I didn’t cry.

People kept asking me if I was sad that my last child was finished with the grade school we’ve been a part of for 15 years.  I’m not.  It’s time to move on.  She’s ready for high school.  I’m proud of the beautiful young lady she’s becoming and that makes me smile and look expectantly to Hannah’s future.

Thursday night I had a few tears.

As I listened to the speakers and songs and watched her walk across the stage to receive the reward for four years of hard work, I dabbed away salty tears.  Proud of not only her accomplishments, but more importantly, MB’s character, my heart swelled.

Then last night at the party, surrounded my faithful friends-women who step in and step up to serve and minister and love- a barrage tears came.  I barely got out three words of a prayer and choked on my emotions.  Then as waves of people showed up bringing congratulations and kind words and blessings, I was acutely aware of all the gifts of this life…Brad and my beautiful children, parents, grand parents, siblings, dear friends, and an amazing church family...and more tears came.

And this morning, amid the remnants of last nights festivities and the diploma and gold chords and tired people and a mess, I am tired and overwhelmed.  And, although most of it’s happy, a part of me panics.  And it’s so many emotions and feelings and thoughts that it’s hard to be coherent about what makes me panic (as evidenced by this ramble-y post).  So I sit and I pray and I read the words of Psalm 46:

Desist and learn that I am God,
supreme over the nations,
supreme over the earth.

Supreme over my joys and circumstances and fears, He reigns.  And as I desist, I learn-just a little more-that that He Is.

Speak Peace

Spoken in love and truth the simple words “it’s going to be ok” wield the power to calm nerves, soothe souls and restore the balance to our inner topsy-turvy world.

Years ago in the midst of difficulty and facing an uncertain future, a dear friend responded to my query of how are you? with It may not be good, but I know it’s going to be ok.  I wish I could convey the look of peace on her face and steady calm in her voice as she spoke. Down in the depths of her soul she had peace even though a deadly storm raged around her.  Her words,  resolute, brimmed with hope.  Not a pie-in-the-sky hope based on good feelings, but a true Hope and Faith that she would be ok in the end.  Ok not because of circumstances being fixed or anything changing, but ok because her God held her.  Right there in the middle of it all.  He held her.  And life may be crappy, but she knew she would be ok.

I’ve been on both the giving and receiving end of those words.  On the receiving end, sometimes I’ve firmly believed them.  Other times, my doubt and fear eclipsed my hope.  But hearing them spoken to me and about me by someone else bolstered my belief.  Sometimes we let another’s sure faith carry us until our own is restored or found.

Some of you, I know, are staring straight into a dark, uncertain and even bleak future.  The pain of life seems too much to bear.  Your past mistakes haunt you not only in your dreams but all through the waking hours.  Maybe you feel hated or shunned or rejected by even your friends.  Perhaps it’s the simple yet crushing pressure of every day life.  Whatever you face today, you are not alone.  God sees.  God hears.  God loves…you.  And if you’re the one in a place of hope and peace, give the gift of that assurance today.   Look for opportunities and ways to speak peace to others, to encourage and say the words…

It’s going to be ok…

And if you need to read it and hear it some more, here you go.  Just click on the phrases or words:

Be still and know.

Be strong and courageous.

Give your worries away.

Rest.

Hope.

He Is

Sometimes I get so wrapped trying to find myself and figure out who I am in the scheme of things,  I forget who He is.

 

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Those three words

Those three words
are said too much
they’re not enough
~Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol

We say them/text them/write them all the time in this household.  And I’m glad.  But what if we’re all talk and no action?  What does “I love you” mean if it’s not felt by the intended receiver?

Years ago, I heard Gary Chapman on the radio talking about “love languages”.  The concept that we give and receive love in unique ways impacted my heart and mind and I’ve never forgotten it.  The point of giving and showing love is for the other person to perceive it as love.  If they don’t, what good is it?  So it’s our job, as the giver of the love, to express it in a way the receiver will understand.

Simple to say.  Hard to do.

To truly love another person and express it in a way that shows them it’s genuine requires we know them well.  It takes time.  And energy.  And sensitivity.  And we’re usually all about easy aren’t we?  We live in a self-indulgent, consumer based society where taking time out of our schedule to show love to someone else purely for their benefit isn’t encouraged or often portrayed.  Sacrificial love isn’t a popular notion.  We’re all about us.  All about easy.  All about convenience.

But love isn’t often convenient is it?  It feels good…sometimes.  We know we need love.  We know other people need love.  We like to give love because it’s usually returned with more love.  But true love, sacrificial love, isn’t convenient or easy or safe.  And sticking it out with your spouse or kids or certain friends or extended family members and showing them true love proves one of the hardest yet noblest tasks.

What a world this would be if we loved others in a way that they knew it was true and didn’t have to question our love and acceptance.

This is my commandment: Love each other in the same way I have loved you. There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. ~Jesus   

The Test part 2 (or 12 strangers and a friend)

“That spider’s about to crawl up your leg.”

At the word spider, my eyes popped open and with the mental acuity that comes with fear, I quickly scanned the industrial gray carpet in search of the arachnid.  Barbie Doctor #2 was talking and not to me.  Thank you, God.  I hate spiders.  And screaming into this gloomy void of a testing center waiting room would have upset the equilibrium we strangers were trying desperately to achieve.

Roused from my self-imposed semi-meditational state, I took in the crowd and in the truest sense of the word, pre-judged them.  I nicknamed them and labeled them simply to kill time and keep my mind off the second half of a life-changing test that I may or may not finish.

Let me introduce you to the room:

Humans 1 & 2)  The Drones=  The two employees of the testing center. Both middle-aged balding men, very friendly and trying to be helpful in the midst of a situation over which they had absolutely no control.
Humans 3&4)  Barbie Doctor #1 and Barbie Doctor #2= Perky twenty somethings exchanging pre-med school stories and frankly, annoying me with their happiness.  Note to perky people everywhere: when you’re in a tense situation with strangers, tone it down.
Human 5)  Tanner=  a clean-cut co-ed who I’m sure was named Tanner or Jeremy and if he wasn’t, I don’t know what his mother was thinking.
Human 6)  Blondie= and I don’t mean the cartoon character.  I mean the 80′s rocker Debbie Harry minus the cocaine induced eye glaze.  She’s also the one to whom Barbie Doctor #2′s spider comment was directed and to her credit, she did not freak out like I would have.  She calmly squashed it and sunk back into a respectable silence.  I was impressed.  Barbie Doctor’s #1 and 2, however, were not and #2 suggested that killing the spider would only add to the bad karma (her phrase) we were already experiencing on Friday the 13th. *insert eye roll here*
Human 7)  Mr. Insurance or Dave=mid 40′s, dressed in business casual and obviously taking some continuing ed thing for his job and again, I have no idea if his name was really Dave but it probably was.
Human 8)  Nurse Nancy= 30′s maybe early 40′s, pretty, normal looking.  I liked her.  I don’t know if she was a nurse.  I’m guessing.  But as she flipped through the Good Housekeeping magazine, I saw her smirk every once in a while and chuckle under her breath.  Whether she was mocking the photos from the “Nine Worst Hair Mistakes and How to Fix Them” or enjoying her own game of sizing up the room, I have no idea.  I suspected the Barbie Doctor’s perky-ness bugged her as much as me and decided that we’d be friends.
Human 9)  Nondescript white female in the corner.
Human 10)  Cocky new-comer= youngish, blond hair, feet up on the chair next to him.  Where was he at 7:30 this morning? Sketchy.
And last, but certainly not least,
Human 11)  The Cleaner= the owner of the center who arrived shortly after the power outage to provide comfort and aid to the huddled stressed out mass of humanity sitting in the waiting room.

The Cleaner addressed us with phrases like 1200 people without power…could be several hours…let me check our policies….  Honestly, I tried to stay in a test taking zone so I filtered everything trying to expend as little brain energy as possible.

We were told after 30 minutes we could choose to continue the test or reschedule free of charge.  I planned on continuing so I kept my observations and mental blogging (a helpful pastime when I’m stressed) to a minimum.  Phones, pens, paper and unauthorized kleenex declared contraband*, we all sat waiting with little to occupy frazzled minds.

Nurse Nancy and Nondiscript White Female read magazines since they were by the window and had light.  The Drones and The Cleaner worked the problem in the other room with a flash light and procedural manual.  The Barbie’s got all chatty and we collectively learned where they each went to school (both high school and undergrad) where they applied for med school, where they’d each grown up and where they were presently employed.  We also heard about ex-boyfriends, advice given by mothers and how waitressing toe-tally sucks.  I did not ask to know this information.  It was forced on me…and Blondie…and Dave and the rest of the test prisoners.  No one else entered into the Barbie exchange or was invited for that matter.  But perhaps the death stare they may have received from any one of us was enough to limit their interaction to a two way conversation.  Who knows.  At one point, Tanner, visibly annoyed, put his head in his hands and looked like he wanted to squeeze his brains out.  I felt for him.

45 minutes after our testing world went dark, with a whir and hum the lights flickered on and the computers came to life.

One by one, they checked us back into the dungeon.  Both the Barbie Doctors decided to reschedule their MCAT.  Nondiscript White Female’s test malfunctioned and skipped a section making it impossible for her to finish.  I sat, staring at the little hourglass icon for several minutes waiting for my screen to pop up.

The Drone came to my aid and rebooted my system.

Again, I waited.  Again the hourglass icon taunted me.

15 minutes later, hourglass still spinning, I told the drones I’d had enough.

I needed to reschedule.

I left the testing center tired and deflated and again, blurry eyed with tears.

Yes, I got a taste of the test.

Yes, I observed human behavior up close and personal and admittedly enjoyed analyzing my fellow planet dwellers.

Yes, I lost half a day for (what felt like) nothing.

Walking around Target afterwards looking for a gift and texting friends** telling my tales of woe, my brain murky and my body mush, I longed for rest.

Just then, my phone buzzed.  I answered and the familiar voice, full of understanding, asked if I wanted to come over.

Respite care.  Pure, simple, kind, refreshing respite care after a long week and draining day.  God provided my friend and I accepted the graciously offered time of replenishment for my soul.

Answers were lost in cyberspace never to return.  But peace was found on the rainy afternoon in my friends living room.

*Read The Test part 1 for details

**Who all commiserated with me like good friends should!

End note…the test will be rescheduled.  I will start back at the beginning.  The school extended the application deadline for me (I didn’t ask them too, they just did).

I’m linking today with my friend Jennifer (respite-care provider extraordinaire) at GDWJ:

The Test part 1

Called out of my fitful slumber by the buzzing on the nightstand, warm feet hitting the cold floor, I started my day.  Long before the birds chirped or the sun pushed over the horizon, my coffee maker perked to life eventually providing its caffeinated nectar to shake me out of my early morning stupor.  The hot water of the shower felt so good.  I wanted to stand there and let the heat continue to warm me but life called and I had to answer.  My usual morning routine continued, but the early hour and the knots in my stomach reminded me that this wasn’t an ordinary day.  It wasn’t extraordinary either.  Not really.  But in my little life, the events of the day were significant.

On the road by six a.m. the darkness and rain enveloped the car.  The cadence of the drops beating on the roof and windshield seemed a fitting soundtrack to the thoughts tumbling around in my head.

Arriving at the test center 30 minutes early (per the online instructions) I wasn’t the first to enter the doors.  Unlike the warning in my preparation guide, the employees at the testing center were friendly, warm and welcoming.  A nervous energy hung in the air of the tiny, single windowed waiting room as more people joined our anxious group.  Each of us faced our own challenge: GRE, MCAT, ACTFL and some other with initials I can’t remember.   One by one, we were led through the sign-in process.  ID’s checked and validated, signatures gathered, clothes, pockets and jewelery checked, and finally scanned with a metal detector, we entered the cheerless, windowless, industrial gray room.  There, the proctor showed me to my cubical.  Number 7.   Muted, fabric lined partitions housed a simple desk with earphones and a computer.  My home for the next 4 to 5 hours.  Two official pencils, four pieces of official scrap paper, two official tissues (yes, after I told them about allergies and a cold, they issued me tissues and I could only have two at a time…policy) and my driver’s license.  I bowed my head, praying for clarity, recall and the ability to control my tears.  Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention I fought tears the whole morning.  Because of the test, yes, but when you’re a 45-year-old woman with a husband of 24 years and 4 children (3 of which are teens) there can be a myriad of reasons for tears and I’m a stress crier anyway.  So, tears were brimming.

One little click of the mouse and the test started.

Blocking out the background noise of other testers entering and exiting and the proctor pacing behind me and the clicking of computer keys and the buzz and hum of electronics and the little video cameras rimming the room capturing my every move, I plugged away.  First the writing…then a verbal section…finally one of two quantitative sections I’d been dreading.  The top right hand of the screen told me I was almost finished with section 3 of 6 sections.  Almost halfway.  A relieved sigh escaped.  Then,

Black.

The cheerless, windowless, industrial gray room now void of light.

After a collective moan we sat, silent.

Strange little beeps sounded every few seconds.

Several moments passed.  It’s hard to say how long.  Time passes differently when you don’t have a clock to watch.  After a few tense moments sitting in the dark wondering, the testing agent came in and told us to take our ID’s and come into the waiting room.

Diffused light from the only window in the waiting room was a welcome relief from the dark of the testing dungeon.  We sat in chairs around the perimeter.  Personally, I avoided eye contact and any conversation.  Everyone else remained in silence as well (except two young, perky doctors-to-be…at least I assume they’re doctors-to-be since they were both taking the MCAT) .  Not wanting to lose whatever concentration we had, we each retreated into the recesses of our own thoughts (well, not the 20 something Barbie Doctors who discussed med schools like they were comparing hair salons).

12 strangers
one dimly lit room
palpable anxiety
unanswered questions hanging

15 minutes.

30 minutes.

45 minutes.

to be continued…

Crucified with Christ

God showed how much he loved us by sending his one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through him. This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins. 
~John (I John 4:9-10 NLT)

It takes a long time to come to a moral decision about sin, but it is the great moment in my life when I do decide that just as Jesus Christ died for the sin of the world, so sin must die out in me, not be curbed or suppressed or counteracted, but crucified.
~Oswald Chambers

Reminders I need today.  So often I live defeated.  Or I live choosing the wrong simply because it’s easier or more natural or I don’t perceive that it hurts anyone…forgetting the One it wounds the most.  Living in love, living in grace, living in truth, living in sacrificial service to others is all a manifestation of dying to sin and dying to self.  And it’s hard.  And frankly, doesn’t seem worth it at times.  Good is not always (or even often) rewarded in this world.  Friends don’t always see how they hurt or recognize grace.  Family doesn’t always want to forgive or accept forgiveness.  Spouses don’t always want to change or appreciate change in you.  It’s life.  And it’s messy.  But what’s the alternative to living for God?  Me on my own throne, in the center of my own universe only hurts others and makes me (and you if you live this way) at some point, unbearable.  No one sets out to be unbearable.  We all want to be loveable.

My thoughts this morning.  Ramble-y and incomplete.  Yes, I know.