Ever had one of those days where something happens and you're not really sure how to process the event, let alone make any sense out of it? It's a "near miss" kind of day...you just know there has to be a supernatural explanation.
We were at a friend's home last week enjoying some of the best chowder I've ever had and some really good company. The home was warm, inviting, and buzzing with the sound of friendship. We needed to leave so we went out to our car. I got in, but my husband was standing on the driver's side looking puzzled. He asked me to come and look at something, and there it was. A huge tree limb on the ground, stretching beyond the length of the car, almost preventing him from opening the door. We both looked at each other as the realization of the situation came to us - the limb had fallen while we were inside. There were a couple of scratches, then we found a few dents. My husband went inside to get our host so he could show him what happened and discuss the situation. As they came outside, eventually the entire housefull of people followed. As we all stood looking at the car, suddenly our host looked at the REAR of the car - the bumper was cracked in two pieces and there was even more damage...because there was an even larger section of the tree on the ground. Now people, I'm not talking about a little branch. I'm talking about an entire top section of a very tall oak tree. These limbs were of the crushing variety. As everyone oohed and aahed in bewilderment, we decided we would both call our insurance companies in the morning and go from there. We drove away.
It wasn't until the next morning, when talking to my insurance company, that I realized how blessed we were. "Was anyone hurt?" was the first question the agent asked. No, no one was in the car. "Was there any glass damage?" No. "Is the car driveable?" Well, yes.
The sections of tree that fell could have, and should have, crushed our car. Their position on the ground was nothing short of miraculous - as if they had been pushed aside from the car at the last minute. We could have been in the car. We could have been standing right there. Kids could have been playing in that section of the yard. None of this was the case, though. You see, I serve a very big God, and He has given His angels charge over me and my family, and I choose to believe His angels were hard at work that day.
My story doesn't end there. After talking to the insurance company, we determined that every dollar of the repair is covered. Every penny. Even if we need a rental car during the repair time. It's not because we have great insurance. It's because we have God's favor in this moment.
Most of us are familiar with the movie "The Incredibles." It's a fantastic story and wonderful entertainment. But in my world, the real world I live in every day, I know there really is a "Mr. Incredible." His name is Jesus. And He can do anything.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Thansgiving?
Okay, so it suddenly hit my brain that next week is Thanksgiving. How did that happen? For lots of people this is a time to be with families, eat way too much food they only eat that day, watch football, play football, and just be happy. Of course, there is the occasional family conflict because after all, these are people you don't hang out with every day. But really, it's a pretty calm, predictable day with lots of nice feelings and comfort.
Then there are those for whom this day is not so great. Maybe there isn't any family. Maybe there isn't any food. Maybe there's no TV to watch football, or no yard to play football. Maybe it's a day you have to work because that's just what you need to do. Maybe it's a reminder of something tragic or a loss you have experienced. So there really isn't a lot of comfort.
Yesterday morning, I went on a field trip for our daily staff meeting. Now, I work in a church office so we often have wonderful staff meetings where we talk, laugh, pray, and come together as one group around a nice conference table in a warm and cozy office - all of our coffee mugs and water bottles spread out. We're just happy to be there for another day. Yesterday was diferent. We got on a school bus with Butch Johnson - a man who many would say should be enjoying the retired life. But instead, he is serving families in the inner city of Richmond by providing a safe place for kids to go every Friday night called the Northside Outreach Center. He has a huge vision and faith to match. We drove around to see his world - Essex Village, Battery Park just to name a couple. We stopped on a corner - the same corner where another school bus full of children was shot at just weeks ago. We saw homes that some of our staff grew up in, but those neighborhoods have changed. We viewed homes, apartments and stores known for drug deals and other activity.
And from the relative safety and warmth of that school bus, I felt such heaviness. Inside those homes are crying, hungry children. Inside those houses are broken families, people with addictions. There is great loss everywhere - loss of a parent or a brother. There are kids who don't know your parents are supposed to stay with you, love you, provide for you.
I'm not sure Thanksgiving has much meaning for many who live in these houses. It's just another day to try and survive. And as Butch Johnson and his team of volunteers plan to serve 400 or so people Saturday with a Thanksgiving meal, I realized it's really not about giving thanks for what we have...it's about GIVING because we are so thankful. Thank you, Butch, for getting the vision and giving all that you are.
Then there are those for whom this day is not so great. Maybe there isn't any family. Maybe there isn't any food. Maybe there's no TV to watch football, or no yard to play football. Maybe it's a day you have to work because that's just what you need to do. Maybe it's a reminder of something tragic or a loss you have experienced. So there really isn't a lot of comfort.
Yesterday morning, I went on a field trip for our daily staff meeting. Now, I work in a church office so we often have wonderful staff meetings where we talk, laugh, pray, and come together as one group around a nice conference table in a warm and cozy office - all of our coffee mugs and water bottles spread out. We're just happy to be there for another day. Yesterday was diferent. We got on a school bus with Butch Johnson - a man who many would say should be enjoying the retired life. But instead, he is serving families in the inner city of Richmond by providing a safe place for kids to go every Friday night called the Northside Outreach Center. He has a huge vision and faith to match. We drove around to see his world - Essex Village, Battery Park just to name a couple. We stopped on a corner - the same corner where another school bus full of children was shot at just weeks ago. We saw homes that some of our staff grew up in, but those neighborhoods have changed. We viewed homes, apartments and stores known for drug deals and other activity.
And from the relative safety and warmth of that school bus, I felt such heaviness. Inside those homes are crying, hungry children. Inside those houses are broken families, people with addictions. There is great loss everywhere - loss of a parent or a brother. There are kids who don't know your parents are supposed to stay with you, love you, provide for you.
I'm not sure Thanksgiving has much meaning for many who live in these houses. It's just another day to try and survive. And as Butch Johnson and his team of volunteers plan to serve 400 or so people Saturday with a Thanksgiving meal, I realized it's really not about giving thanks for what we have...it's about GIVING because we are so thankful. Thank you, Butch, for getting the vision and giving all that you are.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Rain
I will be the first to admit that I really don't like rain. It messes up my hair, my dog doesn't want to go outside and driving becomes a challenge. Rainy days are usually dark, damp (different than wet) and gloomy. Rainy days are best suited to some nice hot coffee, a blankie and a good movie - in my opinion. Sure, there are those infrequent summer rains where the sun is shining during the rain, and then the rainbow comes. But I'm thinking about the fall rain, like the one we just experienced last weekend.
Here on the east coast, we have endured a very long drought. Water basins are receding, grass is turning brown, and the trees aren't quite as vibrant in their fall display as they can be. Then last Thursday it started to rain. We needed the rain so badly. And it rained Friday. All day. All night. This was a long, tempestuous, raging, soaking rain. There were brief moments of showers, but mostly...it rained.
I was in a van with 14 other people, along with 3 other vans and several cars, all heading to a camp in North Carolina for our annual youth fall retreat. So much planning and prayer went into this weekend - why, of all weekends, did it have to rain? Rain meant outside activities might be cancelled, and the students would get cranky, and the clothes and bedding would get wet and muddy. Rain meant the drive would take longer. Rain made for a cloudy, dreary and cold weekend outlook.
We all arrived safely and by 7pm, we were eating dinner. Then we unloaded all the gear - yes, some of it got wet and muddy, but most of it survived the trek to our boxcars where we made our beds and got ready for the evening activity -- a scavenger hunt. In the dark. In the misty rain. But what fun we had...no one thought about how wet it was. Several students just kicked off their shoes, content to be barefoot in the large soccer field hunting tiny red plastic firemen, rubber chickens and the elusive small black checker piece.
Then we headed to the Crossing, our meeting place for the weekend, where we experienced the first worship service of the retreat - our introduction to what God had in store for us that weekend. Hot cider and warm nachos followed and no one thought of the rain. It was simply a beautiful rhythym accompanying the chatter of 70 students and leaders. The gym opened for late night basketball, ping pong and other activities. It was a little bit of a walk - in the mist and light rain. My hair was a mess of curls and frizz, but it didn't matter. The gym was alive with energy, intensity and laughter. The leaders took the students to task on the basketball court, while others just enjoyed hanging out with their friends - content to just be there.
As i went back to my boxcar to settle in around 12:30 am, I thought about the rain and how I usually respond to it, which is to crawl inside and wait for it to subside. That has changed. This rain became a spiritual statement to me from my Creator - He was bringing the rain of his presence to this place - soaking the ground, the trees, and every pine needle and bench we would walk or sit upon. He was pouring out the foundation for our weekend - His Holy Spirit. Suddenly, this rain became alive. It breathed life everywhere.
All through the night, I heard the rain - steady and soaking. The next morning, there was no more rain - instead, there was sunshine. It shone all that day and into the next. It was a glorious day that we welcomed with energy and open hearts. Our students experienced a retreat weekend they will not soon forget. As we closed our Saturday night service, we returned back to God the worship He so deserved, thankful for everything He is. He rained down on us so that we could know Him more and walk closer with Him. I don't think I will look at rain the same again.
Here on the east coast, we have endured a very long drought. Water basins are receding, grass is turning brown, and the trees aren't quite as vibrant in their fall display as they can be. Then last Thursday it started to rain. We needed the rain so badly. And it rained Friday. All day. All night. This was a long, tempestuous, raging, soaking rain. There were brief moments of showers, but mostly...it rained.
I was in a van with 14 other people, along with 3 other vans and several cars, all heading to a camp in North Carolina for our annual youth fall retreat. So much planning and prayer went into this weekend - why, of all weekends, did it have to rain? Rain meant outside activities might be cancelled, and the students would get cranky, and the clothes and bedding would get wet and muddy. Rain meant the drive would take longer. Rain made for a cloudy, dreary and cold weekend outlook.
We all arrived safely and by 7pm, we were eating dinner. Then we unloaded all the gear - yes, some of it got wet and muddy, but most of it survived the trek to our boxcars where we made our beds and got ready for the evening activity -- a scavenger hunt. In the dark. In the misty rain. But what fun we had...no one thought about how wet it was. Several students just kicked off their shoes, content to be barefoot in the large soccer field hunting tiny red plastic firemen, rubber chickens and the elusive small black checker piece.
Then we headed to the Crossing, our meeting place for the weekend, where we experienced the first worship service of the retreat - our introduction to what God had in store for us that weekend. Hot cider and warm nachos followed and no one thought of the rain. It was simply a beautiful rhythym accompanying the chatter of 70 students and leaders. The gym opened for late night basketball, ping pong and other activities. It was a little bit of a walk - in the mist and light rain. My hair was a mess of curls and frizz, but it didn't matter. The gym was alive with energy, intensity and laughter. The leaders took the students to task on the basketball court, while others just enjoyed hanging out with their friends - content to just be there.
As i went back to my boxcar to settle in around 12:30 am, I thought about the rain and how I usually respond to it, which is to crawl inside and wait for it to subside. That has changed. This rain became a spiritual statement to me from my Creator - He was bringing the rain of his presence to this place - soaking the ground, the trees, and every pine needle and bench we would walk or sit upon. He was pouring out the foundation for our weekend - His Holy Spirit. Suddenly, this rain became alive. It breathed life everywhere.
All through the night, I heard the rain - steady and soaking. The next morning, there was no more rain - instead, there was sunshine. It shone all that day and into the next. It was a glorious day that we welcomed with energy and open hearts. Our students experienced a retreat weekend they will not soon forget. As we closed our Saturday night service, we returned back to God the worship He so deserved, thankful for everything He is. He rained down on us so that we could know Him more and walk closer with Him. I don't think I will look at rain the same again.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Cement Shoes
Most of us are familiar with the old ganster films, where the innocent, or not so innocent, victim ends up in a river with "cement shoes." Well, this past Sunday in church, I experienced my own version of cement shoes...right there in the pew during worship. There wasn't a ganster with a long, but endearing, Italian last name. There weren't any open, vile threats against my life. There weren't any guns, or guys with no neck staring me down. It was just me...and the presence of God.
Cement is an interesting element. You buy it in a bag of dry, powdered material. It only becomes cement when water is added, in the right proportion, and then it sets. Once it is set, it takes a sledge hammer to break it up. It is solid. That's why it is used for things like patios, fence postings, and throwing people into rivers. It's meant to KEEP YOU WHERE YOU ARE.
So there I was in church. I had skimmed the bulletin and worship had begun. Familiar songs had me well on my way to enjoying the congregational interface with our Creator. But then something happened. It got personal. You know, the ALTAR time....dun, dun, dun. We were being led into some songs that were very contemplative and declarative at the same time...dangerous territory when you are just enjoying the predictable moment. Because when you least expect it, the Holy Spirit enters your worship and you are a goner. Of course, this is a good thing...unless you have cement shoes.
Jesus, I love you more than life. I can still hear it. The resounding chorus. Even before the altar call, I knew what was coming. The Holy Spirit is gentle, and when you have heard His voice before, it is not strange. I have been desiring more of God's very Word in my life, yet not allowing the time to foster this relationship. I knew what I wanted - what God was wanting from me, but I was allowing everything else to get in the way. The pastor gently interjected into the worship service to come to the altar if we felt like we needed to take a step, make a declaration, somehow make this a personal dialog between ourselves and the Most High. Yes, I cried...but it was inside. The voice was swallowed in the tears that were streaming down my face. The couple right in front of me, left their row to go down front. One by one, they came to the altar to make a public plea to Jesus. And my feet did not move.
Cement. It's as plain as that. The cement of my fear, my insecurity, my pride, my (feel free to fill in the blank here). I could sway and sing and cry. But I could not move. I opened my eyes and desparately looked around for a sign, a clue, a mere impulse that could move me from my place. But all I could do was close my eyes again and sing...and weep.
God, being the gracious and merciful Creator, met me where I was. His compassion wrapped around me and I knew His presence. But I never recovered from my cement shoes. They were too heavy - the fear of what people would think, was my trip to the altar genuine, what about the sin in my life (because we are all sinners), what about......this is what haunted me throughout the service and on my drive home. Why couldn't I move?
Because I was mindful of my utter need for a Savior at that moment, and at the same time, my complete undeserving soul. The water of conviction had been mixed with all my doubts and fears, creating a concrete that embedded my feet so deeply. But Scripture tells us that God's love for us is deep and wide. He sets our sin as far as the east is from the west. That is as far as far can be. John 10:10 says Satan comes to steal, kill and destroy. But Jesus comes to give life everlasting. I propose to you that the cement is stealing, killing and destroying my life and maybe yours. Once it is set, it is hard, and not easily broken. But God's love and grace, and the work Jesus did on the cross is once and for all time. We have free access to the Throne, but we must believe.
Faith can move mountains. So how hard could it be to move a couple of cement shoes? Nothing is too hard for my God. By faith, certainly I can move a couple of cement shoes. I'm coming down next time. Watch out for the fallout when my shoes break apart.
It is time that the cement shoes we walk in are broken forever.
Cement is an interesting element. You buy it in a bag of dry, powdered material. It only becomes cement when water is added, in the right proportion, and then it sets. Once it is set, it takes a sledge hammer to break it up. It is solid. That's why it is used for things like patios, fence postings, and throwing people into rivers. It's meant to KEEP YOU WHERE YOU ARE.
So there I was in church. I had skimmed the bulletin and worship had begun. Familiar songs had me well on my way to enjoying the congregational interface with our Creator. But then something happened. It got personal. You know, the ALTAR time....dun, dun, dun. We were being led into some songs that were very contemplative and declarative at the same time...dangerous territory when you are just enjoying the predictable moment. Because when you least expect it, the Holy Spirit enters your worship and you are a goner. Of course, this is a good thing...unless you have cement shoes.
Jesus, I love you more than life. I can still hear it. The resounding chorus. Even before the altar call, I knew what was coming. The Holy Spirit is gentle, and when you have heard His voice before, it is not strange. I have been desiring more of God's very Word in my life, yet not allowing the time to foster this relationship. I knew what I wanted - what God was wanting from me, but I was allowing everything else to get in the way. The pastor gently interjected into the worship service to come to the altar if we felt like we needed to take a step, make a declaration, somehow make this a personal dialog between ourselves and the Most High. Yes, I cried...but it was inside. The voice was swallowed in the tears that were streaming down my face. The couple right in front of me, left their row to go down front. One by one, they came to the altar to make a public plea to Jesus. And my feet did not move.
Cement. It's as plain as that. The cement of my fear, my insecurity, my pride, my (feel free to fill in the blank here). I could sway and sing and cry. But I could not move. I opened my eyes and desparately looked around for a sign, a clue, a mere impulse that could move me from my place. But all I could do was close my eyes again and sing...and weep.
God, being the gracious and merciful Creator, met me where I was. His compassion wrapped around me and I knew His presence. But I never recovered from my cement shoes. They were too heavy - the fear of what people would think, was my trip to the altar genuine, what about the sin in my life (because we are all sinners), what about......this is what haunted me throughout the service and on my drive home. Why couldn't I move?
Because I was mindful of my utter need for a Savior at that moment, and at the same time, my complete undeserving soul. The water of conviction had been mixed with all my doubts and fears, creating a concrete that embedded my feet so deeply. But Scripture tells us that God's love for us is deep and wide. He sets our sin as far as the east is from the west. That is as far as far can be. John 10:10 says Satan comes to steal, kill and destroy. But Jesus comes to give life everlasting. I propose to you that the cement is stealing, killing and destroying my life and maybe yours. Once it is set, it is hard, and not easily broken. But God's love and grace, and the work Jesus did on the cross is once and for all time. We have free access to the Throne, but we must believe.
Faith can move mountains. So how hard could it be to move a couple of cement shoes? Nothing is too hard for my God. By faith, certainly I can move a couple of cement shoes. I'm coming down next time. Watch out for the fallout when my shoes break apart.
It is time that the cement shoes we walk in are broken forever.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Authentic
For the last few days, I've been hearing a simple song over and over in my head.
Thank you God for saving my soul
Thank you God for making me whole
Thank you God for giving to me
Thy great salvation so rich and free.
It doesn't have a lot of punch, especially if you're under 30. It's a song from an older generation. It speaks of a gift that transforms.
I don't know why that song has resonated in my head. I've got a lot of other music to listen to - any of you who know me know that I don't lack for input. But this simple, yet complex, song has just not let go of me.
Today, on my way to church, I kept thinking about the word "authentic." What does that mean to me? Am I an authentic person? Am I an authentic Christian? If you were to look this word up in the dictionary, you would find a myriad of information. But it boils down to this: not false or imitation; being actually or exactly what is claimed. And it struck me to wonder if I am authentic in the way I live my life.
Only those really close to me (my immediate family) know that I am a good immitator...or impersonator. I have always been able to do voices or mannerisms. It was actually something I would use to hide my insecurity, but it just didn't seem to "fit" as I went through high school - no one wanted to be friends with the girl who was a comedienne. Anyway, I have a knack for it. It made me ask the question: am I imitating what I know is the "act" to be a Christian? I mean, I know what words to say, what inflections to put in my voice, how to sound spiritual. I am deeply challenged by this question of authenticity.
For those of you a bit younger than me, let's talk about Photoshop. You snap a picture and put in on your computer. Then you Photoshop it. It's not the same picture, but an "imitation" of what you really wanted it to look like - you just couldn't get it to look that way on your own. You added some things, or took away some things. You had to manipulate it, and in the process you created something else that does not really exist. Your result is not authentic. So I'm asking the question "am I Photoshopping Christ into my life?" Is it just a layer I've added, or am I the real deal? Am I authentic?
Then I come to the place of worship. This is a place where I am fully convinced the authentic is revealed. You see, it is not in the popular songs, or the loud songs, or the produced-for-radio songs that we become authentic. It is in the simple songs that haven't much pomp or circumstance as to be anything but a melody where our authenticity shines. It is in the songs we sing when no one is looking or listening. I don't cry during worship because I am imitating something. I cry because God's very spirit touches me and I am changed. I know I am connecting with my Maker - the One who knows me, and He loves me just the same. The heart of worship is authentic. We can imitate worship when we're in a group by doing what everyone else does - sing, clap, raise our hands. But our heart, when it is moved on a moment-by-moment basis to worship the King, when it's ALL for Him and for no one else...well that is being exactly who I claim to be -a child of the most high God.
So am I authentic? Yes. Do I struggle every day? Definitely. Is it worth it? Oh Yes.
Thank you God for saving my soul
Thank you God for making me whole
Thank you God for giving to me
Thy great salvation so rich and free.
It doesn't have a lot of punch, especially if you're under 30. It's a song from an older generation. It speaks of a gift that transforms.
I don't know why that song has resonated in my head. I've got a lot of other music to listen to - any of you who know me know that I don't lack for input. But this simple, yet complex, song has just not let go of me.
Today, on my way to church, I kept thinking about the word "authentic." What does that mean to me? Am I an authentic person? Am I an authentic Christian? If you were to look this word up in the dictionary, you would find a myriad of information. But it boils down to this: not false or imitation; being actually or exactly what is claimed. And it struck me to wonder if I am authentic in the way I live my life.
Only those really close to me (my immediate family) know that I am a good immitator...or impersonator. I have always been able to do voices or mannerisms. It was actually something I would use to hide my insecurity, but it just didn't seem to "fit" as I went through high school - no one wanted to be friends with the girl who was a comedienne. Anyway, I have a knack for it. It made me ask the question: am I imitating what I know is the "act" to be a Christian? I mean, I know what words to say, what inflections to put in my voice, how to sound spiritual. I am deeply challenged by this question of authenticity.
For those of you a bit younger than me, let's talk about Photoshop. You snap a picture and put in on your computer. Then you Photoshop it. It's not the same picture, but an "imitation" of what you really wanted it to look like - you just couldn't get it to look that way on your own. You added some things, or took away some things. You had to manipulate it, and in the process you created something else that does not really exist. Your result is not authentic. So I'm asking the question "am I Photoshopping Christ into my life?" Is it just a layer I've added, or am I the real deal? Am I authentic?
Then I come to the place of worship. This is a place where I am fully convinced the authentic is revealed. You see, it is not in the popular songs, or the loud songs, or the produced-for-radio songs that we become authentic. It is in the simple songs that haven't much pomp or circumstance as to be anything but a melody where our authenticity shines. It is in the songs we sing when no one is looking or listening. I don't cry during worship because I am imitating something. I cry because God's very spirit touches me and I am changed. I know I am connecting with my Maker - the One who knows me, and He loves me just the same. The heart of worship is authentic. We can imitate worship when we're in a group by doing what everyone else does - sing, clap, raise our hands. But our heart, when it is moved on a moment-by-moment basis to worship the King, when it's ALL for Him and for no one else...well that is being exactly who I claim to be -a child of the most high God.
So am I authentic? Yes. Do I struggle every day? Definitely. Is it worth it? Oh Yes.
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