Be glad of life, because it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look up at the stars. ~Henry Van DykeI'll admit it. I'm suffering from a bad case of "restless life syndrome" right now. Though my days are full of perfectly lovely God-crafted moments, there are some rough patches that look a lot like our backyard - scratchy and prickly and uncomfortable. I'm praying for rain. I know it's coming - it always does. But right now, it's dry. And I'm dry.
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| Orange Beach, Alabama. Early morning moments. |
Today I wanted to breathe in His presence, as I craved the tender-hued hush of words falling onto the page. Even if the words are just those - words. Phrases aren't necessary any more. And paragraphs? I don't know if I'll ever see them again. But words can be enough in this season. Anything to commune with Him. So I prayed He would speak as I ran on the winding roads overlooking the lake, I prayed He would speak as I drove to meet friends for an afternoon outing. I prayed He would speak in the quiet places and in the chaos.
And He did.
He spoke through birdsong and dancing leaves in a grocery store parking lot. He reminded me beauty and song can be found in discarded places.
He spoke in a pink-dappled afternoon gathering as I watched friends savor the quiet peace of a pedicure. He reminded me all good gifts - including those friends - come from Him and are for His glory.
And through it all, He reminded me of His attentiveness. His love. His presence. His communion.
It's no secret how much I love to dance. The picture is from our last trip to Guatemala - my sweet friend Tricia and I were a blur on more than one occasion. I’m in grad school. Yes, I am the OLDEST student in my class this semester at St Edward’s University, a wonderful private institution that sits on the crest of a hill overlooking the stunning state capitol of Texas and the much-larger University of Texas. Returning to school to pursue a graduate degree has been a passion for years (or perhaps two decades, if one wants to be precise), and finding a program in Global Issues was an answer to prayer. Even if I don’t ever receive the pretty piece of paper at the end of the road, I know the steps I’ve walked have been focused and good.
The class this semester is entitled “Perspectives.” Our professor has defined that as “what it means to be human,” and has walked us down roads of social and political philosophy, psychology, art, and spirituality. I’ve written journals about seeing things from an eternal perspective (something I can’t NOT do) and the beauty of redemption. This journal is a bit different. Thankfully I have an instructor who allows us to speak using more than words. Yes, this video is my assignment. To be perfectly honest, I don’t really care about the grade – the beauty in the margins is far greater to me. God is Father to the fatherless. And He makes beautiful things.
I'm a school-girl. Again. After more than 20 years, I've returned to college to pursue a Masters of Liberal Arts in Global Issues. Yes, being accepted into grad school was on my "50 before 50" list - but acceptance without the journey would be empty. Perhaps one day I'll post my entrance essay, which featured writings from Tennessee, Texas, Russia, and Guatemala. But for now, I thought I'd post my first journal entry for a class simply known as "Perspectives: On Being Human." The first three weeks of the course focus on social and political philosophy. If you haven't read the essays of the men I reference, a quick Google search will provide an abundance of information. Your perspective may end up being far different than mine. I have a feeling my perspective is far different than most of my classmates. And that's OK. I rather like my prism.
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I sit in the same Tennessee porch swing that whispered inspiration almost a year ago, as I filled pages with words and phrases sharing my passion to be a change-agent for the discarded. Now I read essay after essay of other change-agents - Rousseau, Thoreau, Mill, Marx, Engels, Lenin, Mussolini - and reflect on what it is in each of us that craves something more. There seems to be a constant tug between the “now” and the “not yet,” and we at once grasp both sides of the rope. I feel a connectedness to each author, longing to better understand the prism through which they see. And as I read, my own prism catches the words, infusing each with shape and color.
Though I try to be a mere spectator, stripping myself of all but the most academic of thought, I find it impossible. My vision is shaped through the prism of eternity. Christ is life in my veins, and that glorious obsession washes every moment, every experience. The storyline weaves through the bells that signify the passing hours on the campus of St Edwards, through the spirited discourse of the students hungry to be remembered as more than just a name on a page, and through essays that paint portraits of governments and societies longed for but never seen.
Rousseau dreamt of a world fueled by a common voice. He says, “Each of us places in common his person and all his power under the supreme direction of the general will; as in one body we all receive each member as an indivisible part of the whole.” I read his writings and picture in my mind the body of Christ, comprised of individuals uniquely gifted yet at their best when moving in sync with others.
Thoreau also spoke of community, but understood the subtle difference between cooperation and compromise. He might have found company in people like the Israelites, Daniel, Paul, Peter - even Jesus. From refusing to bow down to idols to a conviction to preach even when commanded not to, examples of appropriate civil disobedience appear throughout scripture.
Mill reflects on the condition of man, and walks away with both the profound truth that we are by nature self-centered, and that any decision forced upon us is bound to ultimately fail - that true change comes from the heart. And Mill shares another truth that rings of the eternal: “A person may cause evil to others not only by his actions but by his inaction, and in either case he is justly accountable to them for the injury.” I hear Christ’s words resonate, “I assure you that whatever you failed to do to the humblest of My brothers, you failed to do to Me.” (Matt. 25:45b)
Marx, Engels, and Lenin also focus on the communal good, though the concept of an ideal “classless” society seems to reinforce the class struggle it rages against. I think about my visits to Russia, and then reflect on the second chapter of Acts, where “all the believers shared everything in common; they sold their possessions and goods and divided the proceeds among the fellowship according to the individual need.” Lenin quotes Marx as saying “While the state exists, there is no freedom. When there is freedom, there will be no state.” I wonder if the three men might have found their ideal society not through material and political revolution, but through faith revelation.
As I watch a wasp fight with a window that keeps it from catching the breeze of a warm September afternoon, I think about each of us and how we press against the forces that keep us bound, seeking the secret to true liberty. If only I could tell the wasp the window is open - that he only need to move eight inches down to experience the very freedom he desires. Again, the prism of eternity bends the light, and I think about the freedom that cannot be attained through political structure or social class. I think about a religion that’s more powerful than the doctrine of fascism preached by Mussolini, governed by a Sovereign who holds dictators and kings in His hand. His rule cannot be fettered by any system of government, and His liberty is offered to all.
For eternity.
“I’m a living and breathing testament that life begins and flourishes at whatever age you become comfortable in your own skin and whenever it is that you fall in love with what you see when you look in the mirror each morning.”
I’ve been taking a slow walk through a book. I could have read it quickly - it’s certainly not a complicated novel - but getting to know Lucille O’Neal was something I wanted to savor. In learning about her life, I have learned to happily embrace mine.
In the book, “Walk Like You Have Somewhere to Go,” Lucille shares the story of her challenging childhood, teenage pregnancy, relationship issues, struggles with alcoholism - and overcoming faith in God. Yes, she is the mother of NBA star Shaquille O’Neal, but her book doesn’t rest on his fame as her redemption. Lucille inspires women to look upward and move onward, no matter their circumstances. She shares, “Without a test, there is no testimony.”
Through her words, she has shown the beauty of a life lived fully - and a life that becomes richer after 50. Her book evolves from autobiography to a passionate and convicting challenge - to dream big, step out in faith, and choose to live victoriously in Christ. Taking a slow walk with her through her journey from mental warfare to mental health - and mental wealth - is a good journey indeed.
I know what it feels like.
Just before dawn this morning, after a very short night with little sleep, I took my sweet friend Emma to the airport for her return flight to Colorado and the family she loves dearly. Her eyes were sparkling with joy as she checked her bag and walked toward the security line. She was going home.
Yesterday, those same eyes were sparkling with tears. As we rode the escalator down to the baggage claim area at Austin Bergstrom, there were cheers from waiting family and friends for the rest of our team. “We’re proud of you!” “We missed you so much!” The voices raised like a symphony.
But the orchestra wasn’t full.
Though every team member hugged Emma, though there was joy in the friendships made - there were voices she missed. Her journey wasn’t complete. She was not home yet.
I returned home and drifted off to sleep, thinking about Guatemala and Emma and the past week. And I dreamt. In that dream, I could hear my mom in the kitchen, making biscuits and gravy (I’ve written a chapter about this comfort food in my “may-never-be-finished” book). Her love was evident as she fluffed the sheets and stroked my forehead. Her voice calmed my soul.
Opening my eyes, for the briefest of moments, I thought I could hear her.
I am blessed to belong to a loving husband, a precious son and beautiful daughter-in-love, and God-crafted family. Yet, in the stillness of that dream, my heart ached to feel the touch of a mom who loved me beyond measure.
We all want to feel “home,” no matter who we are - a 16-year old from Colorado who sees her future ministering to the discarded in Latin America, a 50-year old who finds joy in helping others live transformational lives, one of the 148 million orphans in the world, the 30,000 kids in the Texas foster care system, or the vagabonds I pass every day on my way to more important things in my life.
Yes, I believe fully the journey to “home” continues throughout this life, and I pray whoever reads this has the sweet, humbling confidence of eternity with God All-Mighty. But I believe family isn’t something just to be experienced in Heaven. We are to minister to widows and orphans, we are to care for those passing through, we are to entertain strangers.
We are supposed to love beyond measure. We are to be the orchestra that says “welcome home.”
The sun is shining as it rises over the hills and volcanoes. The birds are singing a symphony. The morning is fresh and new, full of sparkling mercy, grace and love - just waiting to be shared and experienced. I wish I could bottle this moment, for it is a perfect reminder of the wonder of our God.It was one of those snowfalls you never forget. Millions of white flakes filled the air, quieting the earth and swallowing the sounds. The resulting silence was thick with a texture you could feel. My nephew stood in the living room at the opening to our deck, a stranger to snow. his two years of life about to be altered irrevocably. His eyes were blank, unaware; his body clueless; his mind about to be overloaded with the electricity of discovery. In the dark, Mother had maneuvered herself onto the deck’s two feet of snow to capture the event on video. Dad manned the sliding door, which had been unlatched for quick opening into the darkness. Uncle’s hands were poised on the switch to light the deck. And Aunt was ready to lift her nephew into the mysterious new world of twinkling ice and frozen softness.
The moment arrived.
In a perfectly timed instant the deck lights went on, the camera started recording, the sliding door swept open, and a two-year old was transported from the world he knew to a world he had never seen.
Wonder filled the air.
His eyes stretched wide with astonishment, as though the only way to apprehend what he was seeing was for his eyes to become big enough to contain it all. He stood motionless, paralyzed. It was too much for a two-year-old, too much for an any-year-old (too often, when a person gets older, the person’s “too-much detector” malfunctions, corroded by busyness and technology). He twitched and jerked each time a snowflake landed on his face, feeling it tingle as it was transformed from hostile cold to friendly warmth, caressing his face with tiny droplets of water. Just behind his large eyes you could see sparks flying from the crosscurrents of millions of electric stimuli overwhelming the circuit breakers of his previously small world. His mind was a confusion of strange, conflicting realities: white, cold, floating, flying, tingling, electric, landing, touching, sparkling, melting - causing an overload so great, so overwhelming, he fell backward - a slow-motion landing in the billowy whiteness, the snow tenderly embracing him. He had given up trying to understand snow and had given in to experiencing snow.
It was a moment of wonder.
The more I think about it, it was a moment of dangerous wonder. My nephew’s awe and wonder caused him to surrender to the snow by falling into it. For a few magical seconds, the danger of snow had given way to the wonder of snow. For a brief moment my nephew came face-to-face with life at its fullest. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to be afraid or happy. My nephew experienced what it must be have been like that first moment in Eden when Adam and Eve’s eyes could not comprehend the staggering beauty of God’s new creation. He experienced what it must have been like when the scales fell from the blind man’s eyes and the explosion of color and shapes bombarded his mind for the first time; when the leper felt a surge of electricity through his body, his dead and rotting skin suddenly transformed into the fresh skin of a baby; when the bitter, hopeless prostitute looked up fully expecting judgment and death and instead heard the words of forgiveness and life.
What moments? What holy moments! To be in the presence of God, frightened and amazed at the same time! To feel as if you are in the presence of Life itself, yet with your soul shaking in both fear and gratitude.
I want a lifetime of holy moments. Every day I want to be in the dangerous proximity to Jesus. I long for a life that explodes with meaning and is filled with adventure, wonder, risk, and danger. I long for a faith that is gloriously treacherous. I want to be with Jesus, not knowing whether to cry or laugh.
When I run, my playlist transports me to other places - I might be on the cobblestone streets in Antigua, Guatemala, or on the dark, wet pavement in St Petersburg, Russia. I can feel the dirt roads in Corrientes, Argentina, the pine needle trails in the Rocky Mountain National Park, or the winding paths outside of Nashville. I’ve even pictured myself running in Africa.
Today, though, I was trapped here.
My road was the treadmill, and the rain on the window in front of me blurred the landscape into shades of gray and green. I wanted so badly to see the hills in the distance and feel myself running toward them, but the rain was in the way. It obscured the view of the trees, the lake, the limestone cliffs.
We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist.
This week has been a difficult one, as my husband experienced for the first time in his long and storied career what it feels like to be discarded. Despite what anyone says about downsizing being “just business,” the toll it takes is a heavy one. The road is unfamiliar, and each step is a new one. The rain on the window painted a perfect picture.
And my playlist transported me again. Not to another place, but to a holy Face. It was as if the Lord, in His beautiful technological kindness, had shuffled the perfect mix for me.
Can’t stop, you can’t stop the seasons
Don’t stop, don’t stop believing
Keep on dreaming of the day when it all will change
Believe in the end, love wins
If you’re waiting for the time when your sun will shine
Oh, look above cause love wins
-Love Wins (Robbie Seay Band)
And in you
I can begin again
I’m part of a bigger plan
Cause you are the great “I am”
And in you
Your life is in my veins
And you’ve broken all my chains
Cause you are the God who reigns.
-Life Light Up (Christy Nockels)
Of all the gifts you’ve me, the greatest one has been silence
I’m a kitten climbing up a tree, inspecting one more mystery, I’m falling.
From the thought of my life if you should stay
there’s no point to this life if we don’t risk it all the way.
-Libertad (Pacifika)
With a few perfectly selected songs, God reminded me once again that the future is as vibrant as the greens of the trees and the blue of the lake when the rain clears and the sun shines again.
Perhaps I wasn’t trapped on that treadmill after all.
But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing Him directly just as He knows us! 1 Corinthians 13:12
"We're called to be faithful to God even when it seems He hasn't been faithful to us. We're called to love Him even when we feel abandoned. We're called to look for Him even in the midst of the darkness. We're called to worship Him even through our tears."
Pete Wilson is the pastor of Crosspoint Church in Nashville, Tennessee. His blog, withoutwax.tv, is a place I visit frequently to be inspired and challenged. And it's where I learned about his first book, Plan B. I was honored to receive an advance reader's copy.
So, my original plan was to finish reading Plan B several weeks ago. I even blocked time on my calendar - “read Plan B, “ponder Plan B,” “review Plan B.” But it seems this Type A has had to move to her own Plan B, because I haven’t finished it yet.
Now, please don’t get the wrong idea - it’s not that I don’t want to read the book (trust me, I’ve got a stack of books that have been started but not finished because they simply haven’t captivated me). Rather, it’s because I keep reading - and re-reading - chapter after chapter, finding myself and those I love in the stories, discovering new soundbites, and falling even more in love with the beauty of an imperfect life made perfect by a God who causes all things to work together for His good and His glory. Pete is unafraid to talk about a life that is messy, that doesn’t have all the answers - and about a God who is sovereign in the midst of the mess.
"In this life, many of your questions will simply not have answers. But through it all, God Himself will never change. That is why our faith must rest on His identity and not necessarily His activity."
Plan B reflects on the beauty of disappointment, suffering, surrender and community. It is practical and weighty without being heavy-handed. It will be a book recommended to many, including you. And it will be a book I read - and re-read- over and over again.
In case you don’t know, I review books for Thomas Nelson Publishers. No, I don’t get paid - it’s something I do because I love to read, love differing points of view, love to look at my precious Lord from a different or fresh angle. I prayerfully select the books I’m going to read - not that I believe my reviews are that important, but because I want to know I’m reading the right book for me. Some selections have come easily and some have been a struggle. Some reads have been fast - leaving me wanting even more - and some have been slow yet satisfying. But so far, I’ve been able to find beauty in everything I’ve read.
Until now.
Drat it all. I was so looking forward to reading “Free Book” by Brian Tome. Being a renegade, the title intrigued me and the short description captured me. We all want to feel that amazing sense of liberty in Christ, and I’ve had it brush against my skin enough to know it’s real. But something’s wrong - and try as I might, I’m not sure what it is. The book is very methodical - one of the most “step-by-step” experiences in Christianity I’ve had in a long time. I could recommend the book based on that alone. And the book speaks of grace - not a grace to sin, but a rich and abiding grace in pressing in to God and His amazing liberty rather than strictly obeying rules and regulations.
Brian talks about living an unbalanced life. It resonates with me, given my diverse palette of passions which are all summed up in Jesus. He even talks about tattoos. Having one (which I received to commemorate a milestone birthday), there should be a built-in kinship.
So what is it about “Free Book” that’s bugging me? As much as I hate to admit it, it’s a style thing. A few weeks ago, I reviewed a book by an author named Chris Tomlinson. I likened him to a pesky little brother whose words pierce to the core. Brian Tome might be the one on the other end of that spectrum - the big brother who has the answer to everything. There is a “loudness” to his tone that goes beyond the 120-point type on the cover. The conversational style to his writing feels strongly one-way. Rather than inspired (as LifeChurch Pastor Craig Groeschel states in his recommendation of the book), I simply feel tired.
Drat it all.
