Umbrella

A very pathetic view lines the side of Canal street today. I am not talking about road kill, although there may be a dead animal of some kind out there. I speak not of a homeless person trying to take up residence on the sidewalk either. These things, though very sad, are not what I am referring to today.

This rainy Saturday afternoon (which by the way I am loving), is what a group of sixth graders have had to absorb - in the face of a car wash. Months (or maybe weeks) ago, this outing was penciled in with the expectation of hot sun and cool suds. The kids, namely my own son - was looking forward to sporting shorts, a T-shirt and some flip-flops while scrubbing and rinsing.

But as I dressed my man child today, we chose to pile on the layers starting with jeans and a long sleeve T-Shirt, and ending with a hoodie and windbreaker. I felt like I was sending him out into a blistering storm (I guess I can overdue it sometimes). But the dark rain clouds and constant dripping had me believing that my boy would be standing out in the rain, probably all afternoon. The nurturing part of me wanted my boy kept dry.

It seemed ridiculous to drive him all the way across town, with rain in the forecast. But logic took a back seat to Matthew's enthusiasm. I saw no need to even argue with him, for who wants to break spirit like that? His whole class, working to weather the storm, side by side with courage of heart - and sponge in hand. Children on the bridge of adolescence, trying to make a difference in the big grown-up world. No rain would be stopping a force like that.

As I dropped him off this morning, I was met with a parade of excitement. These kids were not about to let a rain drop or two get them down. It took all I had in me not to drive through their car wash line, but my plan was to come back later on for my washing. A trip to Raley's and plans to put chicken on to simmer was my priority for the moment.

I literally saw shoulders slump, and sponges hit the floor, when they realized that I wasn't a customer. Instead, I would simply be dropping off another participant. Matthew flew out of the van, ready to tackle adversity along side of the rest.

These kids were on a mission. Money was being raised for outdoor ed - and rain or shine they were committed. Something struck me about their enthusiasm, and I felt inspired as I drove away.

There is so much about life that's unpredictable, namely the weather. We can plan and schedule until we are blue in the face - but unforeseen circumstances always seem to creep in. An illness will rudely invade a balanced home, the loss of a job will terrorize, or the move of a friend will break your heart. These are sometimes referred to as storms.

Whatever dark cloud looms in the distance, remember the heart of Mrs. Payne's sixth grade class. They faced the obstacle together - and through smiles and maybe some tears, the goal of raising money became secondary.

Like our walk with the Lord, everything we strive for, every great thing we try and accomplish for Him should always take a back seat to simply being with Him.

Rain or shine, relationship with God and others is the umbrella of all storms.

Relationship is God's immovable force.

Return

I spoke with a friend today, about something remarkable. It is something that silently stirs in the hearts of every man woman and child. It is the whisper of something about to happen . . . but what? Do the animals discern what human eyes and ears do not pick up? What about the snails? They could very well have a good indication.

Life in it's essence, bursts forth with hope and the promise of what's ahead. I will often times find myself pondering my next steps - what they will look like, and even more, what I will look like taking them. Questions I ask myself are, "Will other people understand where I am coming from? Do I look as ridiculous as I feel?"

And more important that anything of these combined, I hear God through His Word ask me, "Are your motives pure - and what about your hands, are they clean?"

People speak of the end times drawing near - and if you search for them, there are some pretty heated arguments brewing. The idea of the rapture captivates some, while others shrug their shoulders and move about their day. What if Christ were coming back . . . say tomorrow? Would you choose to live your life differently today?

I realize that I have probably more questions than comments posted today. But I'm hoping you will take notice of something - and that is your heart. Are you right with God? Do you know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if Christ came back at 3pm today you would join Him in the sky?

Friend, you CAN know. Open up your heart to Him - you know you've heard the knock. Being a gentleman, God will not bust down the door. He waits patiently, with hopeful anticipation. That messy room in the secret corner of your heart - it's time to start tidying things up.

For we know not, when that "something" will happen . . .

Every creature great and small will be able to discern. There will be no mistaking His return.

Bread Box

A blue and plastic container is perched on the edge of my desk, holding my most treasusred possesion in the whole wide world. What's inside, is what gives me life and breath. It is my sustinence, my comfort and my hope. Hundreds of treasures tucked inside of one concept. And this day, I choose to share this valuable piece of my life, with you.

You might be wondering, well what's in there? A diamond ring that's been passed down through the generations? A picuture of somebody famous - with an autograph to boot? Maybe you are thinking that I hold a rare and precious coin in my box, or the orignial copy of the Declaration of Independence.

No, none of these rarities blanket the bottom of this worn and tattered looking container. In fact, if you lifted the cracked cover, what you would discover, is a humble file of card stock - all alphabetically arranged. No, it is not a recipe box, although it would be nice to have that many dinner ideas in tow. Nor is this a collection of quotes, or my best jokes or come backs.

What resides in this alphabetized masterpiece, is God's Words that I've hidden in my heart. Scripture memorization is a challenge I took up years ago (after a nudge or two of the Holy Spirit). As a way to keep track of treasures hidden - I have decided to write them down. I've categorized each passage, by giving it a heading that pertains a very practical application. For example, I've got the following index card sitting under the letter C:

Control - Hebrews 4:10 > unbelief

Who He is: The One in control, requiring my submission and complete obedience

What He says: . . . for anyone who enters God's rest also rests from his own work, just as God did from his.

Lie: I am responsible for controlling things.

Now this format may not make very much sense to you, but let me explain. The word "control" on this particular card, is how this verse is very applicable for me. I struggle with being a control freak at times, and this particular passage of Scripture tells me that in order to enter God's rest, I must be willing to put down a thing or two - namely the need to control.

Then after the reference, Hebrews 4:10 in this case, you see the word unbelief. This comes from the teaching of the most powerful Bible study I have ever taken, "Breaking Free" by Beth Moore. In it, she introduces five benefits of being in relationship with God, and the obstacles that keep us from moving forward. Here they are:

KNOWING AND BELIEVING GOD - unbelief
GLORIFYING GOD - pride
FINDING SATISFACTION IN GOD - idolatry
EXPERIENCING GOD'S PEACE - prayerlessness
ENJOYING GOD'S PRESENCE - legalism

This particular passage of Scripture, challenges the unbelieving side of me. This is why I chose to write down "unbelief".

Then on the back of each card, I record the lie. This is what I have been believing in the natural, or what I have some how bought into through the carnality of my human mind. "The lie" always contradicts the truth of God's Word, and often times, it carries an all too familiar tune.

I share this today, not to try and sell you a legalistic way of approaching memorization, because it is not about following a bunch of rules. We can very easily err on the side of being too structured. But what it is about, is a very real God - who has chosen to reveal His very real Truth to us in very practical way.

So my question for you is this. How are you collecting the treasures of God's precepts? Do you let them go in one ear and out the other? Do they get pondered for a while, and then thrown into the recycle bin? Has God's Word truly become the Bread of Life that it was meant to be?

I challenge you today, to come up with your own system - one that fits your personality and lifestyle.

It's time fellow warrior. Don't let another moment go by, without collecting some of those crumbs.

Chip

We had to have Matthew's tooth repaired this afternoon. Right in front, his adult tooth got chipped while swimming a few weeks ago. Over time, I've kind of gotten used to his new look. Seeing him leave the dentist office this afternoon, I was thinking that it is going to take me a while to accept such polished perfection.

Change. Like I have mentioned so many times before, in so many different story forms - it is one of life's inevitables. Like death and taxes, as someone once said (although I don't have any idea who), change will meet and greet you whether you are planning for it or not.

I can remember how upset Matthew was about chipping his tooth. What really took a blow, was his ego and the idea of his overall appearance. He felt afraid of the potential loss more than the pain his injury caused. Tears poured down his face, a kid in the prime of his sixth grade year, now had to face the reality of a chip.

I could almost see the worries form around his wrinkled forehead. Makayla (another one of our chipped kids - honestly I don't know how this happens) had the same thing happen months before. She was playing on the playground, tripped over something, and decided to catch her fall with her tooth. We chose not to get her tooth repaired because it was just a baby tooth. Personally, I think the look really adds to her character (as if she needs more spunk). So I'm sure what went through Matthew's mind, was permanence.

"What if I can't find the piece Mom? It's at the bottom of the pool!" he cried.

I assured him, like any good mom would, that in this day and age they wouldn't need that piece of enamel that now rested at the bottom of the abyss. Having a pebble-tec surface would make a search for a piece of tooth close to impossible. With it being late in the afternoon, and a mother who doesn't like getting her hair wet - a search was simply out of the question.

Just after the episode, I got right on the phone, and secured the next available appointment. Unfortunately, it was almost a whole month later. Without any pain, the dentist didn't see a need to squeeze him in. So I swallowed my son's pride, and took the appointment.

I started thinking today about how circumstances can so easily cause a chip in things. We may have plans to look pretty polished on the surface, but one smack of the pool or the monkey bars and everything changes. And how do we view some of these minor setbacks? I know for me, more times than not, I can take things to the extreme - and expect permanence.

But the great thing about the God we serve, is that He has more than enough appointments available, if we will just give him a call. He has all of the polishing tools ready, and the fills needed to repair the chips and breaks of our hearts.

So which part of your life have you gotten used to looking at? Is it broken and chipped, desperately needing repair? Have you decided that the hurt place is permanent, with no hope of healing and wholeness?

Well, let me introduce you to my Dentist - Dr. Love. If you will submit to His treatment plan, and sit through the numbness of the atheistic, God can fix you up in a jiffy.

His wonderful craftsmanship - this what I have come to know of permanence.

Flat Tire

On my way home from a church meeting this afternoon, I was surprised by one of those "not so convenient" moments. As I crossed the railroad tracks, my thoughts drifted to a conversation I had just finished with a friend. A smile mirrored my affection.

I was rolling right along, listening to the beat of KLOVE, when suddenly I noticed a very loud and surging noise that seemed to come up from the floor board. Accompanying this new sound, was the smell of rubber. I slumped in my seat, knowing that it was a flat tire.

A flat tire is never something that can be planned for. Wouldn't it be nice if we could schedule those in? I think the third Monday of twelfth month would work out for me. I guess the truth of the matter is, even if I could schedule them in - I don't think I would.

Whether I am in a hurry or not, flat tires always end up being an inconvenience. I could be on the way to drop the kids off for school, or coming back from the grocery store . . . and with one pop of a tire my schedule is demolished.

After the rubber hit my nostrils, I pulled off the road knowing that driving on a bare wheel wasn't going to benefit anybody. There is something so interesting that happens when I'm caught off guard by something. It's like time stands still. Suddenly I felt very small, and the distance to - well anywhere - seemed terribly far. This afternoon, I grew a new appreciation for my green machine.

It took me a moment to gather my thoughts and asses the situation. Okay, I have forty five minutes before Makayla has to be picked up. Who should I call? Well -my knight in shinning armor of course. Mark very graciously responded to my plea for help. Between a parade of phone calls, he dropped what he was doing and came to my rescue.

While I waited, cars zoomed by causing the van to shake with each passing. I rolled down the window for some fresh air, and grabbed my discipleship book. There is no need to waste a productive moment like this. Before I flipped to my bookmark, I wondered how long it would take Mark to arrive.

Will he get here in time for Makayla to be picked up? What about the boys - I have to get them too. How will I get the tire fixed? Will I try and squeeze it in this afternoon, or change my morning appointment to get it taken care of?

Details swarmed around my head like a mass of bees. It made concentrating on what I was reading difficult. But moments later, my worries subsided as I submitted each detail to God. He has been giving me a lot of practice waiting lately, and this afternoon - I felt very much like a pro.

Just as Mark began to pull up, I heard a voice from the other side of my van.

"Is someone helping you ma'am?" Said a young man who came out of nowhere.

Who's this ma'am he is talking to I wondered. (I never feel old enough to be called ma'am.)

Yes, that is my husband right over there - but thank you for stopping, I really appreciate it.

What a guy. I never saw him pull his car over. I didn't have my hazards on or anything - but this gentleman discerned that I needed help. The flat tire was probably a pretty good clue. He looked harmless enough, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't a lunatic. Still, I was glad to see my hero enter the scene.

Mark climbed out of his truck, and proceeded to work on getting the spare in place. He worked silently, and diligently. With a bloodied up hand and sweat pouring down his face, he finally tightened the last bolt. In that moment, I really did feel rescued. Mark knew just what to do to get my van running again, and I knew that he would work until it was finished. I felt warmed by his chivalry.

There is something God wanted me to take notice of as everything played out today. At every point of reference, there was somebody there to care for me. There was my friend's office that I had just come from, the stranger stopping to see if I needed help. And of course, my wonderful husband, doing only what wonderful husbands can do. And to top things off, the tire man was able to squeeze me in, and my friend Debbie (who just happened to be driving by) gave the kids and I a ride home.

Loved, cared for - this is how I felt today. All of those unforeseen circumstances can sometimes really throw me for a loop. They can throw a monkey wrench into my schedule, forcing me to roll the window down and relax a little - which really wasn't half bad.

Back at home, I am happy to report that the tire is all fixed, and life resumes to normalcy (or as close to normalcy as it can). This little hiccup in my day made me take time and stop to smell the roses.

And in the grand scheme of things - that is really where the rubber meets the road.

Bulls Eye

My parents were pretty social folks, now that I think back. Let's see, there was the Friday night bowling league, where my sister and I would spend hours playing next to the lockers. The smell of smoke, the sound of bowling balls crashing . . . ah yes, it's all coming back now.

I can also remember spending our Saturdays at the flea market. My parents loved spying out other people's junk. I could never get that figured out. But as I grew, I learned to appreciate the treasure or two you can find in somebody else's throw-away pile. Any time I hear Hispanic music playing, I am brought back to those tender flea market days.

Then on Sundays, we would head out to wild of Mt. Madonna. Our family belonged to an archery club back in the day (shows you how cool we were). I have wonderful memories of trucking up and down that mountain with my little sister in tow. I remember the path we took, either at the top or the bottom half of the mountain. It would take us close to two hours just to get through one of those halves. We'd break for lunch, have a few laughs with some good friends, then trek through the rest of the targets until sundown.

I loved frolicking through all that brush. Those were my dreaming days. When I was on that mountain, it was as if I was floating above the reality of any limitations. I was no longer an awkward kid - I became Dorothy Hamil, or Marie Osmond on that terrain. I longed to break out of what seemed to be the shackles of childhood - so that I could grow up and reach my destiny.

The smell of the air was so clean and pure. The crunch of leaves beneath my feet acted as a compass, and the scratchy feel of tree bark became my bench. We would often times hear the rustling of little critters, and once in a while, we had an encounter with a big one. My favorite of course, was the banana slug. I've seen some pretty ferocious ones in my day.

I may have been just a kid, but I wasn't just there to tag along. My dad bought me my own bow and arrows, and through the years he taught me how to shoot. With a quiver on my hip, and an arm guard strapped to my forearm - I couldn't be stopped. Practice made, well, not so perfect - but I have to admit, I wasn't half bad.

One year, we traveled to another city (Santa Cruz perhaps) so that we could participate in what was called "A Shoot". This was serious stuff. Upon arrival, you had to register according your your age, the kind of bow hunter you were (compound or freestyle), and your level of expertise. Feeling brave one day, I asked my Dad if I could participate.

"Sure kid." He said. "But I don't want you to get your hopes up - you don't even qualify for a trophy."

The words hit me like a brick, but I still gave it my all that day. It was the best I had ever shot, and I knew that if I was qualified, I would have had a pretty good chance.

Morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon to evening. Scores had been tallied, and the best shooters had been decided on. It was time to announce the winners.

Everyone gathered into one big clump. Starting with the novice group, they began calling out names. I looked over at my Dad, and he gave me a kind of a sympathetic wink. I wasn't expecting to win, after all, for whatever reason - I wasn't qualified. However, it still would have been nice to bring a trophy home.

Then, it happened - words I never expected to hear belted through the loudspeaker.

"And for the eight to ten year old intermediate division, we have Joanne Anger." I was stunned. I looked over at my Dad. He smiled and gave me a shrug.

I couldn't figure out for the life of me why my Dad was untruthful. His explanation was that he didn't want me to get my hopes up, only to be disappointed. I can understand why he wanted to protect me, but his so called "protection" robbed of something that day. Hearing that I wasn't qualified, had me believing even deeper down that I wasn't valuable enough.

Just like all good parents, my father made what he thought to be the best decision that day. But in his attempt to protect me, I was guarded from what this little dreamer has always needed most - hope. I was heartsick before I even shot my first arrow that day. These days, the enemy tries to tell me I'm not qualified for all kinds of things. And most of the time he is right. Something inside of me still believes the lie.

I held that trophy up high all the way to the car that day. Dorothy Hamil and Marie Osmond had taken a back seat in my dream world that triumphant afternoon. The reality of my childhood became larger than life, because for a moment . . . I was famous.

The great part about all of that today, is that I am NOT qualified for what God calls me to. My reliance on the power of Christ is the only thing that could get me into the game. My greatest challenge now, is believing that I am valuable enough. It has been a hard bulls eye to hit.

My heavenly Father's protection looks a little bit different from my Dad's all those years ago. God pulls out all of the stops, convincing me that through Christ - I am more than enough.

Germs

Not so long ago, in the office of Dr. Ruiz - this mother to be was being checked to make sure all was well. I was about six months into my pregnancy with Makayla. Her heartbeat sounded strong and healthy, my measurements and weight gain - they were all normal. I did my usual complaining about the aches and pains, and I whined about the constant nausea. Then Dr. Ruiz sent me into the ladies room for my monthly deposit of urine.

All during the appointment, there was a pint-sized commentator close by, asking me millions of questions and touching everything he could get his hands on. It was my beautiful little boy, Michael. He was my best companion back in those days. With his older brother in school, and his little sister still in the womb, Micheal got all of my attention. He was my buddy.

"What is that thing for mommy? Why did the doctor do that to your tummy? How come the heartbeat sounded so funny? What does it feel like when the baby kicks you? Does it hurt?"

Before I could begin to answer any of his questions, we were ushered in so that I could take care of business.

Michael was about two, which in layman's terms means that he was a germ magnet. Curiously touching and poking things, it seemed like I had to constantly remind him not to touch anything. Dirty hands would easily get shoved into his mouth, and which would automatically trigger a germ invasion. From the stomach flu to a common cold, I wanted none of it - especially being pregnant. I already had enough symptoms to complain about.

I had just finished collecting the sample, and began to get myself put back together. The entire time we stood in that bathroom, I had to coach Michael on what not to touch.

He would grab for the faucet. "Don't touch that Michael." I would plead

Then he would rub his hands along the wall. "Please don't touch the walls Michael."

The last straw was the toilet paper holder. "Michael Brandon Reese, I told you not to touch anything." His countenance changed from a smile to a frown. I was certain that I had finally gotten through to him.

Feeling heard, I turned to wash my hands. Thoughts drifted onto the baby . . . the sonogram, the feel of her kicks, the heartbeat. I smiled back at myself in the mirror, glowing as an expectant mother would.

Then it happened. As I turned to get a paper towel, to my astonishment, my two year old son had his nose - yes his nose rested on the edge of the toilet seat, watching it flush.

I can't really say what came out of my mouth next, because I was too shocked to come up with a clear sentence. I'm sure I sounded like a balloon letting out a bit of air, or maybe a mouse that had just been stepped on. But whatever noise I did make, it made my little germ lover jump!

I remember feeling the need to relax a little bit that day. As much as I tried to control Michael's choices - there wasn't a thing I could have done to keep his nose from hitting that bowl. I wonder what was going through his little mind at the time. He probably had a parade of silent questions that he was just wishing he could ask that toilet bowl.

That very serious afternoon, God blessed me with a laugh I will never forget. It is easy to take life too seriously. I was just trying my best to be a good mom, making sure that I kept my little tyke from harm that day. But I have come to realize since, that germs are just a part of life.

Sometimes you have get down to the dirt - to toilet bowl level if you will, to appreciate what matters most.