School Dance

I made my way into the cafeteria to join the other women. Each held a decoration in one hand, and the uncertainty of letting go in the other. Plastic palm trees and cardboard surfboards brought the Hawaiian theme together. Suddenly the space that normally occupied brown bags and munching bodies held a tropical paradise.

My Matthew - his first school dance. As I worked under the role of construction crew that afternoon, I wondered what things would look like from his perspective. Stepping out of the sixth grade in a couple of weeks meant that he was leaving the nest of childhood and heading toward a different kind of habitat.

I thought about how things like girls might actually become important to him - or maybe not (one could hope). I came to the realization that I will not be the only woman in his life for very much longer. It is a strange concept to think that my baby boy will sprout wings and fly the coop. You've heard it said, "Kids grow up so fast." So true . . . so painfully true.

As I drove away that afternoon, ignoring my desire to be a fly on the wall through a thing called a chaperon, my heart welled with a mix of sadness and pride. In the natural course of things my son was growing up. I felt a sense of joy with the thought of every milestone in his life. His first word, his first step, the first scrape on his knee . . . the list goes on.

I realized that I won't always be the one there to "make it better" when it hurts. The awkwardness of adolescence will tear away at his heart, and there will be days when there is nothing I can do to make it go away.

My role as "Mom" is starting to take a new shape, but the demand for love will not lessen. Moving from Lego's to late nights is going to be an adjustment for this caretaker of babies. As I minister to my man child in the coming months and years, I have a feeling there will be less "hands on" . . . and more "heart on."

Habit

We must form the habit of love until it is the practice of our lives. - Oswald Chambers

You've probably heard it said that love is not a feeling. Love is an action. While emotions run the gamut, taking on a life of their own, our actions are something we should have more control of. A lot of times love demands the kinds of things we don't "feel like" doing right now. Love stretches us to the very limit of ourselves. It squeezes, pushes and pulls, leaving us spent and invigorated all at the same time.

When I think about some of the habits I am trying to form in my life, my need for God becomes very clear. Getting up early in the morning to write, staying on top of my reading, watering friendships and being attentive at home - these are all things I strive for. But without God's power, love and a sound mind, I would be far from reaching my dreams.

The same is true for love. God provides many opportunities throughout the day - will I choose the blessing or the curse? Will I love God and others, or be concerned with myself? True love is thinking of the other person first, putting my own needs on the back burner. Love is seeing the best, and believing the best.

Habits form with practice. How will you practice love today? God will present you with the opportunity - are you willing to set yourself aside?

Practice makes perfect . . . love demands all.

Bridal Shower

Arrangements of pink and white flood my thoughts as the day comes to an end. Between stocking the ice and serving cake today, I watched my little sister take a giant step toward womanhood. Soon, she will become a bride.

All of the wonder of sisterhood gets magnified through landmarks such as these. There have been many "firsts" for me and Karin through the years. First boyfriends, first kisses -- but nothing tops the preparation of a wedding.

Fourteen years ago, my little sister watched as I took the spotlight. As I was showered with gifts and dressed in white, Karin gracefully took her place by my side as a bridesmaid. Being only 18 at the time, she was nowhere near ready to walk in my glass slippers. But through the years, and with much heartache, there has always been the hope of such.

With ring in hand and a pumpkin stagecoach, my sister's prince charming has finally arrived. Today, I got to watch her shine. Gifts poured in. Things from bedsheets to salad bowls arrived, sent to celebrate Karin and Brent's new life together. I felt a twinge of envy, not because she was in the spotlight, but for the sweetness of a new beginning. You only get one. And as I recorded who the gifts were coming from, I knew I was sharing something monumental.

As mothers and aunts, grandmas and sisters gathered for the celebration of my sister's new life, I discovered something remarkable about getting to watch from the sideline. As a spectator, I had a better view of the miracle. I lived vicariously through my little sister today, as roles reversed and I became the quiet servant.

My heart aches with joy at the thought of her glow. My little sister - a bride to be . . . I couldn't be prouder. This day was a shower of blessings.

Decisions, Decisions

They come in all shapes and sizes. One moment you make one that is off the cuff, while the next one proves life altering. Decisions. They form our path, and tell this world who we are, and why we are.

Faced every day with several forks in the road, it is sometimes difficult to discern the correct path. Wanting to follow God and glorify Him, we stumble through a mix of victories and blunders. Making a decision about something, and having the courage to stay the course without looking back takes a lot of mind muscle. I can, at times, be tormented by the "what ifs." Regret has proven to be the worst kind of cancer.

I'll share my most recent road sign experience with you. I was headed in a certain direction yesterday. I had taken some time to pray it through, and it seemed like packing up the car and heading for the bay area was the "right" decision. My Grandpa John would be having open heart surgery the next day, and I wanted to offer my support through a visit. Bags were packed, kids pick-up arranged. I even planned on taking a day off of work in the middle of the week. As my mind rested on the mountains that lie ahead, a phone call sent the unexpected U-Turn.

"Grandpa doesn't want any visitors." What? You mean there is no reason for me to keep driving? All of this preparation was . . . . for nothing?

I tucked my tail between my legs, and with a wave of emotion turned the car around. I felt rejected, and wondered if I had missed God's instruction. Landing in my husband's arms a half an hour later was the perfect place to sort thoughts through. My Grandpa's decision to send me back home wasn't personal. It was his way of dealing with the anxiety. It was his decision.

So, I wondered, did I hear from God in the first place? I believe I did. I can't say that I understand why God sends us twists and u-turns in life. All we can do is work to make the best decisions we can, knowing that our view is limited. I trust that God was protecting me yesterday - from what? I may never know. But He promises to direct my steps.

Of all the shaky decisions we make on a daily basis, there is one thing we can be certain of. God is in control, and able to send the road block when we need it. The trick is to trust when we don't understand.

The decision is faith.

Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails. ~ Proverbs 19:21

MIracles

I thank God for my handicaps, for, through them, I have found myself, my work, and my God. - Helen Keller

Hurts, habits and hang-ups. We all have them to one degree or another. Our sermon series, LIFE RECOVERY, has touched on the many ways that imperfect people get stuck. Striving for perfection here on earth can leave many folks feeling like they've gotten the short end of the stick.

Something I have been learning about myself lately, is that I like the feeling of being in control. Okay, let me be a little bit more specific. If I feel out of control, in any area of my life, then I start to fray. What does that say about my habits and hang-ups? Well, lets just say that I have more than a few.

There are places in my own journey that have proven to be a real struggle; things about myself and others that I would change if I could. I sometimes seem to hit the same wall over and over again, wondering when God will grant me the strength to scale it. These are not quick fix situations, like something as bothersome as a hangnail. I am talking about deep wounds and the defeating behavior they carry.

Helen Keller is a perfect example of the beauty God can bring from pain. She lived a life of silent darkness, yet managed to shine despite her many handicaps. I'm sure there were things about her existence that she would have changed, but then again maybe not. Helen's obstacles became the very things that connected her to the world -- beyond a seeming solitary confinement.

What do your handicaps look like? They come in many forms. Some of us carry hurts that can be seen, while others hold hidden pain. How are you handling the places where you feel stuck? Does being out of control feel like torture to you too?

There is something so sweet about those places that never seem to make it all the way to the other side of healing. God can heal in an instant, and sometimes He chooses to. Other times God will grow us in character by withholding that quick fix. It is our dependence on God that cultivates an awareness of Him.

As I trudge through those dark and silent wheelchairs in my own life, beneath the brokenness of my heart -- there is a smile. God works miracles when a situations seem hopeless. Helen Keller is one example of many.

What will your miracle look like? Hold on . . . the darkness is temporary. It holds no real power.

Graduation

It's that time of year when those who have applied themselves to study will take the next step, become all that they can be - in other words, graduate. There I sat yesterday, celebrating the commencement of my niece and nephew, hardly able to believe my eyes. It was just yesterday Travis and Taylor were held in soft and squishy little bundles. Where has the time gone?

I couldn't have been prouder of the two of them, so bright and beautiful on the inside and out. Travis stood tall and handsome wearing black slacks and a royal blue button down shirt. Tay Tay wore a gorgeous black and white dress that complimented her budding curves. The two who were this family's first arrivals have just survived junior high. And in four short years they will be ready to leave the nest.

Tears filled my eyes as pictures were snapped and gifts opened. After making some kind of a comment that eluded to the fact that I remember the day they were born, I realized something. Only old people can say those kinds of things. So I guess that means I am getting old. (At least to a freshman in high school anyway.) Funny thing is, I don't really mind.

When I was a kid, I remember thinking that anybody over the age of about 23 was old. A person in their thirties was really old, and forty plus was ancient, even dinosaur material! But as I have inched toward those milestones myself, my perspective has changed dramatically.

There is something sweet about moving toward the golden years. Things like watching kids grow adds a richness to life I never knew about. Life is a miracle, and seeing somebody go from diapers to cap and gown is really something.

Lord, bless every tender babe who will be taking that next step. And for those who whippersnappers who are watching, may grace abound.

Spare Me

A familiar sound filled our living room tonight, as we gathered around the tube for family game night. The sound of a ball hitting pins brought me back to my own childhood game nights, only mine involved a real bowling alley and the hot pursuit of a trophy. My parents were on the Friday night league.

At the end of every workweek, my sister and I would pile into our Dodge Colt. Heading downtown, my parents sported bowling bags and wrist guards, hoping to win the night's tournament. While grown ups sipped on soda and worked on wrist technique, us kids would hang around in the locker area, trying to stay out of trouble. We played with everything from the cigarette machines to napkins and straws. Life was simple, innocent and sweet.

So many of my childhood memories include a bowling alley. Like the time that my mom brought me to the bowling alley while I was achy with a fever. I curled up on one of the hard bowling benches, and tried to fall asleep. Out of nowhere, two older boys ran by and one jumped over the back of the bench and landed on me. Very traumatic.

Then there was the time that my sister choked on a green Lifesaver. I can't tell you why I remember that it was green. Even today I don't let my kids have Lifesavers. Then there was the year that I bowled on a league myself. It was a kid's league. I had my own bowling ball - a cobalt blue beauty with my name inscribed in white.

As we tucked games and joysticks away tonight, I got a chuckle out of how closely the Wii characters resembled every member of our family. The smell of floor polish and smoke was not present in our home tonight, but simple memories of just being a kid were. Bowling may not end up meaning as much to my own kids someday, but with a little bit of practice and determined repetition, hopefully a Wii remote will.