A Really Bad Dream

From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land (Mt.  27:45)

Preface:  You know that feeling--when you've had a really bad dream and you wake up suddenly, then are so relieved to realize it was just a dream.... The morning after Jesus had been arrested, Claudia Procula, Pontius Pilate's wife, woke up from a nightmare.  But her really bad dream didn't go away.  There are no  details about the dream, we only know it was about Jesus and it disturbed and frightened her.  Who was this highly-placed Roman lady and why was she concerned about a poor Galilean carpenter named Jesus?

Claudia's childhood plays out like a soap opera.  She was the granddaughter of Roman Emperor Julius Caesar.  Her mother, Julia, is described as being so promiscuous, she was banished from Rome because of her shameful conduct.  During this exile, she had an affair with a Roman soldier and illegitimately gave birth to Claudia. Julia's third husband, Tiberius, became emperor after the death of Julius Caesar, so Claudia grew up  in the palatial surroundings of the Roman residence of Tiberius.  Married at 18 to Pontius Pilate, their wedding present was the governorship of Judea.  Pilate was an inexperienced ruler and made many blunders, embittering the Jews and fostering numerous Jewish insurrections against the Roman occupation.

Claudia was in Jerusalem when Jesus was arrested and brought to trial.  She and Pilate habitually took up temporary residence there to maintain peace and order during the Jewish festivals. Did Claudia know of Jesus by reputation or observation?  Had she seen Jesus while she was on an excursion through the streets of Jerusalem seated on a magnificent sedan chair, lifted high and carried by slaves? Maybe she actually witnessed a miraculous healing.  Or was it by word of mouth from her servant girls who could more easily venture outside of the luxurious fortress palace that housed visiting Roman dignitaries.

For some reason, Jesus was of importance to Claudia and, as someone of the ruling class, she tried to save his life.  The fact that she defended Jesus' innocence while he was being falsely accused is significantly immortalized in scripture.  This must have deeply touched Jesus and encouraged his heavy heart since many of his disciples and friends had completely deserted him and the once-adoring crowds had turned vicious. 

It is intriguing to note that tradition indicates Pilate's wife, Claudia, eventually became a Christian.

Claudia describes the circumstances of her dream:

"I woke up with a jolt, shaking, my heart racing.  I was afraid to move and stared at the ridiculously opulent inlaid gold ceiling towering above me.  Then I felt momentarily relieved, thinking my nightmare about Jesus was only a dream.  But angry voices coming through the windows of our residence brought me back to reality.     

"The palace was perched high above the city and from my window I could see throngs of restless, agitated people screaming "Crucify him!"  When I realized this was all about Jesus, I felt sick.  The haunting nightmare was still vivid in my mind.  I had been deeply disturbed by the news of Jesus' arrest as I retired for the evening.  I didn't know why he had been taken and accused of crimes that could cost his life.  He was immensely popular and showed extraordinary kindness to those in dire need.  He was a just and innocent man.  His goodness had profoundly affected me.

"For the Jewish leaders to bring him before my husband a second time only meant one thing.  They wanted permission from Pilate to execute him. I was amazed Pilate had not immediately agreed to the death penalty to save face as a politician and appease the hysterical mob that had been enraged by wild accusations from the jealous chief priests and elders.  Many in the crowd were the same people who had only days before been Jesus' biggest fans.  It was so unlike Pilate to balk at settling this issue instantly.  He was a military man and had no qualms about shedding innocent blood to stifle a rebellion and stay out of trouble with Rome.

"Now Jesus stood there, alone.  Up all night and exhausted, he had been ridiculed and spat upon.  He was covered with bruises and wounds from being slapped and struck by fists of furious religious leaders and temple guards.  For hours he had been hounded with false accusations and verbal abuse.  He was not a criminal.  I knew that and somehow Pilate knew that, but things were totally out of control.

"It irritated me that not one person tried to defend him, especially when Pilate himself insisted Jesus was innocent.   I grabbed a servant by the arm and ordered him to go immediately to my husband and tell him I was upset and tormented by a dream I just had about Jesus and to urge him not to have anything further to do with the proceedings.  But it didn't work.  Watching from my window, I saw my husband give in to their lies and demands.  In a cowardly attempt to rid himself of any responsibility, he washed his hands in front of the crowd, declaring he was innocent of Jesus' blood.  Jesus was taken to be flogged and brutally crucified.  I moved from the window and slumped to the floor weeping.  My soul ached for this compassionate, humble man known everywhere for healing and delivering the oppressed.

"As Jesus hung on the cross, the brilliant afternoon sun gave way to an ominous darkness that lasted over 3 hours.  Then, as he gasped his last breath, the earth convulsed with a massive earthquake, splitting rocks and leveling structures.  Tombs broke open, releasing dead people who came back to life.  All of Jerusalem had been brought to its knees.  But not for long.  These terrifying events weren't enough to stop the brazen chief priests and elders.  They scrambled through the rubble to Pilate and foolishly conspired with him to secure Jesus' grave so his disciples could not steal his body and claim he rose from the dead.  Unbelievable!

"Three days have now passed and Jesus' followers are indeed proclaiming he is alive!  They insist they have seen him.  Those who rose from their graves when Jesus died now walk the streets of Jerusalem!  I am mystified, but at the same time exhilarated.  If Jesus is truly divinity, he does not remotely resemble any of the gods I have known and worshipped since childhood.  And I will not rest until I learn more about this god-like man who has defied death and promises eternal life."

Matthew 27:11-66

(c) Joyce Catherwood 2011

Angel Tears

 

    Do angels cry?  I really don't know.  I had never thought about it before.  But a few years ago, I was assisting my eldest daughter as she and her husband were preparing for a local move.  As empty-nesters, they were going to try downsizing, with no yard to worry about, and see how they like it.  She asked me if I would take her little weeping-angel garden ornament and keep it for her.  She had become attached to it because in difficult moments she said she would look at her little angel and think, "Yeah that's how I feel today too."  The minute she said that, I felt a sudden twinge of heartache.  Do you know what I mean?  It was a literal momentary ache that I felt deep inside.  I know everyone has good days and bad days.  But somehow, I did not want my daughter to hurt, not at all, not in the least, not ever.

    So the little angel came home with me and now sits against a tree in a special spot in my backyard landscape.  And every time I look at it, it reminds me of my daughter and her tears on her bad days.  Most of us as moms can easily identify.  We don't want our children to suffer, no matter what age they are.  Even as adults, they never stop being our children.

    As I thought about it, I wondered, if I can react with such emotion to the mere thought of one of my children being unhappy, how much more must our God of Compassion respond to each of us in our struggles and trials.  Metaphorically speaking, I believe his heart aches for us when we suffer adversity.  And the heart of God ached for real in the person of Jesus as he delivered and lifted up humanity from oppression and sorrow during his ministry on earth.

    God figuratively catches our tears in his tear bottle and records them in his book according to King David in Ps. 56:8.  So our tender, loving God "catches our tears" but doesn't always prevent them.  As we journey through life, we will not be able to completely escape circumstances that bring us to tears.

    For many years, I felt as though my heart was made of stone.  It did not ache very easily.  My experience from childhood in a rigid, legalistic religious environment shut my emotions down.  I grew up thinking my pain, my sorrows and my tears were not valid because somehow I must have done something to bring my troubles on myself and the ensuing heartache was what I deserved.

    The grace and forgiveness of our Lord Jesus have since allowed me to realize my tears do have value, whether pain comes from my own mistakes or not.  In his book, Soul Making, by Alan Jones, he talks about the gift of tears and writes:  "Real unhappiness is for those with dry eyes and a cold heart.... Weeping...softens the hardened and dried-out soul, making it receptive and alive.  It clears the mind....  Tears falling on the soul will being it back to life."

    Hardness of the human heart affects the lives of our families, neighbors, communities and nations.  As difficult as it may seem at the time, there may be a need for the occasional thunderbolt, an event totally beyond our control that gives us the gift of tears to soften that hardness.

    The little angel ornament shedding tears remains in place in my garden.  And I know there will be moments when I also will look at it and think "Yeah, that's how I feel today too," as my daughter did.  But that's OK.  Tears keep us soft and supple in the hands of a loving God.  And some day, when all is said and done, the Lamb at the center of the throne will wipe away every tear from our eyes forever (Rev. &:17).

Are We Having Fun Yet?

The other day, I was talking to my Lady Banks.... No, not a character out of a romantic period novel, but my Lady Bank Roses.  I'm always telling them how beautiful they are as they come into their full glory in the springtime.  And by the way, yes, I not only talk to myself, I talk to my flowers and my butterflies, my squirrels and my birds.  But this is good, really it it.  And I'll tell you why.

I'm am discovering living in the present.  Finally!  After all these years. Wouldn't you think the joy that can come from living in the moment should come naturally?  And why has it taken so long for me to get how important this is?  Maybe it is because of my stage in life.  I'm thinking it is probably not uncommon for people who finally reach retirement and beyond to be able to stop at some point, take a deep breath and be more attentive to what is around them.  And it's true. Like most people, my life was crazy busy with family, work, caregiving for my parents. Yet I see all kinds of people, even young people, who seem to seize the moment.  How did the ability to do that escape me?

It's easy to get caught up in "life" and forget to pause and savor the moments. We've all heard the saying "Are we having fun yet?"  This is actually a good question to ask, because if not, why not?  Have you ever looked back on a period of time in your life when you realized, wait, you know what?  Those were actually good times, but for what ever reason you didn't recognize it as such then?

While there are many reasons why life may escape us, I'm currently making a conscious effort to try to figure out what my deal was.  I remember it being hard for me to get excited about anything.  If I did have "fun" I felt guilty.  I didn't stop to smell any roses of any kind.  My focus was work and family responsibilities and very little in between.  And this mentality goes back many years.  In fact, my husband and I didn't ever take time to have a honeymoon because we thought we had to get back to work.

As I reflect on it now, my no-nonsense,  duty-bound view on life was self-imposed.  Admittedly, a nose-to-the-grindstone philosophy was clearly reinforced in my belief system, but my application went way above and beyond.  Maybe I am by nature predisposed to being dutiful.  I remember when I was a teenager, even my mom telling me to lighten up...Can you believe that?  Somehow, spirituality turned into diligence, obligation, abstinence and reticence.  I concluded this life was temporary anyway.  It was not the real thing.  The world to come was what counted.  So life passed me by. Or did it? No, it was there all around me.  I just didn't slow down long enough to pay attention and then experience the pleasure and joy the little things that happen momentarily can bring.  And to say this life was not the real thing.....nothing could be further from the truth.  I'm not saying I never picked up on anything.  But certainly not the way I wish I had.

Several years ago,  I put a 50th birthday photo book together of the first 8 years of my firstborn daughter.  During that time, her twin sisters were born.  And for most of those years, we moved numerous times and lived in Canada and France. The memories were somewhat blurred and negative as a result of all the changes, learning a new language, adapting to new cultures.  And because we lived so far away, I became very homesick and lonely. So I wrote pages and pages of letters to my parents.  Of course, my dear mom kept every single one. So, I re-read the letters, thinking they might reveal a few memories I could add to the photo book.

And guess what?  In spite of myself, I had captured dozens of precious moments of life. And I had to admit, we actually had some fun times.  It was quite a family adventure and not all that bad.

It's not that there aren't enough memorable moments happening all around us. Many of us simply don't put on the brakes and take note. We forfeit the emotional and spiritual impact of the moments. As we rush through life, we may miss the little tear in the corner of someone's eye, a smile, a timid child  needing a little encouragement, a friend masking heartache, a teenager hungering for praise, the beauty of a yellow rose or sunset,   

As humans, we are hard-wired for connection, bestowed on us by our Creator. To pause and savor the moment gives it relevance and significance and connects us to those around us, especially those we love the most. 💖 

Remember

When I think I fail to live up to whatever standard I, or someone else, happens to have set for me, my opinion of myself ranges anywhere from impatience and disappointment to anger, disgust or depression.

That's pretty dramatic, you say.  Well, yes, it is.  I do tend to be rather hard on myself.  And in all the drama, I assume God feels the same way.  In spite of the fact that I intellectually know better, I too often forget that Jesus see us all through the eyes of compassion.  I forget that the making of a soul takes a lifetime.  As humans, we tend to view the soul as a finished product, especially as we grow older.  And on this presumed "finished" product, we may place unreasonable demands and terrible burdens. We think somehow we should know better, do better, feel better.  And maybe we should, but at the same time there is a need to remind ourselves there is an unfinished quality about humanity that will remain so until we take our last breath.

When Jesus sees us, he doesn't see someone who messed up again or someone who ought to know better.  He sees someone, deeply beloved, for whom he died.

Did you know crucifixion was reserved for those who did not matter, for those who had lost all status? This manner of execution was viewed as highly offensive and vile and it was not customary to write of it or speak of it publicly. In fact, the Bible narratives contain the longest and most detailed accounts of a crucifixion that exist in ancient literature. The intention for those crucified was that they be forgotten.  They were considered not worthy of remembrance. Interesting, when Jesus inaugurated the communion ceremony which was to symbolize his death, he said, "Do this in remembrance of me."

The victims of crucifixion suffered mockery, taunting, betrayal, humiliation, helplessness, rejection, bleakness, desolation, abandonment, brutality, gruesome torture.  It was an excruciatingly slow death of exposure and asphyxiation, with the last vestiges of dignity cruelly stripped away.

Jesus sees us, not as someone who just can't seem to get it right, but as someone for whom he died such a death. He told us his crucifixion was to be remembered. The biblical account has been preserved throughout the centuries for that very reason. We often view his words "Do this in remembrance of me" as a command.  And certainly it is.  But in the context, at his last supper surrounded by his cherished companions, Jesus knew he was about to face abandonment by most of them and a death with horrific consequences. Those words were not lacking in emotion, but spoken from deep within. It was a heartfelt plea to them, and to us centuries later, to remember him. To remember the enormity of the price he paid because his love for us is profound beyond measure.

That evening, he saw each of his disciples as he sees each of us, as someone for whom he died.  It was at the cross, the fullness of his love was revealed.

The Eyes of my Heart

Within the past few months, I experienced a complicated, serious, infectious illness that backed me into a corner where surrender to God's sovereign will became my only option.  As I struggled to process and accept my dilemma, I fervently asked God to open the eyes of my heart so I could see Him more clearly.  Little did I know, His presence would be magnified through His beautiful children--family, friends, neighbors and strangers.

While feeling especially alone during one of my bad days, I came across this story in a book authored by Sue Monk Kidd, God's Joyful Surprise. She writes:

"One of my favorite sermon stories is about a little girl who went to play with her friend Marcy.  She was late returning home and her mother met her at the door.  'Why are you late?' she asked.  'Marcy's puppy got lost,' the little girl replied.  'Did you stay to help her find it?' the mother asked.  'Oh, no,' she said.  'I stayed to help her cry.'"

So with a desperate need for additional support, maybe even someone "to help me cry," I did something I would not normally do because I don't particularly like to be transparent in a public format.  I posted a brief, rather timid message on my Facebook Timeline requesting prayer.

I was not expecting to be overwhelmed, but that is exactly what happened.  The generosity of heart, the immediate willingness to pray for me, the sincere concern for my well being from my dear Facebook friends brought a burst of tears to my eyes.

The eyes of my heart were opened wide and I saw and encountered God through others.  As they entered His presence through prayer on my behalf, they brought me into His presence as well.  Their prayers became my prayers.  Intercessory prayer is loving cooperation with what Jesus, who will never leave us or forsake us, is already doing in a person's life.  It is meant to expand and intensify His presence in the mind and heart of those who pray and the individual on the receiving end.  I truly was comforted by their concern and lifted up by their prayers.

To be the recipient of a chorus of prayers is both unique and humbling. The effect is profound and long-lasting.  Usually this sort of intercession is an infrequent occurrence since it's prompted by a serious and traumatic event in someone's life.  More often than not, there aren't a lot of details provided when the urgent call for prayer goes out.  Having all the facts isn't necessary because the pivotal purpose of the prayer being offered is not to fix something.  It's simply enough to know someone is hurting and to express heartfelt compassion and empathy, to be with a fellow human being in spirit, "to stay and help them cry."

What a fascinating, miraculous dynamic!  With this form of prayer, we "experience God in spontaneous community," to again quote Sue Monk Kidd.  She goes on to say, "Every prayer is important, primarily to the one for whom we pray, but it's important for us too.  For in intercession we yield ourselves to God, sharing in His compassion and opening ourselves to His presence."

They Fell Asleep...

The road to Calvary speaks volumes of the unconditional love of Jesus, clearly revealed his final hours on earth.

From a human perspective, as the Son of  Man, it literally took blood, sweat and tears for Jesus to resolve to face the cruelty, rejection, degradation and violence of an execution by crucifixion.  He was destined to choose the Father's will over his own pain, but it was not without a desperate struggle.  Let's reflect for a moment on the emotional agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, where just prior to his arrest, with loud crying and tears, Jesus pleaded for strength and help.

The peaceful garden, thick with twisted-trunk olive trees, where they often went was familiar to Jesus and the disciples.  But this time something was different.  The disciples had never seen their master like this, severely distressed and troubled.  They glanced at each other, wondering what to expect.  As they entered through the gate, Jesus asked the group to sit down and wait for him there, with the exception of Peter, James and John.  Then as the full moon illuminated their way, the selected three followed Jesus deeper into the recesses of the garden.

Finally, unable to contain the crushing sorrow any longer, he uttered, "My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death.  Stay here and keep watch."  Wait.  Did you catch that?  Grieved to the point of death? These are words laden with mental anguish and affliction of the soul. Then Jesus turned from his three companions and went a short distance. Tears streaming down his face, he fell to the ground, crying out to the Father as he began to wrestle with the preordained plan to redeem humankind.  His voice echoed in the dark night, heart-wrenching pleas from the pit of his being.  Could there be another way?

An hour passes.  In the moonlight, he saw Peter, James and John across the way and approached them.  Did he hope to be comforted? Did he expect a show of concern and support?  He had asked so little of them.  He simply wanted them to be there for him in his hour of great need.  But what did his best friends in the whole world do?  They fell asleep.

Jesus leaves them and the battle in the garden continues, waves of emotion threatening to drown him with their force.  An angel appears to strengthen him.  The fervency and agony was so intense, his sweat mixed with blood.  Again he reached out to his slumbering friends. They looked up at him through drowsy eyes.  He searched for a glimmer of reassurance.  But they didn't know what to say to him. With a disheartened sigh, he said to them "It's OK...go back to sleep."

Exhausted, Jesus returned to his special spot.  After a final episode of ardent, earnest prayer, the saga of blood, sweat and tears was unequivocally over.  He went to fetch his friends, finding all three sound asleep again, totally oblivious to his grievous personal struggle. As he studied their faces, remembering the camaraderie, his heart filled with compassion.  His love for them had not lessened. He awakened them with renewed determination in his voice.  Startled, they looked around, confused. For the past few hours, through groggy sleep, they'd heard him sob uncontrollably.  Now they stumbled along after him, trying to match his rapid pace as he headed back to the garden entrance to meet his betrayer face to face.

So here's the question that deserves an answer.  If Jesus' closest companions, his friends who were literally there in his very presence, feel asleep in the midst of all that transpired, how much easier is it for me to miss the point as well?  Is there a tendency to gloss over the words of the story--words heavy with raw emotion and feeling?

To stop, reflect and unpack events described in the Gospel accounts leading up to and including Jesus' ultimate sacrifice is to measure the length and width, height and depth of his amazing, unconditional love. It is meant to be taken personally.  It is intended to touch our hearts. In the final analysis, it is an invitation to respond.

"Only one act of pure love, unsullied by any taint of ulterior motive has ever been performed in the history of the world, namely the self-giving of God in Christ on the cross of undeserving sinners. That is why, if we are looking for a definition of love, we should look not in a dictionary, but at Calvary."  (quote by John R. Stott, The Cross of Christ)

One Small Child

This sweet photo of my grandson, Chris, soon after birth , captures the essence of the vulnerability and helplessness of a newborn child. 

Hearing a newborn cry out for the very first time is emotional to the core.  Especially if, for a few heart-pounding moments,  that cry is delayed due to complications at birth.  This happened with one of our daughters who was not breathing immediately after delivery and had to be stirred to life. When she finally cried out, that soulful, unmistakable sound was music to our ears.  The cry of a tiny infant resembles no other.

When Jesus was born and took his first breath, I like to think his poignant, emotive newborn cry resounded throughout the vastness of the entire universe. Why?  Because suddenly heaven erupted into euphoric, jubilant rejoicing and praise. A tear in the fabric of the firmament revealed a glimpse of the celebration of a great company of herald angels who knew earth had finally received her king.

The birth of Jesus as a tiny, helpless and vulnerable baby is unlike any other event in human history. There is such richness to be gained by honoring and worshiping the babe in the manger.  Not the least of which is the recognition of the astonishing humility of the Creator of all that is.  He "made himself nothing" (Phil.2:7) and miraculously became a part of his own creation.  It is nigh unto impossible to find words to adequately convey exactly what that represented.  In her book Bright Evening Star, Madeleine L'Engle, using her poetic literary style, comes close.  She writes:

"Power. Greater power than we can imagine, abandoned, as the Word knew the powerlessness of the unborn child, still unformed, taking up almost no space in the great ocean of amniotic fluid, unseeing, unhearing, unknowing.  Slowly growing, as any human embryo grows, arms and legs and a head, eyes, mouth, nose, slowly swimming into life until the ocean in the womb is no longer large enough, and it is time for birth....  Christ, the Second Person of the Trinity, Christ, the Maker of the universe...willingly and lovingly leaving all that power and coming to this poor, sin-filled planet to live with us for a few years to show us what we out to be and could be...."

And so it was, the Holy One, out of the depths of eternity, broke into the limitations of time and space for you and for me.  Fully human and fully God, this was divine love incarnate in a baby.  A real baby with a little wrinkled brow, wispy, raven-colored hair and enormous questioning eyes that stared into the eyes of his young mother, Mary. She wrapped him snugly with swaddling clothes and held him tightly so he would feel secure. I'm sure her heart melted with each soft gurgle that came from his mouth.  And as she cuddled and nuzzled her beloved new son, did tears of joy trickle down her cheeks and fall tenderly onto his? That's easy to imagine.  When she kissed her little baby, as she surely must have, she kissed the face of God.

The incarnation, in it's entirety, from Jesus' conception and birth to his death and resurrection, was planned from the foundation of the world. The instant he was born, he was the Son of God, the Son of Man and the Savior of the world. It is significant that almost half of his 33 years on planet earth were spent either as an infant,or as a child or as an adolescent.  He didn't skip over those years, rushing to achieve manhood.  Every minute of his life carried profound meaning. The wonder of Jesus' nativity is more than worthy of thoughtful reflection, grateful worship and highest praise.

"One small Child in a land of a thousand

One small dream of a Savior tonight

One small hand reaching out to the starlight

One small Savior of life."*

*Words from song One Small Child by David Meece

Aww....

There's a photo circulating on Facebook of a super-cute, fluff-ball of a kitten who thinks his name is "Aww..." because that's what everyone says when they see him. Very few can resist having a softhearted reaction to a kitten.  And what about a newborn baby or adorable toddler?  It comes quite easily doesn't it? So why is it often challenging to have this same gentle reaction towards everyone we cross paths with? Oh yeah, that's right.  We're not all cute little things, are we? We sometimes have our off moments and can be downright annoying. So when that happens, instead of going "aww..." we're wondering why in the world did he or she say that?  Or what's their problem anyway?

It's so human to misjudge or misread someone.  Wouldn't it be remarkable if we could read hearts like Jesus did as the Son of Man on this earth? Things would be decidedly simpler. But since that's impossible, the next best thing is to sympathetically assume he or she has a reason for getting up on the wrong side of the bed or falling short of our expectations of them.  The underlying motives for people's actions are not always bad, for the most part, they are completely understandable.

In her fascinating book My Stroke of Insight, Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, an advanced brain scientist, speaks of the relevance and necessity of being sensitive to the plight of others.  She describes suffering a massive stroke in the left hemisphere of her brain.  Losing her left brain consciousness and functions caused her to fall out of sync with the external word.  But Jill retained right brain consciousness allowing her to continue processing information as a scientist.  Within a few hours, she observed her mind deteriorating to the point she could no longer walk, talk, read, write, or recall any of her past life, including family or friends.  Ten years later, after her long recovery, she documented her experience in her book.

It was easy to judge Dr. Taylor as less than what she had been before because she could no longer function like a normal person.  Even though everyone was a stranger to her, she could read volumes from facial expression and body language.  Hospitalized immediately after the stroke, she felt safe with some medical staff and unsafe with others.  One staff member, oblivious to her needs, spoke loudly to her as if she were deaf. Others were impatient, brusque and abrupt in handling her.

Yet she remembers another's eyes were soft and kind as she reassuringly touched her foot, then her shoulder and came close to her face so she could hear as she spoke softly.  Dr. Taylor says, "Although I could not completely understand her words, I completely understood her intention."

She describes how, as she lay on a hospital bed unable to speak, she perceived sounds, touch, light--any incoming stimulation--as highly discordant and unbearably painful.  Vulnerable and confused, Jill recalls desperately wanting to tell those around her: "... Bring me your gentle spirit.... Be kind to me.  Be a safe place for me...."

Her mother arrived on day three after the stroke. Of course, Dr. Taylor didn't recognize her when she walked into the room.  But her mom went straight to her bedside, lifted the covers and crawled into bed with her.  Jill explains how her mom "....immediately wrapped me up in her arms.... I felt perfectly content all wrapped up in my mother's love.  She was kind and soft and obviously freaking out a little, but overall, I thought she was nice and I liked her."  Her mother understood exactly what she needed--tender loving care in the wake of a life-changing calamity.

We usually have no idea what difficulties or life lessons the person standing next to us may be experiencing. So assume for the moment there are valid reasons for their conduct, rather than superficially judging and reacting negatively. This gives us time to mellow out, allowing for a more gentle response on our part and the opportunity to reflect the graciousness and tender mercies of Jesus.

Quoting Maya Angelou, beloved and celebrated poet and author: "People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

I Doubt It!

It's taken me years to accept there is room for doubt in my life and it can turn out to be a good thing. There was a time when I felt I had all the answers, tied up in a neat little package. Not just answers to the big questions of life and death, but answers to all the in-between questions as well .  Admittedly this gave me a feeling of security and control over my existence.  But it left no space for dealing satisfactorily with doubt, mystery, time and chance, miscalculations or the unexpected sharp curves that life tends to throw at us.

I didn't see the need to "question the answers" provided dogmatically and authoritatively by others in whom I had put all my trust.  This is not uncommon as many people do automatically accept the belief system of their childhood.  And then one day I began to ask questions and discovered my cherished answers were seriously lacking.  But, in the asking, the bottom of my neat, organized, knowledge package came apart and everything fell out. I was left to pick up the pieces, some broken, and realized they would never fit together perfectly again.  It was like starting all over and I felt very vulnerable, yet the process was so very necessary.

Here's the thing: we can't presume to spell out what God himself has not spelled out.  To quote author Philip Yancey, speaking of his own personal experience which closely resembled mine: "The church environment I grew up in had no room for doubt.  'Just believe!' they told us. Anyone who strayed from the defined truth risked punishment as a deviant...."

It shouldn't come as a surprise--no matter how many rules we follow or who we are, life and all its highs with joys and triumphs, and lows with loss and pain, happens to all of us.

Philip Yancey's book, entitled Reaching for the Invisible God, has a basic premise:  God's invisibility guarantees we will experience times of doubt. A relationship between an invisible God and visible humans will always involve an element of uncertainty. To pretend that doubting never happens or that it is an indication something is very wrong with us isn't necessary.   Unavoidable, seemingly-unaswerable questions that arise from time to time, especially in seasons of sore trial.  Some answers will be opaque.  So do be prepared for mystery.  A finite mind will never be capable of completely grasping the infinite. We often see through a glass darkly. Life is not destined to always be easy or predictable.

Quoting Philip Yancey again: "The only thing more difficult than having a relationship with an invisible God is having no such relationship."  And strangely enough, the closer our relationship, the more questions we may have about his involvement in our lives.

Though some things may remain clouded, that which is absolutely crucial in order for us to establish a deep and lasting relationship with God can be clearly seen and understood. During times of uncertainty, we have only to open our eyes wider to "see" the invisible God in the marvels and intricacies of his creation, nature and the cosmos.  There is goodness, which comes from God, all around us if we would only look for it. There are miraculous interventions, all shapes and sizes, that surround us. And knowing in advance how perplexing his "invisibility" would be for us, the Son of God actually came to earth in visible flesh to live with us for a period of time to show us who God is and what he is like.

Maybe it's just me, but it has been stimulating and liberating to ask questions, ponder and meditate on life's penetrating issues such as death, eternity, suffering, the existence of God. I am no longer reluctant to doubt and question nor am I afraid of the obscure.  Even though I don't have all the answers as I once thought, I have a more profound certainty than ever before. You would think it would be the opposite. Having all the answers is not a requirement nor is it meant to be.  I have found seeking to personally connect and bond with the Creator of Life and the Universe is what counts.  Of that, I have no doubt.

"All Things Bright and Beautiful"

My neighbor's house...bright & beautiful

When we lived in the rural piney woods of East Texas, we made many trips back and forth to the Dallas area. It is about 100 miles between the two and what did Dallas have that we were missing in the country? Well, for one thing grandchildren, then a major airport.  We didn't take the road most traveled, but instead preferred a shorter route that brought us through numerous small towns and communities.  The highway took us through valleys, rich with fertile black soil and oaks and pines lining the road.  Other stretches of flat land were sparsely scattered with mesquite trees and very little to admire. The houses along the way ran the gamut from fine large ranch homes to extremely modest dwellings with varying cast-off appliances on the front porches and  yards strewn with stuff that didn't work any more.

Obviously, some of these homes were not much to look at driving by...except for one time of the year. Christmas! Somehow, someway, the occupants of these well-worn houses managed to put up Christmas lights like you wouldn't believe.  And so, after dark, uninspiring real estate along highway 80 turned into a jewel-colored, dazzling wonderland that always made me smile and feel warm and peaceful as we passed through it.  And I often thought to myself, it must make the families living inside those otherwise nondescript houses feel special to have their homes transformed by shimmering light once a year.  Maybe it even gave them hope for a better tomorrow.

But that's what light does!  You know, like the light at the end of the tunnel.  Like someone lighting up your life or letting your own light shine.  Like the little pieces of light that suddenly appear in the dark places on your journey. Light is symbolic of sacredness, goodness, magnificence, new awakenings, guidance, warmth, comfort and so much more.

When Jesus was born into this world, Isaiah's ancient prophecy was brilliantly fulfilled:  "For unto us a child is born....The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned...." (Is 9:6; 2 NIV).  This was a defining moment in history and it was huge!

The Creator, who had previously used light--a burning bush or a pillar of fire--to make himself obvious on earth, supernaturally became a part of his own creation. God's son, with unimaginable humility, deliberately abandoned the fullness of splendor and glorious light of heaven to enter into the black darkness of a womb and be born of a woman. This tiny God infant, with his little wrinkled brow, his wispy, raven-colored hair and his enormous questioning eyes, became the light of the world through his extraordinary birth.  He brought his light, the hope of all humanity, to the earth for the first time. "In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind...." (Jn 1:4 NIV).

That's why we put up Christmas lights. That's why lights adorn our trees, inside and out, and frame our houses and line our main streets. It is sublimely and beautifully symbolic of the salvation light that entered the world on the day of his birth.

Lots of people use professionals to string lights outside and the usually-tangled ropes of glowing bulbs are lined up perfectly. Others, like the big-hearted folks along highway 80 in east Texas, climb precariously onto their ladders and rooftops and haphazardly hang lights every which way.  But it doesn't matter because when darkness falls, they all twinkle and sparkle like precious stones in the Holy City and stars in the sky, turning our surroundings into "all things bright and beautiful" and filling our souls with wonder.  Glimmering Christmas "bling" is meant to remind us, though some may not even be aware of it, that the Lord Jesus is indeed our everlasting light.

Granddaughter Cassidy

*"All Things Bright and Beautiful" 17th century Anglican hymn for children, text by William Henry Monk 

For Whom the Bell Tolls...

When I found out my next door neighbor, Carolyn, had requested to come home from the hospital, my heart sank because I knew she was coming home to go to her heavenly home.  After an intensive year waging war against a virulent and extremely aggressive form of lymphoma, she had had enough.

In our bedroom, just across the driveway and only a few feet away from the outside wall of their home, I slept fitfully and sometime not at all, fully aware her beloved husband, Doug, and cherished family members were keeping close vigil over Carolyn as her soul struggled to leave her earthly body.  Her husband, who had not once left her side during the past year, held onto her hand for her last three days and nights. And then she was gone. The final outcome was certainly not what anyone wanted.

We had often chatted or waved to each other coming and going as next door neighbors do. She was a beloved professor, educator and counselor at a nearby university.  You know how some people are by nature dynamic and charismatic?  Well, that was Carolyn.  She had a big personality, a big smile and a big heart.  So she left a monumental legacy having poignantly and joyfully touched the lives of scores of people.

And her memorial service, a celebration of her remarkable life, reflected her spirit and persona so perfectly. Held in their local church sanctuary, Doug, Carolyn's dear sisters, brother-in-law, colleagues and close friends told warm, humorous and affectionate stories about her. There were descriptive comments of her creating a lot of excitement in heaven with her bigger-than-life personality as she reunited with loved ones who were waiting for her.  They fondly pictured her exploring the streets of gold in awe and wonder and asking too many questions as she was prone to do. And yes, the significance of the loss of one so cherished was also apparent in the words spoken by those she left behind.

But, more often than not, those of us in attendance found ourselves smiling, sometimes laughing, through our tears.  At times, the sanctuary was filled with vibrant music that was touching, stirring and just plain heavenly as the worship band played and the choir sang with their whole hearts.  You see, Carolyn had been one of their number for years. We all left having sensed her energy and zest for life and feeling as though we had just had a glimpse of eternity.

During a time of reflection not long after Carolyn's death, the book I was reading had a reference to John Donne, 17th century poet and church leader.  It was he who wrote the famous quote "...never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."  Throughout John Donne's term as dean in London's largest church, three waves of the bubonic plague had swept through the city. During the last epidemic, Donne came down with what he thought was plague (which turned out to be typhus). As he lay severely ill for 6 weeks, he could hear the bell toll for each plague fatality. Realizing that the person for whom the bell tolled obviously could not hear it, John concluded the bell tolled for him--it made him reflect and meditate on the real meaning of life and about God and his divine plan. Therefore, each time the bell rang out for someone, he felt connected to that individual because it deepened his contemplation which he likened to gold, a treasure that had been bequeathed to him.

And so it is that what happens to others not only affects us profoundly, but connects us and in that way the entire human family is inextricably linked.  Though we may each be on our separate journeys, the truth is, as Donne so poetically explains, "No man is an island.... All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language....God's hand is in every translation...."

During times of devastating loss or calamity, whether globally or within our own circle of family and acquaintances, the clang of the bell comes as a shock. But it gives us pause, causing us to think about what truly matters. If we linger and don't move on too quickly, we will receive some of the golden treasure of which Donne spoke.  Carolyn's passing from this life not only prompted me to once again earnestly ponder life's meaning, but her purposeful memorial service lifted me up with precious hope. Whenever and wherever the bell tolls, we will always be changed for the better in some way, whether a little or a lot.

"Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

Your Invisible Crown

"Always wear your invisible crown."  I lifted this phrase from the Facebook timeline entitled "We the Women" which puts a focus on inspiring women to feel appropriately empowered to be the best person they can be. But my immediate reaction to the quote was... Wait! Crown? What crown?  Knowing me, even if I had one, it would be carefully wrapped up, still in the original packaging and perched high on a shelf in my closet waiting for some special occasion to be worn.  I've not been in the habit of  imagining myself wearing a crown, invisible or not. It would have struck me as vanity because for years my definition of humility was just a little warped...well, actually a lot warped..

How did my interpretation of humility get so bent out of shape?  Let me count the ways.... For starters, in a Christian context, I thought humility equaled self-hatred.  One classic example: did you ever tape little notes on your college dorm bathroom mirror as a reminder, first thing in the morning and last thing at night, how worthless and sinful you were, to be precise "less than a worm"?  You think that's funny?  It is, kind of...  But I'm serious. This was only the tip of the iceberg of unfounded and faulty information I soaked up through the years.  The result?  I grew up hating myself, honestly and sincerely thinking this was how to be humble.

Now, what if the little note I put on my mirror had said "Always wear your invisible crown."  What a difference that would have made in my life! Though we are made of dust (where worms live...), we are made in the image of God.  He assigns eternal significance to our temporal existence.  In Scripture, we're promised a crown of life.  In fact, the Son of God wore a crown of thorns so we could wear a crown of glory. It is definitely possible to humbly wear an invisible crown (or a real one if you happen to be a royal).

"Always wear your invisible crown" brings all kinds of radiantly positive imagery to my mind.  Who doesn't need a touch of shiny and sparkly to boost cloudy moods now and then?  To me personally, wearing a crown has a ring of dignity and respect--a reminder to consciously treat yourself and everyone you interact with respectfully, from the youngest to the eldest, regardless of their station in life. And it follows, if we devalue ourselves, we will lack respect for others, barely noticing them because self-hatred is time-consuming and emotionally draining.

So what does "wearing your invisible crown" say to you?  It can bring a smile to your face as it serves to jog your memory that you are indeed a child of God. Depending on where you are in your life journey, imagining yourself being adorned with a dazzling crown can make you stand taller, be braver, regain perspective, feel special, hang on longer, reinforce your vision, appreciate more, sense you are unconditionally and eternally loved.

OK, I took my "invisible crown" off the closet self, unwrapped it and tried it on.  It felt really good!  If you aren't already wearing yours, put it on and you'll see what I mean.  I think I'll have to dust mine off though and shine it up a bit. I plan to make it a permanent, treasured accessory in my wardrobe. It may surprise you how good it looks with baggy pj's or sweat pants or a tee shirt you just spilled chocolate on. And it can work marvels on those bad-hair days or nobody-loves-me moments.

Once you've gotten used to wearing it, you may find yourself with the privilege of helping an acquaintance or friend or loved one locate her invisible crown, and perhaps straighten it for her ever so slightly as she tries it on for the first time.  But be sure to tell her how awesome it looks!

And remind yourself to "always wear your invisible crown."

Speaking Because I Can

Cassidy (right) and her friend, Kaytie, who wrote and directed the musical

"I speak because I can...."
"It's hard to accept yourself as someone you don't want to be...."
"Let it be known I was who I am...."                               
                                                 
These are lyrics from songs composed by young British folk singer, Laura Marling, that struck a chord (pardon the pun) with me.  Her music was recently featured in a musical written and directed  by a close friend of my granddaughter, Cassidy, who had a part in the play. While I was blown away as usual by Cassidy's performance--she has a way of lighting up a stage--I was also unexpectedly moved by this unique production, entitled "I Speak Because I Can," highlighting the difficult life lessons precipitated by the societal, racial and gender discrimination that was so prevalent in the 50's.

While the younger people in the audience were being exposed to the realities of that era through a theater venue, my reaction was more pronounced and emotional because I had actually lived some of those realities as a teenager in the 50's.

"I speak because I can...."  The play touched on the unrest that simmered in the 50's in the U.S. and ultimately erupted into a struggle for social and cultural equality for women.  "The Women's Movement" grew out of that conflict.  There had already been a first wave of protest beginning in the early 1900's.  Eventually 12  governmental resolutions were set forth calling for equal treatment of men and women, including voting rights for women. The 19th Amendment was passed in 1920 giving women the right to vote.  Doesn't seem like that long ago, does it? Women were finally finding their voices and speaking out because they could. I feel I should mention it is not my purpose here to pass judgment pro or con on the Women's Movement. I mention it only as a backdrop on my own life experience.

"It's hard to accept yourself as someone you don't want to be...."  Most women in the 50's and 60's (myself included) had their life roles narrowly defined for them: i.e. find a husband and be a "housewife" and mother. There wasn't a lot of wiggle room.  Socially acceptable jobs outside the home existed but were few, filled mainly by single women and weren't a "good fit" for many. Without much of a say in the situation and lack of options to pursue one's dreams, a woman could easily become someone she didn't want to be. And, in the end, not really know who she was meant to be.

As a consequence, my expectations for myself in my earlier years were rather low. But in 2013 it is vastly different as opportunities to spread one's wings abound.  As doors opened for me later in life and I began to discover other things I love to do, I found writing truly satisfying.  I love words.  I love crystallizing my thoughts. I love editing. At first I wondered who would want to read what I wrote?  And later on I began to wonder why no one wants to read what I write.... And when it dawned on me I wasn't famous, and got over it, I concluded having a big readership may be nice but it's not the point.  I embraced my yearning of expression through writing and began to self-publish on a couple of blogs.  Today, I write to my heart's content.  I found my "voice" and now "I speak because I can."

Speaking "because I can" implies it is now permissible to do so and therefore a privilege. Finding one's "voice" requires some personal responsibility. Everyone knows ill-spoken or ill-written words can do much harm. Obviously, it's better used to benefit yourself and edify others and the world around us. And, in spite of all my efforts otherwise, I quickly learned not everyone will like what I write but that's not the point either.

I feel safe using my voice because the incentive to do so came from the enlightening and encouraging gospel examples of Jesus' one-on-one interaction with people affected by discrimination and inequality. He lifted up widows, beggars, sinners, outcasts, foreigners, children, the handicapped, the mentally ill.  He gave them validation and a "voice," a more positive identity, so they could move forward in their lives

Catching up on missed opportunities in my "third act of life" helps me define more clearly who I am meant to be, in addition to wife, mother and (my favorite!) grandmother.  So some day, when it's all said and done, "Let it be known I was who I am...."

Macy the Mall Kitty

Macy in her new home with Blair

Several months ago, my husband, Carn, heard the plaintive, sad cry of a kitten when he reached the entrance to Macy's department store at our local mall.  Peeking out among the shrubs near a huge trash bin was an adorable calico cat who appeared to be about four months old and desperately wanted some attention.  When he attempted to approach her she scurried away into the depths of the greenery.  She had obviously  been abandoned and left to survive on her own.  Carn often walks in the mall for exercise, so being both a cat lover and soft-hearted, he decided to use the same entrance to the store over the next few days to see if he might encounter her again and, of course, he did.

It was spring and the weather was pleasant enough for her to be outside but he wasn't sure how she was getting food and water. He didn't want her to starve, so a couple of times he bought her a sandwich from a nearby fast food place until I convinced him it would be much more economical to bring her dry cat food. He started to leave food for her every day and she began to make an appearance as soon as he put a bowl out for her.  Spring turned into summer and they became well acquainted.  Even though she would come close and greet him with a hearty meow when he had cat food in his hand, she wouldn't let him touch her.

My husband soon discovered there were others who shared his concern and they too would feed her from time to time, but none as faithful as he.  She became his "mall kitty" and he always carried food for her in the trunk of his car.  As colder winter weather approached, he had serious concerns about her survival.  Through friends at a cat-rescue center where I volunteer, an arrangement was made with the city animal shelter for the kitty to be captured and re-homed.  An employee at Macy's, a young lady named Blair, had also been worried about the tiny outcast's welfare and had been trying to gain her trust so she could catch her. She and my husband met by chance one day as Carn arrived with his bowl of cat food.  She was thrilled when he told her of the impending rescue and told him she had already decided to adopt this sweet little creature.

A few weeks passed.  One day after work, Blair stopped by to check on the kitty and noticed the animal rescue group in the process of attempting to trap her.  The terrified cat hid under the massive Macy's trash bin and couldn't be persuaded to come out.  Blair sat on the curb near her for two hours, talking reassuringly to her until the kitten finally felt safe enough to crawl out.  She was allowed to adopt her quickly and inexpensively from the shelter because she had been so helpful.  Within days, the homeless kitty had a name, Macy (naturally) and a warm and welcoming place to live.  And Carn breathed a sigh of relief.

I've heard people ask if spending time worrying about and rescuing animals makes sense when there are so many humans in the world who are in drastic need of help.  And that's a valid question. Obviously the needs of people should never be neglected.  However, the rest of creation is not unimportant to God.  I'm reminded of Jesus' beautiful and validating words in Mt. 10:29 "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care...." NIV. While Jesus goes on to say people are worth more than many sparrows, he, with an added touch of tenderness, also reveals the Creator's intentional concern for diminutive sparrows. Amazingly, God actually knows when each one falls to the ground and dies. Though seemingly insignificant and monetarily valueless, they are still within the "Father's care."

Noticing the helplessness of abandoned and abused animals softens hearts, drawing kindness and a desire to nurture from people. Participation directly or indirectly brings a feeling of satisfaction and usefulness. Rescue volunteers and facilities are altruistically devoted to the welfare of animals. And when "furever" homes are found, the happy new owners of these rescued pets then become recipients of the pleasure and companionship these adoptees bring. Godly traits are at the core of the entire process. It's a beautiful cycle of God's goodness reaching far and wide and a poignant reflection of the "Father's care" for his whole  creation.

Little Macy, the discarded mall kitty, found a lovely caring owner in Blair.  But wait! That's not the end of the story.  Blair already had two other aging rescue cats.  One fell ill and was being stressed out by the energy of the new kitten.  So we arranged for Macy to move in with our super-fun granddaughter, Jayci, and her new husband, Alex.  Macy now has undivided attention, her own princess bed and pink toys. Her fuzzy presence brings affection and warmth to her "new" new home. And my husband is as pleased as he can be to have been a part of her rescue.  Now what's wrong with that?  Any time we are able to help ease the world's suffering, even if it comes in the form of an abandoned kitten with a cute orange nose struggling to survive under a department store trash bin, it's all good.

Jayci and Macy in her "furever"  home

Self-Talk

We all engage in self-talk, either in our minds or out loud.  Anyone ever catch you talking to yourself out loud?  A little embarrassing.... Not too long ago as I emptied my cart in a grocery store line, a young man nearby overheard me mumbling to myself  because I had forgotten an item while shopping and it was too late to do anything about it. When I looked up and noticed him, he just smiled and said:  "Don't worry.  I do it too."

Self-talk was the topic of a recent TV discussion among experts on the subject and it was stated: "Whatever you say to yourself, you will believe." Now if I only said positive things to myself that would be one thing, but I have a habit of bad-mouthing "me." I always assumed it was harmless to casually call myself derogatory names like stupid, dummy, loser or in a moment of disgust use adjectives which label me as unlovable or unforgivable or irredeemable --insulting things I would not choose to say to someone else. If I did say the same degrading and demoralizing words to another person, it could be internalized by that individual and have an emotionally damaging impact.  That's what bullies do.  In a way, being verbally abusive to myself is a form of bullying.

So why have I given myself permission to use such undignified language in reference to me? What made me think the self put-downs which flooded my mind wouldn't affect me the same way they would affect others?

Think about it for a moment. If we didn't believe what we say to ourselves, we probably wouldn't say it, right?  But here's the problem. Regularly telling myself I'm a loser affects how I feel about myself. The way I feel is the way I will act. Those of us who participate in habitual self-deprecation in our thoughts and conversations with ourselves have either failed to remember or never realized it does leave a detrimental imprint on our spirit and impedes the degree of effectiveness we can have in our interaction with family and the rest of the world.

Of course, there are deeper, underlying issues that prompt a person to bully him or herself.  When we forget our lives have value and dignity, we have forgotten the source of that value and dignity.  So we may need a reminder of how God sees us and why he created us, giving us a truly energizing, fulfilling and unique purpose in life. In his eyes no one is unlovable, unforgivable or irredeemable. Some may have never heard this good news. Our Creator doesn't have the same dim view of us that we may have of ourselves.  We are, after all, his beloved children.

When I became more conscious of my habit of self-ridicule, I made it a point to try to catch myself before the insults came fully to mind or out of my mouth.  Wow!  What a difference it has made! If this is something you identify with, you might want to give it a try.  What I am suggesting is not a quick fix that will answer the bigger question as to why a number of us don't seem to like ourselves very much. It merely involves an initial tweak in our thinking that could, however, lead to more serious sifting and sorting and searching of our hearts to uncover why we feel free to put ourselves down on a persistent basis.

Hopefully it is understood I am not invalidating the genuine moments of disappointment or discouragement  or the seasons of grief that life brings.  And I am absolutely not implying we shouldn't recognize and take responsibility for mistakes we make or sins we commit.   I'm "just sayin'" it sure helps not to repeatedly call ourselves ugly names because it's so not true. It's counterproductive and a waste of breath.

I have been personally surprised at how a relatively small thing like giving up negative self-talk has restored some dignity I lacked.  And having a more positive identity generates more positive reactions toward others. I suspect I will never stop sifting and sorting the accumulated stuff in my heart to discern "why" I've treated myself this way but refraining from self-bullying makes the process a whole lot easier.

Stepping into My Own Shoes

When my oldest daughter was preparing to move into her college dorm as a freshman in the early 80's, we had so much fun putting her wardrobe together.  We bought some pretty outfits, I made a few clothes for her by hand and on one shopping trip, we found the cutest lavender boots.  They resembled cowboy boots, but were a pinkish-purple suede with a cool feminine design on them.  She was so excited!  We got her all settled in and then school started.

Sadly, it wasn't long before she was reprimanded by school authorities for wearing those adorable boots.  This was only the first of several hurtful criticisms about her appearance. She was finally told she needed to blend into the crowd and "be like the other girls."

My sweet daughter was full of creativity and imagination. She wasn't overbearing at all, nor did she dress immodestly.  She just had a sun-shiny, fun outlook on life and she loved expressing her personality by wearing pretty things. But somehow this did not go over well in the straight-laced environment of her Bible college campus. By insisting she stop wearing her lavender boots some members of the administration were indirectly asking her to step into someone else's shoes.

Over the years, I've come to realize I spent much of my own life trying to fit into someone else's shoes.  It was like I had a whole closet full of shoes, some of them were really gorgeous, but none of them were mine.  And all of them felt uncomfortable. By ignoring my own individuality and trying hard to blend into the crowd,  I wasn't trying to be the best me I could be. So I became dissatisfied with who I was, shutting down emotions and natural expressions of my personality. One look at the  fabulous and diverse creation surrounding us should be enough to show us the Creator never intended that we all be just alike.  How boring is that?  We each have a mixture of distinctive natural traits and specific talents not to be denied that make us unique.

What it took for me to wake up was realizing (1) God created me to be me; (2) I have value in his eyes the way he made me and (3) I have a purpose for being on this earth.  An in depth study of Jesus, revealing how he, with great care,  singled people out in a crowd, gave them visibility and validated their existence opened my eyes.  Why would he bother to create the fascinating and multi-faceted human race if our lives were meant to be blah, meaningless, colorless and without individual purpose and impact?

I'm happy to report my adult daughter now figuratively wears her infamous "lavender boots" any time she wants.  And her own daughter, my newly-married granddaughter, thankfully has never had to struggle to "fit into her own shoes."  I think I've discovered my own particular version of "lavender boots" as it were and and am finally convinced it's OK to wear them.  I'm now enjoying figuring out how to be the best me I can be, not at the expense of others, but for the sake of others.  So step into those shoes, whether they're worn-out running shoes or sparkly five-inch heels or both.  Just make sure they're yours and they fit and enjoy being the best you you can be!

My daughter with her own daughter who most assuredly steps into
 her own shoes, usually sparkly ones....

My Little Corner of the World

There was a party going on in heaven, a jubilant celebration and the only humans who caught a glimpse of it were a few terrified lowly shepherds.  Here's what they witnessed.  The glory of heaven broke through the skies as Jesus was born in Bethlehem.  An angel stood in the midst and made the greatest declaration the universe would ever hear--the savior of the world was finally born!  In the glistening light that pierced the darkness, a great company of angelic beings then suddenly appeared.  They all sang loudly and triumphantly: "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."  They had been waiting for this moment in time from the foundation of the world.

The angels sang of peace brought to earth by this tiny infant, son of God and son of man.  But, looking at the world around us, one has to wonder, peace?  What peace?  Usually we think of peace as a socio-political phenomena dependent upon world leaders and global treaties. And, of course, that will happen universally when the Prince of Peace finally returns to our planet.  But most translations of this scripture similarly indicate the peace that Jesus was to bring was for those "on whom his favor rests."  That would seem to be referring only to those who are already in a relationship with Jesus.  Is it exclusive to believers?  Or is it supposed to start with believers?

"Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me" are words from a familiar song.  Though it sounds simple, individual attempts at ordinary everyday peacemaking are not easy.  How does peace on earth begin with me?

Everyday life can be overwhelming with lots of things that are out of our control: events, circumstances and especially the actions and reactions of those around us.  So here's a good place to start--taking responsibility for the energy that is in our own personal space.  I love the imagery of managing the energy in my space, i.e. realm of influence.  For the longest time I didn't recognize I had my own space. I always thought I was in someone else's space.  So when I first heard it expressed in those words, it really spoke to me.  It simply means monitoring our reactions to what is taking place around us.  When the vibes in our own little corner of the world are peaceful, conciliatory and gracious, then this will positively spill over onto those around us and they will experience the peace of Jesus no matter who they are.

I think we become accustomed to, or comfortable with, our negative reactions toward a lot of day by day stuff that goes on in our space. More often than not, we think it doesn't matter.  We may feel justified in responding curtly on the phone or impatiently with a family member.  I'm kidding myself if I think my huffing and puffing and grumbling to myself when the garage door isn't working AGAIN doesn't affect someone within earshot at home.  Watching my husband retreat to his office is proof of that.

We can all rather quickly come up with our own list of pet peeves and annoyances--people who take forever at a checkout; unsolicited opinion-givers;  people who love bickering; noisy neighbors; grumblers; people who can't make up their minds; worry warts; people who are unresponsive; people who are rude; party poopers; people who are 24/7 annoying and the list goes on...right?

Here's the good thing though--don't miss this...a peaceful reaction to life's little irritants makes us less apt to end up on someone else's annoying-people list.  No one wants to be a pet peeve A-lister.

The same heavenly peace, planned from the foundation of the world and that Jesus brought to the earth, miraculously resides in those "on whom his favor rests."  That's amazing, isn't it?  But here's the deal. It's meant to spill over from your realm of influence into someone else's space.  That means it's contagious.  It will "spill over" any time we have a peaceful, conciliatory response to an otherwise bothersome or contentious invasion of our  individual space.  It can be in a kind word to a harried checkout clerk.  It will show up when bickering is avoided.  It's there in the form of patience expressed toward someone who can't make up their mind.  It soothes when rudeness is overlooked.

None of us will be able to pull this off 100%.  But hopefully sharpening our awareness of the need to become peacemakers within "our space" will help.  "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me," in my little corner of the world.  How's the energy in your corner?

Beauty...not the Beast

Beauty and the Beast--such a beloved fairy tale.  One of my several ultra-talented granddaughters played the  role of Beauty in her annual middle school musical production.  In fact, her physical resemblance to Beauty as portrayed in the Disney movie was striking.  The student who performed  the role of the  Beast eventually turned out to be her first boyfriend in real life.  So not only was the play a success, there were happy endings all around!

Speaking of beasts, when I was a child I had the misfortune of being labeled as someone with "the mind of a beast."    That's not very nice, you say.  Well, I have to agree with you there.  I mean, I was rather spoiled, I must admit.  But that's a far cry from having a beastly mind.  Being impressionable and young, this misnomer left a lasting negative imprint regarding how I felt about myself.

It all stemmed from a terribly convoluted misunderstanding of Old Testament scripture referring to ancient Israel and how the surrounding "gentile" nations were perceived.  The inaccuracy led to a modern application of some ethnic groups being regarded as inherently superior to others by dent of birth.  And, though not widespread, the notion that some nations had "mind of a beast" tendencies surfaced in the former teachings of my denomination. This only added insult to injury and the damage was done. It's not a new concept for sure.  Religious discriminatory views, whether inadvertent or not, have been around for centuries and can sadly still be found.  I should mention this happened to me decades ago and in no way reflects the current belief system of my denomination.

Because I was a child, of course I lacked the wisdom and experience to sift through and recognize faulty, foolish information.  So for years, I was convinced I was inferior and even a little freaky simply because of the ethnic background I inherited the day I was born.  I always had the feeling I was on the outside looking in.

OK, enough of the beast, where's the beauty?  It's Jesus!  He leveled the playing field forever.

In the homes and streets and marketplaces of first century Judea, there was a marked class system.  Most members of that society found themselves on the outside looking in.  Though the entire nation was under Roman occupation, wealth, education and political favoritism awarded a small number of them the upper hand and superior lifestyles.  The rich, privileged and authoritarian religious leaders strutted among the people, adorned in their holiness by virtue of their own righteousness.  They always sat proudly in front row seats.  Religion was a thing of endless, impossible-to-achieve rules. The exhausted weary masses were weighed down with little or no hope of ever rising above their inferior status.  And some, such as the insane, slaves, lepers, women and children and "gentiles" were considered less than inferior.

Then Jesus was born in their midst and walked the dusty roads and byways of ancient Judea.  He was more interested in people than pomp and pageantry or pedigree.  The core of his ministry was then and still is to draw all humankind unto himself.  As he moved through the crowds of untouchables, sinners, mentally disturbed, poor, hungry, needy, diseased, scorned, fearful, helpless, brokenhearted--what stands out is his humility and warmth, his tenderness and compassionate outreach. He tells the rejected and heavy burdened to come to him so he can give rest to their souls.  He doesn't ever discriminate but is instead relentlessly redemptive--freeing everyone from what distresses or harms, releasing humanity from debt and blame.  He created us all.  He loves us all.

When I discovered the beautiful, unconditional acceptance of Jesus, the negativity that I had assigned to myself as a child because of my ethnicity began to dissolve. I finally "got it"and am turning that chapter in my life into a brand new one.  The personal impact of this transformation is every bit as dramatic as the gruff, clumsy old beast in the fairy tale changing into a charming prince.