. Does that ever happen to you? I try my hardest to be a civilized, respectable, cordial woman; but the absurd is ever-present, always lurking just below the surface, reminding me that high class is just out of my reach. As a young girl, even as a newlywed I had wonderful visions of a clean, civilized life where I would have well behaved children, a well-kept home, a well-maintained figure, and a well-known career. Of course, I would have an attractive husband, I would be well-spoken and well-read. I would engage in intelligent conversation, be witty and charming, and go around doing grown up civilized things like having meetings, going to lunch with friends, shopping, cooking wonderful dinners, and driving a clean smelling car. And you know, that is actually how I picture myself most of the time. I ignore the laundry piles, pizza boxes, crumbs, and elastic waistbands; and picture myself just one step away from achieving my dream. I would be happy in my deluded concept of reality, except the most random things pop up to keep me aware that though I have some aspects of my dream in the bag, other parts of my life would make great displays in Ripley’s Believe it or Not museums.

Case in point: Friday, my sister and I were sitting at a restaurant. We had taken my brother to the airport and were enjoying a nice civilized lunch, savoring time together while I’m in my hometown for a visit. We were looking forward to seeing a movie together later in the evening. We were laughing, joking, and engaging in grown-up conversation. For a few moments, we had it! We WERE the dream. Two intelligent, attractive, classy women lunching together like civilized adults. My sleek, civilized cellular phone rang, and I answered. My husband was on the other end ready to lower the boom of the absurd. “I have some news you need to know,” he said. He proceeded to inform me that my daughter had spent the day before we left town with a friend who now has head lice. Immediately, I shifted from high-class adult to red-neck, white trash queen of the ridiculous, ready to fight off the constant barrage of random craziness my life continues to throw at me. Our intelligent conversation shifted from the politically correct use of the word “thin” referring to Mary in a sermon, (how did he know she was thin anyway?) to how many packs of lice treatment kits we would need to treat all the people at mom and dad’s house. (We figured two packs would do it.) Then we lost all couth as we hooted about how our movie plans were now “Nixed.” (As all the moms out there will know, Nix is a brand of lice treatment shampoo.) We were getting punchy and people were starting to stare. I don’t know, I just somehow never imagine myself at lunch with another intelligent adult, strategizing about the fastest, most preventative way to treat ten people for head lice, then laughing my head off about it. Sure, I might pass up movie plans for a better offer, but certainly, it never occurred to me that I’d sacrifice my movie plans to form a head lice treatment assembly line. Sorry, but head lice eradication was never a part of the dream.

There I was as my dream self, having a perfectly normal lunch, and it quickly descended into the ridiculous. The evening only got more absurd. We drove home, making a pit stop at the drug store for the lice shampoo, and began the treatment. It was starting to seem normal. No one had any sign of the bugs, but we weren’t taking chances. We got into a good groove shampooing one kid while the next kid was rinsing and the next combing out. We were spraying furniture and stripping beds. Again, the phone rings. This time my sister picked it up and got the news that my nephew had gone to the back of our property on his four wheeler and was stuck. We had just discovered him missing when it came his turn for the shampoo. We continued carrying out the lice treatment while now trying to calm our parents down and find a kid who just buried his four wheeler. Somebody showed up to pull out the four wheeler, (around our neighborhood there are plenty of good ole boys with 4×4’s just waiting for a chance like that) we stripped the muddy kid and put him in the shower as last to be treated for lice. By that time, we had lost all vision of the dream. We allowed life to spiral all the way down to utterly absurd. We loaded up everybody and went down to Jerry’s Restaurant (which isn’t actually called Jerry’s, but the guy who owns it is Jerry) for the Friday night fish fry. We took up a whole room in the place and gave at least one waitress a night to remember. We yelled out stuff no one ever plans to say, like “Get your mouth off the back of that chair,” and “Siddown! This room ain’t a race track!”

So much for high class living. Isn’t it funny how we have a concept of the way life should be? Like my life should look like an episode of Masterpiece Theatre, when in reality it’s more like a marathon of Roseanne. For some reason I keep holding to the dream. Maybe it pacifies me to pretend I can have a civilized life. Maybe it just keeps me sane to have a glimpse of high class adulthood once in a while. I don’t know. I considered it tonight in deep thought as I drove home listening to my kids sing their own original composition “Worms are Weird.” Rest assured, kids, it’s not just the worms that are weird!!

Truth is, that though I never dreamed of preventing lice, saving an ATV, and shutting down a local greasy spoon all in one night, the ridiculous things in my life bring the most laughter and fun. If not for the completely random junk like that, I might never throw back my head and laugh embarrassingly loud. I might never come close to wetting my pants or throwing up because I’ve laughed so hard. I might not have memories of some crazy but special times shared with my family and friends. Maybe it’s time to alter my dream. Maybe it’s time to embrace the stupidity of my life and cherish it for the smile-inducing wonder that it is. Or maybe I’m just weird.

Cut From the Same Cloth

March 21, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 4 Comments

At the end of this month, a memorial ceremony will be held and a new gravestone set at the site of my great, great grandfather’s grave. The little I know about William T. Jeffries includes a family story about his service in the Confederate Army.  He walked to the battlefield, only to lose an arm in the fighting.  He continued to help with horses, perform other duties for some time until his discharge.  I can remember as a little girl staring at a picture of the one-armed man in a dusty looking coat.  My childish mind had little concept of what it must have been like to lose a limb in battle, then go back to serve some more.  I marvel now at the determination and grit, bravery and commitment he had.  It’s not so much the cause for which he fought, but the courage and commitment with which he lived that interests me.

And I’m cut from the same cloth.

 My Grandmother, Lavada Jeffries, was a lady through and through.  She carried herself with the utmost grace and sweetness at all times.  She had a tender way about her, but was fierce in her determination.  She lived far beyond the doctor’s prediction by simply refusing to give up.  Her children can testify she was a force to be reckoned with, and was not to be disobeyed.  As her grandchild, I rarely saw her iron fist but was lavished with plenty of her sweet-smelling hugs, and heard plenty of reassuring words in her soft lilting voice.  I ate my share of her amazing biscuits and loved her vegetable soup.  As I grew older, we read our Bibles together in the morning and shared cheese toast before I left for school.

Years later after she was gone, I was in the depths of despair after my first husband confessed an affair.  I had tried to keep my misery from my dad, not wanting to stress him out since he had his own health problems, plus not sure how a daddy like mine would react to the betrayal of his girl.  Daddy knew, though.  He found a moment alone with me under the carport and I’ll never forget his words.  ”I know what’s going on with you, Baby.  Your mama told me; I made her tell me.  I know it’s bad right now.  But don’t you forget whose granddaughter you are. (He nodded toward Granny’s house.)  You’re just like her.  Made from the same strong stuff.  You can do this.”

He was reminding me I’m cut from that same cloth.

My mother has been a minister for as long as I can remember.  Her world is her pulpit, especially the McDonald’s drive thru, the local thrift stores, and the patients for whom she tenderly cares.  Shirley Jeffries was into women’s ministry before women’s ministry even existed.   As a little girl, I learned to braid hair from one of mom’s friends.  We spent quite a bit of time at Donna’s house and now, looking back, I know that my mom was ministering to that lady and her two young boys through a divorce that left them penniless and a disease that left Donna disabled.  I’ve seen my parents stop along the roadside to pick up a stranded single mother.   As a girl, I was no stranger to nursing homes, funeral homes, and hospitals.  Now I know my mom, and dad too, were busy in those places, singing, loving, praying, visiting, helping people along the way.

And I’m cut from the same cloth.

These days I’ve been super concerned about my own children.  I have been lamenting the fact that I’ve failed to give them one childhood home to remember.  I’ve failed to give them so many things I hoped and dreamed they would have.  I’ve had my heart set on building a plan to stay in the same place and finally give them more than two consecutive years in the same school.  I still want that continuity for them, but a friend of mine pointed out something that helped me relax a little, and got me thinking about the kind of stock we come from.

It’s not about the house we have, and it’s not about my ability to protect my kids from the pains of life.  I can’t do that.  But I CAN show them what kind of fabric makes up their genes, what kind of blood runs through their veins.  My job is to concentrate on building that character into my children and it doesn’t take money or a house or lack of troubles to do that.  It’s more important to know the kind of people we ARE not the kind of place we live or kind of things we have.

I want my kids to look back, consider my faith and my courage, my smile and my laughter, my love and my commitment and say:

“I’m cut from the same cloth.”

 

 

 

What’s the Deal With The Pitcher?

March 9, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 0 Comments

My friend and former sister-in-law, Sandi, gave me one of my favorite things.  It’s a “Rebekah Pitcher” she made.  It lives in my kitchen window, often holding flowers picked by my boys for me.  It never gets put away because it’s a reminder to me of who I am and what God wants me to do.  Go with me here…

Rebekah of the Bible (Genesis 22) was walking along one day, headed to complete the chore of carrying water.  I can picture her (ok, in my mind she looks like me, especially for the purposes of this story, only she’s workin’ a type of B.C. style of clothing and footwear) with her pitcher perched on her shoulder, moving forward with the business of the day.  The pitcher might have been heavy.  She might have been in a hurry.  But there was a man at the well, and when she saw he had need, she quickly lowered her pitcher and watered his camels.  He didn’t even have to ask!  Little did she know the man had been sitting there praying that the girl who agreed to water his camels would be the one God wanted him to choose for Abraham’s son, Isaac, to be a matriarch of the nation of Israel.  She wasn’t looking for a meal ticket, she just helped a guy on the spur of the moment, but she ended up opening the door to quite an adventure.  Through that one act of compassion, Rebekah became Isaac’s pride and joy, practically a queen, and gave birth the the house of Jacob, thus becoming part of Jesus’ bloodline as well.  Imagine that… a random moment where she simply acted like a daughter of the Most High, doing something pleasing to Him, and lo and behold she walks right into His plan for her!!!

What has entrenched itself in my mind is the idea that Rebekah quickly lowered her pitcher and offered herself to help another, without thought of her schedule, her future goals, or her bottom line.  God took care of those things.  She just lowered the pitcher.  She clearly had things to do and was in the midst of accomplishing her daily tasks, but evidently had the kind of freedom in living that lends itself to the impromptu lowering of one’s pitcher to participate in an act of kindness and compassion alongside another person.  She wasn’t too busy, wasn’t in too much of a hurry, and wasn’t so wrapped up in herself that she might miss a moment of life’s joy shared with someone else.  If Rebekah were around today, I imagine she’d have a constantly running coffee pot, a lot of miles on her vehicle, and a lot of smiles shared with those she’s touched along the way.

Sure, ol’ Bek had her faults.  She showed favoritism between her sons, deceived her husband, and it seems she could be pretty demanding at times.  She didn’t always get it right.  Still, the way she lowered her pitcher to help the man at that well with such immediacy and ease speaks volumes about her.   I imagine that she lived with her head up, eyes open and expectant, looking for the next opportunity to “lower her pitcher” and experience the joy of helping, serving, encouraging, or interacting with another person.  That’s the Rebekah, or  Rebecca, I want to be.

God has definitely given me a “pitcher” (we all have one) and I want the contents of mine to be used by Him.  That means I have to be willing to lower said pitcher and share the contents.  That’s the reason for this blog.  Pouring out what God has given me to share.  That’s the reason for my life.  That’s what living out God’s calling means to me.

And that’s the deal with the pitcher.

 

Can’t Do That In Heels!

February 1, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 2 Comments

This morning I was all dressed and ready for work.  I had on what I call a “sophisticated businesswoman costume” complete with a cute pair of heels.  I was checking on the dog, helping my oldest with her vocabulary, and packing a lunch when I heard a ringing sound.  I looked up to find that my toddler had my phone in his hand and was making a call.  I took a step toward him so that I could grab the phone and avoid disturbing who knows who from my contact list, but as slippery toddlers tend to do, he ran.

Funny how little legs can move so quickly.  Not so funny how I couldn’t keep up with him. I tapped and clopped after him in my high heels, doing my best not to slip on the tile floor and end up in the emergency room.  Guess what?  High heel shoes aren’t made for chasing speedy little boys with impish grins and ringing cell phones in their hands.

Caleb giggled and I kept tapping and clopping, feeling larger and more clumsy with every step.  Around the dining table we went, through the kitchen and into the next room where big sister was working on vocabulary.  Mackenzie stuck out her hand and helped me catch Caleb and I snatched away the phone.  We discovered then with a sigh of relief that he was calling his big sister.  We disconnected the call and I proceeded to finish the morning craziness, inching ever closer to tears.  With a few minutes left before time to leave and a few things left to accomplish, I kicked off the heels so I could function as mom.  And function I did, as I started the dryer, put on some makeup, fixed breakfast, and then, in my last act of motherly bravado, changed the poopy diaper that appeared at the exact moment I should have been walking out the door.

I stepped back into the heels, grabbed all the necessary stuff, loaded the car and backed down the driveway with a sigh.  My heart is always heavy as I end my mommy time and start my professional businesswoman time.  Did I do what I should?  Was I too crabby?  Will they remember how much I love them?  Did I forget the cookie dough fundraiser?  When will I get around to hemming his pants?  Do I have enough diapers?

Tonight, after everyone was in bed, I realized as I squeezed out the last of my contact solution that I forgot, again, to pick up more today.  I also forgot to get the alka seltzer I like to keep on hand, and the orange soda Mackenzie needs for a science experiment.  There are some documents in my purse that need to be scanned and emailed.  They’ve been there 4 days now.  So I’m letting the tears flow at this point.  Sometimes I have to let the spinning plates drop and just cry over my inability to do it all.  Sometimes I have to nurse the blisters that pop up from trying to chase tiny boys while wearing high heel shoes.

Maybe I’ll invent a pair of perfect shoes.  Ones that look sophisticated and gorgeous, but have traction for running after two-year-olds, with comfort that makes standing in the grocery store line a pleasure, and of course they’ll match every outfit.

But there is no such perfect shoe, just like there’s no such perfect me. It’s impossible.  What I’ll do is keep living my life, keep loving my kids, keep working hard, keep learning and growing and chasing, and make the best of the times when I just plain have on the wrong shoes.

And I’ll keep smiling.  I CAN do that in high heels!

 

Zoom Out

January 23, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 6 Comments

The other day, I was using Google Maps to get directions to a meeting.  At first, I could see only a cross-street and had no clue where I was headed.  Then I used the handy-dandy “zoom out” button to back off and see a bit more about what neighborhood I’d be going to and sure enough, that zoom-out told me everything I needed to know about how to get to the meeting.

In a recent conversation, a dear friend and I were discussing how it can often be frustrating trying to figure out what God wants us to do.  At several crossroads in my life, I’ve often sought God’s direction, done the best I could and went one way or another while still wishing I was SURE that’s what God wanted. Or I’ve wondered why God allowed circumstances in my life to prevent me from doing things I really thought He had assigned to me.  Did He change His mind?  Is He playing cat and mouse?  Among believers, I’ve heard this same story again and again.

But you know what?  God sees the “zoomed-out” picture!  His calling and purpose for me permeate my being much more deeply than I originally thought.

When I was 15, I heard God call me to work for Him.  Over the years, the idea I first had of what God might expect has certainly undergone a metamorphosis.  (Thank You, Lord.)  I first assumed, since I’m a girl, that the only way I’d be able to minister for God would be to marry into the ministry.  (If you want to know how that worked out, read through the “Where I’ve Been” pages)  Then I assumed the only way would be teaching women, Baptist women, and women younger than I.  I assumed that my only place would be putting on high teas, women’s retreats, or prayer luncheons.  Then I assumed my teaching and leading would look very much like other popular female Bible teachers and speakers.  I did the best I could based on the “cross streets” I could see.  Thank God, He was looking at the zoom-out map!

These days I’m learning that God’s purpose and call is much larger, more thoroughly built into my being than I realized.  It’s more than just what I’m doing for a job.  Many years I’ve spent wondering why God didn’t give me a job in His “calling” for me.  But the truth is, if we are faithful to His calling on our lives, we’ll be living it out no matter where we are or what we’re doing.  God’s purpose for you and me goes way beyond what we do for a living, neither can it be accomplished in a mere 40 hours a week.  My job is simply one small way I can live out God’s calling for me.

There was a time when I just knew I was living out God’s call because I was writing devotionals, speaking to women’s groups, leading a class at church, and being a minister’s wife.  Then, all that went away.  For a short time, I wondered what in the world God was thinking.  Why did He allow my life to fall apart?  Didn’t He mean it when He called me?  But after the pain subsided a bit, after a new marriage, a new job, a new baby, and a few new homes, I’ve realized something:  God’s call still burns me up inside.  I’m carrying it out in spite of myself!  My deepest heart still wants to do what He wants me to do.  People who need His love still surround me and I am still driven to share that love with them.  Perhaps my life has undergone quite a few changes, but one thing that hasn’t changed is that voice that called me out back at 15 years old.  When will I stop boxing God into my own little ideas?.  Sometimes I’ve carried out God’s call by writing, sometimes speaking, sometimes rocking one of my children, sometimes teaching, sometimes working with families, sometimes hugging an older person, sometimes leading a house church, sometimes loving my husband, sometimes having coffee with a friend, sometimes reaching out to a worried daughter and telling her mom’s going to be ok, sometimes helping a stressed out son make a good care decision for his dad, sometimes a hand to a coworker who’s having one of those days, and sometimes making a pot of coffee.  How foolish to assume that God would ask for my workday alone.  He wants, and has, all of me, so why would I expect Him to use any less than all of me?

So are you wondering what God wants you to do?  Are you waiting for God to bring along the perfect job or perfect situation before you carry out the dream He’s placed in you?  Give some thought to the idea that God’s desires, purpose, and calling for you are much larger and deeper than a vocation alone.  God has place unique gifts in you and produced a one-of-a-kind creation.  Sometimes, crucial tasks appear before us in the grocery store, on an airplane, or at the baseball field.  Try zooming out, and allowing God to carry out His work in every single area, every single moment.  Rely on Him completely to provide a place for you to live out your God-given purpose, but know that He may provide more than one place, may ask for more than just your work week, more than just your Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights.  This “God’s will” thing just may revolutionize your whole existence.  It sure has mine!

 

 

 

Proper Place

January 15, 2012 in Thoughts Poured Out with 0 Comments

I’ve arrived at one conclusion as I’ve explored my eating and fitness habits.  I must keep food in its proper place in my life.

I promised I wouldn’t turn this into a diet and fitness blog and the reason I won’t is that there are so many more interesting things to me.  I know fitness is a hot topic, and if you want to see some great stuff on fitness, just click on my brother’s picture at your right.  He’s got it going on, for sure.  It seems to me, though, that people who are super thin become consumed by the quest, and I don’t want to be consumed by being thin.  I don’t want to concentrate on calories every waking moment.

That said, I also don’t want to rely on food as my only comfort, my only venue for celebration.  It shouldn’t be my go-to.

I don’t want to be consumed by limiting food and I don’t want to be consumed by relying upon food.

Balance.  That’s what I want.  That’s what I need.

And that’s going to be my goal.  A healthy, balanced attitude toward food and fitness.  For me, that means a walk with the kids every evening when I get home.  It means eating when I’m hungry and not going past full.  It means taking some vitamins and drinking plenty of water.  It means enjoying my food and refusing to rely upon it for comfort.  It means taking care of my body, but not waiting until I’m a certain size to be confident in myself as a woman.  It means not letting food consume my life, whether that be limiting my food or overindulging in food, but using food as a fuel for energy, a blessing to others, and a gift from God to help me move on to living the life He has for me.

I write this with a feeling of satisfaction in my tummy, having enjoyed a delicious dinner, but didn’t stuff myself.  I’m going to go on to bed and get a balanced night’s sleep.  I’m glad to have explored this area of my heart and ready to apply what I’ve learned.  Hopefully, putting food in its proper place will be more like riding a bike than walking a tightrope!!  Thanks for taking this journey with me.

Page 1 of 4112345»102030...Last »