Boys & Girls, Raise Your Hands, Please!

Milestones happen to us as little ones.  We reach each one somewhat on time and immediately begin to progress to the next one.  As we become adults, however, our milestones take various forms—some physical, some emotional, and some spiritual.  The spiritual milestones become the most important for us as grown-ups.  Last Sunday, I reached a spiritual milestone.  I’ve loved worship service for quite some time, and I’m always moved to tears (that I choke back in the presence of others).  I always feel my Godly goose bumps during certain moments during the service, and I even ventured to close my eyes during songs.  I was actually quite envious of those souls brave enough to raise their hands in praise, but I wouldn’t dare raise my own in terrible fear of being seen by that one critical eye two rows over, of hitting the person next to me upon the raise, of taking the chance that my deodorant might falter this one time.  Me?  My hands?  Naw. 

Well, that’s where God stepped in.  Little did I know that He had begun a work in me that would be a formidable opponent to my own insecurities and doubts.  At first, I would lift my hand or move my arm while listening to certain songs in my car or home.  Then, a few months ago, I decided that, since I was in the balcony of the church, and it was dark, a slight hand raise would be possible.  Wow! What a feeling I got that day.  It was freeing.  I felt closer to God somehow.  The next Sunday I lifted one arm a little higher, almost straightening toward the Heavens. 

Just two weeks ago, I looked down to the stage during the concluding worship songs and one set of arms caught my eye.  I saw what must have been a 6’3’’, 225-pound man standing, his head bowed, and both, note both, arms raised high in praise.  He was unshakeable--his arms strong toward the heavens, his head bowed in reverence to God.  I was moved.  This large man with a strong physical presence humbling himself before a congregation, before God, had no shame about declaring his weakness in the face of his Lord, no insecurities about praising the way he felt moved to.  This image remained in my mind throughout the week.  I knew I wanted what he had: a security in the person I was in Christ so that no outside factors could affect my relationship with Him.  This past Sunday, I decided to take a seat on the floor level--big step for me.  I was surrounded by families and, as I looked to my left, spotted a family I went to high school with.  This particular family, although always polite to me, is one of the families that was a “cool” group in high school.  Oh no.  I knew they would be “watching” me.  Great.

I let that thought dwell in my mind for about 3 minutes.  Then I decided that I wasn’t going to allow anyone or anything to keep me from worshipping the way I needed to.  As the sermon concluded and the worship music began again, I made it through the first song with just one arm raised.  I had to put everyone else in the congregation out of my mind and lift my eyes upward.  When the next song played, the band got fired up, hands began lifting around the hall, and I began to feel it.  I simply closed my eyes and put both arms in the air.  Man!  It was one great moment for me.

Some may read this and think, “That woman’s got issues.”  Others may identify, stating that worship is more “personal” and private for them.  That’s what I always said.  If that is you, I encourage you to fix your eyes upward and let go.  Let the Spirit take you where He may—during worship, during prayer, during your days. 

You may never know just how many blessings you’re spreading.  I doubt that the man with the two-arm raise will ever realize that his witness helped move me to a new spiritual place.  Now that I’m a little more courageous, I hope that I can do the same for some reluctant worshipper.      

The Thankful Cliche

I admit I have tired of the “thankful for” messages, posts, devotions, etc. in past years.  However, this year, thankfulness has a new meaning in my life.  As I continue to grow in my walk with God, sometimes wanting to wear my own shoes instead of His, I find my thoughts and feelings molded by His hands each and every day…some days more than others.  The many devotions and messages I’ve experienced in the past weeks have all been about gratitude and joy. 

My mother-in-law gave me a devotion book months ago.  I did a hit-and-miss job with it initially, becoming frustrated with the lack of “fixes” in the messages, but have begun to read it each day in the past weeks.  You see, God has been gently tugging at me for some time, and He has been giving me small doses of Him until I was ready to dig my heels in and roll with Him.  When I was ready, it was unexpected, and certainly not how I thought I would grow and give in to God, but He knew when I was ripe for the pickin’ and He waited patiently for that moment.  I happened to come across the devotion book again and began to see out each day’s passage.  So many passages speak of being thankful to God for the blessing we have, even in the midst of adversity.  It is that gratitude, apparently, that brings peace in the storms of life.   

As a part of each day’s devotion, I’ve begun to delve into His word daily.  Now, I’ll be completely honest with you; I have never enjoyed reading the Bible.  The closest thing to reading the Bible with enjoyment I have ever felt was the time spent in my Precious Moments Story Bible as a young sassafras.  I never really understood the Bible, and when I would randomly open it up in search of an answer to a problem, I wouldn’t understand the verse, nor would it be applicable to my issue.  Then, a short while ago, I began to watch Joyce Meyer on the Church Channel.  One particular evening, she spoke about “baby Christians” and conducted a demonstration of someone randomly opening the Bible and expecting some phenomenal breakthrough verse to jump off the thin, crispy page, and fix every problem in life.  It was then that I realized there might be a better way to tackle this complex collection of truths. 

I began to read all sorts of devotionals and study the scriptures that went with them.  The Bible I asked “Santa” for in Christmas of 2005 had been semi-dormant for almost six years.  It’s no longer; it’s full of underlining, notes, thoughts, and affirmations.  Talk about God’s perfect timing…6 years later.  I now have an app on my phone, the devotion book, and a printed weekly pamphlet from church.  I can’t wait to read the words God has for me each day.  Do the scriptures and devotions necessarily make me better?  Not necessarily.  They do, however, draw me closer and closer to God, to believing His truth, and to being constantly hungry for Him.  (That’s a fantastic hunger that doesn’t cost me an ounce of cellulite.  How can you beat that?)  The messages have all stressed the importance of gratitude.   Again, I confess that I asked myself, “thankful for what?”  How was I to be thankful with all the problems that surround my life?  Seriously, God?  Do you want me to lie and thank you when I don’t feel it?  Really? 

Joel Osteen said that gratitude is the “birthing position”, and that if we continue to thank God for who He is and what He does, we are putting ourselves in a position for His blessings.  Hmmm…he might have a point…so I took one day and thanked God for who He is and what He does.  I thanked Him that He is always good and He will always be sovereign.  I don’t recall that I felt all that different on this particular day, but I did notice a slightly improved inner state.  In the next few days, I heard Joyce Meyer state that during our problems when we don’t necessarily see God or hear God, God is actually coming closer and closer to us and will reveal Himself when it’s time.  She stated that, in the mean time, we need to wake up every morning and thank Him for the work He is doing in us no matter how we feel…out loud.  Ok, Joyce.

After trying these things for several days, I noticed that I felt better.  I felt more joy and more peace.  I began to notice several little blessings sprinkled throughout my days that I may have normally smiled at and passed by—the smile from another, the mechanic who fixed my friend’s car for free, the man in Wal-Mart that stopped just to let me cross the aisle, the light that turned green when I was running late, the scripture that said just what I needed to hear, the lady at work that made me laugh, and so much more.  I became more alert to these blessings, and it became easier to be joyful with each day.  I began to thank God when I saw each little blessing, and once that happened, I noticed more and more.  Were they always there?  I don’t know.  All I know is that I am thankful.  I am thankful for so many things, big and small.  Once you can get to the “thankful place,” you will notice a new way of looking at people, situations, things, and God.  Will it fix your problems?  Probably not.  However, you will find joy in the midst of the adversity.  Just like the song says, “I will praise You in this storm.”  Praise your hurt away.  Thank the devil right on out of your day.  Try it.  You just might be surprised…and maybe even a little grateful.

Awaiting Autumn

The leaves swirled about as I drove home this afternoon.  I could just sense that a crisp breeze of crackling brown leaves was not far away.  Suddenly I was taken back to autumn evenings of years past.  My mother would pick me up from KinderCare and we would make a quick trip through the Rax drive-thru.  I would ride on the hump (i.e. console) of her Ford LTD and we would make the trip home.   This time with my mom was so special, and roast beef sandwiches haven’t tasted the same since those days.  This was highlight number one of my autumn days.  I remember watching the sky darken as we drove home, but I was not afraid.  You see, I knew that we would make a stop at Nanny & Pop’s house—highlight number two--before we rode the 30 yards to our own.  The carport light was on every night, for they knew that visitors were inevitable.  Nanny always used the carport, of course, so Mama would simply whip in behind the Caddy and I would rush inside.  Pop was always sitting either at the kitchen table or in his recliner awaiting Bob Howell’s 6 o’clock new broadcast.  The smell of the wood burning in their brick fireplace, combined with the neverending pans of cube steak and cornbread just radiated a warmth that combated the chilly evening air.  After Mama and I said our hellos to Nanny & Pop, I ran down their dark hallway (not before flipping on the light) to the back apartment where Dee Dee was waiting.  Dee Dee would be in her recliner, a small rust-colored recliner that somehow tilted just a bit forward.  She would be cross-stitching, crocheting, or cutting something with her pinking shears.  Sometimes, I would sneak up on her just to hear her startle.  Dee Dee was my Nanny’s mother, and at 80 years old, she was my very best friend and my favorite playmate.  She was quirky and funny, and always eager to talk with me.  Many of my childhood evenings were spent wearing a path down the hallway from Dee Dee’s chair to Pop’s chair.  I had a permanent seat with both of them.  On those perfect autumn evenings, Pop would make his short, two-step trips to the fireplace and stir the logs.  He would sometimes rest on the brick bench in front of the fireplace.  I was soon resting right beside him, anxiously awaiting a crackle from inside.  He used to let me burn paper.  Something about throwing single sheets of newspaper into the flames and watching them become wispy black flakes was invigorating, daring, and unique.  I was sure that no other child had that shared that privilege with their Pop.  After we ate supper, with my Nanny to my Pop’s right and me to his left, Pop would go out to fetch another log.  The warmth of the kitchen would be briefly interrupted by the swish of air through the screen door.  I could’ve sat by that screen door forever feeling the alternating swooshes of warm and cool air.  It was in these moments that I believed nothing bad could ever happen.  It was the perfect time of year, I was in the perfect place, and I had the perfect combination of people in hugging range.  There are times now, as an adult, that I long for that place.  I long for those people.  I have not found anything like those swishes, those smells, those sounds, and those hugs since then.  When life goes topsy turvy on me now, I take myself back to that time when all was right.  Sometimes, that helps.  Sometimes, it brings the tearful reminder that I will never have that again.  Always, I am reminded that, although life has changed, I’ll always have autumn.

Help! I'm missing an arm!

I’ve never been much on surfing.  My ideal day with saltwater involves a comfy chair and an umbrella or a sugary candy in wax wrapping, but thanks to my wonderful new family additions, I had the chance to experience a screening for the upcoming movie “Soul Surfer” this past week.  For those of you remember Bethany Hamilton (the girl whose arm bitten off by a shark), this film is the story of her life before and after the attack.  Before the shark attack, she was a steadfast spirit, loved and adored, and with a well-drawn plan for her own life.  After the shark attack, she awoke minus her left arm to the sound of some doctor telling her that she would have to learn to do everything differently.  Her plan did not include that.  Her father offers the following advice: “the smartest surfers know that the best wave is yet to come.” 

I can’t help but feel a connection to Bethany’s frustration when she bucks the advice of the experts.  Learn to do things differently?  Why?  Things work fine as they are now.  My plan is to do what I do, enjoy life, and be as good as I can be.  There couldn’t have been a more perfectly divine time for me to see that movie.  

Why fix it if it ain’t broke?  I’ve heard these questions so many times as people are challenged to change and improve their lives in the eyes of God.  Many pastors recognize this sentiment in their sermons as they attempt to lead people to Christ.  “Lead me to Christ?” you ask.  “I’m a good person, I do the best I can do, and well, I just like to enjoy life and have a good time,” you might say.  If I could rewind the last decade and a half, you would hear that thought resonate in my head and heart repeatedly. 

So many activities that I participated in were met with the “what’s wrong with having a little fun?” or the “I’m just having a good time” rationale.  Little did I know, those activities and a large handful of the people sharing them with me, were whittling away at my soul and my future a miniscule amount at a time.  Now I would have never admitted, or perhaps even acknowledged, this occurrence until I experienced a shocking entrance into a new world. 

It turns out that those “things” were deterrents meant to prevent me from living my best life.  Yes, my life was swaggerly fabulicious in the eyes of most, but somehow always came up short of “full”, and full of restless, when the lights were low and my mind was quiet.  Even when I discovered years ago that those uncomfortable empty moments were cues that I was starving my spiritual self and my soul, I would place the I-went-to-church-today band-aid or the I’m a good-person-ointment on it and continue the rest of the time just as I had.  Still, I was restless. 

It wasn’t until God forced me to try things differently that I realized why I was unquenched, restless, and frustrated; I had been fighting Him all along.  The truth is, I was afraid to do things differently.  What if people walked away?  What if I was lonely?  What if I hit some emotional bottom of boredom and had nothing or no one that was familiar to help me out because I tried things a new way, God’s way, and that wasn’t the popular thing to do for fun? 

I got my answer thanks to Bethany Hamilton.  Some will walk away.  Some, you will have to walk away from as well, or at least love from a distance.  Some of those things that used to bring you so much temporary pleasure will no longer fill your spirit.  Thanks to that stubborn strand in my genetic make-up, God knew that it would be frightening and difficult for me to “learn to do everything differently” on a whim.  He knew that, so He provided a fool-proof way; He took my left arm too.  It took more time than I planned, and didn’t exactly fit into what I thought SHOULD be my plan, so I spent some time on my own little surfboard thrashing about aimlessly in a big, shark-infested ocean.  Once I finally surrendered to it, I realized quickly that “the best wave is yet to come,” and you know what?  I can see it on the horizon.

Them Signs Ain't Pointin' to Crazy

Signs, sign, everywhere signs.  I’ve always been a believer in signs, well, since about 7 years ago I have.  So many signs have led me to so many things, and since God is the all-knowing, all-powerful God, He knows that he must absolutely drill each and every sign into my thick skull before I will move.  Some call that a lack of faith.  Others might classify me as a Type-A control freak.  Personally, I think the word stubborn is imprinted in my DNA. 

            As far as my DNA is concerned, I have always been preoccupied with saving the world, somehow, some way, some day.  I’ve always wanted to make my mark, but in a humanitarian way, and without the fuss of credit.  For example, I set out to buy the ultimate meaningful gifts for others.  I just want them to love what they get, and it’s got nothing to do with me claiming that I purchased that particular gift; I just want their buckets full.  My confidence in others to share such a strong desire for the general population is not very substantial, so I feel the need to take that task on myself. 

My Keirsey & Bates personality profile states that I am what you would call an Idealist.  Not many people on this planet fall into that category, which is why many think I’m just a nut, and I have felt the need in the past to hide my true self from others.  I’m a person that thrives on things like charitable fundraisers, causes, petitions, and adopt-a-virtual-whale campaigns.  For these reasons, I’m a big resolution-maker and goal-setter.  Rarely, however, do I follow through with the resolutions and goals.  As an Idealist, I tend to see the big picture and know the end result that one, I want, and two, is morally sound.  Where I fall short is in the means to an end; I rarely find myself on the appropriate path to what I ultimately desire.  And that’s what brings me here. 

            This was the first New Year in as long as I can remember that I didn’t make at least one resolution.  Granted I have a lot on my mental plate at this point in my life, but I can usually conjure up at least one hope or desire near the stroke of twelve each December 31^st.  Not this year.  Now that I think about it, I really didn’t attempt to round one up at all.  Strange.  Little did I know, something was being rounded up for me.

            The day: January 2, 2011.  For the past year, I have felt God really tug at my heart.  I have also felt other worldly things tug against Him.  Imagine two chubby beings on a playground viciously tugging a rope between them—faces red, foreheads perspiring, bodies grunting.  Now, put one of the chubs in a red cape and horns and the other in a white boa and a halo.  That was happening each and every second of last year.  It was exhausting. 

As this New Year passed and January 2^nd rolled around, I found myself wanting to strengthen my spiritual connection that particular morning by tuning in to my favorite online worship service.  One of the points that the minister ultimately drove home was to act now.  Don’t wait.  Figure out what it is you want and move, taking care to protect and grow your spiritual self along the way.  Ultimately, growing your spiritual self is what will feed your motivation and ability to fulfill your other desires and resolutions.  There was my resolution—it was time to stop fighting and give in to God. 

Giving in to God might sound like such a simple task, but for a vocal only child with a professional background in elementary education that’s not so easily done.  If I am to be honest with you, me, and God, I must admit that it’s even daunting to let God handle stuff for me.  Thus, the blog.  I figure that I can rationalize just about anything in my own mind, especially when it comes to my actions and excuses.  Therefore, I am committing to this new endeavor by way of blogging.  First, it would keep me up at night if I lied about what I did to many of you, so there’s no hiding what’s real.  Second, if I know you’re reading it, I will follow through (as if being accountable to God wasn’t enough for me).  Third, God has placed a desire on my heart to write for as long as I could remember, and although I would jot things here and there, I never had a clear picture of what exactly I was supposed to write.  Now I do.  Finally, writing it helps me to make more sense of what’s really happening inside my soul, and if my honest journey can help just one other person, it’s served its purpose.