what I'm thankful for

Just read my pastor's blog about thanksgiving, and it made me want to post my own list of what I'm thankful for.  So here goes:

I'm thankful for my church home at a new location.  Making the switch to LFC-D was not easy at first, but now it feels like home.   I love the size and the feeling of knowing people.  I love the amazing students I meet and hang out with that so enrich my life.  I really like our new community group and the putting down of roots with new people.  It feels like home.

I'm thankful for the way God has use physical adversity in those I love to challenge me, shake me, teach me and ultimately draw me closer to him.  It has been a hard year watching Ruth suffer with post concussive syndrome (AKA wicked headaches) and my mom suffer with the advanced stages of multiple sclerosis.  God is healing one slow and taking the other unto himself slowly.  It is the "hard"  from which he blesses me.

I'm thankful for emotional health, for the days and weeks when depression seems like a packed-up box shelved in the corner of the attic.  But I would be remiss if I didn't admit I'm thankful for the depression as well because nothing drops me to my knees and leads me to rely on God like it.  I'm very thankful for my comrades in arms, those who suffer alongside me and "get me"... for Karen Millin, who will always laugh and encourage me and lets me say anything.  For my husband, who watches me like a hawk to make sure my head is above water, who steps in with "suggestions"  when I'm indecisive and who never judges me.

I'm thankful for my friends.  For Virginia, Jennifer, Angela & Julie.  I love doing life with these guys.  For the lunches and walks and bike rides and the countless calls and texts that make me feel known and loved.

I'm thankful to be a student again for the first time in over twenty years.  It is a blessing to learn.  And speaking of school, I'm thankful that my three babies are having such amazing years in school, both academically and socially.  Unlike Mike, I'm thankful for swimming.  I love the chance once a month to steal away with my daughter and watch her excel at something she deeply loves.  And I'm thankful that this past year Huck and Ruth have both found a sport that they are passionate about.  There are few greater joys than watching your child deeply enjoy a sport.  

My family is my greatest source of thanksgiving.  We love, laugh, fight, cry and just do life together.  It is the biggest joy, the greatest ride, I have ever known this side of heaven.  My children amaze me and humble me and make me glad every day for the privilege of being a Mom.  My husband is by far the best gift God has ever given me, and I awake everyday and want to be with him and near him.

I'm thankful that in November 1985 God reached down and made himself known to me in such a deeply private and personal way that I could no longer denied that I needed him or that he loved me.  He has changed me; thankfully, for me and for those around me, I am not the same.  I wonder sometimes what life would be like if he hadn't touched me;  I feel certain I would by now have a trail of sorrow and broken relationships where joy and love now exists.   So I'm thankful.  So very, very thankful.

presently swimming in seaweed

I like the beach. And when it's really hot I enjoy going for a dip in the ocean. But sometimes I don't like the ocean at all. Have you ever been in the ocean on a day when the wind has blown in a bunch of seaweed? I mean a day when you can hardly move without being touched by the slimy branches of green gunk. I hate it when everytime I move I'm sloshing up against the stuff.

After listening to Don Miller this weekend, I have decided that life is like swimming in a seeweed infested ocean. There is still good and enjoyment to be had, but it sure is mixed up with a whole bunch of gunk. And I hate gunk. There so much of the stuff, that we even think of mildly infested waters as being enjoyable....but they really aren't.

My best life is not here and it is not now. I want to train myself to stop being surprised by struggle...and pain...and tragedy...and injustice. I don't want to become numb to all that is horribly sad but I do want to see it as more of the norm of life. I want to be blissfully surprised when the ocean is pristine, but I don't want to be alarmed when its not. After all, the stuff is SEA weed.

And if I'm going to expect for life to be infested with pain and sorrow and other similar gunk, I need to also retrain myself of where my hope lies. It doesn't lie in overcoming obstacles, or being pain free, not suffering with depression , or watching my children live victoriously successful lives. No hope for me lies in two places: I have a home awaiting me at death that far supasses what this life has to offer. AND I have a savior that wades through the seeweed infested waters with me. As my friend Laura says, he is closer than my fingernails.

So...this week as I watch Ruth struggle with week 14 of a concussion and I feel that worry eating me up. Seeweed. We didn't do anything wrong. We aren't being punished. It's life...normal life. And I'll hold his hand (and hers) and keep asking him to heal her and look forward to a day in the near future when the wind changes, and the seeweed abates and she is better....and a day that will come when only God knows when she and I will barely remember what a seaweed infested ocean feels like.

my idol, my app

In our culture today, idolatry is such a squirmy thing. I mean we rarely use the word unless referring to would-be famous vocalists. We only refer to sports figures as idols when they disappoint us. We don't keep carved statues in our houses and if we do we don't burn incense to them or pray to them.

But idolatry is surely a part of our lives just as it has been for every generation. Why? Because we were built to worship, to give our allegiance; without this we are incomplete. And sometimes even with it we are still incomplete. We might be good at pointing out someone else's idol, but seem incredulously blind to our own. Or at least blind to the depth that idolatry rules and ruins our lives.

I thought I'd share with you my week with a particular idol. Maybe writing about it will help me to let it go. And maybe reading about it will help you to recognize your own idols.

It started at 8 am on Tuesday morning. I was already exhausted from a long weekend of swimming. My child swam and I sat on a bleacher for more hours than you would believe. I had a plan. Take my son to school, then spend some good leisurely time with God before heading off to a meeting at 10am. A chance email and a small conversation with the teacher sent me reeling. I felt frustrated, angry, hurt, sad and ashamed. How is it possible to have all of that swarm over you in a matter of minutes?

I returned to the car ripe for a conversation with God. I needed to bear my heart to Him...to lay all this mess of emotion at His feet and find some way to trust Him with it all. So it was good that my plan included him next.

Except it didn't. I sat in the car and caught my breath. Instead of opening my Bible, I picked up my iphone and downloaded an app. then I sat there for two hours and played the app. Never once talking to God.

I went to my meeting, and then played my app. Helped my son with his homework and played my app. Didn't fold laundry because....I was playing my app. Put the kids to bed and played my app. Kissed my husband goodnight, promising I'd be to bed in a second and played my app. Two and a half hours later I deleted the app and went to bed ashamed and angry at myself for making such a dumb choice to stay up so late. (I mean, I was already way exhausted).

Now intrinsically, apps are not idols. But clearly on Tuesday, this one was an idol to me. It kept me separated from God. It robbed me of precious time with those I love and who count of me. I was fixated and attached and it held my attention much longer than I had ever planned. And at the end of the day it left me feeling ashamed, stupid, small and unworthy. I felt so bad...I might as well play the stupid app again.

But that was Tuesday. I had to pay the consequences for little sleep on Wednesday, but the app was gone. Well...it was...until...I re-installed it. Now I didn't play it as much. I patted myself on the back that I was in control this time. What a crock! What a stupid deception. So on Wednesday, instead of turning the corner, I stayed in the emotional hate myself pit, didn't do the things I should of (at least not all of them, or as well as I should have), and played that app for hours. But I was having fun, right? I was enjoying it, right? I just needed a break to relax, right? Yeah, right. Clearly this idol has helped to make the last 48 hours a complete mess.

And today, well today is Saturday. And I have uninstalled and re-installed the app at least once more. And I'm still playing the stupid thing. Having fun. Enjoying it. Relaxing. I am a true and utter idiot. But that's the way idols work in our lives. They take over and we deceive ourselves into believing they are actually good for us.

When I am honest, I must admit what my personal history (and Jesus) have taught me about idols. They have to go. Completely. Cold Turkey. Get the thing off my phone and stop reinstalling it. I will not be able to abide with even a little of this app in my life. At least not right now. Maybe never. But if I want to be free...if I want to really live...really have fun...enjoy myself...relax, I have to let it go. I have to return to worshiping Jesus and only Him. After all, who exactly do you think made me, designed me to worship?

Okay so...next time you see me. Ask to see my phone. Check in on me and see...what am I worshipping today.

early morning bubbles and an aha moment

In the event that anyone is actually out there reading things I write, sorry for the long hiatus. I hope to be more regular as time moves forward. But back to the bubbles and the aha.

So it happened today on Statesville Rd. as I was driving Huck to school and trying to keep the dog from drooling all over me as I ate my Chicfila biscuit. (He, the dog not Huck, had already devoured his and was now hoping that his persistence would pay off as it usually does...and it did). I was thinking about fear (my most prevelant emotion at present)and my lack of faith ...when this verse popped into my hear.

"...continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling..." Phil 2:12

What? I've read this verse and meditated on it many times,but this time the word FEAR jumped out at me....because it is my most prevelant emotion this week. Work it out with fear and trembling?

It was the poetic illustration of me this morning in the bathtub. I couldn't sleep and my legs were sore from exercising yesterday so I hauled my body into the bath, ran a tub of steaming hot water with bubbles and slid in. It was not one of those luxurious relaxing baths. It was one of those, OMG how am I going to pull myself through this day soaks. And it ended with me sobbing out my fear and lack of faith to God.

I got out feeling defeated and still crying ( but my legs felt better)and started rousing the family because it was time. I felt so defeated by my fear, and lost. I felt like twenty five years of faith had just evaporated and I was back to be 18, scared and alone and trying my damnedest to solve all my own problems.

So when the Holy Spirit sprung this verse on me this morning, I nearly leaped out of the car. You mean, God, that part of walking this journey is just that: working out with fear and trembling...taking the things that scare me shitless and bringing the whole big mess back to you...like a three year old with a broken toy, certain that you can fix it.

It gave me hope...I'm not struggling to get back on the path of faith; I'm on it. The struggle is the path; the mess is the road. I'm in the right place, doing the right thing....even if it doesn't feel so great...I'm not lost and I'm not alone. But I am still afraid. I still lack faith. But somehow knowing that I'm on the right road makes the struggle seem more managable. I'm still having to work it out...I suppose to some degree I will spend this lifetime doing just that. Thanks for the moment this morning.

he loves me

This morning it was undeniable. It encouraged me. Gave me hope for today, a day when at 8:30am I was already feeling blah. I sat down and in the course of 10 minutes picked up 3 random daily devotional books and read todays selection. They all three spoke to my very emotional, critical, irritated and despairing heart. They all three connected ideas..one from another. God was seeking me, reaching out for me in my most half-hearted reach for him. I mean I was in the bathroom...with very little to occupy my mind. He loves me... even when I ignore him and seek out foolish idols that don't satisfy. He loves me...even when I act like he is not important to me. He loves me...when I'm avoiding him along with things in my life I don't want to face up to. He loves me...

He loves me. He loves me.
I can't imagine why.
Because many days I don't love me...
or even like me.

But today, he broke through to me and I know.
He loves me, misses me and is waiting for me to come back and sit with him and talk with him, pour out my ugly, selfish heart to him. He loves me.

And I love him, too.

Easter, the POW and the Korean War

Last week someone sent me a book online, which I devoured. I've been pondering it off and on all week. It is the story of a young Army officer, a West Point Grad, who became a POW during the first weeks of the Korean War (the last week of July 1950). He quickly realized that this would not be an internment like any he had heard of from the World Wars. This yound man, named Tom, was the ranking officer in this group of POWs, that later became a roving camp.

Tom quickly took leadership of the situation, organizing the other officers under him and getting the men to look out for one another. He constantly advocated for better treatment, more food and medical care for his men. Almost all were wounded. And soon they would all be fighting the affects of starvation and dysentary. The POWs were inhumanely treated, often beaten and even killed by their captors.

In September of 1950 the UN Forces turned the tide and the North Korean Army began its retreat. In an effort to stay in North Korean territory, the guards began to march these POWs from Seoul to Pyongyang over 30 days. It was a death march, as many died from their wounds, starvation and dehydration, or were shot by their captors when they fell behind. Tom made sure that his officers were always in the front, middle and back of the group of some 370 POWs. They encouraged the stragglers to keep on, often carrying the men and, when in front, they worked hard to slow the pace of the march.

I was so struck that in such an inhumane circumstance how caring this group of American soldiers was of one another. Whenever possible, the POWs would bury and say words over each man who died. They were careful to bury them with a record of their name, hometown, and date of death stuck in a bottle. And Tom kept a record of each man who passed. Under his leadership, these men resisted despair and banned together as brothers in the worst of circumstances. What made him feel such a sense of devotion to them?

Of the 370 some men, only 33 survived. Many escaped, but not Tom. Although he had opportunity to do so, he refused to leave "his men". This is their story of their beloved leader, who they called "the Major". Tom was massacred along with the majority of these POWs at the Sunchon Tunnel on October 20, 1950. All 33 claimed they would never have lived had it not been for the Major. The Major was in captivity for a mere 86 hellacious days, yet he changed these men's lives forever. One of his men, when he died at the age of 81, requested to be buried as close to the Major as possible at Arlington.

I also have pondered the loss of Tom to those who loved him. For although I never met Tom, I have "known" him since my childhood. He is my great uncle, the baby brother of my grandmother, Virginia. I have played with his grandchildren and grew up under the distant, but ever watchful and loving eye of his son, John. For his family, it has been a great loss, indeed.

And as I have pondered this story, the details fleshed out of my own familial oral history, I can't help but find my thoughts drifting to the cross. After all, it is Lent. Tom's story of love, sacrifice and death have fleshed out Jesus for me yet again. Sometimes between running kids all over the Lake and doing what must be done, the story of the resurrection seems faint, stale and devoid of emotion. But as I have felt my heart broken for Tom and his men, I have found my heart broken again for my God and his disciples.

He lived an unspeakable death for me. He chose it. He endured it. For me. I hope I never get over it. I hope there will always be things that bring me back to the truth when it begins to pale. There is no greater love story than the Cross of Christ.

3 browns

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