Yesterday was one of those hot hazy days that is very typical for July in the south. I know if I’m sweating by 7 am, it’s going to be a hot one. As I was walking to the top of my hill that looks out to downtown Nashville, it was so hazy I couldn’t see any of the skyscrapers that I’m usually able to see quite clearly. I knew where the buildings were supposed to be, but as hard as I tried to see them, I couldn’t. At one point, I almost even doubted that they were there, but I kept looking hard, really trying to find them, and I think I saw the corner of one.

That would describe what my walk with Abba looked like yesterday. I couldn’t feel His presence like I could the day before. I couldn’t hear His voice quite as clearly. I was doubting in fact that He was even there, and even though I know He’s there just like I know those skyscrapers are, I was having a hard time believing. I was having a hard time believing that He could in fact handle my mess, so doubt and fear began to press in and overtake me.  

But He gave me a gift even in the middle of all my doubt, and I didn’t even realize it until now. As I was ending my walk yesterday, there was a red fox in the back part of my yard, close to the field. I was able to watch this fox for a minute or so until he realized I was there and ran away. Instead of laughing and realizing how amazing my Abba is and being grateful for the gift He had just given me and how He is there even when the doubts creep in, I walked inside my house and refused to surrender my whole self. I held onto part of myself, the part that’s just not so sure if rescue is possible, the part that wants to wallow in a former life. I once again became wrapped up in my victim status.  Abba wanted it; He asked for it; I just refused to give it to Him. I chose to hang on to it for a few hours…and what miserable hours those were.

But there is freedom and there is rescue, and it was offered to me once again.

Yesterday afternoon, as we were driving to Jeff’s parents, my family and I all saw the fox by the side of the road, same fox that I had seen earlier that morning. A few minutes later, I also saw an owl that was by the side of the road. He lifted up and looked at me. It was amazing, and this time I was grateful. I was grateful that when I miss it, He graciously brings me back to Himself. Abba was saying to me, “It’s all ok. It’s all right. I’m here, even when you don’t see Me very clearly. I never leave. I have never abandoned you, and I never will.”

This morning, as I was walking, the sky was still a little hazy, but I could at least partially see the buildings, not clearly, but I could see that they were still there. Spiritually, things are still hazy, and I’m still not seeing as clearly as I was a few days ago, but I believe that He’s here.  And I believe that He is Who He says He is. And I believe that He can handle my stuff.

As I was sitting in my ladies’ Bible study Wednesday morning, I began to be filled with pride, pride at what Abba is doing in my life, and I began to feel like the ladies around me were just not “getting it.”

As I sat there judging those around me, this is what Abba told me, and I wrote it down so that I can come back to it often and remember, “It’s not that they are wrong. This may be the way I have chosen to give it to them, to help them to understand, to let them see Me. It’s not going to be the same for each person. In fact, it might be radically different. Stop comparing and accept my love in the way in which I have chosen to give it to you. Stop being the judge—you cannot love and be a judge at the same time.”

I’m in the middle of trying to learn what it means to lay my stuff at the foot of the cross.  This is hard.  But I’m finding myself wanting Jesus more than I want to hold onto my junk. Pride is a huge piece of my not so pretty package. For years, as my insecurities became greater and greater, looking down on other people made me feel better about myself…and this was comfortable for me. But this has changed. It is no longer comfortable. Abba recently opened my eyes so that I actually saw myself beating on Jesus, spitting on Him, cursing Him…not exactly my proudest moment. But this is who I was and what I was capable of, and I just needed to be reminded that I was at the cross and actually took part in all His pain…doesn’t leave much room for my pride. But instead of finding myself slinking away in guilt and shame, Jesus caught my attention and looked at me with His eyes of love and mercy and said, “You were worth it.”

So, what was it that I was proud of again?

Everything comes from Him;

Everything happens through Him;

Everything ends up in Him.

Always glory! Always praise!

Yes. Yes. Yes.

-Romans 11

I recently flew to see my grandmother in Maryland. I’ve only flown maybe 5 or 6 times my entire life, but this time I noticed something interesting during my trip. I noticed that even though every seat on the plane is taken, hardly anyone talks to each other. It really is amazing. You’re stuck in this small seat for an hour or two at least, and no words or a very minimum number of words are spoken between you and the person sitting next to you. I found this interesting and a little uncomfortable. You ride closer to your seatmates in a plane than you do in a car, yet silence. I wonder if anyone has ever noticed the similarities between libraries and planes…all those books and magazines that everyone carts along with them on a plane, and there’s also that unnatural quietness in a library that you also find on a plane. But I think planes are actually quieter than most libraries I’ve been in. So I’ve come to the conclusion that airplanes are kind of like libraries in the sky.

Even though I am an introvert, I am a quality time person, and I have to at least acknowledge the person’s existence next to me. During the first leg of my flight, I chatted the whole time with a girl named Keeya. It was great. The plane ride went fast, and I enjoyed finding out about her, her fiancé, and her family. She mentioned she always brings a book when she flies alone because most of the time no one acknowledges her presence. We exchanged e-mails at the end of the flight, and I now have a new friend that doesn’t live too far from me.

The last leg of my trip to Salisbury, MD, which only has 7 flights in and 7 flights out each day, was on a prop plane and was a little bumpy, but nobody grabbed the seat in front of them and yelled, “Oh, God, we’re going to die,” so I figured I was ok. On this flight, I sat next to a 15 year old boy, who reminded me of my 12 year old son. I asked him a few questions, but he seemed a little nervous, and I think he was secretly hoping I wouldn’t talk the whole way and eventually connected his ipod to his ears.  As I got off the plane with him, I told him to have fun with his grandparents, and he laughed, rolled his eyes, and said they talked too much. I’m sure he probably placed me in the same category as his grandparents.

As I was beginning my return flight home, I got on the plane and struck up a conversation with the man beside me. I mentioned to him that I didn’t really like

being on prop planes…he informed me that they are the safest because they glide…whether or not this is true, I have to admit it made me feel a little bit better. We ended up having to get off the plane due to bad weather, but an hour or so later, we were able to board the plane again. As I went to return to my seat, my seatmate motioned for me to sit in the aisle across from him instead of beside him, which made sense since so many seats were now open, due to many people not being able to catch their connecting flight. Apparently, he wasn’t interested in talking or maybe he just wanted my window seat, and that was ok with me because I really enjoyed staring out the window at the sea of clouds underneath me. I noticed a guy near me had hooked up his computer and was watching an action movie…apparently he wasn’t a reader or a talker.

I got on my last plane in Charlotte only to notice that no one was sitting next to me at all. The entire plane was filling up, but both seats that were near me were vacant. Eventually, one man came and sat on the aisle seat, but I still did not have anyone right next to me. After a delay, the very last two people got on the plane, and one of them came and sat next to me. My new seatmate informed me that there was actually supposed to be an older man sitting in the seat next to me, but he was up front with a bleeding hand pitching a fit, and, so I was saved from the angry, bleeding hand guy, for which I was very grateful since it was 11 pm and people were dozing. I could just imagine the bleeding guy’s hand falling in my lap as he dozed off to sleep. So, my new seatmate Nick, who is working on his pilot’s license, informed me that most people don’t look up and smile and talk like I do on planes…but he didn’t seem to mind. We had a good time talking and probably disturbed some of the sleeping people around us…oh well…the flight went fast, and I now have a new facebook friend.

So, if you want to maintain your anonymity on airplanes, I hope you don’t get stuck next to a girl like me…just bring a book and pretend to read, and maybe she’ll get the hint… J

I am not a poet. But I’m in a Bible study this summer where I’m supposed to write my own psalm after some of the lessons. As I was reading Psalm 120, part of this is what tumbled out on the page and seems to describe where I am right now. These past few weeks, months, years I’ve been in many valley places, some self-inflicted, some not. But I know that whether I’m on the mountain, in the valley, or out in the wide open places, my Abba is right there with me.

Life is hard and not an easy place to be,

But I know You’re the one sustaining me.

‘Though at times I’m not where I want to be,

I know it’s Your plan for me.

My hands are wide open

Receiving all that You do.

‘Cause, Lord, I’m trusting You.

Satan’s lies are hard to bear,

And sometimes I listen and give in.

But they only bring me shame

That You said I don’t have to wear.

So when the days are long,

And my spirit isn’t strong,

I cry out to you.

Some things are painful

And don’t seem to go away.  

But You never said

This journey would be easy

And it isn’t most days.

But I’m trusting in Your promise

That You are all that I need.

You are the Faithful One,

Whose goodness I see.

Right now, I’m finding refuge

In the shadow of Your wing.

Abba, I’m down on my knees

Where I feel Your hand of love on me,

Always protecting, keeping, guarding me.

A few mornings ago, Julia went with me on my walk. She woke up early and asked to go. As we were walking out of the driveway, she said to me, “Mom, I bet the boys will wonder where I am.” She said it again a few minutes later. Now, some may view this as childish self-absorption, but I see it as what is in the heart of every little girl and also every grown up woman. It’s a heart that says, “Please, please notice me. Please tell me you miss me when I’m gone. Please tell me I’m important and beautiful and loved.” I don’t think this is a princess complex. I believe this is part of what it means to be a little girl, to be a woman. Ways of expressing it may become different as a little girl grows into womanhood, but it’s still the same heart.

I’m coming to realize that no one is ever going to be able to connect with me enough, father, husband or friends, and this doesn’t make me feel sorry for myself in a way that it once did. It makes me want to connect that much more with my Abba Father who cuts through the all the junk and knows all about me and likes me as I am. I just recently wrote the verse Psalm 45:11 on my bathroom mirror, The King is enthralled by your beauty.  I like that a lot. Abba also says, I have loved you with an everlasting love. That too is lipsticked on my mirror…pretty soon I’m not going to be able to see my own face in the mirror. But these verses are a constant reminder to me that He is the only One who can love me as I need, as I desire, as I long to be loved.

I think for so long I’ve placed unrealistic expectations on relationships that I should be enjoying, instead of trying to suck the life out of. I found a quote out of The Shack that says,  “When we (friends) see each other or are apart, there is expectancy of being together, of laughing and talking…But what happens if I change that ‘expectancy’ to an ‘expectation’—spoken or unspoken? Suddenly law has entered into our relationship. You are now expected to perform in a way that meets my expectations. Our living friendship rapidly deteriorates into a dead thing with rules and requirements. It is no longer about you and me, but about what friends are supposed to do, or the responsibilities of a good friend.” (205) When I was in college, Jeff would come to intramural soccer games where I was cheering and bring a book. This hurt my feelings because I think I expected him to watch me cheer and stand in awe of the woman he was going to marry…I was in essence saying, “Please notice me and validate me.” But when I embrace Christ in the way I’m supposed to, it lets everyone around me off the hook, and I can enjoy relationships as they’re meant to be enjoyed.

So, Julia’s brothers probably didn’t notice her absence, but she has an Abba who knows every hair on her head, knows all her thoughts, and enjoys her, even when no one else does. My job is to point her to the only One who can satisfy and love her as she needs to be loved. I hope she comes to realize she’s being “courted by her Creator.” When we girls accept the love our Abba has for us, we no longer have to go looking for love…we realize it’s already found us.

This past week I have been living in what I would call a self-inflicted valley. Those are the worst kinds because those are the ones I throw myself into, and I have only myself to blame. What sent me back to this spot again? I believe I went back there because I’ve chosen to hold onto my anger and my hurts and my disappointment.  I began licking these wounds once again, and I went into a tailspin that sent me down fast. But times like these aren’t wasted, and this was no exception. This time, I’ve spent asking Abba lots of questions. And He’s been answering, sometimes in ways I don’t necessarily want to hear. But I wrestled with Him, and He wrestled back. He reminded me He’s been on this journey with me all along…and that He will never leave me or forsake me.

There are three questions that I wrestled with.

Do I really believe Abba can heal me? 

Can I let go of my victim status?

Can I forgive?

When I come to a place of painful memories, I can either try to numb my pain by self-medicating, which can come in many forms or I can embrace the pain I have and cry out to the one who can heal, Jehovah Rapha. I spent a lot of time sleeping (my form of self-medication this particular time), but I also cried out, only half-believing that Abba can really heal me. I continued to walk and talk with Abba because deep down inside I know He has to be the answer. But many times I don’t really want Him as the answer. I enjoy wallowing in my anger and my hurt because there’s a certain satisfaction in hanging onto my self-righteousness victim status.

For a long time now, I’ve held onto bits and pieces of my anger and unforgiveness because if I forgive, then that seems to let the people who wronged me off the hook…I won’t be able to be the judge or the victim anymore, and I think I like playing these roles. I found this quote, “Forgiveness does not excuse anything…forgiveness is about letting go of another person’s throat.” (224) In the middle of my valley,  Abba revealed once again that these people are loved by Him as much as I am and have just as many hurts as I do, which invokes in me mercy and compassion for fellow sufferers.     

I can’t change what happened in the past, and some things may continue to make me sad, but all I can do is continue to cry out to the One who gives “the healing and grace my heart always hungers for.” Yeah, I still have forgiveness and healing that need to take place, but I’m trusting that Abba can do the healing, that He can do the forgiving through me.  I don’t think releasing these things is a one-time thing but is actually a slow, gradual process. And just like I haven’t walked through my valley alone, I’m not alone in this either.

Henri Nouwen said, “One may choose to trust that what happened, painful as it may

be, holds a promise. The other may choose despair and be destroyed by it.” This weekend was about despair, but right now, I’m standing out in the wide open spaces of God’s grace and glory, standing tall and shouting praise (Rom. 5) because Abba’s in the process of changing a heart…and surprisingly it’s my own.

I’ve known for a few years that Abba loves me. I don’t even know when that truth finally sunk in with me, but it did, and I haven’t doubted it. But I’ve entered a new realm of questioning lately and that is whether or not Abba really likes me or just tolerates me because I happen to be His kid.

I grew up not really feeling accepted. I went to a Christian school where my dad was the principal, and my mom was the junior high English teacher…I don’t know if there are many people out there who just love their principal or their English teachers…no wonder I doubted whether or not people liked me. I’ve carried this feeling of not being very well liked since early elementary school, as so many kids do. But I always thought that people looked at me and saw my parents. I wanted to wear a big sign on my forehead that said, “I am not my parents!” Some friends of mine gave me a t-shirt when I was in 11^th grade that said, “Objects underneath this shirt are larger than they appear.”  I was forbidden by my parents to wear that shirt. Of course, I ended up wearing it to a school activity. I desperately wanted to be liked and was willing to risk my parents’ disapproval in exchange for my friends’ approval. My parents were fuming, and I did get a few laughs…I also got grounded. But at the time, that was my way of proving that I was different from my parents.

Many people gravitate toward bubbly Type A personalities…I had a friend like that in high school, and she won every popular award. I always felt like she was the sweet, fun girl, and that I was the boring, awkward girl. My junior year in high school, she and I were both nominated to run against each other for homecoming queen. My boyfriend, at the time, nominated me.  My parents kept telling me how much of an honor it was to be in the court, in other words, “You’re not going to win.” I still couldn’t help but hope, and I was definitely disappointed when I didn’t get it, but I think by the time homecoming came around it had been drilled into my head that I was just lucky to be in the court.

I’ve come to realize in the last year or so that I am a home body. I love being at home puttering around and sitting in my yard. I tried to convince myself that I was this fun adventure girl, but I’m not. I like hanging out with adventurous people, but that makes me a joiner.  But I usually prefer being home with my family.  I was talking with a friend of mine the other day about all this, and she said, “It’s a personality thing.” And I think she’s right. For many years, I haven’t really liked the personality I’ve been given and have wasted time and energy wanting to be someone other than myself.

Our society shouts loudly that we’re supposed to be many things, which includes having a certain type of personality. But, are we all supposed to be the same or did Abba create us all differently for a reason? I happen to think He smiles at the diversity He created. And, for me, to wish I were someone else or to pretend to be something I’m not is just another form of self-pity and covetousness. When I’m not satisfied with the personality Abba has gifted me with, I am, in essence, looking at Abba’s creation that He pronounced “Very good” and saying to Him, “No thanks. I prefer to be that over there.”

So does my personality need to change? Nope, I don’t believe so.  I just need to accept the girl Abba is in the process of creating. Some days she’s a real mess and other days she’s fun to hang out with, but I’m learning no matter what day it is, Abba really likes her, and I should too.

As I was going for my morning walk the other day, I saw this really nice stone wall that was about 10 feet tall that someone had built behind their house in order to make the ground level with the house. It also had a nice black wrought iron fence on top of it. As I was passing by, I was wondering if the people who built it got to enjoy it or if it passed on to someone else before they got the chance.

Last summer, after living in our house in Alabama for six years, Jeff painted the outside of the house, then we moved. He worked hard to fix things up and then someone else enjoyed the fruit of his labor, but as I drove by our old house when I went back for a visit recently, I was hoping that the people that live there now were enjoying Jeff’s hard work (this was before I learned how to get my hands dirty )

We’re in the beginning stages of remodeling our kitchen…carpet in the kitchen and kids do not go well together. As I was talking to my sister-in-law one night on the phone, she said that maybe after we get our house fixed up, we could sell it and make a really good profit. My response was, “I don’t want to move. I never want to move again.” But eventually we will move, if not now, maybe 30 years from now, so the kitchen we’re redoing now is either going to be enjoyed by someone else eventually, or it’s going to be torn out and done again. That being said, I need to either enjoy the remodeling process or not spend too much time and energy obsessing over my kitchen issues. I have found that after painting many of the rooms in my house, I now enjoy painting…so maybe it’s possible to enjoy remodeling..??

There was a large family that lived in our house before us, and the wife Carolyn, who died a couple years ago, put a lot of labor and love into this house. She also spent many hours in the yard, and we have some really great flowers and a very pretty yard as a result of her work. Her husband, Mike has enjoyed telling us about her and her creativity. There is even a mailbox in the backyard near the arbor where she would keep her gardening tools so that they were always handy. I look around at the things she labored over…the flowers, the arbor in the yard, the planted Christmas trees, and I’m just grateful that I’m able to enjoy them. Jeff’s talked a couple of times about cutting some of those Christmas trees down, but I really have a hard time even thinking about it.

There are many things in the house that we’ve already updated, but there are these stamped leaves on my kitchen ceiling that are very unusual, but I plan on keeping them. Carolyn made stamps out of actual leaves that came from our yard, which I happen to think is very cool. For me, the leaves symbolize a love that this woman had for her family in wanting to make this house into a home. Even though I didn’t know the woman whose house I “inherited,” the leaves are a good reminder to me that there was someone here before me and that there will be someone here after me.

I will probably not be doing a lot of the things that Carolyn used to do, but I’m doing the things right now that I consider valuable. So in realizing that “I’m a flower quickly fading, here today and gone tomorrow,” I want to spend my time doing things that I consider worthwhile, and I’m beginning to realize that that will be different for each person…I have no list here of the 10 most important things to do for your family or with your family…life and people just don’t work like that…I’m realizing I either need to enjoy the things I’m doing or do the things I enjoy…and right now, I’m enjoying the things I’m doing without the guilt of feeling like I should be doing something else, and that alone is huge for me.

This afternoon, I found an inchworm crawling on me. When I knocked him off, he fell onto my paper. I tried to knock him off my paper, and he clung to my fingers. When I knocked him off my hand, he made some kind of web (I didn’t even know they did this) and inched his way back up to my hand…he did this twice. Persistent little sucker.

Yesterday, in church we sang the words, “My Savior, He can move the mountains. My God is mighty to save.” This is the second time we’ve sung that song in a couple of weeks, so when a song is repeated like that, I know this is one way Abba reveals His love for me, and I know I’m supposed to pay attention.

I’ve been wrestling a lot lately about God’s glory. God’s Glory = ? I think I’ve been trying to find a noun to describe it. I haven’t found one yet that fits. I see Abba’s glory in His creation, but I think there’s more to it than that. St. Irenaeus said, “The glory of God is man fully alive.” Maybe that’s part of it…Abba’s best, His ultimate creation, the being that He created in His own image—man…living, really living. I don’t think I’ve seen too many of those fully alive people around. John 10:10 says, I have come so that they may have life and that they may have it more abundantly.

Our pastor is doing a series called SYNC. The question that has been asked is, “Do I really want to know…experience…God?” Or am I stalled in my spiritual walk? For me, stalled is what I would consider wilderness living, when I don’t really have the desire to follow Christ, when I’m stuck in my busy little world pursuing anything and everything but Him. I feel like I’m coming out of my wilderness…I know it because I’m beginning to desire Him more and more…He’s once again moving mountains in my life.

So, inchworms, mountains, God’s glory…I don’t even think all these things even relate to each other. But right now, I am determined to know Abba and His glory. I’m going to be that inchworm that fights to crawl back up even in my stalled wilderness times when I don’t really even think He’s what I want. But, really, it’s not about me or what I do or even what I want, because my persistence will fail, and this whole journey is not about me boot strapping. I know that Jesus moves the mountains…the obstacles, the hindrances, the sin…maybe not in one big push, maybe little by little. I’ve already seen some of my mountains moved. Being afraid of God is one in particular that’s been moved for me. I grew up believing God was a punishing, judgmental Being who was ready to zap me with a lightning bolt anytime I stepped out of line, but now I see Him as my Abba who loves me more than I can possibly imagine…He showed me He is mighty to save…even from myself and my perceptions of Him. There are some big obstacles within myself, but I’m beginning to see some of these mountains being slowly moved, and I’m in awe of what He is doing. God’s glory…hopefully I’ll know it when I see it. But right now, I’m busy keeping my eyes open wide and my ears eagerly listening because I don’t want to miss a thing. I want to be one of those fully alive people. Today, my desire is to know Christ above all else and once again, that’s a God-thing in itself.

I love to bowl. I can’t pinpoint exactly when I started to like bowling, but I think it has to do with those warm, fuzzy feelings I get of times long gone. I’m not a good bowler, but for me, that’s not really the point. I’ve just now come to realize that Jeff and I view bowling a little differently. He wants to knock down all the pins all the time. If I knock down 8 or 9 pins, I look at it like, “Look at all the pins I knocked down” and then start patting myself on the back. I think I’m just excited I didn’t put the ball in the gutter. My highest score ever was 121, and that was some crazy fluke in high school when I would go with my friends.

Bowling brings back good memories for me. When I was a Senior in high school, some of us would get out of school at noon and go out to eat and just hang out. We did stupid things like riding in the back of a pickup truck shooting water guns at people…this was before you had to wear seatbelts and before riding in the back of pickup trucks became illegal. We would also go bowling on occasion. Incidentally, I would never wear socks with my bowling shoes…I know, gross! I’m surprised I didn’t get some kind of foot fungus. My friends all thought it was pretty gross too, and one of them nicknamed me “Sugartoes” and then would proceed to make some nasty licking, slurping noises like he was licking my feet…But it was during one of those non-sock wearing times when I bowled my record score.

This morning as I was thinking about bowling, a memory flooded back to my mind. It was when my family would go visit my grandparents in Maryland.  Pop Pop took my Dad, brother, sister, and me bowling. I don’t know if we just went once or if we did it many times, but I remember going, and that was a special time for me, just being with Pop Pop and my Dad. Maybe it was at that point that I really started to like bowling. There’s something about associating good times in the past that draws me to the things I used to do.

A while back, Jeff and I took all of our kids bowling one Saturday, but having a 3 and a 4 year old bowl…well, it takes forever just for their ball to get down the lane. And sometimes the ball would get stuck smack dab in the middle of the lane. The older boys got a little impatient, but it was still fun, and we all had some good laughs watching the little ones bowl. This past school year, we let each of our older boys take a hooky day from school (we’re not really into the perfect attendance thing even though Jeff is the principal) and the boys and I ended up at the bowling alley where I’m in the process of making new bowling memories with them…

When I become a senior citizen, I plan on being at the bowling alley a lot. I will probably have my own bowling ball and my own shoes by then too. I’ve already informed my children that when they grow up and come to visit me they’ll have to look for me at the alley…’cause that’s where I’ll be…bowling with my new girlfriends.

A week ago, Jeff and I celebrated our 16^th anniversary, and he took me bowling…hanging out with Jeff and bowling…I don’t remember a better anniversary.