It Pales in Comparison

I'm not sure what I think about "praying" on the internet.  Does God read my status?  He doesn't have to!  He knows my thoughts before I even have them, so I know He doesn't need to see me post them.  However, my friends and family can't know my thoughts.  You can't know what God is doing in my heart unless I speak them or post them.

Lately, I have been experiencing God's presence very palpably in my quiet time with Him.  Today as I begged Him, again, to change some difficult circumstances in my life, He directed me to a portion of His word that helped me regain my perspective.  I know a lot of my friends are struggling right now, so I want to share this section of Scripture with you, reworded in the form of a prayer.  I hope it helps you as much as it has me.

Father,

I pray that from Your glorious, unlimited resources You will empower me with inner strength through your spirit.

Then, you will make your home in my heart as I trust in you.

My roots will grow down deep in Your love, and I may have the power to understand, as all Your people should, how wide, how long, how high and how deep Your love is.

May I experience your love, though it is too great to understand fully?

Then I will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from You.

Amen.

Call It What It Is

For my entire Christian life I have "done devotions."  Well, to be honest, its not that I've actually "done" them every day...not even close, in fact.  Practically speaking, "do devotions" is the term I have used to describe that time I spend privately reading Scripture, praying and journaling about what I read and pray (and occasionally hear).

Its really quite easy to say in my head, "I just don't feel like doing devotions right now."  In fact, I can do that without a second thought.

Last night I decided to change things up a bit and call devotions by another name: "spending time with Jesus."  I got up this morning and wanted nothing more than to just flip on the t.v., pick up my knitting and turn off my brain.  Instead, I used my new-fangled terminology and said to myself, "I just don't feel like spending time with Jesus right now."  WOW!  Its amazing how just a few words can change the way a sentence makes you feel.

So, once I'm done with this paragraph, I'll be picking up "Jesus Calling," my Bible and my journal and spending a little time with my Savior.  I'm looking forward to seeing what He has to say today.

Christmas from Another Planet

What defines you?  You know, that thing that you are or do or believe; that thing that makes you YOU.

For me, its cooking and baking.  I am the person who always has a warm kitchen full of delicious aromas and flavors just waiting to soothe your hurts, celebrate your victories or simply fill your empty spaces.  I'm the girl you can count on to provide a huge meal for dozens of people at a moment's notice.  I'm the lady who's always ready for those extra couple of guests.  It's just who I am.

Only it isn't anymore.

My entire identity has revolved around food for as long as I can remember.  My mother is an amazing cook, and most of  my favorite childhood memories involve some meal or dish or treat that my mother made for some specific or special occasion... the ham with waldorf salad, or the vanilla cream chocolate drops, or the saurkraut and sausage meatloaf.  We baked together and she taught me her tricks.  It was magical.

Then I began building my own home full of its own memories.  I learned new recipes and practiced the intricate timing of preparing a meal so that each item was ready at exactly the same time.  I taught myself to recognize which flavor combinations would be tasty, and which would clash terribly.  I experimented with spices and reveled in each delicious discovery.  And nothing brought me greater joy than sharing this fount of knowledge and skill with a house overflowing with people.

So now, as I prepare for Christmas, knowing that all of my tried-and-true holiday delicacies will ultimately put me in the hospital (I've already been twice since Thanksgiving), I find myself not only wondering what to do with my time but wondering who I am.  This "thing" that has defined me is now my enemy, and I just feel lost.

I hear the silent voices that remind me I am a daughter of the King, that Christmas is about Christ not food, that I am more than just a plate full of cookies or a box of homemade fudge.  I hear them...but I cannot make myself believe them just yet.  I do not know who I am without my stove, or hot cup of coffee or tea, or my fragrant home and warm kitchen.  Its like I've woken up in a parallel universe where everything looks exactly the same, but sugar, gluten and caffeine are poison.

I will adapt.  I will change.  I will grow.  But right now...today...I wonder who the imposter is that's living inside my skin.

If It Doesn't Hurt, It Isn't Real - Part 1

Heidi can be a real pain in the (insert appropriate body part here).  About once each week Heidi listens to my excruciating emotional diarrhea and then rapid-fires gut-wrenching questions at me until my confused and exhausted brain vomits the real truth behind my freakishly ridiculous belief system.  And I pay her to do this to me.

A couple of weeks ago this oh-so-fun process resulted in me blurting out this mind-blowing statement:

If it doesn't hurt, it isn't real.

Originally, this was in response to her automatic-weapon-line of questions about how I know I've given enough.  I've been living under the belief that "sacrifice," as described by pastors and church folk I know (and, thus, I assumed, Scripture) doesn't count if it doesn't make me suffer some kind of pain or loss.  So, Heidi assigned me the homework of "exploring that some more."

Here's what I discovered during this "exploration":

1. The word sacrifice comes to the English language via Old French from the Latin word sacrificium, from sacer which means "holy" and facere which means "to make."  Thus, sacrifice actually means "to make holy," not "give until it hurts."
2. In the Old Testament, God required sacrifices from His people, BUT He had different requirements from different classes of people, i.e., the rich gave cows, the middle-class gave goats, the poor gave birds.  He didn't ask for something they just couldn't afford.  
3. Also, sacrifices resulted in a delicious meal.  After the animal was burned, it was eaten, so it wasn't just thrown away.  It was enjoyed.
4. God ultimately sacrificed His Son.  They did suffer the pain of separation, of a humble human life, and of a torturous death.  However, they did this knowing all along that it was temporary and that the Son would live again.  His resurrection would bring joy.
5. Christ's sacrifice was not only enough, but all throughout Scripture God makes it crystal clear that He doesn't want our stuff.  He wants our broken and contrite heart.  He wants our obedience.  He loves a cheerful giver.  His yoke is easy and His burden is light.

"But what about the old lady who gave two coins and Jesus said that she was better than the Jewish leaders who gave a lot of money.  He liked her sacrifice."

Go spelunking through that section of the Gospels.  I discovered it was couched in a lot of stories about how much Jesus hated the burden that the Jewish leaders had placed on His people by adding to His Father's laws but that the leaders didn't really observe themselves.  He got so peeved about it that He went ballistic in the temple courtyard and knocked over the "get your sacrifice here" stands that folks were using to take advantage these burdened, weary souls.  Jesus didn't want that poor old lady to give away all her money and then go home to die.  He pitied her.  He loved her, and He ultimately died to free her from that tyranny.

So it all comes down to this:  I don't have to sacrifice.  

I'm A-OK in God's eyes if I never give or do one single thing.  Jesus' blood was all it takes for me to be accepted and adopted into the Father's family.  I can run right into that throne room and hop up on Daddy's lap any time I want. He's not the host of some Heavenly home where I'm obligated to bring a polite gift for the privilege of dining at His table.  He's my DAD.  There's no sacrifice, regardless of how painful it is to offer, that can make Him love me more than He already does.  

But just like my kids are giving me a gift this Christmas and telling me how much I'm going to like it, and just like the way I enjoy knowing that I have chosen a gift that will touch my earthly father's heart, I WANT to give my best to God.  I WANT to show Him I love Him.  I WANT to make Him smile...but watching His little girl suffer to do so isn't what He wants.  Knowing that my kids are going to suffer if they give me a gift would break my heart, and my Heavenly Daddy is no different.

Jesus' sacrifice made me holy, and all I have to do to make our Daddy happy is live like I believe that.

Minorities, Majorities and Legalities

I grew up in the rural south, my hometown is divided by railroad tracks, and the white kids all went to the private school specifically established as a way to keep the races separated.  You would be hard-pressed to find a more stereotypical setting for racial prejudices to be fostered, and this was only 30 years ago.

My parents, for all their quirks and faults, did an excellent job of teaching me that skin color is simply a physical feature.  It has nothing to do with the value of a human being, and I was told that if I had to describe someone's physical appearance I should do just that, i.e., "She is tall with black, curly hair and medium brown skin," or "She is short, with red hair, pale skin and freckles."  Because I had never seen a person with actual black or white skin, I never used those terms. I was also taught to never assume I knew someone's heritage.  If I wanted to label someone according to ethnicity, I should ask the person first. My parents did a great job with the whole race thing, and I am very grateful for that.

My parents also defied the scholastic separation in our little town and sent me to the public school.  I started out as one of about eight "pale-skinned," "European-Americans" in my grade, but I finished as the only "white" student in my class.  I'm not really sure what happened to the other students who shared my lower level of melanin.  They may have moved, dropped-out, or switched to the private school, but I never really worried about it.  I had friends.  I liked my teachers.  It was all good.

That is the background I bring to this whole Ferguson debacle.  Everything in me wants to just ignore it all and pretend it doesn't affect me.  That would render me an ostrich, however, and I am definitely NOT a large bird.

I want to believe things are better now than they were 30 years ago.  I want to believe that we have grown in our understanding of racial divides and fears.  I want to believe that these events are anomalies, and that our nation is overcoming these base instincts to fear that which is different and to lash out at those whom we fear.  Is it naive to choose to believe this?  Is it foolish to dream of a more enlightened and understanding world?  I would rather be a fool for Christ...

I currently live in a home with students from eight different countries.  Our skin covers the spectrum of pigment hues.  It is beautiful here in our little sub-culture.  We are a family drawn together by a common bond; friendship.  All of these students worked diligently to qualify for scholarships and grants and various fundings to study in the United States.  They jumped through every hoop required to come here legally,  and they obey the rules set forth in their visas.  They appreciate the opportunity they have worked so hard to obtain, and they are grateful to God for His goodness.

I wonder, and will one day work up the courage to ask, what they think about all of the squabbles we have as a nation, about police brutality and prejudicially motivated riots, about our granting the rights of citizens to those who fled their impoverished and/or violent homelands and came to the U.S. illegally in search of a better life, about how we look at each other and judge each other and convict each other and punish each other without even meeting each other, about how we are a nation based on Judeo-Christian beliefs yet can't muster even the smallest measure of grace or mercy for our fellow countrymen.

I will continue to pray, not for Ferguson, not for justice, nor for immigration reform.  I will continue to pray that our country will believe and live these words...Oh, if we could only live this out:

1Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, 2then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. 3Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, 4not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.

5In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:

6Who, being in very nature^a God,

did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;

7rather, he made himself nothing

by taking the very nature^b of a servant,

being made in human likeness.

8And being found in appearance as a man,

he humbled himself

by becoming obedient to death—

even death on a cross!

9Therefore God exalted him to the highest place

and gave him the name that is above every name,

10that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,

in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

11and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,

to the glory of God the Father.

12Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, 13for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.

14Do everything without grumbling or arguing, 15so that you may become blameless and pure, “children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.”^c Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky 16as you hold firmly to the word of life. And then I will be able to boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor in vain. 17But even if I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you. 18So you too should be glad and rejoice with me.

Lessons From the Trail

Last week I had the privilege of being a main character in a friend's dream.  Well...actually, I was the heroine in a dream I didn't even know I had, but it definitely all started in my friend's head, for sure.  Hiking on the Appalachian Trail never even entered my sphere of consciousness, except perhaps when binge-watching Criminal Minds on Netflix, yet there I was...backpacking in northern Georgia.

I learned many things on this road trip, most of which I will address in another much-more-serious blog post.  Today, however, I will apply the wise words of my sage, old grandmother, "Learn to laugh at yourself, Monica.  Everybody else is!"

1.  When determining whether or not to set out on your hike, look at the sky.  If the sky is a dark shade of gray or if there is water falling from said, dark sky, stay inside your warm, cozy lodge room and enjoy the view of the mountains from behind insulated glass.

2.  Should you choose to ignore lesson #1 or somehow fail to realize there is water falling from the darkened sky, do not, under any circumstances, buy your rain gear from the world's largest retailer.  That big yellow smiley face is actually laughing his bright, shiny a$$ off at the thought of you getting soaked to the skin in your crappy rain coat and pants that inspired these words from my friend, "You know, you kinda look like a miniature sasquatch from the back."

3.  When wearing said rain gear, you will get wet.  As I learned on this excursion, "wet" is the state of having your clothing saturated with water that fell from the sky.

4.  Even though I have a fairly working knowledge of this "wet" concept, when the temperature is at or below freezing it can be extremely difficult to recognize the difference between "frozen" and "wet."

5.  Upon reaching your desired stopping point on the trail and setting up your microscopic tent, if your friend touches you and says, "You are wet.  Take off your clothes," she is not, in fact, attempting to take your relationship to a new and uncomfortable level.

6.  While it seems to fly in the face of all things reasonable, getting naked in a tent in the woods after wearing wet clothing for six hours can only be compared to a state of complete and utter ecstasy...unicorns and fairies float through the air as rainbows fill the tent with psychedelic light. (Your friend is, in fact, a freaking GENIUS!)

7.  While your friend is a backpacking genius, you will still be trying to thaw out your brain.  Do not attempt to make any life-altering decisions during this time of complete nirvana, such as, "Where should I place these nalgene bottles full of boiling water that my friend is telling me to put in my sleeping bag with me?"  (Hint:  next to your bare skin is the wrong answer.)

8.  "Next to your bare skin" is ALSO the wrong answer regarding where to place the "Hot Hands" warming pads your friend remembered to bring.  Actually, "Next to your bare skin" seems to be the wrong answer to a LOT of life's more difficult questions...

9.  Backpacking "food," and I do use that term loosely, begins in a freeze-dried state and is, thus, quite light and easy to carry.  By adding boiling water to the air-tight, zipper-sealed packet, the "food" is returned to its pre-freeze-dried state,and although it will smell and taste remarkably like cardboard and conjure images of  abandoned puppies and unhappy children, it will provide calories for your body to burn.

10.  Should you have the brilliant decision to use said packet of food as yet another warming device in your sleeping bag, do not, I shall repeat that: DO NOT sit on this packet regardless of how wonderful a warm bum sounds at the time.

11.  After exercising your right to be an idiot, rather than using your extending-handle, camping spork to scoop the "Pineapple, Orange Chicken and Rice" back into the surprisingly sharp-edged, metal, zipper pouch, it is much easier and more efficient to simply use your spork to eat the "food" directly from your sleeping bag, regardless of the convulsive laughing emanating from the sleeping bag next to you.

12.  Tremendous benefits actually result from squirting your entire meal into your sleeping bag.  Hanging your food supply to protect it from bears is rendered unnecessary, as you have now transformed yourself into a living, breathing, food sack and will, thereby, attract all wildlife within a 200 mile radius.  All other food supplies are now completely safe from any unwanted attention.

13.  And finally, make sure your hiking buddy has a cell phone, so she can text the local trail shuttle service to get you the HE!! off that mountain at the butt-crack of dawn the next morning!!!!!!

This has been, "Lessons From the Trail."  I pray these lessons serve you well on all your future backpacking adventures.

90 days, 9 months....Whatever

I wish I had a dollar for every time I've tried to read the Bible from start to finish.  I'd have like...okay, maybe 15 bucks.  The truth is, I've probably read most of the Bible multiple times, but I had never done that thing that makes you a truly committed Christian; you know, a dyed in the wool, Jesus-freaky, card-carrying Believer.  That one elusive check-mark on my list of "How to be a Spiritually Superior Being" left a big gaping hole in my soul.

Oh, I had the very best of intentions.  I have purchased several "Through the Bible" 365-day versions of the Good Book, as well as accompanying devo's and journals in which to record all of my inspired insights.  In my heart and mind, this has been the most epic failure of my entire eternal life, and not being able to cross this item off my list left me feeling like a Grade-A LOSER.

Somewhere around the book of Numbers, I just fall apart.  For whatever reason, be it boredom or rebellion, around the 5th chapter of eight-syllable names, my brain goes numb, and I find myself mentally redecorating every room of my home...as well as my friends' homes, too!

Which bring me to this portion of my Health Journey; my spiritual health.

Back in February of this year (2014), I decided, once again, to take up this gauntlet and trudge through God's Holy Word.  I even chose a truly righteous challenge and began a 90-day (that's right NINETY day...THREE month) reading plan on my oh-so-handy YouVersion Bible App (droid, not iphone, for those who care).  I sat down with my coffee and 5.whatever screen and read, "In the beginning..." aaaaaaaaand 15 chapters later, my mental living room was absolutely gorgeous!  WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!

That's when I noticed the little megaphone at the bottom of my screen.  Tapping on that tiny icon, I discovered the secret to my perplexing dilemma and was introduced to "mellow voice man," the answer to my spiritual brain fog,  With knitting in hand and Mr. Mellow on my phone, I was able to keep my hands busy and my mind focused.  I have always considered myself a visual person, but gosh darnit if I'm not an auditory/kinesthetic learner.  Who knew?  (Okay, probably God and anyone who has ever tried to teach me anything...but it was brand-new info to me!)

Yesterday, November 9, 2014, I finally completed my long-coveted title of "Bible Reader" (or Listener, as the case may be).  No, I didn't do it in 90 days.  In fact I hit the "reset" button so many times my phone started laughing at me, but I did finish and in less than a year.

...Well...except for Numbers.  Even mellow-voice-man couldn't get me through it.  Sorry God.  I married an accountant for a reason, you know : )