Fort-Worthy of Love

One of the blessings of growing up in California is being immersed in a state of 37,000,000 people who are diverse in every way.  Intellectually, culturally, financially, religiously—there are so many differences I wouldn’t be able to list them all.  If you are maturely minded, you learn not to judge people.  Everyone is so different, it’s beautiful.  I have met so many people through my life walk, and each person is so rich with unique experiences.  It is our responsibility to appreciate them.  It is not my duty to judge or condemn God’s children.  That alone is of God.  Everyone is the same in God’s eyes: both a sinner and His beloved child.

But God demonstrates his love for us in this that while we were still sinners Christ died for us (Romans 5:8).

Many do not feel the same.  This is evident in the hate crimes, murders, and suicides that take place on God’s land.  We are God’s children fighting against God’s children.  We are put on this plain to love—to share God’s love and forgiveness as He so gracefully shares it with us, and yet we tear down and slay.

With the death of Tyler Clementi, bullying and hate crimes have graced the news front lately.  I say ‘graced’ because I believe it is truly important for communities to know what is happening.  I say ‘graced’ because for those like me, those who are outraged by the hate, it makes me want to act.  It makes me want to react and change the world.

On Facebook today, an acquaintance posted the video of Fort Worth senate member Joel Burns talking to his court openly.

As I sat in my car during my lunch break, my hand covered my mouth as I watched through wet eyes the portrait of a strong man.  He talked not only about the children who had taken their lives, but of his own struggles.  To some this may have been appalling.  To me, I was lit with admiration, brought to tears, and thankful for his courage.

I reposted the video on my Facebook, fueled by my desire to share my love and shun the hate.  In the next hour I was met with two reactions.

The first, an antagonistic Christian:

(1:08 pm):       Why would you post that YouTube video about gays

(1:09 pm):       And billing

(2:10 pm):       Because bullying is wrong

(2:16 pm):       Ha. Intense video

The second, an accepting Christian:

(1:54 pm):       That video… If there is any community that is desperate for the Gospel, and NOT legalism from people who obviously pick and choose what parts of the Bible they’d like to share in the most horrid way possible, it’s the gay and lesbian community. I’m tired of people using God to push an evil agenda. Is it a sin? Yes. Are we better for not having to deal with that sin? No. Everyone has SOMETHING. 1 John 1 says that if we refuse to admit sin, we make God out to be a liar.

(1:55 pm):       I hate so much that being gay is the one sin we choose to push to the front.

(2:00 pm):       People should help these kids rise above getting bullied, and show the ones being so hateful the error of their ways. No one can tell me God wants this.  These kids don’t deserve it, and I doubt they’d choose it.

(2:10 pm):       I agree completely!      

I don’t think rash Christians understand that Jesus surrounded himself with the sick, the dirty, and the unloved.  He made it his business to save them, not condemn them. 

My only service to provide in this life is love to all of God’s children.  We all sin.  We are all sinners.  I am better than no one.  And neither are those who choose to attack their brothers.  Because, really, that’s what we are: family.

Found this website in my seach: http://www.believers.org/believe/bel208.htm.

1. Leviticus 19:18
2. Matthew 19:19
3. Matthew 22:39
4. Mark 12:31
5. Luke 10:27
6. Romans 13:9
7. Galatians 5:14
8. James 2:8

Eight times we are commanded by God to love our neighbors.  I will not let anyone stop me from doing just that.

Parisian Hesitation

My boyfriend always tells me I’m like my dog and my dog is like me.

Paris, my lab-pit mix, came into my life unexpectedly about three years ago.  She was an awkward dog with huge ears, long and clumsy legs, and sad puppy eyes that ached for love.  Unwanted, she passed from home to home until she ambled up my doorstep.

An awkward puppy being denied love? I thought.  Not anymore!

Three years later, she is still my awkward, but happy dog.  As I watched her play at Shelby Farms today, I saw more of myself in her than ever before.

Pet parents threw sticks and tennis balls into the lake, and I watched as dog after dog chased after them—exuberant and hungry, and unafraid.

In the mud, I found a discarded tennis ball to throw especially for Paris.  I saw the excitement in her eyes, her ears tingling, awaiting the chase.

I threw it into the lake and I watched, expecting her to rocket into the water.

But she did not.

Instead, she hesitated and watched as other dogs crashed into the water, chasing her ball.  In that moment it occurred to me when placed in a situation with variables, she bows out.  Alone, she knows what to do.  Presented with obstacles, she cringes.  There was suddenly a timidity in her that I had not before noticed.

It made me sad to see her tip-toe by the edge of the lake, watching other dogs retrieve her ball. I yelled encouragement to her, “Just get the ball, girl—it’s yours!”

I wondered if this is how God often feels for me.

Jamie, I set this up especially for you.  This is your ball.  All you have to do is claim it, but you’re too afraid.  Why do you let your fear stop you from retrieving the gifts I have laid down for you?  Don’t be afraid.  Don’t let your fear stop you.  Jump in!  It’s yours!

Last night Scott and I watched one of Saddleback’s sermons.  The evening topic was how to avoid obstacles preventing you from following God’s plan for you.  First, reverend Rick made us aware of the four pitfalls that could keep us from walking with God:

1. Cultural distractions (pleasure, possessions, popularity, profit)
2. Voices of doubt
3. Tempting shortcuts (ethical, moral, financial, relational, spiritual)
4. Discouraging delays

To aid in his example, Rick used the life of Noah.  Life is a test; life is about trust.  God is seeing how much He can trust us.  This life is a temporary assignment.  Noah dared to follow God’s plan.  From him, we gain four valuable lessons:

1. Dare to be different from our culture
2. Listen to the voice of God
3. Do exactly as God tells you to do
4. Refuse to give up on the dream God gives you

Paris and I both could learn from Noah. 

Two weeks ago I posted for a transfer to a new location.  Two days later I was hired.  And in less than two weeks I’ll begin at my new branch.

I was terrified throughout the entire process.  Even now I’m nervous.  However, with the help of God’s love, I applied.  With the help of God’s love, I will transfer.  With the help of God’s love, I will start there on November 1st.

I’m not letting fear stop me this time.  Through the nerves, the uncertainty, and fear, I’m holding onto God and thanking Him for answering my prayers.

Knowing He is cheering me on while I take this leap will keep me nourished with encouragement.  My ears and my heart are open, Lord.  I’ll let go of distraction, doubt, and discouragement and hold tight to Your words and love.

Balancing Rest and Work

There is never a dull moment in life.

Oh, did I say dull?  I meant lull.

There is never a lull moment that willingly presents itself.  Especially as you age, finding that peace takes conscious effort.  Our days consist of rise, work, rest.  While we are committed to rising and working, and we really to resting?

If you don’t commit to the search, these moments will continually escape you and soon you will find yourself wound down so deep you won’t be able to recover from spiritual, emotional, and physical fatigue.

One of the books I’m reading is John Eldredge’s Walking with God.  I really like it.  In a section entitled Slowing Down to Listen, John talks about begin trapped in his summer cabin.  Yes, trapped.  He was prepared for a vacation full of fixing this, fixing that, painting this, building that, and it was all put to an end before it began.  Why?  Because at his summer cabin, it’s raining.

I’m pretty darn sure God told me to come, and now it’s raining.  I needed rest more than I knew.  But I am so addicted to busyness, I was about to turn his gift of rest into a week of chores.  Fix the fence, paint the door, get ‘er done.  So he has to pin me down on the porch so that I don’t wreck the gift he’s trying to give.

           

This often happens to me.  Finding a moment of peace, I opt to clean, organize, hang out with friends, or watch TV.  Instead of spending time with God, I spend time with myself, and forsake the bonding time I could be having with Him.  My days are filled with my career, taking care of pets, maintaining a relationship and friendships, and by the end of the day, I’m utterly exhausted.  Then wake, rise, repeat—it all happens again the very next day.

Balance is so difficult to find, but so very important.  When you balance your life, it should lead you finding rest.  When you find time to rest, you find time and energy to dedicate to God, which is truly the most important thing.

Without balance, without rest, without God, we wither away.  Spiritually, mentally, emotionally. 

I’m frayed like an old rope because of the way I live my life.  And I’ve got a pretty good sense that this isn’t the life God would have me live.  I’m pretty sure there isn’t a verse that goes, “He leadeth me to utter exhaustion; he runneth me ragged.” In fact, doesn’t Jesus say something about his yoke is easy and his burden light? 

If you’re about to run out of gas, the best thing to do is slow way down to conserve fuel so that you can make it to the next station.  What I do is gun it.  Put the pedal to the metal.  No wonder God had to command us to rest.  We wouldn’t do it otherwise.  Even with the command, we don’t really do it.

We think we can drive ourselves like oxen fifty weeks a year, resurrect in a two-week vacation, then go back and do it all again.  That is madness.  My pushing and striving cut me off from the life I so desperately need.  I don’t even think to stop and ask, Is this what you’d have me do, Lord? Do you want me to paint the bathroom?  Volunteer at church?  Stay late at work?

So God sends this downpour to keep me from squandering my vacation by running like a greyhound.  He loves me too much to leave me to my own devices.

We need to be near God to hear God.  We won’t be able to listen to God when we’re focusing on all the burdens, stressors, or even successes in our lives.

Sitting down at my computer, I was exhausted by the entanglements of the busyness that were ahead of me.  It was then I opened an email from Crosswalk:

God called the light 'day,' and the darkness he called 'night.' And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day (Genesis 1:5).

“What if I told you your day began last night as the sunset—would you disagree?”

For me, it’s radical to view a day in such a way.  I really like the idea and feel like it would benefit me to do as they suggest: internalize it.  Embrace it.

In other places and cultures, the days begin with rest.  Rest, rise, work.  It’s a very different notion to think of our days running from evening to evening rather than morning to night.  As Americans, we rise, work, and rest.  This pattern keeps us from God, because work becomes our priority.

In the passing weeks I’ve become better about consciously making an effort to put rest in my life.  If I am able to reorganize my thoughts and view my days in such a way that I begin with rest instead of work, I will feel closer to God.  This is what I want.  I am aiming for rest.  I am aiming for balance.  I am aiming for God.

I desire to do your will, O my God; your law is within my heart (Psalm 40:8).

Restore me to the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me (Psalm 51:12).

Home No More

When we parked the car this morning, I immediately felt my anxiety peak.

My boyfriend entered the church, and I stayed behind, locking myself in the car.

As time passed, I decided to walk in.  I left the car, entered the church, avoided the South Hall, and ran into the bathroom.

For it only to have been four weeks since my last visit to Hope’s young adult Sunday school, it felt bizarre to be as scared as I was.  Four weeks is only 28 days.  What could have changed in a month? I thought.

From the bathroom, I walked through the bookstore to kill more time.  I admired its novelties until 11:03.

YAC starts at 11:15.

I begrudgingly left the bookstore and returned to the bathroom for one more check-up.  Make-up, check.  Dress check, check.  Appearing to have some sanity, check. 

I straightened my dress and began my walk to the South Hall.  The first person I saw was a close friend…four weeks ago.  I suddenly felt estranged standing next to her, watching her interact with her new friends.

She didn’t quite give me the “Welcome home!” I expected, and instead barely noticed me.  Where I once owned a comfortable spot in the core group of girls, I was now surrounded by several people I didn’t know, hadn’t met, but had taken my place, and were now the new clique.  I felt completely awkward.  Estranged and awkward were two feelings I had never before felt within those walls.

As I stood there, sinking, another friend walked up to me.  He was like a life-preserver floating over right before I went under.  I hugged him, almost frantically, relieved to see a warm face.

From there, we walked through the main doors to the South Hall, and I found myself being completely unattracted to the atmosphere.

Everything felt so foreign.  I didn’t feel welcomed.  I didn’t feel wanted.  And suddenly I was standing in a replica of the big church service.  What had happened to the simplicity?

I felt like a stranger in my own home—only I realized it wasn’t my home anymore.

I found my boyfriend, who, like the others, was also too busy to deal with me, and I sat unsure into the seat next to him.

The music began and something in my spirit wasn’t settling.  First song, I was uncomfortable.  Second song, panicking.  Third song, hyperventilating.  I turned to my boyfriend, whispered my plan to leave, and quickly made my way to the exit.

As soon as my fingers touched the double doors, I felt my face break.  I began crying in the atrium, but, to avoid attention, quickly fixed myself.  I just had to make it another hundred feet before I could cry without worrying someone would stop me.

I finally made it to my boyfriend’s car.  I could barely fit the key into the ignition I was so shaken.  My heart was pounding.  At that point, I physically couldn’t stop myself from crying anymore.  I cried down the block, up the stairs, in the kitchen, and on the couch.  The tears continued to fall.  On my knees, hands to my face, I relentlessly called out to God.

Peace didn’t come until a half an hour later.  My body wrecked with fatigue, I lay on the couch, praying.

I don’t understand in the slightest what happened today.  Mentally and emotionally, I was stripped.  My body was physically reacting to my being back at that church.  I didn’t feel called to attend YAC today.  I went against my initial feelings which proved unfavorable.  I need to listen to God now more than ever.  I need to follow Him and stay close to Him.

Last night, my friend lovingly looked at me and said, “You must know you’re in the fight for your life now.”

Today at Independent Presbyterian, Reverend Richie said, “He is in the fight of his life right now,” iterating God’s message of caution to me.

I am closer to now God than I have ever been.  As beautiful as this is, it is proving equally as dangerous.

It is the Lord your God you must follow, and him you must revere.  Keep his commands and obey him; serve him and hold fast to him (Dueteronomy 13:4).

I have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek they servant; for I do not forget they commandments (Psalm 119:176).

Rivers of water run down mine eyes, because they keep not they law (Psalm 119:136).

A Muted Moment

Tonight my boyfriend invited a couple of friends over to his place for dinner.

Gators were playing LSU, and he had turned his BOSE system on high.

This system is set up in such a way that when it is on, we are unable to mute or quiet the TV.

While the two boys sat outside grilling, she and I sat on the couch talking, me divulging the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been riding in the last weeks.

“Can I pray for you?” she asked.

I nodded and we took hands.

“God, we are thankful for…Hyundai.”

We both laughed, distracted by the deafening din of the ads.  It was going to take deep concentration to overpower the background noise.

We were determined, however, and bowed our heads.  She began praying again.

Toward the end of the prayer, an amazing thing happened.

Silence.

After her closing, we looked at each other, then to the TV.

We had touched nothing.  And yet, we watched the football players play in silence.  No loud broadcasters.  No blaring commercials.

God had pressed mute.  Just for us.  In my time of need.  In our moment of fellowship.

Ten seconds may have passed before we heard the familiar voices of the announcers once more.

We could do nothing but laugh in joyful glee, amazed again by our amazingly loving God.

We know and rely on the love God has for us.  God is love.  Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him (1 John 4:16).

Ronald McDonald House

At least two days out of the week, I find myself driving to McDonald’s.

One of my life’s little indulgences is a large iced coffee.

 The employees don’t know my name, but they always recognize me.  They smile warmly, treat me with familiarity, and even noticed when I cut my hair.

On a day like any other I met the first employee at the window.  A short, polite blonde gentleman waited behind the glass.

The moment came to pass along my change.  That’s when he pointed to me, and with a genuine smile, said, “You need to smile more.”  Not as an order, demanding and rude, but as an offer, as a reminder.

This encounter took me by surprise, and I smiled as I waved goodbye.  And continued to smile, wondering if my pain was so evident that strangers could sense it…or if his was simply a message straight from God.

I jogged through my neighborhood the other day under a cloud.  Not a cloud of rain, but a cloud of self-doubt.  The challenges of life seemed to outnumber the resources, and I questioned my ability.  And, quite frankly, I questions God’s wisdom.  Are you sure I’m the right man for this job? was the theme of my prayer.

Apparently God really wanted to give me an answer, because I heard one.  From on high.  From a deep, booming voice.  “You’re doing a good job!”  I stopped dead in my Reeboks and looked up.  Seeing nothing in the clouds, I shifted my attention to the roof of a house.  There he waved at me—a painter dressed in white and leaning against a dormer.  I waved back.  And I wondered and almost asked, “How did you know I needed to hear that?

Max Lucado wrote this in his book Cure for the Common Life: Living in Your Sweet Spot.  I very much wondered as I drove away, “How did he know I needed to hear that?”

Am I stretching theology a bit when I suggest that God put the man there, at least in part, for me?  Long before time had time, God saw each moment in time, including that one.  He saw a minister in need of a word.  He saw a fellow with a skill for painting and a heart for encouragement.  He put one on the street and the other on the roof so the second could encourage the first.  Multiply that tiny even by billions, and behold the way God sustains his world.  “God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies” (Philistines 4:9).

In all my misery and torment, I have forgotten to smile.  I have forsaken the bright spots in my life—the ones I should ferociously be clinging to for survival.

I returned today and met the same employee at his window.

“I’m trying to smile more!” I said with a laugh.

He laughed, too.  “Good, because it’s been three days!”

He doesn’t know it’s been more than three days.  It’s been four weeks.  Five hundred hours of sunlessness, sadness, and smilelessness.

God, I want to feel joy again.  Thank you for the message.  You are always here with me.

O God, you are my God, earnestly I see you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water (Psalm 63:1).

If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink (John 7:38).

Come unto Me and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28).

The Voice

I could use a dream or a genie or a wish

To go back to a place much simpler than this

‘Cause after all the pandemonium and all the madness

There comes a time where you fade to the blackness

And when you starin’ at that phone in your lap

And you hopin’ but them people never call you back

What would you wish for if you had one chance

Just flip it, it said.

Nobody cares.  Nobody would even miss you.

I sobbed, stationary in my lane of traffic at a red light.

There!  There’s a pole.  It would be quick.  Just unbuckle and speed up.

I cried even louder, praying someone would save me.  I secretly hoped that a driver next to me would show concern and tell me to pull over.  But it never happened.

My face was fraught with tears, silent wails escaping my choked breathing.  So much pain.

Instead I continued driving, tempted by the unrelenting voice.

Nobody loves you.  If they did, where are they now?  Too selfish to love you.  Too busy to care.

It went on and on.  I cried the entire trip home.  I screamed.  I sobbed. I scratched at my face and pulled at my hair.  Miserable.  Tormented.  Tempted.  I felt it pulling at me.  In a ten minute span my thoughts raced from low to detrimental.

When I finally reached home, I parked my car, chest heaving and cheeks burning.  And I screamed.  I screamed as loudly as I could.  To no one, to someone.  To something, I cried, “Leeeeeeeeeeeave me alone!  Leave me aloooone!”  It escaped like a howl through clenched teeth.

I tried to be strong.  My faith-bones are shattered, my soul stabbed through with thorns.

Where is my hope?  Where is the love that supposed to pull me through?

I’m so alone.

I’m so alone.

I’m so lonely.

I wonder if the people who see me every day know how broken I am—how in need I am of love—of tenderness, of human compassion.

All I wanted that night was a hug.   To know that someone cares.  Even in the slightest.  That night my heart longed for my mother’s hugs.  Those are the hugs in which a person can collapse into a million, shattered pieces, but know they will be kept from slipping into oblivion.  Those hugs mean you will be held together even when you can’t hold yourself anymore, because someone loves you enough to catch you.

Nobody loves you enough to catch you.

God, where are you?  I feel you, I do.  But it’s not the same smoldering flame it once was…now there’s only a slight whisper, a vague warmth where I once felt you.

This is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ (Philippians 1:9-10).

Unglued

In the bottom left corner, what is that?

For about a year this hope magnet has hung on my fridge, representing many new beginnings.

New friendships, new love of God, new life.

With the last defeating weeks of my life, this magnet has fallen to the floor.  The wood separating from the glue, it came crashing down the other day.  Coincidentally, it happened during the most difficult time of my year.

I have not stopped to pick it up, to re-place it in its rightful spot on the door.

It is a malevolent sign of what is happening in my life right now.

All hope is lost, the voice whispers to me.  It reminds me of my worst fear daily.

You have lied to yourself, and there is no hope.  What once was there is no longer here.

Where is my hope?  My life is changing so rapidly I can barely breathe.

All I can do is pray.


Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him for God is our refuge (Psalms 62:8).

Channeling Mary.

Right now one of the books I am reading is She Did What She Could by Elisa Morgan.

The book revolves around Mary of Bethany, sister of Martha.  It revolves around all of us Marys.

With some of the people that come into my branch, there’s not always much I can do to help them.

Rather than give this—and that—and then some more, only to eventually fall, spent, at [the feet of Jesus], [Mary] gave what she could and left it at that.  Enough.  A lot.  Just right.  She chose what she could—and gave it ungrudgingly.

Today, I had the opportunity to give what I could.

There are many different types of men who enter the bank.

Young men starting out on their life journeys.  Fathers focused on their children.  Nervous fiancées planning their future.  Teachers who have changed lives.  Doctors who have saved lives.  And sometimes a warrior whose outer shell appears too hard by ages of tribulations to be permeated by sadness.

In our only previous time together, this warrior and I did not share much dialogue.  He was cordial, but short, anticipating the end of a long day.  His wife is a frequent customer who often stops by with Bear, their Pekingese.  I asked about their pup, trying to spark friendly conversation.  He graciously nodded and quietly exited the bank, appearing untouched by the inquiry.

It was only during our second visit that God blessed me with a special view.

I greeted the warrior by name as he entered the branch.  A small smile touched his tired face while he compiled his transaction.

As he walked to my counter, nothing seemed to be different.

And in a moment, as I asked him how he was, it all changed.

His face creased and his eyes watered as he told me about Bear.

“Yeah…just went to the vet,” he mumbled.  He shook his head, “Congenital heart failure, they said.”

In shattered words he began to tell me about their little pet, having come to live with them some few years ago when their daughter couldn’t care for him anymore.

He told me Bear was 11 years old, which is younger for a small dog.  It was touching to listen to this gruff man recount his memories and his love for Bear.  To watch him open his heart to me was almost a paralyzing event.  I was dumbfounded for a moment before I quickly regained my senses and offered the only thing I could…love by way of listening.

“I ran over him once with my big truck,” he smiled as tears streamed down his cheek.  “And where most dogs would have bitten and growled he just lay there and let me pick him up.  He is the most gentle dog ever…I loved to get the lion cut on him,” he said.  “What color is yours?”

“Black with tan spots…”

“Yeah, Pekingese are good little dogs...”  His mind was elsewhere at this point, drifting into fond chronicles of the last decade.

When we parted I felt like I had truly been blessed to have been invited into this man’s life.  The hours passed, and at the end of the work day I dialed his wife’s number.

She picked up the phone and after I tenderly told her who I was, I said, “I heard about your dog and I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

She paused a moment and lovingly told me of Bear’s passing.  He had stopped eating and had been taken to the vet a few days ago.  They tested him for different things, and when they received the results he was further along in his pain.

“That dog biscuit,” she sobbed, “that you gave us yesterday was the first thing he had eaten in a week.”

It broke my heart, especially having lost my cat on Wednesday.  He also had stopped eating.

“The vets are so sweet,” she went on to say.  “When [one of them] called me to tell me it was time, she said, ‘It’s time, but I can’t do it; I can’t be the one to do it.’  Isn’t that sweet?”

I almost started sobbing right along with her.  As we spoke, her other line began to beep, and I said to her, “I’m sorry, I didn’t really know what to say, but I just wanted to – ”  “You did the right thing,” she said through sniffles.  “Hug your Pekingese tonight for me.”

And I certainly did.  I picked Cheeyo up in my arms and hugged him like I hadn’t in a long time.

⁶ “Leave her alone,” said Jesus.  “Why are you bothering her?  She has done a beautiful thing to me.  ⁷ The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want.  But you will not always have me.  ⁸ She did what she could.  She poured perfume on y body beforehand to prepare for my burial.  ⁹ I tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”

Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15).