I’ve been asked before “exactly what goes on in that head of yours?” So tonight, as I snuggle up with my pup in our quiet house, I thought I would simply write down a few thoughts as I slowly fade to slumber. Note that there really isn’t any rhyme or reason to the order – much like real life. But as in all things, there is purpose.
As of late, I have been blessed to experience the heart-breaking joy of serving a friend who is dying. It is a most humbling honor. Taking out trash, filling the dishwasher, running the vacuum cleaner – all have a special meaning now. I have a newfound appreciation of Smoothie King and Sonic ice. I understand the scripture “the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak” in a whole new way. And I think a Coke float may be the most beautiful meal in the world.
I am in awe of people who simply love Jesus. I can do passion, I can do enthusiasm. But simple is tough.
If I could, I would give each member of my family and each one of my friends something far more valuable than a gift that money can buy. I would wrap up an experience for each of them – a little moment in time that would reveal grandeur and delicate and big and little and awe.
• Hug an orphan in a foreign land.
• Get caught in a rainstorm. In a jeep. With the top down.
• Go four-wheeling in the mud in the piney woods of Texas.
• Watch a sunset sitting on the rock wall at Lake Hefner in Oklahoma City.
• Sit quietly in the midst of the snow in the Rockies and just listen – the sound is a symphony.
• Drive fast – really fast- along the PCH.
• Lie on the grass and look at the sky – and then imagine letting go and falling up into it.
• Stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon and watch the colors change as the sun sets on the rocks.
• Sit on a moonlit beach in Mexico as the waves crash and the tide rolls in.
I think I like wedding photos best of all; especially candid photos that capture a joyful or tender moment – or dancing. Oh, to dance.
What if, in this life, I am meant to be a conduit or a catalyst? What if I never again personally experience the opportunity to care for orphans or serve the poor – what if my purpose going forward is to connect other people to the ministry I love so? Could I be thankful for a life lived “in the wings?” I pray the answer would be “yes!"
I am amazed that the God of the universe, the God that created time but isn't bound by it, would find it important to intimately love and design a specific purpose for a life that is but a vapor. Thank You. Thank You so very much.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
19 February 2009
31 January 2009
Bright and Dark.
When I think about the blessings in my life, the list grows quickly:
•My prince of a husband, who continues to lavish me with love even when I’m far from lovable
•My precious son – truly the apple of my eye, who causes my heart to leap every time I think of him
•My wonderful daughter-in-love – I always dreamed of having a daughter, and the Lord has answered my prayer in ways too powerful for words
•My “family” – a wonderful mixed bag of real relatives and adopted ones who sustain me, bless me, and remind me of the importance of community
•My Millie and the ever-enthusiastic Reese Rock
The list would be cluttered with amazing experiences that gently linger like the warm fragrance of my sweetheart’s cologne after he’s hugged me or the scent of rosemary on my hands when I clip sprigs for a recipe. There would be the vibrant hues of the turquoise and teal ocean lapping on the shore of the beach at Petit St Vincent, or the sound snow makes when the skis gently glide on it at the Nordic Center at Breckenridge. The list would certainly contain the kiss of the sun when the boat is anchored in a cove at Lake Travis, the joyous pile of messy dishes stacked every Sunday evening at the end of a great dinner with my adopted family, and the experience of watching a movie under a blanket of stars at night in the backyard, with the fire glowing nearby. Laughter would be on that list. Lots of laughter. Oh, how I love laughter.
There would be words on the list – beautiful words.
“I am smitten with you.”
“You have a healthy baby boy!”
“Ian and Gina Rock.”
“You are a rare bird.”
“Your son did an amazing job preaching last night.”
On the list, too, would be blessings of another kind. Blessings that, to the untrained eye, may look more like tragedy, more like curses. But with the passage of time and, through the tender lens of eternity, I find myself so thankful for each messy, dark, haunting moment.
I might find myself a bit reticent to continue the list – perhaps because I wonder what others might think of me should they stumble upon it. But I’m not one of great consequence beyond that which the Lord allows, so the list could very well end up being a personal “treasure” if He opts not to have anyone find it. And should it be discovered at all, perhaps it would inspire someone to embrace each moment, each experience, as a piece of a Divine gift of redemption, mercy, grace, forgiveness, sanctification, and joy.
The dark blessings, like the bright ones, are expressed in experiences. But unlike the bright ones, these blessings are shrouded in what best can be described as a dreamy haze. The color has been drained, a soundtrack of sorts added – a blend of music and scripture and healing words.
“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done…” (Gen. 50:20)
“And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.” (Romans 8:38)
On the list would be sexual abuse at the hands of a relative when I was a young girl and physical abuse at the hands of a spouse when I was a young adult. There would be the hunger for love from an alcoholic father, and the unseemly road of relationships that same hunger led me to as a teenager. There would be the goodness of a mom’s biscuits and gravy, in a desperate attempt for comfort after a most difficult and heart-wrenching choice was made in college. And reaching for that same goodness when a mom’s gentle touch would no longer be felt.
Yes, death would be on the list – the saying “goodbye” to dreams and hopes and family and friends. Unanswered questions would be on the list. Loneliness and struggle and doubt and fear would be there. Mistakes and blunders.
There would be more words on the list – small snippets of conversations, captured like a photograph.
“I’m only staying in this marriage because of you.”
“You’ll never amount to anything.”
“Unfortunately, the baby just couldn’t survive…”
“Sweetie, she’s gone.”
”They want to do a biopsy, but I know the cancer’s back.”
Laughter would once again make its way to list. Laughter and dancing in the midst of the pain. Because again, this list is about blessings. And again, the blessings are seen through the lens of eternity.
I pray to not neglect the blessings – both bright and dark – as they continue to mold and shape this life I’ve been given. I pray to savor the experiences. I pray to always hear the laughter.
“We are assured and know that [God being a partner in their labor] all things work together and are [fitting into a plan] for good to and for those who love God and are called according to [His] design and purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
•My prince of a husband, who continues to lavish me with love even when I’m far from lovable
•My precious son – truly the apple of my eye, who causes my heart to leap every time I think of him
•My wonderful daughter-in-love – I always dreamed of having a daughter, and the Lord has answered my prayer in ways too powerful for words
•My “family” – a wonderful mixed bag of real relatives and adopted ones who sustain me, bless me, and remind me of the importance of community
•My Millie and the ever-enthusiastic Reese Rock
The list would be cluttered with amazing experiences that gently linger like the warm fragrance of my sweetheart’s cologne after he’s hugged me or the scent of rosemary on my hands when I clip sprigs for a recipe. There would be the vibrant hues of the turquoise and teal ocean lapping on the shore of the beach at Petit St Vincent, or the sound snow makes when the skis gently glide on it at the Nordic Center at Breckenridge. The list would certainly contain the kiss of the sun when the boat is anchored in a cove at Lake Travis, the joyous pile of messy dishes stacked every Sunday evening at the end of a great dinner with my adopted family, and the experience of watching a movie under a blanket of stars at night in the backyard, with the fire glowing nearby. Laughter would be on that list. Lots of laughter. Oh, how I love laughter.
There would be words on the list – beautiful words.
“I am smitten with you.”
“You have a healthy baby boy!”
“Ian and Gina Rock.”
“You are a rare bird.”
“Your son did an amazing job preaching last night.”
On the list, too, would be blessings of another kind. Blessings that, to the untrained eye, may look more like tragedy, more like curses. But with the passage of time and, through the tender lens of eternity, I find myself so thankful for each messy, dark, haunting moment.
I might find myself a bit reticent to continue the list – perhaps because I wonder what others might think of me should they stumble upon it. But I’m not one of great consequence beyond that which the Lord allows, so the list could very well end up being a personal “treasure” if He opts not to have anyone find it. And should it be discovered at all, perhaps it would inspire someone to embrace each moment, each experience, as a piece of a Divine gift of redemption, mercy, grace, forgiveness, sanctification, and joy.
The dark blessings, like the bright ones, are expressed in experiences. But unlike the bright ones, these blessings are shrouded in what best can be described as a dreamy haze. The color has been drained, a soundtrack of sorts added – a blend of music and scripture and healing words.
“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done…” (Gen. 50:20)
“And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.” (Romans 8:38)
On the list would be sexual abuse at the hands of a relative when I was a young girl and physical abuse at the hands of a spouse when I was a young adult. There would be the hunger for love from an alcoholic father, and the unseemly road of relationships that same hunger led me to as a teenager. There would be the goodness of a mom’s biscuits and gravy, in a desperate attempt for comfort after a most difficult and heart-wrenching choice was made in college. And reaching for that same goodness when a mom’s gentle touch would no longer be felt.
Yes, death would be on the list – the saying “goodbye” to dreams and hopes and family and friends. Unanswered questions would be on the list. Loneliness and struggle and doubt and fear would be there. Mistakes and blunders.
There would be more words on the list – small snippets of conversations, captured like a photograph.
“I’m only staying in this marriage because of you.”
“You’ll never amount to anything.”
“Unfortunately, the baby just couldn’t survive…”
“Sweetie, she’s gone.”
”They want to do a biopsy, but I know the cancer’s back.”
Laughter would once again make its way to list. Laughter and dancing in the midst of the pain. Because again, this list is about blessings. And again, the blessings are seen through the lens of eternity.
I pray to not neglect the blessings – both bright and dark – as they continue to mold and shape this life I’ve been given. I pray to savor the experiences. I pray to always hear the laughter.
“We are assured and know that [God being a partner in their labor] all things work together and are [fitting into a plan] for good to and for those who love God and are called according to [His] design and purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
13 December 2008
Two Great Role Models.
It feels like forever since I’ve penned anything. I have note after note that captures thought after thought, yet none of those notes have fully developed into something that resembles anything worth sharing. They will come in time, I suppose. If time is given.
I’m caught this week in the delicate struggle between frailty and immortality. Two role models of mine have died. Two men who were “the good ones,” as a friend aptly put it. The two men lived very different lives and didn’t know each other. One was a small business owner and one was a business mogul. One lived in Oklahoma in a modest home and one lived in Texas in an exclusive neighborhood. Yet both lived with a purpose far beyond success and fame. And I’m so humbled to have know each of them.
I met Ken when, as a freshman in high school, I began running around with his daughter, Rhonda. There was something different about him – different than any man I had ever been around. Ken enthusiastically loved God. He prayed with his family, shared his faith often, and put Christ at the center of all he did. And he was a creative soul who loved color and design – he saw it as a gift from the Lord. I distinctly remember the day he painted the Lord’s Prayer on the dining room wall, diagonally with a crisp font treatment. He wanted his family to always remember Who supplied, Who loved, Who protected. And I wanted my dad to be like Ken.
On Monday, Ken was working on a roof with his son-in-law. He complained of being tired, and sat to rest. His last words were “Praise Jesus. Hallelujah. Thank you Lord.” He slumped over and was gone. His heart simply stopped beating.
When I first met Frank, I thought he was a sales assistant. The television station sales offices were moving, and he had removed his tie and rolled up shirt sleeves to help his staff move boxes. He had a boyish look about him, far from the image I had painted in my mind of a General Manager of a major market TV station. I arrived, dressed in the only suit I owned, with videotapes in one hand and writing samples in the other. He had called me after seeing my resume, and asked if I would be available to meet about a job opportunity. At the time, I was an assistant in the Promotion Department at KOCO-TV in Oklahoma City – a low-paying “catch-all” position at the television station. As a struggling single parent dealing with life after an abusive marriage, I could make enough at the job to pay for necessities, but not enough to pay for a place to live. So I stayed with my parents and prayed for better days to come.
Frank and I talked, and he fixed his attention on a few specific projects I had worked on. Those projects involved generating revenue through underwriting and sponsorships. He saw something in me I wasn’t even sure I saw in myself. That meeting was in October 1989, and in February 1990 I was named Director of Sales Promotion for KXAS-TV in Dallas. It was a start-up position – the first of its kind in the country. Frank put his faith in me to bring his vision to fruition. And with his support and encouragement, it worked – very well. My story of Frank isn’t an unusual one. There are countless people to whom Frank has provided career starts, management opportunities, business connections. He was a brilliant salesperson and leader, but he wasn’t filled with ego – he found joy in pouring his life into others.
Frank had been battling cancer – a rare form that baffled doctors. He tried various treatments as he continued to live life to the fullest. But he grew weary of the chemo, and asked that it cease about a month ago. He passed away early this morning, surrounded by family.
Death reminds us all how frail we are – how this life truly is just a vapor. But we can live forever. Ken continues to live on, through the love and faith he shared with his family and friends. Frank continues to live on in the lives of those he counseled, those he coached – those he believed in, like me.
Prov. 11: 25 A generous man will prosper;
he who refreshes others will himself be refreshed.
Prov. 22: 1 A good name is more desirable than great riches;
to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.
Thank you Ken. Thank you Frank. I pray that, should I be given the opportunity to be a role model in another’s life, I will model your character, your faith, your selflessness.
I’m caught this week in the delicate struggle between frailty and immortality. Two role models of mine have died. Two men who were “the good ones,” as a friend aptly put it. The two men lived very different lives and didn’t know each other. One was a small business owner and one was a business mogul. One lived in Oklahoma in a modest home and one lived in Texas in an exclusive neighborhood. Yet both lived with a purpose far beyond success and fame. And I’m so humbled to have know each of them.
I met Ken when, as a freshman in high school, I began running around with his daughter, Rhonda. There was something different about him – different than any man I had ever been around. Ken enthusiastically loved God. He prayed with his family, shared his faith often, and put Christ at the center of all he did. And he was a creative soul who loved color and design – he saw it as a gift from the Lord. I distinctly remember the day he painted the Lord’s Prayer on the dining room wall, diagonally with a crisp font treatment. He wanted his family to always remember Who supplied, Who loved, Who protected. And I wanted my dad to be like Ken.
On Monday, Ken was working on a roof with his son-in-law. He complained of being tired, and sat to rest. His last words were “Praise Jesus. Hallelujah. Thank you Lord.” He slumped over and was gone. His heart simply stopped beating.
When I first met Frank, I thought he was a sales assistant. The television station sales offices were moving, and he had removed his tie and rolled up shirt sleeves to help his staff move boxes. He had a boyish look about him, far from the image I had painted in my mind of a General Manager of a major market TV station. I arrived, dressed in the only suit I owned, with videotapes in one hand and writing samples in the other. He had called me after seeing my resume, and asked if I would be available to meet about a job opportunity. At the time, I was an assistant in the Promotion Department at KOCO-TV in Oklahoma City – a low-paying “catch-all” position at the television station. As a struggling single parent dealing with life after an abusive marriage, I could make enough at the job to pay for necessities, but not enough to pay for a place to live. So I stayed with my parents and prayed for better days to come.
Frank and I talked, and he fixed his attention on a few specific projects I had worked on. Those projects involved generating revenue through underwriting and sponsorships. He saw something in me I wasn’t even sure I saw in myself. That meeting was in October 1989, and in February 1990 I was named Director of Sales Promotion for KXAS-TV in Dallas. It was a start-up position – the first of its kind in the country. Frank put his faith in me to bring his vision to fruition. And with his support and encouragement, it worked – very well. My story of Frank isn’t an unusual one. There are countless people to whom Frank has provided career starts, management opportunities, business connections. He was a brilliant salesperson and leader, but he wasn’t filled with ego – he found joy in pouring his life into others.
Frank had been battling cancer – a rare form that baffled doctors. He tried various treatments as he continued to live life to the fullest. But he grew weary of the chemo, and asked that it cease about a month ago. He passed away early this morning, surrounded by family.
Death reminds us all how frail we are – how this life truly is just a vapor. But we can live forever. Ken continues to live on, through the love and faith he shared with his family and friends. Frank continues to live on in the lives of those he counseled, those he coached – those he believed in, like me.
Prov. 11: 25 A generous man will prosper;
he who refreshes others will himself be refreshed.
Prov. 22: 1 A good name is more desirable than great riches;
to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.
Thank you Ken. Thank you Frank. I pray that, should I be given the opportunity to be a role model in another’s life, I will model your character, your faith, your selflessness.
28 October 2008
Dance Revelation
I dance to the tune of Your revelation.” Psalm 119:70 (The Message)
Yesterday, my friend Courtney and I enjoyed an afternoon together. She is part of a rare breed who doesn’t find it unusual that I attribute stories to virtually everything in the stores where we shop (“oh look, that chair looks like it lived in a corner in a sweet old grandma’s house” or “this smell is our wedding ceremony” or “that ring is very Guido-glass feeling, as if it should live on the pinky of an artsy Mafia man.”) She understands my desire to purchase things that aren’t perfect, out of a concern that they will be sent to some real “land of misfit toys.” And she lets me dance.
I’m not sure when I first felt the rhythm, first had that need to move. I can remember always moving. I close my eyes and see my mom and me in the family room, dancing together to the tunes of Herb Alpert or Herman’s Hermits. One of the most precious moments tucked away in my mind is of my dad and me on the dance floor at a Christmas dinner. I had on red velvet and he was in a dark suit. We danced to big band music on the parquet dance floor as the restaurant revolved around us. And I was a princess, with buck teeth and glasses and stick-thin legs.
Dance is a natural response to me. A response of joy, of pain, of happiness, of sorrow, of freedom. It is quite spontaneous. It happens without much thought, without any planning. It just comes, starting ever-so-gently as a response to the revelation. That revelation could be song or spoken word, a gentle breeze or a powerful thunderstorm – or the beauty in complete and utter silence. All have a rhythm and a rhyme. All have harmony and dissonance. All are dear to me. Because the Lord uses all to reveal Himself to me.
I dance to the tune of Your revelation.
On March 15, 2000, I danced as the tears streamed down my face. Only 20 minutes earlier, I had gotten the call from my mother-in-law that my mom was drawing near death. Doctors said it would be a few hours. I rushed to get things together to drive to the hospital to spend those last moments with her. But the second phone call came. “She opened her eyes, looked up and smiled, and…” And I danced. Because at that moment, in an instant, she was changed. She was healed. She was perfect. No more cancer, no more pain, no more struggle. And as the tears fell, I could hear so clearly:
For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and( this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:
"Death is swallowed up in victory." "O death, where is your victory?O death, where is your sting?" – 1 Corinthians 15:53-55 ESV
The God who created the universe reveals Himself through it, through the good times and the bad. Through death and through Christmas dances. Through shopping and friends. And His revelation lets me dance.
Yesterday, my friend Courtney and I enjoyed an afternoon together. She is part of a rare breed who doesn’t find it unusual that I attribute stories to virtually everything in the stores where we shop (“oh look, that chair looks like it lived in a corner in a sweet old grandma’s house” or “this smell is our wedding ceremony” or “that ring is very Guido-glass feeling, as if it should live on the pinky of an artsy Mafia man.”) She understands my desire to purchase things that aren’t perfect, out of a concern that they will be sent to some real “land of misfit toys.” And she lets me dance.
I’m not sure when I first felt the rhythm, first had that need to move. I can remember always moving. I close my eyes and see my mom and me in the family room, dancing together to the tunes of Herb Alpert or Herman’s Hermits. One of the most precious moments tucked away in my mind is of my dad and me on the dance floor at a Christmas dinner. I had on red velvet and he was in a dark suit. We danced to big band music on the parquet dance floor as the restaurant revolved around us. And I was a princess, with buck teeth and glasses and stick-thin legs.
Dance is a natural response to me. A response of joy, of pain, of happiness, of sorrow, of freedom. It is quite spontaneous. It happens without much thought, without any planning. It just comes, starting ever-so-gently as a response to the revelation. That revelation could be song or spoken word, a gentle breeze or a powerful thunderstorm – or the beauty in complete and utter silence. All have a rhythm and a rhyme. All have harmony and dissonance. All are dear to me. Because the Lord uses all to reveal Himself to me.
I dance to the tune of Your revelation.
On March 15, 2000, I danced as the tears streamed down my face. Only 20 minutes earlier, I had gotten the call from my mother-in-law that my mom was drawing near death. Doctors said it would be a few hours. I rushed to get things together to drive to the hospital to spend those last moments with her. But the second phone call came. “She opened her eyes, looked up and smiled, and…” And I danced. Because at that moment, in an instant, she was changed. She was healed. She was perfect. No more cancer, no more pain, no more struggle. And as the tears fell, I could hear so clearly:
For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and( this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:
"Death is swallowed up in victory." "O death, where is your victory?O death, where is your sting?" – 1 Corinthians 15:53-55 ESV
The God who created the universe reveals Himself through it, through the good times and the bad. Through death and through Christmas dances. Through shopping and friends. And His revelation lets me dance.
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