Angry Motorcycle Guy

So today as I was leaving an appointment, I made a left turn onto a rather busy street. I saw a motorcycle coming from my right, but he was far enough away that I could easily make my turn in front of him. That is if he had been going only slightly above the speed limit rather than over 20mph faster. When I completed my turn, he purposely sped up to make a point. I was saying out loud, “You are going too fast!”  This guy decided to make it an issue, so he pulled in the lane beside me and was yelling at me. I said again, “You are going too fast,” but he continued to yell.  I started praying for him and quit making eye contact.  He then pulled behind me.  I decided to turn left to go through a drive-thru at a smoothie place, and he again pulled up beside me, all the while screaming, “Why did you try to run me off the road?” He kept yelling this, so I called into the order speaker that a guy was out here yelling at me, and I guess we need a police officer. When he heard that, he sped off, still yelling. 

The adrenalin was certainly flowing freely, but I was caught wondering two things. First, why was this guy so angry? I really did have assured clear distance until he sped up, and even then, it wasn’t even close until he made it that way.  But then he changed the truth into a lie, claiming I actually wanted to hurt him by “running him off the road.” I know this guy is going to go to his grave believing I tried to run him off the road (hopefully he doesn’t go too soon, but with this kind of driving behavior, it would not be surprising).

I am sad for this young man. So much emotion. So much self-induced drama. And for what purpose? Surely there have to be bigger eggs to fry than trying to create a scene with an ole’ retired lady.  I will continue to pray for him, and all of the other drivers that happen to get in his way.

Synchronicity At Its Finest

         Today as I left for my early morning walk, my husband was awake. As he is a night owl, this was quite unusual, so I asked if everything was okay. It wasn’t. He didn’t feel well.  I left anyway for my walk, and was listening to a meditation on my iTunes about being love and living as love.  Near the end of my walk, about two blocks from home, my meditation was interrupted by his ringtone. He had gotten sick.  Jon is blind and he also has a bad hip, so it is hard for him to get down to floor level. He was calling to let me know he had made a bit of a mess.  Trying to remember all that I had just heard on my meditation mp3, I took a few deep breaths, but I wasn’t really prepared for the actual “bit of a mess.”  One entire hour later after much labor-intensive vomit chunk removal, I was amazed at the different thoughts that flew through my head.  What I wanted to do was cry, but there wasn’t anyone else that could do this nasty job. I was thinking that they say “for better or worse” but did they really mean this? Then it dawned on me. It is easy to talk about love. It is easy to throw the word around in some gushy, touchy-feely, good vibe kind of way, but real love?  Real, honest-to-goodness love is cleaning up a grown man’s puke all over the walls and sides of the toilet. Real love means down on your knees pulling up air vents to spray the disinfectant into every nook and cranny. Real love means getting the big chunks off of his clothes before doing the load of rugs and other assorted items that got in the way.

            Now that he is resting with his glass of 7-up beside him and bucket nearby, I am musing at the irony of my iTunes shuffle to choose the very items on my playlist that I needed to hear today more than any other day. I’m guessing it wasn’t a coincidence, but rather an episode of synchronicity that only God can so impeccably orchestrate.

Save That Bird

            One night, I had a dream that was a bit unsettling. One reason that it was unsettling was because I had the exact same dream three times.  In my dream, I saw a large bird falling down a mountain and then taking a nose-dive to the ground. I kept screaming, “Someone needs to help that bird!” And each time I heard a deep and loud voice answer me with, “YOU need to help that bird!”  The voice was so penetrating, that I startled awake.  I drifted back to sleep and the same sequence played out again, and then a third time. When I awoke the next day, I couldn’t shake the deep resonance of this dream.

            Two days later, it was Sunday, and our pastor stopped his sermon that morning saying that he needed to share a vivid dream that he’d had during the past week. He told about a large eagle that was flying in an airplane hangar and it took a nose-dive to the ground, causing its beak to become broken and bloody. The pastor said that in his dream, he and his wife were watching and somehow he knew he was supposed to do something to help that eagle. As soon as he said the word “eagle” I realized that the bird in my dream was an eagle as well. I got goose bumps thinking about how strange it was that the pastor and I had almost the same dream.

            While walking out of church that morning, the local VFW across the street displayed a new banner. The picture on the banner was an eagle with Uncle Sam pointing right at our church.  Once again, I realized that something big must be on the brink since both my pastor and I had such startling and similar dreams.

            My husband, Jon is a life purpose coach, and I have been doing some of the work along with him through his advanced training. I wish I could say that I am sure and confident about what I am being called to do to “save that bird.” What I do know, amidst my purpose work, is that I am to be watching and waiting. It is exciting to think about being a part of something so huge as helping an entire nation heal, yet I am humbled beyond belief when I even try to grasp the thought that little ole’ me could do anything so epic. I try to not think about it too much because I find it beyond overwhelming.

 There is nothing I can do on my own, but this I do know—when we are connected to the Almighty, entire nations can turn. Remember Ninevah? Jonah did not even want to do the task he was called to do, and he tried his best to get out of it, even to the point of putting a whole shipload in danger. He didn’t think that the people of Ninevah were worth saving, and he believed they should suffer for their wrong actions. God, however, had other plans, and with just one reluctant prophet’s message, an entire nation repented, turning their hearts to Him.

I am watching and listening with wonder as to how a gal from small town Ohio could be used in such a gigantic way, but frankly, if untrusting and unforgiving Jonah could be God’s plan for an entire nation’s redemption, then I am thinking it really could be anyone.  Even me!

Trusting the Process

I am finding myself in a time of busyness again with subbing and church commitments, and yet this time it is not overwhelming me. I am learning to lean into the Holy Spirit’s leading and waiting for Papa’s directions. I have been told to learn patience and learn to love while in waiting. That has sort of been the easy part. What is not so easy is to slow my brain down and to quit trying to preplan everything. I certainly know by now that nothing I have planned has ever worked out exactly the way I thought it would or even should. After over six decades, one would think it would be figured out by now, although old habits are hard to break. I am learning to be at peace in the waiting, and I understand that this is simply just trusting the process. It’s all good!

Called to Discomfort

 I like my comfort zone. I think we all do. I have been noticing, however, that Jesus has called us to do some rather uncomfortable things.  Here are a few to ponder:

·      Ask – we are told to ask for what is on our hearts, yet that is not always easy to do.  How comfortable is it to ask for a raise, ask a spouse for permission to splurge on a new outfit or tool? There is often some level of uncertainty when we make ourselves vulnerable enough to ask

·      Seek – We are told to look for our purpose and for opportunities to be Jesus for others.  I don’t know about you, but I am not always at peace when I am looking for something!

·      Knock – you know that feeling when you knock on someone’s door, and you are hoping and praying they aren’t wrapped in a towel, and that they are at least acting happy to see you at their doorstep? Some level of discomfort here too!

·      Go – Jesus told his disciples to go out into the world.  That is a rather scary thing to do sometimes. While new journeys can be exciting, there may also be an underlying fear of the unknown. We are called to simply go and the directions are often very sketchy.

Here are some more: agree with your adversary quickly; love your enemies; take no thought for your life; take no thought for tomorrow; follow; preach; heal; cleanse; raise; cast out; take heed; take my yoke; beware; forgive; love… and I haven’t left the book of Matthew yet.

I think you get my point. All of the things Jesus told His followers to do seemed to have this common theme—step out of the comfortable.

In I Peter we are told that we are blessed when we share in the sufferings of Jesus. This is a bit beyond being uncomfortable. I mean, I can be uncomfortable when I’m sweating in the heat of summer, but that is not the same thing as suffering.  I spend a lot of time making sure I have what I need to feel comfy. I pay my gas and electric bills on time so I always have heat and air conditioning. I like hot showers and plenty of ice for my water and covers for my bed. These are things I may often take for granted, but it’s because I don’t want to be uncomfortable. Yet here is Jesus telling me to do all of these things that are outside of my comfort zone. And He takes it further when he talks about partaking in the sufferings of Jesus. There is a big difference between being too hot or cold and being beaten beyond recognition and then crucified!

I know what is on that other side. I have tasted those blessings before, but ooh—it is not easy to push beyond the cozy walls we have created. It is always worth it when we do, but I am not surprised at the company I have when I choose comfort instead.

Saying Thank You

I was feeling a bit discouraged after a book signing event, where I sold only six books.  Three of my titles have been sitting in boxes in my storage area for two years, and I was really hoping to reduce my inventory. It dawned on me that the most important thing I wanted, even more than to be able to recoup the finances I had invested, was to get this message out into the Universe. So, being nudged by the Holy Spirit, I did a book give away. I posted a message on my Facebook business page that I was giving away fifty free books. I even paid $26.00 to boost the posting.  I had only half the response. I mailed out those twenty-five, and then a few days later, posted it again, and paid once more for a day of boosting my post. The response was much better. I ended up giving away fifty-eight books in all. It felt good.  It felt right. It was satisfying to know my message was out there. Then a few thank-yous  and Amazon reviews came in and I had the affirmation I desired that this message was a worthy and relevant one.

            So today, I realized that I only received five thank yous in all.  Five out of fifty-eight is less than 9%. I have a choice. I can feel discouraged once again because so few people took the time to even thank me for mailing them a free book. With postage, the mailer and my cost for the book, I was out $8.66 for each book I sent.  In other words, I spent around $500.00 because I believed that this was not only important, but what God wanted me to do.  I can choose to focus on the money I spent with hardly a hint of gratitude, or, I could be blessed that I had the opportunity to give of myself. I didn’t do this for the thank yous. I did it out of obedience and a much greater, a much broader purpose. Yes it would be nice to hear the accolades and just simply to be thanked. But I will focus instead on the potential that my message about victims of bullying finding their voice has reached a much wider audience.  I really did this more for me than for them.

            My lesson is that while I don’t serve to be thanked, I will also remember how it feels to not be thanked, and will make sure I never forget to say those words.  Even God likes to be thanked, after all!

My Most Embarrassing Moment

When I was fourteen, my parents and I were visiting friends in North Carolina. Our host took us to a private club for dinner.  This place was probably the fanciest spot I had ever experienced, even to this day. The plush carpeting was so thick that with each step, my foot was instantly enveloped in a shroud of luxurious softness. The chairs were huge soft leather thrones that swiveled and rolled with ease around the table.  Wanting to help an awkward adolescent feel a sense of sophistication, as we were seated, our host asked if I had ever tried escargot. I had not, and I wasn’t even sure I knew what that was. Upon hearing this was a dish of garlic and snails, at first I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to have this experience, but when I was assured of how delicious they were, I decided to be adventuresome. I was willing to try new things, and I certainly wanted to appear more adult-like than the gawky teenager that I knew I was.

            The escargot were prepared tableside, and the server did an amazing job of sautéing them with a flair of showmanship. When he placed the dish in front of me, this kind waiter asked if I knew how to remove the meat. I nodded no, and he kindly showed me how to use the tiny fork to pry the rather rubbery snail from its shell. It was dripping in garlic and butter, and really did smell delicious. I actually liked the taste as well.  Our host was quite pleased with himself that he had been the one to introduce me to this refined delicacy. Once I felt confident that I had mastered the art of using this tiny fork, the waiter left me to enjoy my appetizer. The adults continued their conversation, and I was feeling very grown up.

            As I continued to work on my plate of escargot, I got a bit too zealous. The tiny-pronged fork needed a bit more help, so I thought. Using a bit too much force, the snail came out so quickly that it sailed over my shoulder and landed at the table behind me in a lady’s bouffant hair-do. This was 1969, and the style then was to pile hair very high above the scalp. Desperately wanting to remain in my sense of sophistication, I whispered for my mom under my breath.  I pointed to the slimy snail hanging from this poor, unsuspecting woman’s perfectly coiffed hair-do, and wanted to just slide under the table to hide myself.

            My mom whispered back, “She doesn’t even know it’s there. Pretend it didn’t happen.” So that is exactly what I did. I prayed that it would fall off of her hair before she noticed, and wondered if I would ever learn the art of sophistication. This particular attempt was not quite there yet.

            To this day, I often think about that poor lady with the snail hanging from her hair, and I am reminded that life is full of surprises. Growing into adulthood can be a as tricky as eating escargot.

            

Abandoned On My Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday.  My daughter and her family had taken me out to celebrate the previous week while I was visiting, so it was just my husband and me for the day. And it was Labor Day. We had a quiet afternoon around the house and then we decided to go out to eat at Texas Roadhouse. I was excited because we haven’t gone out much since the arrival of his new service dog (another story). We opted to not take the dog, because he still is in training.  Expecting to have a sweet, quiet dinner to celebrate together sounded very good.

But just as we were finishing our salads, Jon’s niece called. Her father, Jon’s brother passed away a few weeks ago, and she was struggling with many concerns and issues regarding his estate. The waitress brought our dinners, and I began to eat while Jon listened to his niece spill over with her frustrations and problems with getting things settled and his medical practice closed. I continued to eat alone, while Jon remained on his phone, and I started to get upset.  This was my birthday dinner after all.  I kept eating. He stayed on the phone, until I had completely finished my meal. I was struggling with how to feel compassionate for this sweet girl who just lost her father while being abandoned by my husband during my birthday dinner. As I was forming the words that I planned to say to communicate my frustration, a warm feeling washed over me with a reminder. How many times has God wanted my attention, and I was too distracted to notice? How many times have I told Him that I would get to Him when I finished with whatever I was doing at the time? When I remembered these things, I was no longer upset, but thankful that God never gets frustrated with me when I abandon Him for other distractions that somehow seem so important at the time.

I was very grateful for the reminder, and I so enjoyed Jon’s company while he finished his meal. It was a perfect birthday dinner!

Two Homes

    This morning as I took my sunrise walk along Green Lake, the Holy Spirit was nudging me to take notice of two beautiful homes along the shore.  The first was so elegant and spacious, reminding me of a Southern mansion.  The charming white house with the large porch area overlooking the sparkling splendor of the lake was obviously a place where many have gathered. There were climbing trees and open lawn areas, and beautiful beds of exquisitely landscaped flowers.  I pictured children and puppies enjoying the open air to romp and play, chasing fireflies in the early June evenings. A hammock stretched between two stately trees, seeming to invite one to grab a book and rest awhile. The front porch had many comfortable-looking chairs that practically beckoned me to come and sit awhile—maybe to enjoy a glass of lemonade with some fine company. The wrought iron gate was flung wide open, sending the message that all are welcome here.  The pier also held multiple seating spaces and there was yet another circle of chairs around a nearby fire pit holding remnants of sweet fellowship moments from the past. Indeed this was a home exuding nothing but pure grace and hospitality.

Right next-door was another multimillion dollar home, but definitely with a different tale to tell. It was a lovely Tudor style, but lacking somewhat in the simple and stately elegance of the home next door. There was a sign identifying this house as a cottage. However, right beside the sign was second one saying, “Private property. Keep Out.” The pier was roped off with yet another Private Property sign. There was no doubt that only a few would be welcomed here.

As I took in the shocking difference between these next door properties, I was pondering how they represented two kinds of people—those with open hearts that say “welcome” and “join me”; and those that say “keep out!”  When the Father shares of His abundance do we close our hearts and say to ourselves that this outpouring belongs to me alone? Do I tell myself the story that I worked hard for those finances to be able to purchase such a regal home and therefore I get to choose who visits me there? Or, do I instead, out of gratitude for His goodness say, I have freely received from the Lord, come and taste with me to see that He is good?  I would hope that I would always want to share the blessings God has given to me. An open door, an invitation to all who care to join me seems so much more desirable. 

Two homes, two very different stories.

Branding Day Two

So today, I am still pondering my personal branding. What is my unique purpose that God has created for only me? I understand the value of narrowing the focus and aligning my energies toward a single target. For me, however, that is a rather daunting task.

I am a musician. My passion and my connection in worship begin with song. Surely I could never put this part of me aside, however, there are no CD’s with my face on them, nor bookings around the country where folks are thronging to hear me sing praises to the Lord. While I would love to be known for my musicianship, and feel most alive while leading others in genuine and raw worship, this is just not that season for me. The platform at my church in my little Ohio town will have to suffice for now. Music is not my branding, even though I have often thought it would be.

I am a leader. I have studied leadership. I am qualified by the little letters after my name to teach leadership to others. I have been a leader for many years. I have organized, orchestrated, collaborated, supervised, administered, facilitated, managed, directed, taught, guided, mentored, you name it, I was leadership 101. But I am now retired. That season has passed.

I am a teacher. I know this is a gift ministry from the Lord, and I have taught many others over the years. I have taught preschoolers and high schoolers and those in between. I have taught college students in preservice educational programs. I have taught Sunday School for grown ups and Children’s church and Vacation Bible School. I have taught my children to drive (and am still living to tell the tales!). I have taught and am teaching my grandchildren to love stories and songs and to know Jesus. I will be teaching again in a few weeks at the University, but is this my brand? I know I am called to more than even this.

I am a Mom. I have three amazing children who are each living very different but exciting and fulfilling lives. They are their own persons now, and my identity can no longer be so closely tied to theirs.

I am a Grandma. The joy of holding the child of my child is something so treasured that words seem to fall short. I would pay my daughter to allow me time with those precious children, but once again, Grandparenthood is only a small yet worthy piece of my legacy.

I am a wife. My husband of less than a year is blind and there is some level of care-taking involved. However, I am not defined by being the spouse of the blind guy. I am however, grateful to partner with him in his life purpose coaching work. We are both on a different and yet very similar path, and while we are not soul mates, we are twin flames, both burning brightly to illuminate a path that makes a difference in the lives of others. We do this in vastly different ways, but out purpose is the same. We both want to bring the Kingdom of Jesus to Earth and we make each other better at what we do.

I am an intercessor. God has woken me up many times to pray for people I don’t even know. I barely can wrap my head around why, other than He knows, that when he asks me to stand in the gap, I will. Some call themselves prayer warriors. That is not me. A prayer warrior devotes much time and energy beyond the minute snippets of deep intercession where I briefly feel what it means to partner with Jesus. While I know Heaven has moved on behalf of others because I entered into obedience when asked, this is not who I am.  Some days I wish I had a longer attention span and could actually be a prayer warrior. I like the sound of that title. But alas, that is not me either.

When I have asked the Holy Spirit to tell me my purpose, I am led to this: I bring hope to the hopeless, and inspire others to begin their own purpose journey. I am pondering how this is a brand, but I am so open to hearing His voice as He teaches me how I can partner with Him to live out my calling.  It is a work in progress, and while I will not be able to set my focus yet, I am forever grateful.

Branding

Tonight, I am being stretched to see myself as the ambassador God has called me to be.  In order to be about my Father’s business, I have to get myself out of the way. I also have to know that what I bring to the world through Him, no one else has been called to do. There are parts of me that feel not good enough and their voices often drown out the truth of who I am in Christ. I have asked my not-good-enough parts to become reminders for me instead. Rather than telling me what I already know—that in my own power, I will always fall short of the mark—I have asked to be continually reminded that I have an amazing purpose.  I am still learning and growing into this new branding of myself.  In fact, it is so very new, that I cannot even name it yet. I will however, be partnering with the Holy Spirit to get that figured out. It is imperative that I know what I have to offer so that I might be used in His mighty ways. This is daunting to even think about, and yet, it is also the most compelling work I have ever done. I am so grateful for the teachers and mentors that I have met along the path. May we journey onward together to build His Kingdom and in His perfect timing.

He Reaches My Heart and Teaches Me by Linda S. Locke, PhD

Here is my book, a compilation of my blogs!

It Matters to This One by Linda S. Locke, PhD

A Christian Romance novel!

Do I Trust You?

Do I trust You, God? I want to say that I do. I want to claim my full, and thorough confidence in the One who has held me through life’s most challenging experiences, and yet, I don’t understand so much that is going on around me.

The very act of becoming Your child was a life-altering event of complete surrender. I knew that I would be disowned from my Jewish family for choosing Christ as my Savior. For six years, I was dead to my own parents who were not there for me through college graduation, a wedding, and the birth of two beautiful, delightful cherubs. I clung to Luke 18:29 ¹, as a rescue raft in a sea of abandonment and loss. I read this passage countless times, willing myself to get through the pain, and then realizing that God Himself was healing the holes in my heart and bringing others from the fold to help bind and close the gaping wounds. I did trust You then—with all that I had, and I was restored once again with my family.

When I made wrong decisions—some, where only by Your grace and mercy I landed unscathed—through drugs and alcohol and promiscuity; and others that have had lasting consequences like divorce and severed friendships, You were there. I basked in the continual warmth of Your love, knowing I was held in the palm of Your hand, even as I took these detours that must have broken your heart.  You were there when my second marriage was tormenting my very soul. You were there to uphold me and to help me love the unlovable. You were there when he died, leaving me a widow with a teen-aged boy to raise alone. I trusted You and You never failed to show me Your presence. I have trusted you in times of financial difficulty, in losing jobs, in the death of my parents; the separation from my brothers.  There was never a shred of doubt of Your presence.

So why do I question my trust now? When all that is crazy and chaotic in the world around me do I wonder where You are? You have shown me time and again that You can be trusted. I will rest in this alone. As violence, evil, and corruption seem to be at every turn, I will trust You. As sorrow and agonizing pain sear the hurting hearts of parents losing their children to drugs and suicide, I will trust You.  As innocent people are murdered while enjoying the goodness of life, I will trust You. Even when I cannot understand, I will trust You, because Your ways are not my ways. I will lean not on my own understanding, and remember that You alone are God.

¹ “I tell you the truth”, Jesus said to them, “no one who has left home or wife or brothers or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God will fail to receive many times as much in this age and in the age to come, eternal life”

From Where We Are

            In my devotional this morning, the author pointed out about two fires that Peter experienced.  As they were preparing to sentence Jesus for his death, Peter was seated at a fire to warm himself.  Luke 22 says that as he was seated in the firelight, a servant girl recognized him as one with Jesus.  This was his first recorded denial of knowing the Lord Jesus.  I am sure that in his thoughts Peter could not help the shame and guilt he felt since just hours before at the dinner table, he told his beloved Savior that he would never leave his side.  Earlier in that same chapter of Luke (22:33), Peter says, “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death.” Jesus replies that Peter will deny him, not once, but three times.  I can relate to Peter.  I am sure he really did believe that he would never forsake the one he loved so dearly. Yet when the pressure was on – seated at that fire with all of those watching the man who knew no sin being condemned to death – Peter started to fulfill that prophecy of being who he did not want to be.

            Then after…after the pain, the sorrow, when the unbelievable had happened and their Beloved was brutally beaten and crucified, Peter went back to what he knew.  Fishing!  And as they spent the entire night on the water and caught nothing, they head toward shore, and there on the beach is another fire. This time, it is a fire of communion and fellowship. Jesus is making  their breakfast over the hot coals, and I am sure in Peter’s mind he had to recall that other fire, only a few days before where he did the one thing he believed he would never do – walk away from this One he loved so dearly.  Yet Jesus takes Peter from right where they left off – at a fire where he denies knowing Jesus, to this fire of forgiveness and a future.  This is our Savior. He takes us from where we are, and leads us into that hopeful place of forgiveness and growth.

            I wonder if Peter pondered the significance of these two fires. I am sure he understood that without the gift that Jesus brought him, he would be right back at the courtyard saying, “I never knew the man.” Yet, in spite of falling short, Jesus takes this man of shame and makes him bold and courageous and the giver of life to all of the gentile nations.

The Day After

The day after. Expectations that were left unmet. Wondering what the next steps should be. The pieces were in place and everything was ready. Except no one showed up. I know that God has given me a message and a passion. What I don’t know is how to promote myself. Ask anyone—they will tell you that the topic of bullying and helping victims to find their voice is so valuable. But no one showed up to hear what I have to say. I don’t plan on giving up, but I do plan on figuring out how to move forward without feeling like I’m not the right person for the job. It’s easy to tell myself that folks just don’t want to hear my message. So after waiting nine long months for the moment that never came, I will wait some more…

Uncle Dave

            My Uncle Dave died. He was married to my Dad’s baby sister, the youngest of the eight in their family. Uncle Dave was sweet and kind and he always made me feel valued and loved. I didn’t stay in touch with my Uncle Dave or my Aunt Bevi. I actually haven’t seen them for fifteen years. It isn’t because we didn’t love one another or that there were relationship barriers between.  Nothing except distance. I feel sad that I didn’t even know Uncle Dave had been sick. He was  97 years old, so it shouldn’t be surprising to me. I just wonder how families drift apart. How did I get so disconnected from people that have meant so much to me?

            Every day, I think that I am going to do a better job of letting those around know how important they are to me. Yet, I have allowed fifteen years to slide by and I never even checked to see how my Dad’s sister and her family were doing. I stay in touch with some of my cousins through social media, but it is not the same. Time with family should be valued. Wonder why it takes a death to feel this lesson?

            Rest in Peace, Uncle Dave. You were one of the sweetest guys I have ever known. Sending hugs and prayers to my Aunt Bevi. They lost a child to cancer just two years ago. He was only a few years older than me. Life is precious. Stay connected to family. It matters.

Gold Dust: What Really is in the Pot at the End of Life’s Rainbow

            My Dad was my hero. I loved him dearly, but he was never around. I think that might have made me long for him more, but nevertheless he taught me much about what was most important. He taught me by his example of how to walk in integrity. He also taught me by his mistakes. I learned by his disappointment at the end of his life that maybe he didn’t have it quite right. Dad strived to be a man of values and strong morals, but he was always chasing the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. When he reached the dusk of his life, he realized that the pot was empty, and he was very sad. Dad ended his life with regrets and a lack of contentment. Although he never voiced them out loud, I knew.

            My Dad thought that having money was what was most important in life. A good-sized bank account meant yearly and sometimes extravagant, vacations and never having to do without. Yet there was a huge price tag. He hardly knew me. Dad was what folks call a “workaholic.” He was at his retail clothing store at least 65 hours each week. Sometimes more. He never heard me sing in a choir performance. He never watched me march in the band during football games. He often missed my birthday. It didn’t really bother me, because I knew that he was working to provide a better life for his family—and we did have truly nice vacations.

            What Dad missed, though was that the end of the rainbow did not hold a pot full of treasures. Instead, life’s journey is about stopping along the way to gather the gold dust and small nuggets on the path. A life of contentment is not something to reach. It is not a someday event. Contentment comes from finding joy in each of the little things along the way. Watching a sunset, hearing a baby laugh, sharing a meal with family and friends, bringing to the table the first ripe tomato from the garden—these little nuggets of gold are what fill the pot at the end of life’s rainbow.

            My Dad missed the joy. He missed the laughs and the simple pleasures. He missed them because his focus was beyond the present. He never knew how to be in the moment. My Dad didn’t know how to just be still and listen to the rain on the windows. He didn’t know the exhilaration of sledding down the hill in our own backyard. He didn’t know the sensual, almost orgasmic thrill of the first bite of s’mores fixed over the burning leaf pile—or even the sense of gratification in finding just the right stick to roast the marshmallows. He missed all of that because, bottom-line, he was more concerned about his bank account. When he got to the end of his life, he knew it. He knew what he had missed and he knew there were no do-overs. My Dad ended his life a sad man who knew the truth about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

            I am grateful for my Dad in so many ways. He taught me much about life and about caring about people. He taught me about integrity and how nothing was more important than being honest and taking responsibility. He taught me to believe in myself (although the lesson didn’t stick too well with all of the other baggage blocking his frequent lessons). My Dad also taught me by his opposite example, to gather the gold dust along the way. His sadness at the twilight of his life was the loudest message that I received from him and his greatest gift to me.

            There is no pot of gold waiting for us at the end of life’s journey. What there is , however, is an empty pot that can be filled with each grain of gold dust found along the way. I have learned to be still and to be in the present. I have learned to marvel at the smallest of things. I have learned to gather each nugget along the path so that when I reach my destiny, my pot will be overflowing. The pot at the end of life’s rainbow is not a destiny, it is the end of a journey of a life well-lived. Thank you, Dad. I love you and miss you every day.

Don't Throw in the Towel Yet

            I know when people say that it must be a “God-thing” not everyone understands what that means.  Today was living proof for me of how God’s hand is in all that we do.  I spent a few hours working on my latest book.  It’s a novel and taking me way longer than I had anticipated.  I am used to the quick turnaround of children’s books.  I sit and write for about twenty minutes and then it’s there—a creation borne with little time spent.  Not so with a novel.  I am about ¾ completed, but getting rather tired of the whole project.  Anyway, after I finished my daily addition, I was feeling pretty disgusted with the book.  Who cares what a Principal’s life is like anyway?  Who wants to read a Christian romance novel?  Is it too cheesy?  Maybe I have too many characters and not enough depth.  Maybe it is too confusing and I should just give it up.  If I am tired of writing it, who would want to read it?

            Then within an hour after thinking these thoughts, my phone rang.  The caller ID said it was coming from Meadville, PA.  That is where I was born and raised.  That is, and always will be, my hometown.  I wondered who was calling me from home?  I have no family left there.  It was a literary agent.  I had requested some information from a Christian publisher last week, just in case someone might be interested in my book.  They were following up my inquiry, but I had no idea they were from Meadville!

            I told this lady that I was ready to throw in the towel, and she reminded me that maybe this work was for me and not anyone else.  The title is “It Matters To This One.”  This lady, who doesn’t know me at all, says, maybe this work is because it matters to you.

            I am thinking it is just too ironic that this company is housed in my hometown.  It is too coincidental that I am ready to throw in the towel, and the phone rings, giving me hope that my writing might have importance.

            Then I remember that I am partnering with the Holy Spirit as I write.  To throw in the towel is a bit blasphemous to say the least.  How can I give up, when I haven’t done this on my own?   It would be wrong to partner with someone and then say, I give up.

            So call it Providence.  Call it a coincidence; or call it a “God-thing.”  Whatever it is, I guess the proverbial towel remains un-thrown.

Rescue Me, Please!

Today, I spent my time between filling out job applications and trying to locate a publisher – someone – ANYONE who would be willing to take a chance on promoting what I have to offer.  What I want is someone to just call me on the phone to say, “Linda, I just read your books and I LOVE your writing.  We want to sign you on a contract.”  Or, “Linda, of course we want you to teach for us.  We are looking for strong Ph.D. candidates for this position.”

           

But having to go out and find the openings is overwhelming.  It feels like I am 10 again and my Mom tells me to clean my entire room.  I don’t know where to start, and so I just dump all of my drawers in the middle of the floor and then burst into tears because it is just too much to do.  Too many decisions – keep, sell, throw away?  It’s all too much in one giant heap and it won’t go away until I deal with it.  All  of it.

 I stopped my job hunting and instead watched a movie while doing an on-line jigsaw puzzle.  I am much better now.  I still want my Prince to come and rescue me, but alas, that will not happen.  I wonder why I keep hoping anyway?  Sigh.

Tomorrow will be another day.