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Here I sit before my computer, fingers on the keyboard, eyes on the monitor. If you could see me, you would not notice anything specifically different. There is, however, a GREAT DIFFERENCE! After having my house on the market for more than 15 months, we finally received an offer last Friday. All weekend, we countered, they countered, and, and, and . . . It looks like my house may not be my house much longer! Because of this possibility, I am excited. And I wanted you to know. I'll bring you up to date after I sign the papers.
Here's a hint about what to expect in the next posting: Departure for Africa is tentatively set for the week of November 1.
Gotta run, now, the busy-ness has set in and there is much to be done in the next six weeks! Just before I log off, will you join with me in a loud shout of gratitude? Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!
I'm just going to dance my way into the other room and get busy! Check back soon for more details!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Dancing in the Spiral of Grace
I want to dance. Bend, spin, skip, twirl, step. I want to dance. My dancing is done as an offering to God in Heaven. An offering lifted up in gratitude for His Amazing, Infinite GRACE.
Wait, I'll be back. My feet are itching to shuffle around on the carpet while my arms are outstretched. I call it The Crazy Neda Dance. Here I go, head nodding, hands clapping, feet sliding. Ah, yes.
What other way is there to show my gratitude for God's rich gift of GRACE in my life? Think about this:
God, in the Trinity, lives in perfect harmony. When the Father moves, the Son and Spirit move with Him. Yet, there's even more to this harmony. When the Godhead moves, you and I are involved in that movement. Yes. It's true. Just think about it. If we are inscribed in the palms of God's hand (Isaiah 49:16), doesn't it make sense that in His harmonical movement, He is moving us along in His own dance? Yes, again. There is a word for this. I learned it at Seminary years ago. It's a Greek word: perichoresis. It means the dance of God.
Dancing is graceful. Oh, my heart is leaping within me. God dances; His grace includes us in His dance. Grace pours upon us and the need to express joy, peace, gratitude rises in our hearts.
A few days ago, my friend Sara gave me tickets to a women's conference. She bought them for herself and things didn't work out for her to attend the meetings. My schedule allowed me to attend every session of the conference. I cried. I laughed. I sang and I danced. More than all these, I learned about God's Infinite Grace. Grace. What is grace anyway?
My pastors have taught me that grace is unmerited favor. I have heard other definitions, closely related, but I love the idea of being blessed with unmerited favor. I stumble around, making mistakes right and left; grace rains into my life. I am weak, discouraged, downhearted; grace flows through my being. Circumstances seem difficult, obstacles loom large on my horizon; grace - sweet grace - clears my vision.
I appropriate grace. I welcome grace. I plead for grace. So I was surprised to find myself selfishly believing God's grace had covered MY disobedience and stubborness, but had not done the same for one of the speakers at the conference. This speaker was involved in a scandalous relationship several years ago. After the scandal was made public, there was a divorce and a remarriage. This speaker also appropriated grace into a difficult situation. Obviously forgiven and full of gratitude, she sang and told the story of her pain. As she spoke, I realized I had not allowed for the possibility of God's grace falling into her life as it falls into my life.
As she sang, she cried - the same hot tears I cry. Suddenly, I was struck to realize SHE KNOWS GRACE INTIMATELY, the same grace I know.
Compelled to repent for having judged this child of God, I bowed my head in sorrow. While I prayed, a flash of insight burst into my thoughts. If she, and I, have experienced grace, why - it's available to all of us. Who am I to decide if a person is worthy of grace? No. That's God's place.
The world looks new to me since that flash of insight illuminated my thoughts. Grace, God's grace, is free to all. What I want to say here, I think, is this:
Grace makes me want to dance. Would you care to join me as I whirl and bow? We can exult together in His Infinite Amazing Grace. Can you hear the music? It's spiraling around our heads. Shall we dance?
Wait, I'll be back. My feet are itching to shuffle around on the carpet while my arms are outstretched. I call it The Crazy Neda Dance. Here I go, head nodding, hands clapping, feet sliding. Ah, yes.
What other way is there to show my gratitude for God's rich gift of GRACE in my life? Think about this:
God, in the Trinity, lives in perfect harmony. When the Father moves, the Son and Spirit move with Him. Yet, there's even more to this harmony. When the Godhead moves, you and I are involved in that movement. Yes. It's true. Just think about it. If we are inscribed in the palms of God's hand (Isaiah 49:16), doesn't it make sense that in His harmonical movement, He is moving us along in His own dance? Yes, again. There is a word for this. I learned it at Seminary years ago. It's a Greek word: perichoresis. It means the dance of God.
Dancing is graceful. Oh, my heart is leaping within me. God dances; His grace includes us in His dance. Grace pours upon us and the need to express joy, peace, gratitude rises in our hearts.
A few days ago, my friend Sara gave me tickets to a women's conference. She bought them for herself and things didn't work out for her to attend the meetings. My schedule allowed me to attend every session of the conference. I cried. I laughed. I sang and I danced. More than all these, I learned about God's Infinite Grace. Grace. What is grace anyway?
My pastors have taught me that grace is unmerited favor. I have heard other definitions, closely related, but I love the idea of being blessed with unmerited favor. I stumble around, making mistakes right and left; grace rains into my life. I am weak, discouraged, downhearted; grace flows through my being. Circumstances seem difficult, obstacles loom large on my horizon; grace - sweet grace - clears my vision.
I appropriate grace. I welcome grace. I plead for grace. So I was surprised to find myself selfishly believing God's grace had covered MY disobedience and stubborness, but had not done the same for one of the speakers at the conference. This speaker was involved in a scandalous relationship several years ago. After the scandal was made public, there was a divorce and a remarriage. This speaker also appropriated grace into a difficult situation. Obviously forgiven and full of gratitude, she sang and told the story of her pain. As she spoke, I realized I had not allowed for the possibility of God's grace falling into her life as it falls into my life.
As she sang, she cried - the same hot tears I cry. Suddenly, I was struck to realize SHE KNOWS GRACE INTIMATELY, the same grace I know.
Compelled to repent for having judged this child of God, I bowed my head in sorrow. While I prayed, a flash of insight burst into my thoughts. If she, and I, have experienced grace, why - it's available to all of us. Who am I to decide if a person is worthy of grace? No. That's God's place.
The world looks new to me since that flash of insight illuminated my thoughts. Grace, God's grace, is free to all. What I want to say here, I think, is this:
Grace makes me want to dance. Would you care to join me as I whirl and bow? We can exult together in His Infinite Amazing Grace. Can you hear the music? It's spiraling around our heads. Shall we dance?
Thursday, July 31, 2008
My Head is Spinning, Does That Mean I Am Living a Spiral?
When I look at this new picture my son Travis sent by email this week, my head spins. What happened to the quiet little curly headed boy who spent most of his time playing with Lego toys? And who is that man wearing goggles while strapped to a seat in a Blackhawk?
After Travis graduated from college, he joined the Air Force. "Good," I thought. "he will have good benefits and stable employment with a regular paycheck. He won't have to live on the street; there will always be a room in the barracks or a place in base housing." That was in 1992.
His superiors recognized leadership qualities in my son. They encouraged him to attend Officers' Training School. He completed the grueling course in 1994. I was happy for him and his family. An officer earns more money than an enlisted man. "They'll manage much better now," I thought.
North Dakota, New Jersey, The Azores (Lajes), South Carolina, Florida, Japan. Travis and his family have traveled, experiencing a variety of cultures. In the meantime, he has continued to move up through the ranks. First Lieutenant, Captain, Major . . .
I continued to be happy for him and proud of him. But it wasn't until September 11, 2001 that I understood how much I OWE him. When the Twin Towers fell, Travis was stationed in South Carolina. I lived in Louisiana. We watched the horrors and talked on our cell phones. Then the War On Terror began. Now people in the Air Force not only had steady jobs with regular income, they began to travel frequently to places with unfamiliar names.
Travis moved to MacDill AFB, Tampa, Florida. He worked with a group whose responsibilities included setting up tent cities in the deserts of several far away countries. He went TDY several times . . . to Afghanistan, to Saudi Arabia, to Iraq.
I realized at some point that Travis was not just my son in the Air Force. Travis had become, in a very real sense, my protector. He regularly laid his life on the line as he fulfilled his duties as an officer in the US Air Force. And he was laying his life on the line to protect my life. Not just my life, but the lives of all Americans. Because he is MY son, I take his work seriously. He took an oath to protect us. And I am part of that us, so he is MY PROTECTOR. Now I am not just proud of him; I am in his debt.
His time at MacDill came to an end; he and his family moved to Yokota AFB, near Tokyo, Japan. His job was at the base airport and involved few TDY's. In my mother-heart I relaxed a little. He would probably not be traveling to the "-stans" or worse places. I remembered an occasion when he had been to Afghanistan for several weeks. He was able to return home a few days before we expected him. Everyone knew he was coming home except me. He wanted to surprise me. One afternoon, my doorbell rang. There stood Travis, home early from Afghanistan. I couldn't breathe. I thought I was seeing a ghost. He grabbed me, hugging me tightly. I knew he was real, and really home. I sobbed. His being stationed in Japan would give us no cause to experience such anxiety, we thought. He has a calm job in a calm place.
Early one morning last spring, while I was dressing for work, my phone rang. Nobody calls me at that time of the day to chat. With apprehension, I answered. I heard Travis' voice.
"Mother," he said, seriously, "I have something to tell you. Can you talk for a minute?"
A mother always has time to talk with her son, especially when his voice has such grave overtones.
"I'm being deployed to Iraq."
With restraint, I questioned him while my heart was screaming, "NO!" My mind began to whirl. Easy job, calm place. No traveling to the "stans." Few tdys. What is happening here? All the while, my spirit was searching, searching, searching. Finally heart, mind and spirit united and I could speak.
"Son, wherever you go, you go in the palm of God's hand. He will guide you and protect you. I don't want this for you, but we are no different or better than the thousands of other families whose children, parents, siblings, or relatives are being deployed. If it is our lot to send you into the thick of the fray, then God be with us. I am at peace."
I heard Travis repeating my sentiments. The conversation was over. That was last spring. Today Travis is in Baghdad. I am still proud of him. I do not worry about him. I do realize that he has once again laid his life on the line to protect mine. Regardless of whether we agree with the reasoning behind the conflict, we are involved in the conflict. He is responsibly doing his job as assigned by his superiors. And I rest assured while he is protecting me, our God is holding him in the palm of His hand.
This thought makes my head spin. I think my relationship with Travis could be representative of all our relationships. We are all here for a purpose. And each of our purposes is part of a tightly woven web. We are here for each other. I am for Travis; Travis is for me; I am for you; you are for me.
Let your mind spiral around this idea for a while: God is for all of us and we are all for each other.
Thanks, Travis. I am indebted to you, and all the others like you who demonstrate selflessness while reflecting God's protective Hand in our lives.
After Travis graduated from college, he joined the Air Force. "Good," I thought. "he will have good benefits and stable employment with a regular paycheck. He won't have to live on the street; there will always be a room in the barracks or a place in base housing." That was in 1992.
His superiors recognized leadership qualities in my son. They encouraged him to attend Officers' Training School. He completed the grueling course in 1994. I was happy for him and his family. An officer earns more money than an enlisted man. "They'll manage much better now," I thought.
North Dakota, New Jersey, The Azores (Lajes), South Carolina, Florida, Japan. Travis and his family have traveled, experiencing a variety of cultures. In the meantime, he has continued to move up through the ranks. First Lieutenant, Captain, Major . . .
I continued to be happy for him and proud of him. But it wasn't until September 11, 2001 that I understood how much I OWE him. When the Twin Towers fell, Travis was stationed in South Carolina. I lived in Louisiana. We watched the horrors and talked on our cell phones. Then the War On Terror began. Now people in the Air Force not only had steady jobs with regular income, they began to travel frequently to places with unfamiliar names.
Travis moved to MacDill AFB, Tampa, Florida. He worked with a group whose responsibilities included setting up tent cities in the deserts of several far away countries. He went TDY several times . . . to Afghanistan, to Saudi Arabia, to Iraq.
I realized at some point that Travis was not just my son in the Air Force. Travis had become, in a very real sense, my protector. He regularly laid his life on the line as he fulfilled his duties as an officer in the US Air Force. And he was laying his life on the line to protect my life. Not just my life, but the lives of all Americans. Because he is MY son, I take his work seriously. He took an oath to protect us. And I am part of that us, so he is MY PROTECTOR. Now I am not just proud of him; I am in his debt.
His time at MacDill came to an end; he and his family moved to Yokota AFB, near Tokyo, Japan. His job was at the base airport and involved few TDY's. In my mother-heart I relaxed a little. He would probably not be traveling to the "-stans" or worse places. I remembered an occasion when he had been to Afghanistan for several weeks. He was able to return home a few days before we expected him. Everyone knew he was coming home except me. He wanted to surprise me. One afternoon, my doorbell rang. There stood Travis, home early from Afghanistan. I couldn't breathe. I thought I was seeing a ghost. He grabbed me, hugging me tightly. I knew he was real, and really home. I sobbed. His being stationed in Japan would give us no cause to experience such anxiety, we thought. He has a calm job in a calm place.
Early one morning last spring, while I was dressing for work, my phone rang. Nobody calls me at that time of the day to chat. With apprehension, I answered. I heard Travis' voice.
"Mother," he said, seriously, "I have something to tell you. Can you talk for a minute?"
A mother always has time to talk with her son, especially when his voice has such grave overtones.
"I'm being deployed to Iraq."
With restraint, I questioned him while my heart was screaming, "NO!" My mind began to whirl. Easy job, calm place. No traveling to the "stans." Few tdys. What is happening here? All the while, my spirit was searching, searching, searching. Finally heart, mind and spirit united and I could speak.
"Son, wherever you go, you go in the palm of God's hand. He will guide you and protect you. I don't want this for you, but we are no different or better than the thousands of other families whose children, parents, siblings, or relatives are being deployed. If it is our lot to send you into the thick of the fray, then God be with us. I am at peace."
I heard Travis repeating my sentiments. The conversation was over. That was last spring. Today Travis is in Baghdad. I am still proud of him. I do not worry about him. I do realize that he has once again laid his life on the line to protect mine. Regardless of whether we agree with the reasoning behind the conflict, we are involved in the conflict. He is responsibly doing his job as assigned by his superiors. And I rest assured while he is protecting me, our God is holding him in the palm of His hand.
This thought makes my head spin. I think my relationship with Travis could be representative of all our relationships. We are all here for a purpose. And each of our purposes is part of a tightly woven web. We are here for each other. I am for Travis; Travis is for me; I am for you; you are for me.
Let your mind spiral around this idea for a while: God is for all of us and we are all for each other.
Thanks, Travis. I am indebted to you, and all the others like you who demonstrate selflessness while reflecting God's protective Hand in our lives.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Friendship Spirals Through the Years
As a missionary-under-appointment, raising support is high on my list of priorities. As a relational female, maintaining friendships is also close to the top of the priority list. When I realized I could combine the two, great joy arose in my heart!
June 27, I drove 12.25 hours, alone in my 2003 Toyota Corolla. Wait. I wasn't truly alone. Andrus and Blackwood, Michael Card, Michael Omartian and Willie K. were with me. We sang and rejoiced, worshipping together all the way from Plant City, FL to Spring Valley, AL.
On July 22, my faithful little white Corolla found itself parked again in its place in my garage.
In between, I visited nine churches. Each church has now agreed to partner in ministry with me as I work in Africa, inviting Christians to follow the Great Commission and MAKE DISCIPLES. Without exception, the pastors and congregations I visited received me with Christian warmth and promised to support my work, with both prayer and finances. Every service brought new and fresh blessings to my heart. The family of God is a vital part of my life. I don't know how I could function without this family.
In addition to visiting nine churches, I was privileged to sleep in a wide variety of beds. Two nights, I slept in motel rooms. Here's a list of the other places I slept:
Each home offered particular treats.
At Cheryl's house, I ate SNOW ICE CREAM! In July!!!
At Jackie's house, there was white syrup and butter with biscuits.
At Stan's house and at Richard's house, we devoured roast beef and all the fixings.
I didn't EAT at Tommy and Gladys' house. I didn't eat at Joette's house. But I practically drowned in affection at both places.
At Susan's house, I played with grandchildren.
At Loretta's house, there was a sense of having come home after being away for more than 30 years.
Steve and Sally poured love and kindness over me.
Carole and Roland shared their farm animals with me as well as their grandson.
This trip was about more than developing a support base for my missionary budget. This trip proved to me (beyond any doubt) that once two hearts are bound together in sacred Christian love, nothing can break those bonds. Years may spiral 'round and 'round. Vocations may lead friends to far away lands. Children grow. Dear ones are called up to Heaven. Yet the bonds of Christian love hold us tightly.
As I try to recount the blessings showered down upon me while I drove those 3500 miles, my mind and heart are overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude. Joy continues to bubble in my soul. I find myself remembering a few lines I scribbled on a wrinkled piece of notebook paper several years ago. I had attended a 40th birthday party for a man I had known since childhood. The sense of loving and being loved by this man and his extended family was almost tangible. In the dark of the night, while my husband drove us home, I tried to express the comfort love brings to me.
June 27, I drove 12.25 hours, alone in my 2003 Toyota Corolla. Wait. I wasn't truly alone. Andrus and Blackwood, Michael Card, Michael Omartian and Willie K. were with me. We sang and rejoiced, worshipping together all the way from Plant City, FL to Spring Valley, AL.
On July 22, my faithful little white Corolla found itself parked again in its place in my garage.
In between, I visited nine churches. Each church has now agreed to partner in ministry with me as I work in Africa, inviting Christians to follow the Great Commission and MAKE DISCIPLES. Without exception, the pastors and congregations I visited received me with Christian warmth and promised to support my work, with both prayer and finances. Every service brought new and fresh blessings to my heart. The family of God is a vital part of my life. I don't know how I could function without this family.
In addition to visiting nine churches, I was privileged to sleep in a wide variety of beds. Two nights, I slept in motel rooms. Here's a list of the other places I slept:
In my niece Cheryl's house.
In my sister-in-law Jackie's house.
In my brother Stan's house.
In my brother Richard's house.
In my friends Tommy and Gladys' house.
In my friend Joette's house.
In my friend Susan's house.
In my friend Loretta's house.
In my friends Steve and Sally's house.
In my friends Roland and Carole's house.
Each home offered particular treats.
At Cheryl's house, I ate SNOW ICE CREAM! In July!!!
At Jackie's house, there was white syrup and butter with biscuits.
At Stan's house and at Richard's house, we devoured roast beef and all the fixings.
I didn't EAT at Tommy and Gladys' house. I didn't eat at Joette's house. But I practically drowned in affection at both places.
At Susan's house, I played with grandchildren.
At Loretta's house, there was a sense of having come home after being away for more than 30 years.
Steve and Sally poured love and kindness over me.
Carole and Roland shared their farm animals with me as well as their grandson.
This trip was about more than developing a support base for my missionary budget. This trip proved to me (beyond any doubt) that once two hearts are bound together in sacred Christian love, nothing can break those bonds. Years may spiral 'round and 'round. Vocations may lead friends to far away lands. Children grow. Dear ones are called up to Heaven. Yet the bonds of Christian love hold us tightly.
As I try to recount the blessings showered down upon me while I drove those 3500 miles, my mind and heart are overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude. Joy continues to bubble in my soul. I find myself remembering a few lines I scribbled on a wrinkled piece of notebook paper several years ago. I had attended a 40th birthday party for a man I had known since childhood. The sense of loving and being loved by this man and his extended family was almost tangible. In the dark of the night, while my husband drove us home, I tried to express the comfort love brings to me.
My Everlasting Support
I have felt myself surrounded by love.
Its strands weave themselves tightly
So that I find myself not only surrounded,
But also supported:
Love is the scaffolding
Love is the structure
Love is the strength
Upon which I stand.
When my muscles have grown soft
And my joints lose their power,
Love will hold me
Until I breathe no more.
I will slip from its grasp
And I will be buried
But the covering of love that I wore
Will stand forever.
Is that what scripture means?
“Now abide these three – faith, hope and love.
But the greatest of these is love.”
I have felt myself surrounded by love.
Its strands weave themselves tightly
So that I find myself not only surrounded,
But also supported:
Love is the scaffolding
Love is the structure
Love is the strength
Upon which I stand.
When my muscles have grown soft
And my joints lose their power,
Love will hold me
Until I breathe no more.
I will slip from its grasp
And I will be buried
But the covering of love that I wore
Will stand forever.
Is that what scripture means?
“Now abide these three – faith, hope and love.
But the greatest of these is love.”
There is nothing to add to these lines. And there is no spiral strong enough to destroy love. No time spiraling from calendar pages, no spiral of change, no spiral of distance - Love abides. And I am most grateful for it. Grateful for the love that I receive as a precious gift from others. Grateful for the love that flows from my heart like water over Victoria Falls. It's love that holds my world together.
Thank God for the blessing of love.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Complacency: A Dangerous Side-Spiral
Tomorrow I will, God willing, fly to New Orleans to attend a wedding on Saturday. On Sunday, I will address a congregation seated in a sanctuary for the first time in more than three years. There's a lot to think about, a lot to do in preparation; but I haven't packed yet.
I mentioned my embarrassing time-management behavior in my last post. This afternoon, the theme rose again to the surface of my thoughts. Why do I struggle so with using my time wisely? Maybe the answer has come to me. I am almost ashamed to write about this answer. Still, it should be written. In my writing and in your reading, I (and you) will be forced to confront this idea head-on.
While I was receiving chemotherapy treatments, I was forced to accept my own inevitable death. When my husband died suddenly before my eyes, I was forced to accept the sure deaths of those who are my most beloved. For months, the road ahead of me seemed to be headed straight for a dead end (pun intended). There were no spirals, not even the tiniest hint of a curve in that road. I could see the signs reading "Road ends here. Be READY to stop." The road was arrow straight, narrow and seemed to be downhill. I couldn't see anything except that brilliant sign at the end.
Gradually, I became accustomed to the speed of my travels and the straightness of my road. I began to notice things: people, places, events all around me. As my awareness of my surroundings increased, my focus on THE END grew less - well - focused. Now, the chemotherapy treatments are rarely in my thoughts. I don't think about my husband's funeral every hour, or every day. I have awakened anew to the beauties of LIFE. I find my head less filled with the certainty of death and more with the details of living. Consequently, I ignore the sign; or worse, I couldn't see it if I tried, for my path no longer seems so straight. There are wonderful byways to appreciate. There are loops and switch-backs. Shrubbery, trees, blossoms catch my attention. I am diverted.
In Spanish, the word for "fun" is "divertido." We use "diversion" to indicate participation in activities outside our ho-hum, mundane daily lives. Yet, being diverted can be dangerous.
My "diversion" has caused me to forget the brevity of life. Subconsciously, I have again fallen into the common pattern of believing I have "all the time in the world." I don't feel any urgency to accomplish any particular task. After all, there's plenty of time. How quickly I have allowed myself again to join the procrastination club. After having been compelled to put these thoughts into writing, I think I must drop my membership.
Bible verses about man's limited lifespan roll around in my head. Years ago, as a young Pentecostal, an I'm-looking-for-Jesus-to-come, Rapture-ready Pentecostal, I learned "No man has the promise of tomorrow." We lived on the brink of being taken away, of hearing the sound of the trumpet of God, and the shout of an archangel. There was no time to waste. What happened to my sense of urgency? Weeks, months, years . . . decades were torn off our calendars. The steady rhythm of morning and evening, sunrise and sunset rocked me into complacency. Cancer and death stung me. I awoke. I'm feeling drugged again. And I don't like it.
I need to be busy. I need to remember the sign flashing on the horizon. "The End Is Near." Yes, I need to be busy. And the first thing I need to do is get that suitcase packed.
I mentioned my embarrassing time-management behavior in my last post. This afternoon, the theme rose again to the surface of my thoughts. Why do I struggle so with using my time wisely? Maybe the answer has come to me. I am almost ashamed to write about this answer. Still, it should be written. In my writing and in your reading, I (and you) will be forced to confront this idea head-on.
While I was receiving chemotherapy treatments, I was forced to accept my own inevitable death. When my husband died suddenly before my eyes, I was forced to accept the sure deaths of those who are my most beloved. For months, the road ahead of me seemed to be headed straight for a dead end (pun intended). There were no spirals, not even the tiniest hint of a curve in that road. I could see the signs reading "Road ends here. Be READY to stop." The road was arrow straight, narrow and seemed to be downhill. I couldn't see anything except that brilliant sign at the end.
Gradually, I became accustomed to the speed of my travels and the straightness of my road. I began to notice things: people, places, events all around me. As my awareness of my surroundings increased, my focus on THE END grew less - well - focused. Now, the chemotherapy treatments are rarely in my thoughts. I don't think about my husband's funeral every hour, or every day. I have awakened anew to the beauties of LIFE. I find my head less filled with the certainty of death and more with the details of living. Consequently, I ignore the sign; or worse, I couldn't see it if I tried, for my path no longer seems so straight. There are wonderful byways to appreciate. There are loops and switch-backs. Shrubbery, trees, blossoms catch my attention. I am diverted.
In Spanish, the word for "fun" is "divertido." We use "diversion" to indicate participation in activities outside our ho-hum, mundane daily lives. Yet, being diverted can be dangerous.
My "diversion" has caused me to forget the brevity of life. Subconsciously, I have again fallen into the common pattern of believing I have "all the time in the world." I don't feel any urgency to accomplish any particular task. After all, there's plenty of time. How quickly I have allowed myself again to join the procrastination club. After having been compelled to put these thoughts into writing, I think I must drop my membership.
Bible verses about man's limited lifespan roll around in my head. Years ago, as a young Pentecostal, an I'm-looking-for-Jesus-to-come, Rapture-ready Pentecostal, I learned "No man has the promise of tomorrow." We lived on the brink of being taken away, of hearing the sound of the trumpet of God, and the shout of an archangel. There was no time to waste. What happened to my sense of urgency? Weeks, months, years . . . decades were torn off our calendars. The steady rhythm of morning and evening, sunrise and sunset rocked me into complacency. Cancer and death stung me. I awoke. I'm feeling drugged again. And I don't like it.
I need to be busy. I need to remember the sign flashing on the horizon. "The End Is Near." Yes, I need to be busy. And the first thing I need to do is get that suitcase packed.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Spring Spirals into Summer
Briefly, I'm overwhelmed. I truly thought this blog would be updated weekly, if not daily, yet that has not happened. In fact, I'm in need of confessing. My time management skills are in a state of embarrassing disarray.
This post will be intense, and condensed. The school year is almost over. I'm about to hit the road, visitng friends, family and churches as I prepare to leave for Africa (hopefully by the middle of August). Call or write if you would like me to visit your home or church. Or, write or call Church of God World Missions to receive information about my new assignment (#065-0834).
My son Travis was home a couple of weeks ago. We enjoyed his visit. His brother and sister, in-laws and nieces and nephews filled my house. Laughter, love, and lip-smaking eating took place for 6 packed days. Then, suddenly he was gone . . . on his way to Baghdad for six months. His wife and two children stayed in Japan, on the base where he is officially stationed.
The LORD has a plan for each of our lives. When I am falling asleep each night, I trust His plan. When I wake up each morning, I rejoice in His plan. The steps we take are not particularly easy, but He guides us with His Light. All we have to do is follow that Light and practice obedience.
On the last Saturday of 2007, I went to the beach alone. While I was scanning for shells, a thought occured to me: "That which you seek shall be cast at your feet." I wondered. Why would such a thing pop into my head? I wasn't seeking for anything. Or was I? When I walk on the beach, my motive is double. I look for beautiful shells. Well, was I about to shift my eyes to see that beautiful murex resting at my toes?
I also try to clear the fog out of my head while I am walking. This time, I couldn't think of anything I was actively seeking. Yes, I want the house to sell. Yes, I want . . . You get the picture. I WANT just like everyone else. But, SEEK? What do I seek? For weeks, I struggled with this concept of SEEKING. Finally, I think I began to understand. That which I seek is to be perfectly conformed to the will of God, and to be obedient to His guidance.
Tonight, I am trembling. Sunday morning, I will speak to a group of people near New Orleans. For more than three years, I have not stood behind a pulpit to minister the Word of the Lord. I have testified. I have not done more. Suddenly, I remember the weight of bringing the Word of the Lord to a group of people. Now, I must stand up in obedience and deliver the message God lays on my heart. May it please the Lord to allow me to be perfectly conformed to His Will, and may I be brave, courageous enough to speak the Word with boldness.
More spiraling lies ahead . . . the patterns become ever more beautiful. I live in constant gratitude, with joy, peace and contentment.
If you are one to remember dates, you know that yesterday completed two years of widowhood for me. I have learned to be grateful for the time I had with Lamar, for the joys, the blessings, the pleasures, the travels: all that life with Lamar entailed. I miss him, but I have learned, again, to be content, in whatever state I find myself. God is good. And His Mercy endures forever.
This post will be intense, and condensed. The school year is almost over. I'm about to hit the road, visitng friends, family and churches as I prepare to leave for Africa (hopefully by the middle of August). Call or write if you would like me to visit your home or church. Or, write or call Church of God World Missions to receive information about my new assignment (#065-0834).
My son Travis was home a couple of weeks ago. We enjoyed his visit. His brother and sister, in-laws and nieces and nephews filled my house. Laughter, love, and lip-smaking eating took place for 6 packed days. Then, suddenly he was gone . . . on his way to Baghdad for six months. His wife and two children stayed in Japan, on the base where he is officially stationed.
The LORD has a plan for each of our lives. When I am falling asleep each night, I trust His plan. When I wake up each morning, I rejoice in His plan. The steps we take are not particularly easy, but He guides us with His Light. All we have to do is follow that Light and practice obedience.
On the last Saturday of 2007, I went to the beach alone. While I was scanning for shells, a thought occured to me: "That which you seek shall be cast at your feet." I wondered. Why would such a thing pop into my head? I wasn't seeking for anything. Or was I? When I walk on the beach, my motive is double. I look for beautiful shells. Well, was I about to shift my eyes to see that beautiful murex resting at my toes?
I also try to clear the fog out of my head while I am walking. This time, I couldn't think of anything I was actively seeking. Yes, I want the house to sell. Yes, I want . . . You get the picture. I WANT just like everyone else. But, SEEK? What do I seek? For weeks, I struggled with this concept of SEEKING. Finally, I think I began to understand. That which I seek is to be perfectly conformed to the will of God, and to be obedient to His guidance.
Tonight, I am trembling. Sunday morning, I will speak to a group of people near New Orleans. For more than three years, I have not stood behind a pulpit to minister the Word of the Lord. I have testified. I have not done more. Suddenly, I remember the weight of bringing the Word of the Lord to a group of people. Now, I must stand up in obedience and deliver the message God lays on my heart. May it please the Lord to allow me to be perfectly conformed to His Will, and may I be brave, courageous enough to speak the Word with boldness.
More spiraling lies ahead . . . the patterns become ever more beautiful. I live in constant gratitude, with joy, peace and contentment.
If you are one to remember dates, you know that yesterday completed two years of widowhood for me. I have learned to be grateful for the time I had with Lamar, for the joys, the blessings, the pleasures, the travels: all that life with Lamar entailed. I miss him, but I have learned, again, to be content, in whatever state I find myself. God is good. And His Mercy endures forever.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Spiraling Through THREE Months
March 25. It's logical to see March 25 on the calendar, especially since yesterday was March 24. But what happened to January 25 and February 25? Did you ever have the sensation you were twirling around, giving everything within you to make progress only to find you had passed by this place 365 times before?
Same coffee cup, same pillow, same garage door opener, same laundry (week after week). It seems I've been running in place. Don't misunderstand me. Oh, please, no. I do enjoy routine. I like knowing what I'm going to wear tomorrow. It's fun to plan next year's end of school party . . . Next time, I'll do this . . . or that . . .
What I am saying is this: I sat down to write in January. Now it's almost April. What happened to that lofty dream of blogging every week (or even better, every day)? Life took over. And I allowed day to spiral into day.
This afternoon, I have good news to share with my friend Neil. Remember him? He's one of the main reasons I have a blog. Anyway, I checked out Neil's blog because the telephone number I have for him won't work anymore. There on Neil's blog, I found a message from a mutual friend who was "randomly" searching for me. Only a few days ago, I had mentioned this mutual friend to my pastor, wondering where to find lost people who have for one reason or another fallen out of our lives. I'm happy to have found my friend. But, I still have good news to share with Neil and, in fact, with all my friends. "How can I tell all my friends at once," I wondered. "BLOG!"
Here I am now, typing away. I'm about to burst with this wonderful news. I want EVERYONE to read it.
The truth is, I haven't just been spinning around for the last three months. I've been putting little tiny pieces into a big picture. Finally, about two weeks ago, my pieces all fit together and . . . OOOOOOOOHHHHHH, a beautiful, wonderful, exciting adventure emerged.
Did you read the poem I wrote in January about soaring? The LORD GOD ALMIGHTY has lifted me from the valley of grief and disease and set me in flight with Him. Whoa! It's amazing!
My physical body has been refreshed, my energies renewed, my outlook improved, and my steps have just turned a corner. The view from this side of the corner is not at all what I expected (Isn't that always the case? "Who'd 've thought it?"). I was told in December to expect a door to open before me, and to allow the doors behind me to close quietly.
I'm about to travel again, for real, for real! I've been re-appointed as a career missionary with the World Missions Department of the Church of God. "So, okay, Waneda, what else is new? We all knew you would go back sooner or later . . ." There's the surprise. I'm not going BACK. By the grace of God, I am going to work, under the supervision of Peter and Debbie Thomas, on the continent of AFRICA!!!!!
I have resigned my position as a first grade teacher. Let that door close quietly. As of July 31, I will no longer be employed by my school district. Just push it all the way closed, still quietly. The new door opened a few weeks ago as a result of a remark made in general conversation. "My function as a missionary," I said, "has been to train teachers."
"You train teachers?"
"Yes, for many years, when I worked as a missionary I trained many teachers."
To make a long story a little shorter, an invitation was issued. I accepted. We applied for permission. Permission has been granted. As soon as I have raised my missionary budget, I will be flying across the Atlantic Ocean and South, to set my feet in Kenya as a starting point.
Wow! Who expected the path of my life to spiral around Africa? These beautiful intertwining ribbons just astound me.
Same coffee cup, same pillow, same garage door opener, same laundry (week after week). It seems I've been running in place. Don't misunderstand me. Oh, please, no. I do enjoy routine. I like knowing what I'm going to wear tomorrow. It's fun to plan next year's end of school party . . . Next time, I'll do this . . . or that . . .
What I am saying is this: I sat down to write in January. Now it's almost April. What happened to that lofty dream of blogging every week (or even better, every day)? Life took over. And I allowed day to spiral into day.
This afternoon, I have good news to share with my friend Neil. Remember him? He's one of the main reasons I have a blog. Anyway, I checked out Neil's blog because the telephone number I have for him won't work anymore. There on Neil's blog, I found a message from a mutual friend who was "randomly" searching for me. Only a few days ago, I had mentioned this mutual friend to my pastor, wondering where to find lost people who have for one reason or another fallen out of our lives. I'm happy to have found my friend. But, I still have good news to share with Neil and, in fact, with all my friends. "How can I tell all my friends at once," I wondered. "BLOG!"
Here I am now, typing away. I'm about to burst with this wonderful news. I want EVERYONE to read it.
The truth is, I haven't just been spinning around for the last three months. I've been putting little tiny pieces into a big picture. Finally, about two weeks ago, my pieces all fit together and . . . OOOOOOOOHHHHHH, a beautiful, wonderful, exciting adventure emerged.
Did you read the poem I wrote in January about soaring? The LORD GOD ALMIGHTY has lifted me from the valley of grief and disease and set me in flight with Him. Whoa! It's amazing!
My physical body has been refreshed, my energies renewed, my outlook improved, and my steps have just turned a corner. The view from this side of the corner is not at all what I expected (Isn't that always the case? "Who'd 've thought it?"). I was told in December to expect a door to open before me, and to allow the doors behind me to close quietly.
I'm about to travel again, for real, for real! I've been re-appointed as a career missionary with the World Missions Department of the Church of God. "So, okay, Waneda, what else is new? We all knew you would go back sooner or later . . ." There's the surprise. I'm not going BACK. By the grace of God, I am going to work, under the supervision of Peter and Debbie Thomas, on the continent of AFRICA!!!!!
I have resigned my position as a first grade teacher. Let that door close quietly. As of July 31, I will no longer be employed by my school district. Just push it all the way closed, still quietly. The new door opened a few weeks ago as a result of a remark made in general conversation. "My function as a missionary," I said, "has been to train teachers."
"You train teachers?"
"Yes, for many years, when I worked as a missionary I trained many teachers."
To make a long story a little shorter, an invitation was issued. I accepted. We applied for permission. Permission has been granted. As soon as I have raised my missionary budget, I will be flying across the Atlantic Ocean and South, to set my feet in Kenya as a starting point.
Wow! Who expected the path of my life to spiral around Africa? These beautiful intertwining ribbons just astound me.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Ribbons, Beautiful Colored Spirals
Whew! December has slipped quietly into the past. I hope I have time to catch my breath before it hits again.
As I sat here on December 23, trying to decide what to do about shopping, my soul and body were quietly filled with a sense of peace and joy. "Wait a minute," I thought, "Peace and joy . . . isn't there a story about angels who spoke of peace and joy?" The whole story from the Gospel of Luke played in my private movie theatre. (You know, the one that usually plays reruns or worst case scenario movies.) The more I considered Christmas: the birth of Christ, the angels, the shepherds, Joseph, Mary, the happier I felt. The upshot of all this intense consideration was that I made up my mind to go shopping the next day: Christmas Eve!
I decided to be happy. I decided to find treasures. I decided not to be tight-fisted. I DECIDED TO GO TO THE M A L L on December 24! Early the next morning, I woke up singing. By eleven thirty, I was parked in a good spot and ready to begin my personal shopping marathon. I was in the mall until after seven in the evening. What fun I had, choosing just the right books for my grandsons, the right activity for my granddaughter, everything I needed. Every clerk in every store was smiling. I was smiling. I smiled at people who weren't smiling to see if they would smile back in return. Most of them did.
The trunk of my car was full of bags. I started home. THEN I realized I still faced a very large obstacle: Lamar had always been the shopper AND the WRAPPER! Yikes! How could I, with my wrapping impaired hands, accomplish this mammoth task? I made another decision. I would go to visit my friend Cheryl to see if she would help with the wrapping. She would! And she did!
When I left her house, almost all the purchases were beautifully wrapped in shiny gold paper.
I brought them into the house and pulled out the ribbon. Curling ribbon has been my strongest point at Christmastime for years. On December 24, 2007 with Christmas music bursting forth from my (formerly Lamar's) SURROUND SOUND SPEAKERS, I found myself curling ribbon to tie around my beautiful packages. I lined up the velveteen stockings: one for every member of the family. I stuffed them with packages and put them in my car again, all ready to be handed out on Christmas morning at my daughter's house. I went to bed after midnight, weary in body, but happy in spirit and full of peace in my soul.
No. I'm not Scrooge. The Spirit of Christmas found me, just in time.
And now, it's the New Year! 2008. That number makes my head swim. When I was a child, just learning to add, I would lie in bed at night adding. I was 8, so in forty years I would be 48. In forty years my brothers would be . . . my friends would be . . . my mother would be . . .
I could add up to the year 2000, but I could go no farther. In the year 2000 my mother would be 81 years old. My father would be 91. My grandparents would be over 100 years old. My childish mind could not confront the inevitable aging of my family members.
So it was that I never, ever, ever added anybody's age past the year 2000. And it has never occurred to me until recently that in 2008 I will be sixty years old. Tomorrow is my birthday.
A few days ago, my daughter told me not to make plans for today. She said, "We are going to take you to the beach. (If you know me at all, you know about my relationship with the beach. It's more than passionate; it's almost an obsession.) And after the beach, we are taking you to dinner."
Ah, today has been such a relaxing, peaceful mix of fun, conversation and entertainment. There were no packages with ribbons curled around them. Just seven of the people I love most and myself, walking on the beach, picking up shells, laughing, talking and being together. At the restaurant, they put my name on a slip of paper and dropped it into a basket. A few minutes later, the musician pulled the paper out of the basket, announced my birthday and led everyone in singing Happy Birthday to me.
When they came to the last line, I sang. I sang loudly. I sang with gusto. I sang, as if the room had been filled with twirling, curling, spiraling colored ribbons, " Happy Birthday to . . . ME!"
I wish I knew a classic poem to use as the ending for this blog posting. I don't. I'm going to make up a peom. Maybe it will become a classic.
Long have I stood in shadows, trembling beneath dismal peaks.
Long have I ached in darkness, swallowed by ravenous grief.
So long had been my journey and so questioned my beliefs,
I bowed my head in sorrow, despairing my soul's relief.
When from the distance rising, my hearing perceived a song.
Its rhythm was compelling, its sweet melody was strong.
I heard a choir singing, it seemed a heavenly throng,
"Lift up your eyes, He's coming! The King who vanquishes wrong."
I saw Him then before me, most beautiful and most bright:
I saw Him speak forth lightning to fill the valley with light.
"Come from this place of coldness, fly with Me out of the night."
He grasped the hand I held out, turned 'round, and set me to flight.
From then 'til now, I'm soaring! Pain's valley lies far behind.
The shadows are forgotten; I now discern His design:
Like spiraling bright ribbons, my life's path has been assigned
both great joy and great sadness, by which my soul is refined.
Composed tonight to indicate the beginning of a New Year, my sixtieth year, which shall be a year of soaring . . . as a kite with a spiraling tail, on a long string, before a fresh wind.
As I sat here on December 23, trying to decide what to do about shopping, my soul and body were quietly filled with a sense of peace and joy. "Wait a minute," I thought, "Peace and joy . . . isn't there a story about angels who spoke of peace and joy?" The whole story from the Gospel of Luke played in my private movie theatre. (You know, the one that usually plays reruns or worst case scenario movies.) The more I considered Christmas: the birth of Christ, the angels, the shepherds, Joseph, Mary, the happier I felt. The upshot of all this intense consideration was that I made up my mind to go shopping the next day: Christmas Eve!
I decided to be happy. I decided to find treasures. I decided not to be tight-fisted. I DECIDED TO GO TO THE M A L L on December 24! Early the next morning, I woke up singing. By eleven thirty, I was parked in a good spot and ready to begin my personal shopping marathon. I was in the mall until after seven in the evening. What fun I had, choosing just the right books for my grandsons, the right activity for my granddaughter, everything I needed. Every clerk in every store was smiling. I was smiling. I smiled at people who weren't smiling to see if they would smile back in return. Most of them did.
The trunk of my car was full of bags. I started home. THEN I realized I still faced a very large obstacle: Lamar had always been the shopper AND the WRAPPER! Yikes! How could I, with my wrapping impaired hands, accomplish this mammoth task? I made another decision. I would go to visit my friend Cheryl to see if she would help with the wrapping. She would! And she did!
When I left her house, almost all the purchases were beautifully wrapped in shiny gold paper.
I brought them into the house and pulled out the ribbon. Curling ribbon has been my strongest point at Christmastime for years. On December 24, 2007 with Christmas music bursting forth from my (formerly Lamar's) SURROUND SOUND SPEAKERS, I found myself curling ribbon to tie around my beautiful packages. I lined up the velveteen stockings: one for every member of the family. I stuffed them with packages and put them in my car again, all ready to be handed out on Christmas morning at my daughter's house. I went to bed after midnight, weary in body, but happy in spirit and full of peace in my soul.
No. I'm not Scrooge. The Spirit of Christmas found me, just in time.
And now, it's the New Year! 2008. That number makes my head swim. When I was a child, just learning to add, I would lie in bed at night adding. I was 8, so in forty years I would be 48. In forty years my brothers would be . . . my friends would be . . . my mother would be . . .
I could add up to the year 2000, but I could go no farther. In the year 2000 my mother would be 81 years old. My father would be 91. My grandparents would be over 100 years old. My childish mind could not confront the inevitable aging of my family members.
So it was that I never, ever, ever added anybody's age past the year 2000. And it has never occurred to me until recently that in 2008 I will be sixty years old. Tomorrow is my birthday.
A few days ago, my daughter told me not to make plans for today. She said, "We are going to take you to the beach. (If you know me at all, you know about my relationship with the beach. It's more than passionate; it's almost an obsession.) And after the beach, we are taking you to dinner."
Ah, today has been such a relaxing, peaceful mix of fun, conversation and entertainment. There were no packages with ribbons curled around them. Just seven of the people I love most and myself, walking on the beach, picking up shells, laughing, talking and being together. At the restaurant, they put my name on a slip of paper and dropped it into a basket. A few minutes later, the musician pulled the paper out of the basket, announced my birthday and led everyone in singing Happy Birthday to me.
When they came to the last line, I sang. I sang loudly. I sang with gusto. I sang, as if the room had been filled with twirling, curling, spiraling colored ribbons, " Happy Birthday to . . . ME!"
I wish I knew a classic poem to use as the ending for this blog posting. I don't. I'm going to make up a peom. Maybe it will become a classic.
Long have I stood in shadows, trembling beneath dismal peaks.
Long have I ached in darkness, swallowed by ravenous grief.
So long had been my journey and so questioned my beliefs,
I bowed my head in sorrow, despairing my soul's relief.
When from the distance rising, my hearing perceived a song.
Its rhythm was compelling, its sweet melody was strong.
I heard a choir singing, it seemed a heavenly throng,
"Lift up your eyes, He's coming! The King who vanquishes wrong."
I saw Him then before me, most beautiful and most bright:
I saw Him speak forth lightning to fill the valley with light.
"Come from this place of coldness, fly with Me out of the night."
He grasped the hand I held out, turned 'round, and set me to flight.
From then 'til now, I'm soaring! Pain's valley lies far behind.
The shadows are forgotten; I now discern His design:
Like spiraling bright ribbons, my life's path has been assigned
both great joy and great sadness, by which my soul is refined.
Composed tonight to indicate the beginning of a New Year, my sixtieth year, which shall be a year of soaring . . . as a kite with a spiraling tail, on a long string, before a fresh wind.
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