Category: Yahweh’s fingerprints

I must add this quickly: Thank you to all the decorator elves who helped me with the party this afternoon. I am not a party decorator. I don’t enjoy it. I persevered, but I never would have made it without the decorator elves.

A friend of mine turned 40 yesterday. For him, it was a milestone, not a millstone. This milestone did not injure him as much as some thought it would. I know he really enjoyed all of the little celebrations we had for him throughout the day, and I’m thankful for the opportunity to show him how much I value his friendship.

Last night, while making some of the lists and fun things to give my friend for his birthday, it hit me like a ton of bricks that my brother would be 40 this December. I don’t know why thoughts like that sneak up on me and stun me like that, but this one did. I remember all the teasing he gave me when I turned 30 and I promised him that I would pay him back bigtime when he turned 40. I started plotting my revenge then, but two years later, he was gone.

I am now older than Scott was when he died. Closer to 40 than he got the chance to be. I don’t know why my Scott undertow is still so strong. (See God is Bigger Than the Ocean) It’s not that I think I’ll forget I ever had a big brother or that his death did not affect me greatly, I just didn’t think I’d be sitting here nearly four years after he was gone and have my emotions be tossed around so much preparing for a friend’s 40th birthday party.

When I am caught in the Scott undertow, I find myself back in Scott’s hospital room, standing by his bed in the darkness, promising him I would not waste my life. The only sound in the room is the humming and buzzing of the instruments that keep him alive. His hand is cold in mine and I feel my heart being ripped to shreds. It’s all as real to me today as it was then, a place in my mind where time stands still and anguish still squeezes all the air from my lungs.

It’s not that I believe my life is a waste, but lately I am overwhelmed by the feeling that I am wasting my life. Then I emerge from Scott’s room and I am thrust back to the present. I stand and look in the mirror and think, “you hypocrite.” And there, I find, is the ton of bricks that stunned me last night. I just couldn’t put words to it until now.

Truthfully, if I knew exactly where to go from here, I’d probably get a speeding ticket on the way. Nothing is clear to me right now other than the smell of the ocean. My eyes sting from the salt, and I am disoriented.

Today the church I work for was giving away old hymnals that had been found at one of our storage locations. The hymnals were printed in 1964 by Broadman Press. The assistant in the music department that has been attending that church since 1935 (and playing piano there for over 50 years) swears she has never seen these hymnals before, yet three boxes full appeared on her desk yesterday.

She sent out an e-mail today advertising the giveaway of said hymnals. I love hymns, so I e-mailed her back and had her hold one for me, then ran down to retrieve it. The cloth cover is red with the words, “Christian Praise” on the front in gold. Though I can tell it’s been used, it is in very good shape.

All that said, I was thrilled to find inside some of the the old, old hymns that nobody sings anymore. One of my favorites is one that my grandmother loved. When the Roll is Called Up Yonder is a lively tune and I will always cherish it because of it’s tie to my grandmother and also because of the following story.

As a child, my grandmother could not grasp why anyone would sing such a nasty song in church. Come to find out, she thought the title was, When We “Roll Around” up Yonder. “Roll Around,” isn’t something good Christian girls do, apparently. At my grandmother’s funeral, we sang this song and were laughing through our tears.

I was thrilled to find When the Roll is Called Up Yonder on page 426 (written by James M. Black).

When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound, and time shall be no more
And the morning breaks, eternal, bright and fair;
When the saved of earth shall gather over on the other shore,
And the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.

Refrain: When the roll is called up yonder, when the roll is called up yonder,
When the roll is called up yonder, when the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.

On that bright and cloudless morning when the dead in Christ shall rise,
And the glroy of His resurrection share;
When His chosen ones shall gather to their homes beyond the skies,
And the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.

Refrain

Let us labor for the Master from the dawn till setting sun,
Let us talk of all His wondrous love and care;
Then when all of life is over, and our work on earth is done,
And the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.

Refrain

Gotta love hymns utilizing the lovely word, “yonder.”

And you’ve gotta love the generation who sees the depth and inspiration in these songs and passes them on to the next one.

My love affair with the water began when I was very young. My grandparents had a lake cottage just an hour and a half away in North Webster and in the summertime we would spend nearly every weekend there with them and my cousins. Some of the fondest memories of my childhood are from my time at the lake cottage in the Epworth Forest neighborhood where we swam from sunup to sundown, rain or shine.

My parents found it difficult to keep me out of the water unless by some chance I had an opportunity to go out in the speed boat and go tubing. My grandpa called me his little amphibian and gave me permission to swim whenever I wanted to, provided there was no lightning, and he or one of my older cousins were with me. I’d swim all day, and as the sun went down, I’d climb back up onto the pier, all pruny and exhausted, yet happier than I’d been when the day started.
In the evenings, we often played putt putt golf, walked down the street to the amphitheater for local entertainment, or went fishing. Sometimes we would take a ride around the lake on the Dixie Boat, a large steam-driven paddle boat that toured the lake every evening.

Sundays, we would walk down the street to church and stop by Cokesbury, a bookstore/ soda fountain, for cherry Mountain Dews on the way home while Grandma would go finish lunch. Sunday afternoon came too quickly. I wanted to stay at the lake forever. I couldn’t imagine anywhere on earth I’d enjoy better.

When I was eight, my grandparents took my older brother and me to visit my aunt in southern California. Her family lived in Torrance, and their house was about a mile from the ocean. One afternoon, my aunt packed a picnic lunch, and she took my grandparents, me, my brother, her two kids, Douglas, who was three at the time, Christine, who was almost five, and the neighbor boy, Tim, who was fifteen, and packed us up and took us to the beach.

I was truly overwhelmed. The ocean was noisy, yet soothing at the same time, and the waves were larger than I’d ever seen. I stood at the water’s edge and breathed in the salt air and thought my lungs were going to burst. I was so excited, yet I couldn’t go into the water further than my ankles, because my mind was spinning.

My grandpa stood next to me and made this clicking noise with his tongue and teeth and said, “Tater, what do you think?” (I will explain my nickname at another time, but until the week before he died I would have sworn he never knew my real name).

I remember I had tears in my eyes and I was squinting. “I can’t see the other side, Grandpa.”

He held my hand and even now I tear up when I think about him. He was 6’3″, about 180 pounds, with snow white hair and dark glasses. He had the kindest blue eyes I’d ever looked into and for the first 18 years of my life he and my grandma were the calm in my storm.

We stood there for an eight year old eternity and then he said, “God is bigger than the ocean.”

And my mind exploded. I couldn’t get into the water fast enough. I wanted to be a part of something that big. The only other part of nature that has made the hair stand up on my neck like the ocean does is when I get the opportunity to lay in the grass and stare at the stars in the night sky.

My aunt watched as I played in the water and my two little cousins built sand castles. She warned me not to drink the water and warned me twice about the undertow and not to go out too far. Tim was teaching my brother, who was eleven, how to boogie board on the waves, taking special care of him while keeping his other eye on me. My grandparents had retreated back to the house with my uncle, who would bring back our picnic dinner.

I played for hours. I was covered in salt water and sand I was in heaven. I had no boundaries, no walls, no inhibitions, I was in my element, and I was happy. I believe it was the first time I felt true joy.

Then it happened. The undertow caught me and before I knew it I was being tossed and turned and I had no idea what was happening, only that I couldn’t breathe. Though I was a strong swimmer for eight years old, I couldn’t right myself. The undertow was stronger than I was. My lungs felt as they would burst at any moment and I remember thinking I was going to die in the biggest expression on earth of the size and depth of God.

Then this hand grabbed me by the ankle and pulled me out of the water. Tim turned me right side up and handed me to my aunt who took me to the showers and washed off all the sand and wrapped me up in a blanket.

I was finished with the ocean. I let myself get caught up in the moment and I nearly got myself killed. No way was I going to do that again. No way was I going near the water again. No way was I going to let myself be vulnerable to danger. Never. Ever.

The next day, we went to Disney Land and the following day we went back to the beach again. This particular beach was enclosed, made for children, a little bit more user friendly for me. My aunt coaxed me to try again, so I did, but it wasn’t as exciting as before. It was safe, there was no danger, and the real ocean was behind a fence. I didn’t like the safe ocean, either. There was fun, but no joy there.

At Marine Land, I saw examples of many of the creatures that inhabit the ocean. Whales, seals, sharks, stingrays, butterfly fish, manatees, and starfish. Eels. Sea horses. Many other species. Again, my mind exploded. I had never seen such wonders. These fish were at home in the ocean, they were made to slide through it and thrive in it. They weren’t afraid.

I decided not to be afraid of the ocean anymore. So, every time I get the chance to go to the beach, I go. I let the ocean calm me and soothe me, excite me, and woo me back to a place where I felt joy — to feel alive from my head to my toes.

I was sitting at church tonight and for some reason these memories came flooding into my brain. I’ve been facing challenges in the ocean of my life. I’m in the water, minding my own business, enjoying my life, and then it happens – someone or something drags me down in their undertow. I get turned around and upside down and I can’t right myself. Then God reaches down and pulls me out and I retreat to the beach… and I’m done with the ocean. Never going back in. Never. Ever. It’s not worth it.

I sit and I tell God I don’t need that kind of heartache. I don’t need that kind of pain. I don’t need to hurt that badly, be that confused, or be that disoriented. I don’t need it. Never. Ever.

Then I find, though my life is “safe,” it is joyless. I cannot have joy without pain or heartache. Though at times I may need to retreat to the beach to get my bearings, I cannot stay there. I must learn to swim in the ocean of my life and take the bad with the good.

I stand at the edge of the water and I must decide what joy costs me and if I’m willing to pay it. I realize that I cannot control the ocean or what it does to me. There will be days I sit on the beach wrapped up in a blanket, crying, wondering if it’s all worth it, but I must be willing to keep trying, to keep learning how to navigate the water of feelings, of pain, of joy.

I could easily live without joy, but I would be cheating myself of life abundantly. I cannot love if I cannot feel. I cannot truly be all that God wants me to be if I don’t trust Him to heal the hurts life will cause me.

“God is bigger than the ocean,” he said.

And my mind exploded.

Some people have epiphanies.

Some people have “aha!” moments.

Since I am not particularly normal, I have “duh!” moments.

Thursday morning, I had a, “duh!” moment, but the groundwork for this epiphany was laid the night before. I had decided to take down some artwork that, though not bad in itself, held some bad energy for me. I couldn’t look at them and not feel badly. It was more about who painted them than the subject matter and it was time to take them down and not look at them any longer.

Keep in mind at this point I was in the middle of a week of insomnia, and usually my dreams (if I fall asleep) are bizarre and I can hardly function during the day, but I usually have some moment of clarity woven into the chaos of sleeplessness that I’ve learned to embrace. I know that God often gets my attention when I am completly at the end of myself… and when I haven’t had a good amount of sleep over a few days’ time, I come to the end of myself quickly.

I was inspired by my desire to let go of something. So was my roommate. After ridding myself of the bad energy paintings, I was in the mood to shed more “baggage” as it were. I began to look around for other items to pass on or throw away.

At the top of the stairs I had another painting that I decided needed to be out of my life. This painting wasn’t full of bad energy, I just felt it had served it’s purpose and it was time to pass it on.

Hardly what most would consider “art,” the painting was of a big blue teardrop with a peachy/orange background. Inside the tear was a person kneeling. I have no idea who painted it, but it was given to me by someone who noticed that every time I saw it, my gaze fixated on it and I always found it difficult to walk away from.

I acquired this painting the year after my brother died and the year before my mother died. I was grieving in ways I couldn’t comprehend and when I looked at the painting, I felt God telling me to be obedient and seek Him in my grief.

At the point I received this painting, I did not know my mother was going to die. I had no idea how much grief I would still have to work through. All I knew is that this painting reminded me daily to seek God despite it all. I put it at the top of the stairs so I would have to see it every day. Somehow, this painting really spoke to me and even caused me to delve deeper into my creative resources to create art that would be an outpouring of myself and maybe even be a lifeline to others.

All from a simple painting… painted by someone I didn’t know.

I have a friend I’ll call Annie, who is going through a deep depression and just recently lost her favorite family pet. So, now she’s depressed and grieving, a state of being I know all too well. The feelings are mostly behind me but recent enough that when I look at Annie I wish I could wipe those feelings away, but I know that right now she needs to learn to deal with them and push them away herself. Another feeling I know all too well.

When I looked at the teardrop Wednesday night, I saw Annie in the middle of it and I knew it was time to let this painting speak to someone else. I made the decision to give it to her and then I went to bed.

Notice I didn’t say, “and then I went to sleep,” because I didn’t. I couldn’t. My medication wouldn’t let me. So I went to bed. Finally, I slept between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m., maybe. It wasn’t necessarily restful. When I woke up, I kept imagining the painting I was going to give to Annie.

And then it hit me.

I have looked at this painting every day for over three years. Each time, I’ve felt something different, seen something different, but mostly I’ve just been reminded to be obedient in my grief. Anybody else who looked at the painting probably saw what I discovered in the painting the first time they looked at it.

I know what it’s like to feel completely abandoned while surrounded by people and I was not surprised when Annie said that she felt that nobody cared. When I gave the painting to Annie, she just cried. I told her it was hers to have as long as she needed it and then she could pass it on.

When I look at the top of the stairs and see the empty spot where the teardrop used to be, I see a blank canvas, full of possibilities. I have no idea what we’ll put there, if anything, but I hope it’s something that will bring me to another “duh!” moment.

THRIVE:
1 : to grow vigorously : FLOURISH
2 : to gain in wealth or possessions : PROSPER
3 : to progress toward or realize a goal

I think I’m in a post stress adrenaline rush letdown. I am very grateful to have my clean bill of health, but now that I’m through “holding it all together,” I’m in my “blah” phase. It’s not that I feed off adrenaline, it’s just that when I step out of survival mode, I’m not always sure what to do with myself.

A young friend and I were having a conversation earlier this week. I say young because she is 22 (I’m 36). The job she has right now is an important one and she is perfect for the job. Her personality is bubbly, optimistic and she is very enthusiastic.

I’ll call her Lucy and I really, really like her. She is friendly and has welcomed me into her world with open arms. Lucy is working her job until she figures out exactly what she wants to do with her grown up life. She is smart, eager, and I have no doubt that whatever she chooses to do she will thrive at. This is where our conversation started.

I have done whatever it takes to survive for the entirety of my life. Just survive. Until a couple of years ago I hadn’t had much hope of doing more than that. I work and only receive enough pay to barely scrape by, but I survive. I work at a job that is less than fulfilling but it gives me what I need to survive. My car barely runs now (and breaks down every few months or so) but it gets me to the job that gives me what I need to survive. Just survive.

Lucy is at that crossroads where she realizes that she is just surviving and is wondering which path will help her thrive, not just survive. Thriving, in Lucy’s world, is an expectation. When I was 22, the thought of doing anything more than surviving didn’t even occur to me. Thriving was something other people did. Surviving was all I could do… all I was equipped to do.

I looked at Lucy, her eyes still full of possibilities and enthusiasm, and smiled. I wished at that moment I could have 14 years of my life back and know what I know now, but I’m also old enough to know that wishing hasn’t helped me get out of survival mode.

“Lucy,” I said, “I’ve been in survival mode all my life and if you wait too long, you will get stuck there.”

With her trademark exuberance she oozed, “Oh, I won’t! I don’t have a plan but I have it all under control.” Believe me. She really thinks she does. Obviously she hasn’t heard my roommate say, “Man plans and God laughs.” I digress.

Then I told her I was tired of just surviving, that really, what I was doing wasn’t bad necessarily, but it just wasn’t what I felt I should be doing, and it definitely wasn’t going to help me thrive.

And thriving is what I desperately want to do.

While Lucy and I continued our conversation, I actually started to feel like my survival mode was about to kill me, but I didn’t feel all that hopeless about it. I told Lucy I had turned a corner in my life where it wasn’t just enough to survive but that I’d been doing it so long I didn’t really know what to do with myself.

So I’ve turned a corner. That felt great. And then I immediately saw a crossroads just beyond it.

Lucy bounced away from our conversation, still having it all under control and still convinced she’s not yet stuck in survival mode. Good for her. I hope it all works out the way she’s planned, though I know it won’t… but I also know that can be an incredibly wonderful thing.

I’m off to examine the directions leading from this crossroads. I’ll let you know how it goes. What I do know is that survival mode is in my rearview mirror, and as it gets farther away, I feel that much better.

A GIVING LEGACY

My roommate is amazing. Jene’ does so much against incredible adversity… and yet she would be the first to say, “that’s life.” I could list her adversities, but they are not important to the story. We all have our adversity. Granted, she has more adversity than most people I know, but she lives in such a way that most people forget what she’s up against, and that’s how Jene’ wants it.

The important part of her story is what she does in spite of her adversities. Take today for example. Jene’ volunteers for Lifehouse, an organization that helps young, unwed mothers. Jene’ (a nurse) volunteers as a birthing coach for these teenage girls. Jene’ took over the holiday weekend shift because the volunteer on duty had a family emergency. While I slept, Jene’ left and one baby was delivered. She came home, slept about an hour and in her delirium had a dream that I had eloped and left her a note on my bed and did not say who I was eloping with (since I am not dating, I don’t know who that would be either). I just had to throw that in… and I claim it as prophecy. Anyway, I heard her leave again right around 10 a.m. This particular 15 year old had gone into labor 2 months early. By the time it was all said and done and the doctors had done everything they could, Jene’ ended up holding the baby boy until he quit breathing.

To be honest with you, I don’t know if I could have done what she did without completely falling to pieces. She came home, very tired, and tearfully relayed the story to me. I cried, too, knowing how much she had to be hurting physically, emotionally and not to put too fine a point on it, spiritually. There are some things on this earth that I’ll never be able to wrap my brain around, and I know this was one of those moments for both of us, but especially Jene’. Hopefully, she’s sleeping now, resting up to go back to work tomorrow.

I realized today why Jene’ can give so much, and why some people like me have difficulty with even simple ways to give. Jene’s “give” tank has been filled constantly since she was born. She was told there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do by parents who not only believed that, but embodied that belief in everything they did themselves. Jene’ was taught life skills, coping skills, loving skills and giving skills by the people who brought her into this world. They prepared her for life by preparing her to give back, and I realized today my give tank level is horrendously low. One reason is because I have given a tremendous amount, but the problem is, I haven’t stopped to figure out how to refill it. I have also realized that the way I learned to give is in total detriment to self, a martyr style of service — that was my model. I also was never taught how to receive, but that’s another blog.

I will not turn this into a pity party. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I’ve simply had this epiphany. I used to compare myself with Jene’ a lot in this area of giving and wondered how she could do so much, and now I know why. The deficiency in my give tank isn’t an excuse not to serve, but it brings some things into focus for me. I realize why some people get burned out. Sometimes, it’s a balance issue, when some people don’t rest or give back to themselves or an avoidance issue — busy-ness rather than facing issues in their own lives. At other times, people who were raised in the martyr style of giving wear themselves out and never discover the joy of giving and therefore burn out easily. I now know why, however, that some balanced, healthy people get burned out. Their give tanks either were never full to begin with or they emptied their tanks without knowing how to refill them. I’m not saying Jene’ never gets tired or burns out, but she knows how to refill her give tank and she knows how to rest. She was not born with this quality, she learned/absorbed these skills from two people I am also proud to call family — her parents.

Do I throw up my hands and say, “it’s too late!” No. It’s never to late to learn giving skills and fill up a give tank. The best way to learn is to surround yourself with people who have these skills and give of them freely, watch, learn, and then DO WHAT THEY DO. It’s a proven pattern of learning in other areas of life. It seems silly, doesn’t it? Learning how to give? Giving should be as natural as breathing, right? Trouble is, most people are centered inward, and giving is always centered outward. Not only is our nature centered inward, if we are not taught or shown how to give, then we won’t. It’s that simple.

Jene’ has blessed others because she continues her family’s legacy of giving. If I ignore this opportunity to learn and fill my give tank (and all other tanks for that matter), I’d be a fool, (and I don’t suffer fools gladly). With God, there are no accidents –of timing, placement, proximity or otherwise — it’s just sometimes I walk around with my eyes closed and my ears plugged. And heaven help the person whose give tank overflows… what a waste. I don’t see that happening in Jene’s family — ever.

Sleep well, Jene’.

Last night I completed a six month project that has been essential to my freedom in. I can’t go into all the details, but I have worked through some really tough issues in this group and last night, I “graduated.” I feel so happy and joyful right now, it’s tough to describe! It’s been a long time coming, but I feel I am on the brink of something huge. Just wanted to share that with y’all!

P.S. My face feels so much better, but my cheek still looks like a mood ring. Oh, well. One step at a time!