What’s In a Name?

I am enrolled in an eight months long workshop to help me refocus my purpose. Our first assignment was to learn our identity by examining the origins and meanings of our names.

I never really liked my name. I always knew that Linda meant beautiful in Spanish, and since I never felt very pretty for most of my life, I sort of disowned my name from my identity. But digging deeper, I learned that in some other languages, Linda also means soft and tender.

I absolutely resonate with these meanings because I have always been more tender-hearted than most people that I know. I can’t watch scary movies, and even most action-filled movies these days are simply too much for me. I find myself stressing in an activity that is supposed to be entertaining.  I chalked it up to just a quirk, but now I see it is because I am so tender, that I cannot help but feel the angst of the characters in the movies.

My middle name is Sue. I have found that this is a derivative of Susan or Susanna, which means lily. A lily stands for purity. Of course, I haven’t truly been pure, but when I step outside of those boundaries, I have always felt enormous guilt and anguish. It makes sense to me now, since being pure is part of my identity. When I am outside of purity, I am out of integrity with who I am.  I always wondered why others could cross the line so easily when I could not. I am beginning to understand.

In the Jewish culture, it is typical for families to also give a Hebrew name to their children in honor of family who have passed away. My Hebrew name is Hannah, meaning favor.

I think I like this name most of all. I have always felt Papa’s favor on my life. I have known for many years that He loves to pour His favor into my life. I also know the enemy hates it when He does, and thus I have been caught in the midst of many battles on this front.  It is here where I have learned my most valuable spiritual lessons—God’s favor vs. the enemy’s desire to steal it from me.

I am loving this new learning about my identity, and I am so grateful that I now adore my names because they were chosen as part of my journey and my destiny. As I grow more into my purpose, I see that it was no accident that I am Linda Sue, (and Hannah), tender and pure, graced with favor. And that really is beautiful.

The Hardest Part

I don’t want to believe I am a perfectionist. But what other name would one call it when I tell my blind husband that I really don’t want his help with the dishes because I will just have to redo them.  I know I hurt his feelings once again.

The right thing to do would have been to allow him the joy of helping me. Yet, I knew it would take me longer to clean up after him than if I just did the job from the start.

I didn’t want to hurt him. I know he wants to feel like he is helping, but the reality is, he doesn’t help me in the kitchen.

Maybe my expectations are the barrier. Maybe my standards are just too high.

Maybe I don’t have the patience I need to just let him do his thing and then clean it up later.

I want to do the loving thing.

But that means I have to sacrifice myself again.

Why is that so hard?

This was a weak area in my parenting skills when my children were younger as well. I knew I should let them try, but I just couldn’t stand the mess.

I love to bake, and I wanted to share that love with my kids, but when I would let them pour, and it went on the floor, I would just take over. I did not give my children the joy of working in the kitchen. I left them with a bad taste in their mouth instead. The message I gave them was that baking is messy and clean up is more important than the joy of creating.  I gave them no gift there, even though in my heart, I knew I wanted to.

Here I am again. Same spot. Same dilemma.

I have to let it go, but that means letting go of part of me too.

That is the hardest part of all.

Stupid Act or Lesson Learned?

Yesterday, I did probably the dumbest thing I have ever done in my life. I don’t know where my brain was, but it certainly was not functioning.  Maybe it was in my haste to get ready to head to church with all of the extra things I was taking for a special celebration during and after the service. Or it might have been because of my incredible level of distraction due to taking Jon’s service dog back again for the first time since his “retraining” at Pilot Dogs. Whatever the reason, I simply was not thinking.

I had the hatch of my leased Prius raised with all of the extra things we were taking that morning, and I had one more thing to add. I decided to back out of the garage, making it easier for Jon to load his dog.  And, you guessed it, with the hatch still raised, it smashed into the garage door, ripping off the spoiler on the edge of the hatchback.

The damage was complete. It broke every contact that holds the spoiler in place, so I drove on to church with it dangling by the back light wires.

All the way to church, I was beating myself up for my utter stupidity. I think I called myself every derogatory word I could think of at the time. I was totally astonished at how utterly moronic this episode was, and all I could think of was how much money this was going to cost me to get it fixed.

Then, I remembered.

What was the lesson?

If there wasn’t a lesson, then I know I would have been nudged by the Holy Spirit to realize my hatch was up. I have had those warnings many times before, and I have come to expect that extra support from my Comforter. It didn’t happen this time.

Now, maybe I was so distracted, I just didn’t hear it. Or, maybe there is a deeper lesson.

When I, ashamedly described my ditzy act during Sunday School, one of the ladies reminded me that maybe I am supposed to provide this opportunity for someone else to reach out and help me.

It was no surprise that this woman’s husband jumped to my rescue to help remove the light so that the broken spoiler could actually come off.

It’s a holiday weekend, and I have to wait another day to find out how much damage this unthinking act is going to do to my bank account. Regardless, as soon as I switched my thoughts from my shortcomings to His purposes, I felt much better inside.

Life is full of ups and downs, but our attitude is truly what makes the difference in how we handle them.

Hummingbirds and Joy

Today, while on my morning walk, I was waiting for some “aha” moment that would give me the inspiration needed for writing my blog. Not much of late had been shaking my world enough to actually write about, so I implored of the Lord to lay something on me.  Something really good! Of course I have no idea if anyone actually reads my blog, but I wanted to be able to have something that felt worthy of a readership.

Nothing.

I waited a bit longer and asked again.

Still nothing.

Just when I thought that at least for today, I would not be adding to my second edition of He Reaches My Heart and Teaches Me, I saw the sweetest hummingbird.

I was reminded of how the hummingbird defies aerodynamics and flies more like an insect than a bird. Somehow their ability to hover is so much more fascinating than watching a robin or cardinal in flight. There are many articles on the internet to explain how the hummingbird stays in one spot, but what I found more interesting about this tiny creature was how quickly it disappeared.  One second, I am watching in awe as this miniature being seemed to effortlessly hover over a flowering plant. Just as it registers in my brain that this was a hummingbird, it was gone. I mean, really gone!  I could not, for the life of me, determine where it went. And I was sad.

Here, for a fleeting moment of joy, and then gone.

Immediately, I felt the Holy Spirit teaching me yet another powerful lesson from nature.

We seek those times of joy as though they are the goal, and yet, almost always before we are ready, they so very quickly disappear. When joy becomes the sole reason for our purpose, we are going to be sorely disappointed. Joy does not last. It is a beautiful thing--just like that darling hummingbird. But before I could blink, it was gone.

I can be sad that it vanished, or be thrilled that it came.

Joy is not, and cannot be, the goal. Joy is a gift of the journey. Our goal is to live out our purpose.

Each of us has a purpose. Most likely, we have had several that have been reshaped along with the seasons of life. But we each have to walk our own path, seeking the purpose of our divine design. We find joy along the way. It's a byproduct of the walk.

Today, I was reminded by this beautiful hummingbird that moments of pure joy do not last, but when they come, we can use them as a source of gratitude to grasp onto during the more mundane stretches of our journey.  I am thankful for the hummingbirds that come along the way. They are gentle reminders of hope and enable us to focus on finishing the course.

Do not be distracted by the hummingbirds along the way. Revel in their sweet refreshing, like ice-cold water after a long hike in the hot sun. Rejoice that we have  hummingbirds to remind us of the goodness of the real journey.

Much peace to you, fellow travelers!

Results

I wished I loved to garden. I long for beauty around my home—flowers and greenery, and healthy trees and shrubs. I love to see beautiful lawns and manicured plant life. But the reality is, I hate the work.

I purchased fifty bags of mulch from our local high school football team. Now that I have laid out forty-four of them, I feel compelled to ponder why I dislike this work so much.

Is it the weeding? I'm not sure. There is something innately satisfying about pulling up things that don’t belong. However, when more than half of the weeds have small prickly parts, then the satisfaction is outweighed by the discomfort.  So, yes. I hate the weeding.

Is it the effort it takes? Well, I am not one to shy away from hard work, although, when the sweat drips onto my glasses while my hands are too full of dirt to wipe it away, I am not a happy camper. When my lower back is screaming at me to stop, and I still have many more feet to cover, I am also not too thrilled. When my knees say that they have had enough, and I’m not nearly done…. well, you get the picture.

I also know there is a very deep emotional disdain attached to gardening. My mother loved to garden. It was her first source of stress relief. She longed for me to want to work along side her, but there was simply too much “stuff” between us. When I did not live up to her expectations (which was quite frequently), then helping her in the garden became my punishment.  I was not allowed to play with my friends until I pulled up fifty dandelions, or planted a dozen petunias. Needless to say, the negative tension from the “Mommy wounds” is still strongly connected to anything having to do with gardening.

This morning, I stopped with just six more bags of mulch to do. I have two trees left to clear around. I wanted to finish the job today, yet these muscles that rarely get used have told me they were done. 

I am looking at the work I have completed. There is a robin prancing over the newly laid mulch around an oak tree in my back yard. She looks happy. That makes me happy too.

I want to finish the job because the results far outweigh the angst.

Adequate in Many Ways But Expert in None

We all have gifts and talents of some sort. Some have gifts that are rather obvious. Others? Well, if we look, we can eventually find something to recognize as a genuine strength. I have written before about wishing that some of my talents were more polished.

For instance, I love to sing. I always have. At one time, I really thought I could make a living with my voice. But then, life got in the way, and what was once such a passion became more like a hobby.

I sing each week in our worship team at church, but my voice does not bring me accolades as a star, nor does it bring an increase to my finances. I sing because it is a blessing. No CD’s bear my name. No one clamors to hear me. No concert tours. No YouTube videos. Just a Sunday morning service each week. And it is really okay.

I have other gifts. I write. I pray. I teach. I lead. I do each of these things actually pretty well—considerably better than the average bear. Yet, none of these are so extraordinary that others seek my gifts and expertise.

Periodically, I often stop and wonder if I should have chosen one of my gifts to refine to a higher level. If I focused all of my time and energy into just one arena, I could truly make it something special. I know that would be true.

When, however, I think of the cost to pour all of my resources into only one bucket, I get jittery inside. It is like choosing to nurse only one kitten of the entire litter. How could I not nourish and tend equally to each one?  Which would I choose? How could I ever decide?

I know I have been blessed with multiple giftings for a purpose. I just don’t know what that is, really.

The question is—which is better? One amazing gift that is so extraordinary that others seek my expertise; or above average in multiple ways?   Based on my gut reaction when I try to choose one gifting, I am guessing there really isn’t a choice here. For some reason, I have been called to be good at several things, but great in none. I am trying to fully embrace this understanding, but it sure isn’t easy. Somehow it feels like settling for less.

I asked Papa about this some time ago, and He asked me, “What would you give up?” I still am pondering this question, and the answer is still quite obvious to me. I don’t want to give up any one of them.

So, that means, I must find peace in being adequate instead of awesome in each of my giftings. When I am able to reframe this for myself, I realize that adequate in multiple ways is not to be taken lightly. I need to stop comparing myself to those who have a more narrow focus. It is a choice I have made and it really is okay.

I Make A Terrible Nurse

I am a terrible nurse. I have been trying to understand my wretched thoughts and frankly, I’m coming up empty.

I’d like to think of myself as a caring and compassionate soul. I truly do. But when my husband is sick, somehow, my thoughts are on me, and what a burden it is to care for him.

My husband is blind, so he takes some caretaking on a regular basis anyway. I’m used to that part. But when he is sick and can’t even do the things he normally does for himself, I have to fight my internal eye-rolling, and ugh-sound making.

I hate this part in me. I don’t want my ugly feelings during his sickness to define me, and yet, I have no clue how to rid myself of them.

Here are some factors that get in my way:

1.     Jon does not take care of himself. He doesn’t exercise, he eats a lot of potato chips and red meat, and only takes a polite portion of the healthier options that I regularly fix. For example, I often will make a yummy kale and mushroom side dish for dinner with lots of onions and fresh garlic. He eats about a ¼ cup, and I finish the entire pan.

2.     Jon reaches for OTC meds before he tries oils, supplements, or homeopathic options. I abhor medicines and only take them when I am desperate. I try to help him with this, but he doesn’t understand, nor does he seem interested in learning how to do this for himself. It makes me feel stuck because I want him to own his wellness journey and he won’t.

  

3.     He is unaware of his own body needs. This is a huge factor. He doesn’t know what a fever feels like, and describes chills and sweats, but doesn’t think to grab a thermometer (he has one that talks to him!), or use essential oils to help.  In addition, because he is so unaware, on numerous occasions, he has not made it to the bathroom in time. Just as with a young child, this causes me hours of clean-up and disinfecting.

4.     Jon used to pride himself on never getting sick, however, in the 17 months we have been married, he has been quite ill 7 different times. This does not include the migraine headaches that he gets at least three times a month.

So with these things going on in my brain each time he is sick, I am just mad. This creates an internal war with my compassionate, loving side. When I pray, I pray angry prayers.  I wish I had a nurse’s heart. What does it take to get rid of my selfish thoughts when my husband—the love of my life—needs me to remember my most sacred vows?  You know, “in sickness and in health?”

I guess I should be grateful that I am at least aware of this internal war, but I just don’t have a clue how to get myself to where I really want to be.

Thank you, Papa for creating in me a clean heart! I need it all the more when my husband is sick.

Dunamis

Yesterday, from out of the blue, a friend from high school sent me a private message to pray for her son and daughter-in-law in a new pregnancy. Having already suffered two miscarriages and getting rather up there in years, they were battling genuine fears, hoping that this time, they would finally have the family they dreamed of having. Now the odd thing is that this high school friend and I only recently reconnected on Facebook, not having really spoken to one another in well over forty years. We actually were not really all that close even back then, although we hung around in the same circles prior to her graduating a year ahead of me.

When she messaged me, I sent back a written prayer immediately, and then began praying in the spirit. Intercessory prayer is such a powerful weapon against the adversary, and I know that I have been called on as a Prayer Warrior before.  It is always a joy and a privilege to be asked.

This time, however, when I prayed, I felt the dunamis.  Do you know what that is?

Dunamis is what Jesus felt when the woman with the issue of blood for twelve years  touched the edge of his garment. In Luke 8:45, we are told that Jesus felt someone touch him, and asked who that was. Peter, rather incredulously reminded Jesus that they were in a huge crowd and there were many people pressing into him. But Jesus answered him in vs. 46 saying, “Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me.” That word power?  That’s dunamis. That’s the power of miracles.

I felt that last night, and I might add, it is so humbling to know that the God of all creation would use simple me as a conduit of His mighty power.

This morning, I messaged my friend, telling her of my experience when I had prayed that I felt a shift in energy. I told her that I believed this pregnancy was going to result in a healthy new grandbaby. I also asked her why she reached out to me.

Her not surprising reply was that she felt God leading her to do so. I call that a divine nudge. Nothing is more exhilarating than when we get to partner with God Almighty making wrong, right and darkness, light.  I know, too, it is nothing special about me, other than I absolutely love to participate in His Kingdom work.

Dunamis is amazing, and more of a rush than a giant roller-coaster. And just like that ride at the amusement park. I want to go again, and again!

Thanking Him for thinking of me to stand in the gap. Can’t wait for more!

Checklist in my Brain

I’m not much of a list maker, but I have a little checklist in my brain that I have to run through in order to feel like my day had value.  Being retired has not been much like a vacation because I am still working part time as a substitute principal and also as adjunct faculty at our local university. I always have “stuff” to do. I also try to write every day, even if it is just this blog or some posting on Facebook.

Today, I took the afternoon off to watch a movie. When it was over, I started to feel as though I had wasted away the day. I was having trouble visualizing my checklist to see if I had ticked enough boxes.  Lord knows, I sure had closets and drawers to organize and vacuuming to do that did not get done—not to mention weeding the gardens.

Now I am beginning to realize that my measure of the “goodness” of the day has to do with how connected I have felt with my purpose and with my Creator.  I can and do often feel very connected while doing simple things like mowing the lawn, or doing laundry.

Today, I did none of those things.

I was home from my university supervision work by 10:00AM, and then I guess I wasted the rest of the day. Watching a movie. (It was a good one!)

The “doer” part of me started to fill my brain with all of the things I could have or should have done. But instead, I decided to write. It is amazing how much sense-making happens at my keyboard.

It is here, when the flow from my heart comes out in words, I feel aligned and living in my calling.

So, now that I have another entry in my blog (and another chapter of my new book in the making), I feel more satisfied that this day did indeed have some level of value.

But what if, I did nothing all day. Where would the value be then?

Did I spend time in scripture with Papa today? Check. Did I pray today? Check. Did I connect with my spouse today? Yes! Did I talk with my kids today? Two out of three! Did I fix a good dinner? Yum. So, it was a great day. And I am grateful for it!

Making Sense

All of my life, I have been surrounded with logical thinkers.  My mother, and her father before her, set the genetic stage for logic and a bent toward methodical and scientific thinking. Both of my brothers are engineers and my youngest son is now finishing his university program in chemical engineering as well. 

The father of my oldest two children always despised being around people, even though he ran a business. He would come home daily, saying, “I hate people.”  I knew what he meant was that people are illogical, irrational, and exhausting.  I get it. I really do.

Yet, we are told to love. It is that simple. We are called to love people. Period. The fourth chapter of 1 John tells us that we can’t say that we love God if we hate others. This passage also says that we are lying if we say we love God and yet are not acting in love to those around us.  The gist is— how can we love the God we cannot see when we do not love those we do.

I have a rational answer for that. (I can’t help it—it’s in the genes).

It is hard to love those who let us down. We get upset when others do not act according to our expectations. They get angry when we make a mistake. God doesn’t. He forgives us.  They do hurtful things because they put self first. God doesn’t. He always has our best interest in mind, even when we don’t understand. It is always for our good. They will say unkind things and not be true to their word. Yet, God is always true to His word. 

See?  I can show very rationally how it is much easier to love the God we cannot see than those in the flesh around us.

But that is not what we are called to do. We are called to love the way Jesus loved. We are called to love not because of the performance of others, but in spite of.  When we do that, we are able to move forward in Kingdom work.  When we stay stuck in our opinions of how others should be acting, we are always disappointed. Loving someone means loving in spite of how they act or what they say.

This is illogical. It makes no rational sense. When something hurts, we stop doing it. That is logical. Yet, here is our perfect God telling us to do something that goes against everything we understand about preserving our well-being. If we eat something harmful, we throw it up. If we touch something hot, we withdraw our hand to keep from further burning. If the ground is full of sharp objects, we wear shoes. These are sensible things to do. So why does God Almighty ask us to love those who are unlovable?

It’s because He asked us to. It’s really that simple. Because He said so. 

The results, however, are worthy and have a scientific basis. When we harbor anger, we hurt ourselves. Medical professionals tell us that extra hormones are produced during episodes of stress and anger that will, over time, cause considerable damage to our health.  When we love instead of react in anger, we are helping ourselves more than we realize. If you don’t believe me, the internet is full of this information—just a Google search away!

When we are able to walk in obedience and love instead, then God is able to do His amazing work.  This is what forgiveness is all about. Remember the prayer Jesus gave us? Forgive us as we forgive others?

Forgiveness means a decision to love instead of harbor anger and resentment. It means letting go.

So for those logical thinkers out there, reframe this seemingly irrational command to love those who haven’t (in our minds) earned it by viewing it with Jesus-eyes.

When we do, we help ourselves. Instead of hanging on to all of the reasons and justifications to stay angry, hold onto the truth.  Loving others is healing yourself.

Now that just makes perfect sense!

And I Wait

            Waiting. I have been repeatedly told I need to wait. I have never been good at waiting. I really thought it would get easier.

It isn’t.

I am waiting for instructions on what to do next. Being a doer, it is really hard for me to just be. Every fiber of my being expects to be moving forward. Sitting and waiting feels idle and lazy. Yet, when the instructions are to wait, I keep telling myself of the virtue in obedience. It still isn’t getting any easier.

I feel ready. I feel brave enough to try out some new things. I feel confident enough to know that I am called for something important. Yet when I am told to wait, the doubts begin to creep into my thoughts. What if I didn’t hear right? What if there is still more that I need to learn? What if there is someone else more qualified to fulfill the mission? What if I didn’t really hear correctly, and I am supposed to be doing something that I missed?

When I ask, I am told the same. It is not yet time. My impatience is stronger than my ability to be someone that doesn’t feel like me. I know from past experiences, however, that doing it my way doesn’t make anything better. Ever.

Who would have thought that being told to wait would feel like a prison sentence? I asked what I should do while I am waiting. I was told, “Learn to live loved.”

In the very core of my being, I am not really sure how one learns that. I guess there is something to be said for knowing that you are doing exactly what you are supposed to be. Yet, when it feels vacant, and almost stagnant, I need reminders that I am loved.

I guess we all do.

So, here I am, still in the waiting room. Ready, filled with anticipation, and learning how to stay content with no forward momentum in sight.

And, I wait.

Standing in the Gap for All

Another horrible tragedy made the news this week. A fourteen-year old boy murdered his stepmother. I found myself looking to find out who it was, hoping it was not a former student of mine when I was a principal in a primary school. As soon as the name was released and I learned that this boy was from a neighboring district instead, I was relieved, giving it no more thought.

This morning, I ran into a friend at our local Y. She is a guidance counselor at that neighboring school, and was sharing her raw pain with the situation and knowing this young man to not have had any previous indication of such behavior.  Suddenly, I noticed a flaw in myself. How easy it was to dismiss the incident when I didn’t think I knew the boy. Yet, as soon as I was made aware that his life touched someone I did know, the tragedy became more real for me again.

I am left wondering why I can so easily move on when I don’t have a personal connection. Pain is pain. Tragedy is real.

I would like to think of myself as someone with empathy, but I am now noticing my reaction is all too often to not allow an emotional connection when it is someone else’s kid. It’s another district’s problem. Is this a protective reaction that I have? Don’t look so I don’t have to feel their pain?

I couldn’t watch the videos of the children dying from the poisonous gas in Syria. I don’t know anyone from Syria, and those videos were too graphic for me.  It was safer to not look.

Somehow my response is more intense when I am personally connected somehow.

I think God is working with me on this. He often wakes me up in the middle of the night to pray for people that I don’t even know. He gives me a first name, and sometimes the situation to pray for. Are my prayers more effective when they are for those I do not know? A woman named Cheryl who was contemplating suicide for her and her unborn baby. A lady named Shannon that believed she was all alone with no one who cared about her. A man who thought God had forgotten him. A child who didn’t want to be hungry anymore.

As I type these situations, my heart is breaking. I do not know these people, and yet, God has asked me to intercede on their behalf.

Yet, I can readily shut off the news, stop the videos on my social media, skim over the articles in the newspapers and not give these horrors any more of my time.

I do not understand intercessory prayer, and yet I am called to participate in it. Why then is my initial reaction to recoil and walk away? Why does God have to wake me up in the middle of the night for prayer? Is it because I can so easily turn Him down in the day?

I am all for knowing my boundaries, but I sure don’t want my protective parts to keep me from the journey I have chosen to walk in His presence.  I will be more aware of this initial response that I have to shy away from tragedy and begin to ask this:

Papa, what do you want me to know about this and how do You want me to pray? Maybe then I will begin to see that my role is not to stand in the gap for just those I know, but for all I am called to serve.

A Double Portion

During my quiet time this morning, I was reading about Elisha. Elijah, the prophet had called Elisha to join him. God tells Elijah in I Kings 19:15 that he was supposed to anoint a new king, Hazael, and almost as an “ oh, by the way,” anoint Elisha who will succeed you as prophet (vs. 16).  Elijah does what he is told, finding Elisha plowing with twelve yoke of oxen. Elijah merely throws his cloak around Elisha, causing him to immediately ask permission to say goodbye to his parents first. Elisha slaughters his oxen, burns all of the plowing equipment to cook the meat, feeds his family, and then comes to Elijah to be his assistant. The Message version says he became, “his right-hand man. (I Kings 19: 21).

Then a bunch of stuff happens, and we don’t hear Elisha’s name again for quite awhile.  I mean a lot of things happened. A King named Ben-Hadad gets his army readied and they attack Samaria. Israel’s King Ahab seems to be a bit of a wuss, telling his folks to do whatever Ben-Hadad says. Ahab had already given over his wives and children and all of his silver and gold (I Kings 20: 7). Now, Ben-Hadad is saying they are coming in to take whatever else they want. Ahab speaks with this council of elders and they tell Ahab to not give in. Lots more takes place over the course of months (it really would make for a good movie!), but now Ahab is depressed and goes home to sulk.

His wife? You might recognize her name. It’s Jezebel. Ahab was upset because he wanted a vineyard that belonged to a guy named Naboth. Ahab offered to exchange the land or to pay for it, but Naboth refused. Ahab sulked over that too. So, Jezebel devises a scheme to help Ahab by forging a decree in his name to stone Naboth. And it happens. Elijah comes along to admonish Ahab for murdering Naboth for a piece of property. Ahab repents and is spared for a while. Really, this stuff is movie material!

Then, chapter 22 of 1 Kings begins by saying three years goes by. Elisha is still not mentioned. But he is Elijah’s right-hand guy, right? So I’m thinking we should assume he is right there with Elijah. All that time.  More stuff happens, and  I would assume Elisha is by Elijah’s side throughout but scripture does not tell us. It is interesting, but not actually the point of this piece today, so I am fast-forwarding through several more kings ruling over Israel to 2Kings, Chapter 2.

This is where Elijah tells Elisha to stay put while he goes to Bethel. Elisha says, “heck no (of course I am paraphrasing), I’m not leaving you!” So they go to Bethel. Other prophets come and tell Elisha that God is going to take Elijah from him. Elisha says he knows so don’t talk about it.

Now Elijah needs to go to Jericho and he tells Elisha to stay at Bethel and wait. Elisha again says that he goes where Elijah goes. At Jericho, again some prophets tell Elisha that God is going to take Elijah away. And again, Elisha says he already knows so quit talking about it.

A third time Elijah plans to go elsewhere. This time to the river Jordan. Again, Elijah says to stay back and yet a third time Elisha says he is going with him. And here is where the coolest part is.  Elijah parts the waters so they can cross the river on dry ground. When they get to the other side, Elijah asks what going away present he could give to Elisha. Without hesitation, Elisha says, “I want double of what you have!”

I am thinking about all of the stuff Elisha has watched Elijah do over the course of who-knows-how-long (some Bible scholar who has way more knowledge than I do could tell you, I’m sure). Elisha has observed, firsthand some truly incredible things. What he wants is even more.

I agree. I want a double portion too. In fact, I want MORE than a double portion. I want to walk in an anointing so that when I enter the room, people are overwhelmingly drawn to the living spirit in me and on me so that the entire atmosphere shifts. Like the people who knew that merely being in Peter’s shadow would heal them—I want that!

Elisha got to watch his mentor, Elijah taken up in a whirlwind into heaven by way of a chariot of fire and horses of fire. I can only imagine the immense awe, along with the pain of losing his beloved master. Elijah’s cloak fell to the ground as his protégé picks it up, saying, “where now is the Lord?” I wonder if it was the same cloak that started this journey for Elisha, causing him to butcher his twelve yoke of oxen to follow the prophet? (Really, wouldn’t this make a great movie?)

Elisha got his gift. He did many miraculous things, all because he saw something amazing in his mentor and friend, wanting what Elijah had and more.

Do you want more, too? I know I sure do!

I Am a Work of Kintsugi

I just learned about an art form that is the perfect metaphor for understanding how God uses our brokenness for his amazing purposes.

In Japan, there are craftsmen who repair broken pottery with a special kind of glue that is infused with 24-carat gold. This practice, called Kintsugi, is based on the thought that a piece of pottery is worthy enough to be restored. The history each piece holds is valued to such a point that the artisan is willing to make it of even greater value. What was rubbish now becomes precious.

I love knowing about this art form because I understand, first-hand how God is taking all of the pieces of my shattered being and is using them in ways beyond my imagination. Where I see ruin, He has made beauty. Where I see shards of pain and shortcomings, He has made strength and glory. Where I see raggedness, He makes loveliness.  I never fully understood this until I can see how broken pottery becomes a magnificent piece of art.

Thank you Kintsugi artisans for your amazing example of making beauty from trash.

Novel Writing is Hard

I’m working on a novel. I really don’t know why. It's my second one, but I can’t keep my focus long enough to write more than a few pages at a time. I’m at a place in the story right now that is pretty intense, and I don’t like writing it. The Pollyanna in me wants everything to be rosy and rainbows, and yet I’m writing about real life. Real people who want to hurt others, or are so caught up in their life’s drama that they don’t realize how their actions are destroying someone else. I don’t like writing about it, and so I closed the project again for today after just a page or two.

I like blogging. It is short, simple and to the point. It also only takes me a few minutes to jot into words some profound thought that makes me feel like a writer, yet without the angst of my novel work.

I’m thinking I won’t be doing any more novels after this one. Not only does it take too long (I started this one many months ago, and am not even a third of the way through), but I like the energy in short writing passages. Say what needs to be said. Find the important message. Move on.

I believe I have a lot to say, but with my child-like attention span, I am thinking it is best said in short spurts.

The funny part is, I am really okay with all of this!

When I Forget

Feeling unsettled inside. On the verge of tears, and cannot explain the inner sadness. I’m short-tempered. I say things with irrational emotion that I don’t really mean. I am forgetful, ungrateful.

It started after I had spent an overnight with my grandbabies and was headed home. I live just far enough away that I don’t get to see them more than once a month, and sometimes longer.  I hate that our time together is so sporadic.

Then, I come home to a husband who is blind, leaving me counters to scrub and dishes to wash. Dinner to fix. Wishing someone could fix dinner for me. Just once. Feeling sorry for myself. Ungrateful, stuck in what I don’t have instead of what I do.

Knowing that the battle is a spiritual one, I have come to the front lines ill-equipped. I have forgotten to take the belt of truth and the breastplate of righteousness and the footgear of readiness for peace. How did I forget? How is it even possible that I could ever forget?

The battle is on-going. Just when I think “I’ve got this!” another fiery dart comes hurling its way at me. This time, I let it find its mark, bringing much pain with it.

I humbly ask for mercy. I need to let go of myself. I seek forgiveness for striving and falling short. I want to know I am still loved, even when so unlovable.

And there He is. Waiting and still. Proving over and over again how my view of myself is not the same as His. When I can let go and just be in His presence, things become right again in my heart.

Let me always know Your presence, Lord. Help me when I forget. I want to never forget.