Forty Lives

I’m driving to the library today when my 4-year old in the back seat says, “Mom, do you know why things that make you healthy hurt?”  Ethan’s thinking shots, since he’s had to have a number of vaccines in preparation for starting kindergarten next month.  Vaccines aren’t the first things that come to my mind.

“Some healthy things don’t hurt,” I think.  Spinach is healthy, and there’s no pain in a salad of spinach leaves, walnuts, strawberries with a little oil and vinegar mixed in.  My mouth is watering just thinking about it.  Walking is healthy, and the simple motion of putting one foot in front of the other, up and down the hills in our neighborhood, clears my mind and calms me.  Laughter – the kind that comes from the depths of my being – is very healthy (even when it’s triggered by a scene from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation).  All healthy, all enjoyable rather than painful.

Die to self.  Ouch.  To be truly physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy, I must die to self.  Daily.

As a parent, I’m supposed to be consistent in my discipline, patient when interrupted for the seventh time in as many minutes, and able to understand the inner workings of the pre-teen mind.  The one thing I do well is love and support.  But I worry that the things my kids will remember are the times I lost my temper or nagged them to “shut the door” for the 8,623^rd time.  I’m reminded the healthy thing to do – this dying to self – means I don’t waffle on the consequences of my kids’ mistakes even when it’s easier to let them get away with it.  And I choose to be truly engaged when they need my attention and approval, even when I’m tired.  And I decide that, rather than using a sharp tone of voice, I will speak with kindness, especially during moments of stress.

In the business world, there are times when I have to choose humility.  I don’t like it, especially when I believe I’m right.  But, when I’m at my best, I choose to find a way for all involved to work towards a common goal, even if I’d rather take the helm and steer the ship alone.

This dying to self does need to be practiced daily, even though it’s incredibly difficult for me.  Letting go of my need to control and my selfish wants in favor of unity with God, my family, and friends is a struggle at times.  Sometimes it just plain hurts to surrender.  But I realize – even as I’m writing this – that I can die to self without losing myself.  There are moments of conviction when I know I must stand my ground and take care of myself.  And there are other times, the majority, when giving up what I want contributes to a much healthier outcome.  Somehow, my youngest knew this, and I’m glad he decided to share this bit of wisdom with me.  “Out of the mouths of babes…”

About a year ago, I blogged about walking around RadnorLake.  I was, at that time, struggling with being rather than just doing (http://fortylives.com/2011/08/25/radnor-lake/).  Today I returned to this peaceful, beautiful place to center my mind and my heart.

I’m learning – ever so slowly – to be mindful of the present moment.  On this day, as I walked in solitude, I chose to notice my place in this environment rather than reliving yesterday’s events or deciding what I would do after my walk. 

My legs were strong and solid, and my footsteps were sure as I felt the soft path beneath them.  The musty smell of damp wood chips found its way to me, and the moss on the water caught my eye.  Storms have ravaged these woods lately and left in their wake many fallen trees, their giant roots upended – standing guard around the edges where the woods bump up against the walking trail.  I could hear the drone of the cicadas, the rush of water over rocks, and a couple walking behind me arguing passionately over something trivial.

I’ve been experiencing centering prayer lately, and a word that brings me back from my random thoughts into prayer is “surrender”.  That word came to me today.  Control is my ally, moving me through my days offering me the illusion that all is well as long as I manage the things around me.  In surrendering, I am completely letting go of this fantasy – that I can handle the twists and turns of this life on my own.

And so I let go, and let my emotions flow freely as well.  I felt the pain of past and present losses that hits us at a certain age, gratitude for a body and soul capable of walking and experiencing this mindfulness, and joy at the blessings my family and friends are to me.  I surrendered to the moment and found that – rather than feeling afraid of this loss of control – I was renewed.

I saw a dear friend recently who is re-discovering trust.  In the past, she has depended on God because – in the midst of the crises in her life – she had no choice.  Today, she chooses to trust because it is her earnest desire, not from a place of fear.  Perhaps I am discovering full and complete trust for the first time.  When I choose to relinquish control and free-fall into trust, maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn the hands of God are the safest place to be after all.

I need to feel sand under my feet.  Grains so hot they almost sear my skin.  With each footstep, I want sand moving between my toes while I hear the gentle roar of waves crashing against the shore.

But tonight I walked on asphalt.  Mind you, walking in my neighborhood is a pleasure.  Especially at night.  I love the smells that permeate the air, and there are plenty after the hard rains we’ve had today.  The scent of mud, someone’s laundry soap coming from a window, a dog’s wet fur – all these mix together as I move down the street.  I listen to music on my headphones, but there are times I turn it off to hear the crickets, dogs barking, and the occasional car.  Breathing is easier when I’m walking.

The thing is, I like to run, too.  But the neighborhood is quite hilly, not like the level ground of a shoreline.  I find myself running up hills and walking down them to keep my shins from hurting.  And then, tonight, I started to run and pulled something in the back of my leg behind my knee.  There are advantages to getting older, but the physical stuff is not much fun. 

So as I pulled up and changed my pace back to a walk, all I could think about was that sand.  My husband and I had a conversation today – as we often do – about moving to the beach.  And tonight I would have packed up my things, set out for the beach, and never looked back.  I dream of running every evening along the shore, salty air surrounding me, the sand an extension of my feet.  I don’t think shin splints would plague me there.

The ocean is calling me to run on its shores, just as sure as God is calling me to a deeper relationship.  And maybe they overlap just a bit.  Perhaps the spirit that is a challenge for me to find in the everyday will be clearer in the mists floating off the water.  Maybe the roar of the ocean waves will remind me of the majesty of my maker that I so often overlook while handling the many tasks of the day.

But until my feet touch the sand, I still have to live in the normal.  And this is what I can do in the here-and-now.  Remember, whatever ground my feet land on, that only by God’s grace am I able to walk at all.  With each footstep, breathe in the spirit to my very core.  And as I breathe out, I can whisper a prayer of thanksgiving for the blessings of today and the dreams of tomorrow.

I’ve heard the story of Job three times in the last ten days.  The third time was when I was re-reading the book “anything” by Jennie Allen.  I mention it first because it was the catalyst for what follows.  (I recently blogged about it here (http://fortylives.com/2012/06/27/anything/).

The first time was in a Rob Bell video my Sunday school class watched recently.  In this video, Bell tells the story of Job – whom God allows to be persecuted because of his faith – and how he questions God.  God’s response includes: 

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth!  Tell Me, if you have understanding, Who set its measurements, since you know?  Or who enclosed the sea with doors?  Have you ever in your life commanded the morning, and caused the dawn to know its place?  Can you lead forth a constellation in its season?  Do you know the ordinances of the heavens?”

Who wouldn’t be humbled by a rebuke like that?

The second occurrence of hearing this story was last Friday night.  I was broken, finally willing to pray the prayer of “anything”.  I told God every fear I had, and it was quite a list.  (In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit I’ve taken it back a time or two since.  Seems this prayer is meant to be prayed daily, and I’m not quite that strong yet.)

But Friday night, in the midst of my sobs and prayers, I looked up and noticed a book on my shelf.  I haven’t read “A Step Further” by Joni Eareckson since high school.  And I knew I had to open it.  Mind you, God doesn’t talk to me.  Or I don’t listen.  But I know as sure as I’m sitting here that this was God’s leading.

I looked through the table of contents and picked the chapter that stood out to me.  And there it was, the story of Job.  I was raised Southern Baptist, so I know a Bible story or two.  But I don’t believe two weeks ago that I could have told you the crucial part of this story.  The part that Jennie Allen and Rob Bell and Joni Eareckson emphasized.  God’s reminder to Job of His majesty and power.  And whatever is in God’s plan, who am I to question Him?

Do you have any idea how much it scares me that I keep tripping over the story of Job?  I want nice and comfortable.  I want security.  And I want to control my own life.  But tonight it hit me.  God owes me nothing.  Rather, it is the other way around.  I owe God everything.  All I have – my very life – belongs to God anyway, whether or not I acknowledge this.

God is God.  God fashioned the world, told the oceans where they must stop, ordered the stars, created every living being that has ever walked or ever will walk on this earth.

And in spite of my fears, in spite of my desires, in spite of my failures, in spite of me…the God who breathed life into all the creatures on this planet chooses to love me.  And that alone should be enough to send me to my knees – willingly – for whatever God asks of me.

I’m reading a non-fiction book, “Anything” by Jennie Allen.  I usually inhale books.  I read “Gone with the Wind” in four days at age 12.  Sitting in a rocking chair in my bedroom, I devoured over 1,000 pages of what must have been 8 point font.  Couldn’t put it down.  But now I’m reading this book, and it’s literally taken me about three months to get through it.

The author and her husband prayed a prayer of “anything”.  Told God they were willing to do anything required in order to move into deeper relationship with God, to serve completely, without reservation, and to make a difference in the world for him.  The book includes phrases like “When you are truly about the things of God, there is always attack” and “Christ never intended those who walked with him to feel comfortable and safe.  This was meant to be a risk-it-all pursuit.”  Ah, no wonder it’s taking me three months to finish the book.

I feel like I’m in a game of tug-of-war.  I really hated that game as a child because I was always the last one picked.  Who wants a scrawny, weak girl on their team for a competition like that?  But inevitably, every last person would be chosen, and we’d begin.  There we were in the hot summer sun – heels dug in the dirt, fingers clenching the rope, bodies leaning backwards until we fell that way or were pulled forward. 

And I’m in this game again, only this time I’m the rope.  God is calling me to something…I can feel it in my bones.  And never have I been as selfish as I am now.  Back and forth, the tugging sways me to give myself away or hold on to what I perceive to be mine.  Only it’s not really mine.

Deep down, my greatest fear isn’t what I’ll have to give up to serve and to love God fully.  My greatest fear is that I won’t be able to do that, won’t be able to pray the prayer of “anything”, and that God will then have to break me.  And what will that cost?  I’m afraid God will make me learn my lessons the hard way.  It’s an irrational fear that flies in the face of a loving God, but it speaks to the depth of my desire to control my own life instead of letting go.

Elisabeth Elliot said, “If my life is surrendered to God, all is well.  Let me not grab it back, as though it were in peril in His hand but would be safer in mine!”  That control thing is a little tough for me.  And I see it as if God is asking me to walk the plank, blindfolded, like Wendy in Peter Pan.  What if I step off, and the crocodile gets me?  In reality, he’s simply asking me to behave like a baby bird and reach beyond the nest.  Spread my wings and trust that he’ll lead me, gliding, into a sunrise of possibilities. 

I’m not quite ready for “anything”, but I know that’s where I’m headed.  Dying to self daily – completely – is the only way my life will find its way to purpose.  Besides, the bird that stays in the nest misses out on the beauty and splendor of soaring above and through this place.  And I want to soar.

Jesus said to fishermen, “Follow me.”  And they dropped their nets and followed him.  They were fishermen, and they dropped their nets, their way of life, their livelihood.  To follow him.  To soar.  I need to know if I’m willing to do the same.

I think I take eternity for granted.  Live this life knowing the next will be filled with God’s presence.  All the time.  Forever.  So I let the little things, and sometimes big things, get in the way of that relationship in the here and now.  Days are filled with distractions – necessary, but distractions nevertheless. 

Work, family, church obligations, the occasional entertainment, and all the tasks that are required to maintain our lives require my time and energy.  And I climb into bed exhausted at the end of it all.  Prayers are said in the morning and evening…routine, but not consuming.  Not relationship.

As a young child, I had a bracelet with the Ten Commandments engraved on it.  I recently put it on a chain to wear around my neck.  And I read them again, one by one.  I always thought I followed the Ten Commandments.  When Charlton Heston stood there on the mountain, watching God’s fiery fingers burn them into the stone, I was right there.  But this time I couldn’t get past the first two.

I am the Lord your God.

Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

I am the Lord your God.  I am…God almighty.  Thou shalt have no other gods before me.  Nothing more important that God.

But what about my family?  I am a wife and mother.  I’m supposed to love and protect my family, right?   And God created me to have hopes and dreams.  It would be wrong for me to ignore them, not to use my gifts to be best of my ability, wouldn’t it? 

And yet, somehow in the pursuit of what I think I’m supposed to be doing, this relationship has grown cold.  And I’ve become more and more interested in what I want than what God wants.  No one, no thing, no distraction, no fear, no desire, nothing is to have a hold on me before God.

I am way overdue for some repentance.  I’ve been living my life like it’s just that – my life.  I’ve been a hypocrite who talks of loving God but chooses self daily.  I act like I’ve got all the time in the world for God down the road.  After all, eternity is a long time.

But do I really want to spend eternity with someone I’m not compelled to commune with in the here and now?  Someone I think I love but only at arm’s length?  Perhaps I’d like to hold off on surrendering everything.  Might be too difficult to actually know God.  The cost might be more than this selfish woman can handle.

But I know the truth.  This relationship, this moment, is what matters.  I must begin living as if these brief years on earth are all that I have, my only chance to know the Creator of the universe.  When I am consumed with knowing God, the dying to self will not be a challenge that scares me to my core, but rather a natural outpouring of my love for Him.  Only then can the reward of eternal relationship actually mean something – everything – to me.

Life has been a little rocky lately.  Today was no different.  My husband is recovering from surgery in a rehabilitation hospital.  I’m learning how hard it is to be a “single parent”, even if it is temporary.  I haven’t been very responsive to my kids’ needs, so when Daniel suggested Ethan and I walk the neighborhood with Daniel on his bike, I agreed.  All was going well, Daniel riding ahead and then circling back to us, Ethan noticing people, cars, nature around him.  And then Ethan zigged while Daniel zagged.  I was behind them watching, calling out to Ethan to be careful, but I couldn’t prevent the collision.

As the accident occurred, I watched every millisecond to ensure Ethan’s head was o.k.  I knew, because I saw it, that it was just an unfortunate accident, but nothing that would require a trip to the hospital.  Daniel, however, was freaked out.  He wanted to carry Ethan all the way home – and he is barely double Ethan’s weight.  I asked Ethan to show me everywhere that hurt, assessed that he was banged up but fine, and asked him if he could walk.  Though I carried him part of the way home, he walked most of it.  He was in pain but fine.

Letting Daniel help clean the wounds and apply bandaids seemed to calm them both.  Then I got dinner in the oven, and Ethan fell asleep on the couch.  So, for the first time since 6am, I sat down to rest outside on the back porch.  I was enjoying the flowers in my garden rather than worrying about the weeds when the rain came.  There is nothing I love more than a summer rain.  It energizes me, reminds me what it feels like to be alive.  I walked into the garden, arms outstretched, feeling the raindrops fall on my skin.  A tiny gift from God to remind me I’m not alone.

It was a gentle rain, and the birds continued chirping.  Then the tree frogs offered their song.  This song calms me almost as much as ocean waves, so there was peace for me in that garden, in that summer shower.

And then I sang a song that’s been keeping residence in my mind lately.  Sang it softly – as the song requires – and felt another renewal.  I was reminded that God welcomes me home in spite of my failures.  Reminded that when all else fails, I love my children and can be what they need when it really matters.

Tomorrow will have its share of challenges, but I trust now – in the soothing light of dusk – that there will be small gifts from God to get me through.

I could hear my 4-year old, Ethan, his bed rattling, as he woke up.  And then the exclamation, “Yeah!  It’s Mother’s Day!”  You would have thought it was Christmas, as excited as he was.  I had snoozed the alarm and decided to skip our church service (my one indulgence of the day) but still needed to get ready to teach Sunday school for my 12-year old, Daniel’s, class.  Daniel had returned late and exhausted the night before from a church retreat, so we decided to let him sleep, and Ethan and I went to church.  Chris and I did, however, have to reassure Ethan that I would open my gifts when we returned home.

So I taught Daniel’s class, and Ethan and I headed to the store to pick up supplies for a school project Daniel had to complete.  Who knew they sold squinkies at Michael’s?  The moment Ethan spotted them, he began whining that he wanted me to buy him a package.  I wasn’t about to pay $13 for a toy when we were there for one purpose – supplies for Daniel’s project.  So the whining and fit-throwing went on for what seemed like hours.  So much for Mother’s Day.

Once home and after opening my gifts (which was lots of fun), I decided to take a nap (ok, my second indulgence of the day).  Ethan’s version of Gilda Radner’s hyper character Judy Miller kept me awake, so I gave up and folded a load of laundry.  And he kept begging me to take him to the library, so I gave in.  We returned home just in time to spend a nice evening with my mother who had come over for dinner. 

And then, finally, when we were getting ready for bed, I asked Ethan what episode of “Chloe’s Closet” he’d like to watch.  He replied, “You choose, Mommy.  Because today is not about me, it’s about you!”  I had to laugh.  The day had not really been about me.  Any Mom or Dad knows that each day with young children involves the caring for them.  There will always be school projects and laundry.  There really is no break from this – aside from going on a retreat or to a spa for a few days.  And that’s ok.  Mother’s Day is a reminder that I am blessed with loved ones who share in the everyday as well the miraculous with me.  It’s not about one person, after all.  It’s about family.

I have a friend who is a foster parent.  She is a wonderful mother to her own children, and together the entire family recently decided they wanted to open their home and hearts to others in need.  Their first child, age 2, was with them for just two months.  This little girl soaked up the love, affection, and security provided by my friend, her husband, and their kids every waking moment.  I would see her at church, reaching out her arms to be held by one of them almost constantly.  It was a joy to see the expressions on each of their faces as their bond grew.

Fast-forward to the day they had to let her go.  This little angel hugged and loved on each one individually, not wanting to leave them.  The family gave her a photo album of memories and reluctantly said goodbye.  The case worker cheerily told them she’d call them next week about the next foster child as they drove away.  And now they are in mourning over the precious child they will not likely see again.

My sister-in-law, Marjorie, recently went on a mission trip to Haiti.  One point in the trip found her in an orphanage.  She was in a room surrounded by children, all of them crying uncontrollably.  She used her gift of music and began singing a lullaby to the children.  Immediately, all of the children – except one – stopped crying.  He was so tiny Marjorie was afraid his bones would break if she picked him up.  But she couldn’t stand watching him suffer.  So she picked him up.  As she sang, his cries ceased as well.  The Spirit was in that room, calming and comforting those children.  And then, too soon, Marjorie had to leave.

It is so easy to get lost in the need, the hurt, the innocent eyes of children.  Overwhelming.  How does one wave goodbye to a child who has become a daughter or walk out of a room of crying toddlers?  Must we harden our hearts to be able to do this time and time again?  Is  loving with detachment the only way to get through?  Perhaps not.

Maybe God really wants us to dig in, to love with abandon.  Perhaps our Savior knows that’s the closest we come to knowing the sacrifice made on our behalf.  To let go, to strip away all the layers of self-protection, and to love – agape – strangers who become family.  And then to trust, completely trust, that God will be there to hold us and wipe the tears away.  To know that our strength will be renewed and our hope restored.  Could that be what is asked of us?  If we are the hands and feet of God, then those in need will be blessed.  And isn’t that enough?

This morning, I learned that turkeys aren’t very smart.  A wild turkey found its way into my garden and stopped at the edge of a fence.  He began to pace back and forth, poking his head through the vertical bars, trying to get through.  The problem was his body was way too wide to fit.  I walked toward him to take this picture, and the turkey became more and more frantic trying to get out.

That turkey just couldn’t figure a way out, bless his heart.  (That’s what we say in the south when someone or something isn’t very bright.)  It didn’t occur to him to back up and take a look at his surroundings.  Somehow, in a matter of minutes, he’d forgotten the way he got there in the first place.  He simply could have walked back out of the garden the same way he came in.  Instead, anxiety overtook him, and he repeated the same behavior again and again, faster and faster.

Sounds a little like me, actually.  I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a pickle with work – overcommitting my time – and now I’ve got to deliver what I promised.  So I pace back and forth frantically, working as fast as I can to get everything done, anxiety building minute by minute.  Maybe it’s time to stop, back up, and take a look at my surroundings.  Perhaps I can realize that the important things will get done if I prioritize and focus on one task at a time.  A clear head and directed energy will accomplish much more than a worried, distracted mind ever will.

And that turkey?  I got a little too close for comfort, so he flew away.  That’s one approach, I guess.  Escape the overload, fly away.  But for me – well, I’d rather accomplish something.  I choose to buckle down and concentrate my energy on meeting my deadlines today.  And with any luck, I’ll actually learn from the experience.  Learn that I can say “no” or sometimes “not right now”.  Realize that people are quite capable on their own, and that rather than doing everything myself, I can provide information to empower them to do some of the work as well.  I’ll get out of that garden eventually.  Even a turkey can manage that – one way or another.