Common Ground

I sat in silence this morning, wishing the minutes would move faster. The large clock on the wall indicated that it had been exactly three minutes since they took Makayla back. Tick, tick, tick . . . I dried my tears, closed my eyes and began praying.

She was a woman to be admired, one of beauty and grace. She entered the office with her teenage son. I didn't notice them right away. My own thoughts kept me from paying any attention. Being taken back to sixth grade, Men at Work played over the loud speaker. "Who can it be now . . . " I rustled in my purse for a tablet of paper. Lists needed to be made - plans for the week ahead. One item was written, and then the next until it was complete.

By now she was sitting to my left, and after handing her son a ski magazine, she began thumbing through one of her own. Dressed very well, hair done up, make-up soft and professional. I wondered, like I often do, what this family was like. What was their morning like on the way in to see the oral surgeon? Was her son having a tooth pulled just like my little girl?

Moments later, her 6ft 150 lb son was called by the nurse. As the door closed behind him, I ignored my impulse to keep to myself. Something bonded us together, and I couldn't miss the chance to say so.

I don't remember exactly what I said to her. It has something to do with the fact that no matter how old they are, that doesn't change the delicate heart of a mother. Her serious demeanor melted as our eyes met. She felt understood. And so did I.

There we sat, powerless to what was going on behind closed doors. They had our children, preparing to inflict pain - all for the betterment of dental hygiene. There we sat, poised and surrendered. Doing all that we could to help our kids through some of their own hurdles, and leaving the rest to God.

I never did get her name. I'm not sure how her son is feeling after having four impacted wisdom teeth pulled. I can't help but to smile, knowing that she is probably getting just as much joy as I am through bowls of ice cream and jello.

This afternoon, my lil' punkin' is doing just fine. From one stranger to another, one mother to another - I pray that hers is too.

Surrender

As I awoke this morning, a nagging thought brought me out of warm covers
and safe dreams. I began to think about my upcoming surgery, and some of the other loose ends in my life. Fear began welling up. And as the day wore on, it reared it's ugly head more times that I could count.

"Surrender" was God's remedy, and the lesson for this beautiful Wednesday. Not feeling much like myself today, things were a bit rocky and bouncy. I can't say that I passed this particular test with flying colors, but I held on to the concept with every ounce of strength. It was something that I had to apply - again and again. A dash here and a pinch there - all of which required a new level of selflessness and trust.

I've always considered myself one of God's most surrendered hearts. If it was about trying hard enough, I would be doing pretty well . . . but I'm learning that trying is not what God requires. It is the end of trying - the end of myself that God's grace works best.

Realizing that I cannot change on my own has been half the battle. This tired heart is not in much of a mood for digging in my heals. So instead I choose to rest, while waving the white flag in surrender.

My surgery, and the hundreds of other mountains -- I can't do this alone, "God, I need You desperately!" I renounce any attempt to control my circumstances, and I choose to look up where clouds of radiant white, soften the blows of this world.

There is nothing quite like being held by God - while navigating through the eye of a storm.

To the One who holds it all . . . I surrender ALL.

Tribute to Tyler

I have a beautiful friend, with a beautiful heart. Today was supposed to be the day her baby would be born. But something horrible happened, taking baby Tyler away.

We all have them - that thing in life that just doesn't make any sense. It makes functioning difficult, and poses the big question into the vastness of the universe. The question of, "Why?"

I don't know why God would allow such pain. I can't say that I understand the reason . . .

I write this morning not to share some great jewel of wisdom. I won't try and tell you that my friend hasn't been through hell, because she has. But what I will say is how proud I am of her.

Why do I admire her so much? Because she moves and breathes and trusts God - anyway. She has a smile on her face. She spends her time looking to bless others. She has not allowed the grief to swallow up what is still good.

Built to be a mother from head to toe, she is truly a hero to me. I would only hope to face tragedy with as much grace as she.

Tyler James, we remember you today. Your mom . . . she's an angel.

Challenge

Back a few Sundays ago, Pastor Dave encouraged us to stand and face our Giants. With a determined heart, and a pocket full of stones, I took my stand. My giant? F-E-A-R

"What if you weren't afraid?"

I've tossed this idea around since last week sometime, after entering a pact with a good friend of mine. Today she sent a challenge my way. It wasn't an arm wrestling kind of thing, nor did I feel threatened by any kind of brain twister. If nothing else, I felt called to rise to a newer and safer place - a place of provision and promise.

My battle with fear. If you've stuck with my posts for any length of time, you have probably been able to trace a pattern. Some days will be sprinkled with a little less than sunshine, while others mirror uncertainty. Wondering too much about this, worrying a bit about that. All of it being something that has not come from God at all. My God wouldn't be recognized in such hum drum. I serve a God who makes all things new.

This is the challenge: To keep each other accountable when fears arise, so that we can pray and encourage one another. Okay, sounds simple enough. So as I began my work day this morning, a familiar dark monster lurked more often than I have ever realized. Regular everyday happenings were triggering some pretty unusual responses. One phone call had me expecting the worst, while another brought thoughts of terrible tragedy - all of which was made up in my head. This exercise has made me realize just how often I entertain these kinds of thoughts. I am tempted to fear just how often!

What a great exercise. I'm sure that I will have sore muscles in the morning, but beyond the pull and strain of implementing God's Truth, I will have a faith stronger and true. If your eyes happen to land here, I send the same challenge in your direction. Do you find yourself fearful now and then? Do you wrestle with exaggerated imaginations that take you down a path of darkness and defeat? You don't have to go it alone.

Find somebody to keep you accountable - a friend who will help you out of that ditch. Some walls were not meant to be scaled alone. Two is better than one -- twice the amount of stones, twice the power behind them.

And when victory is shared, so much greater the return.

Sealed

Choosing to attend Saturday night's Easter service, I decided to give my Dad a call. It was last minute, and I almost chickened out on asking. The invitation was met with a hearty acceptance, and the seven of us piled into the church at a quarter to six.

Hours later I would be tucking my oldest son into bed, going through our regular routine of prayer. After a kiss on the forehead, his next words would change everything . . .

"Grandpa raised his hand."

Matthew's eyes sparkled. A tiny curl rounded his mouth. His eyes held the greatest part of the day - and after sharing it with me, he waited for my reaction.

"Really, are you sure?" was my response. "Do you promise?"

It is difficult for me to put my feelings to words. His announcement pierced my heart, shattering a wall of unbelief. Crocodile tears poured out of my face as I experienced a confusing mix of emotions. Joy unspeakable carried piercing pain. I stood face to face with the reality of God's existence, and the undeniable fruit of true travail. I remembered the details leading up to this day. God's promise to my heart months before had been sealed.

The story began long before I was even born, but I won't venture to take you that far back. Let's dip into last summer, when a snapshot of God's hand was taken. The post below will explain it all. I invite you to join me for a glimpse of God's faithfulness . . .


August 25, 2007 -- Two or Three

Last night, my Dad accompanied us to the Harvest Crusade. It may sound like a simple statement, but you would appreciate the miracle if you knew our history.Growing up we never stepped foot into church. The name of Jesus was only uttered in vain, and the idea of "religion" was something that was uncomfortable and avoided. God has really done an amazing work chipping away at my Dad's resistance.

Our family has been through a lot the past five years, and I attribute my Dad's openness to the trials.I was a little bit nervous about how my Dad was going to react to everything. The worship, the raising of hands - the "in your face" message of the gospel. He seemed to be enjoying himself as the evening wore on. He stood when we stood, he clapped when we clapped. I could tell that he was quietly taking it all in.

Then the moment came. Droves of people began walking to the front, and my Dad wasn't one of them. It was an awkward moment. I tried not to look in his direction, giving him a little bit of room to make the choice. He and I exchanged some dialogue during that pocket of time. We were laughing and joking about things - which is the best way that my Dad and I communicate.

Then, he said it. The phrase that just about broke my heart. "There is no way all of those people are making a decision right now . . . I could understand if maybe two or three . . . but not all of those people."What could I say? My Dad's defenses were up and his cynicism seemed to be winning. My response was to lock eyes with the man who raised me, the man I love like nobody else - and nod. My silent reply was, "yes Dad, it is real."

From that moment on, I felt like I was back in the third grade seeing through eyes of doubt. Negativity was what I was raised in. It was my Dad's way of protecting himself, and those he cared for. We were coached never expect anything really good, because disappointment was inevitable. We were taught that we weren't qualified for the good things in life. A limited, defeating and strangling point of view. Suddenly, I became skeptical of what lie before me. For a moment, I was able to see through my Dad's eyes, and my heart broke.

We all left the amphitheater in a lighthearted and giddy mood - even my Dad. I can't help but to believe that there was something about the evening that my Dad let in. He may not have knocked people down to get to the front, but I trust that in God's perfect timing, he will get there.Generations of anger, fear and cynicism - broken in this generation. Are you a first generation Christian like I am? I'll tell you, it is really difficult breaking patterns and strongholds that have been placed in your lap. The enemy is extra furious about the turn around of one. The Bible says that it leads to the blessings of thousands.

I stand today, believing that my Dad will be the turn around, not me. When I knelt to pray for him a while back, God's Spirit confirmed that my Dad would be saved. My response was an overwhelming thankfulness - and that hasn't changed. His salvation doesn't hinge on whether or not Greg struck a chord. It doesn't matter if the music was louder than my Dad would have liked, or that he couldn't see past the two or three.God whispered to my spirit even before the first song began . . . "This is a seed planting night."

The wolves of discouragement knock at the door of this frightened little girl's heart. But she stands immovable, knowing that the Good Shepherd is on His way . . . ready to chase the doubt away for good.


Thank you to Pastor Dave, for delivering a message that was true to your own heart. Thank you Eli for the exquisite set (my Dad loved it). Thank you ushers and greeters for providing an atmosphere of love and acceptance. Thank you Mordecai, for your steadfast prayers.

I send a praise to God with every breath of my being. My relationship with my dad won't end at death! Our connection here on earth is just the beginning. His step out of darkness into the Light is the greatest miracle I have ever seen.

He is risen -- INDEED!