In our Bible study class this week we are looking at the story of Zacchaeus.
Here is the story for those who don't know it.
Luke 19
Then Jesus entered and passed through Jericho. 2 Now behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus who was a chief tax collector, and he was rich. 3 And he sought to see who Jesus was, but could not because of the crowd, for he was of short stature. 4 So he ran ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see Him, for He was going to pass that way. 5 And when Jesus came to the place, He looked up and saw him,[a] and said to him, “Zacchaeus, make haste and come down, for today I must stay at your house.” 6 So he made haste and came down, and received Him joyfully. 7 But when they saw it, they all complained, saying, “He has gone to be a guest with a man who is a sinner.”
8 Then Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, “Look, Lord, I give half of my goods to the poor; and if I have taken anything from anyone by false accusation, I restore fourfold.”
9 And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he also is a son of Abraham; 10 for the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.”
I've read this story since I was a little kid. I can still sing the song. I know this story. It's not complicated. Jesus, who has become THE celebrity is coming into town, and this short tax collector who is shunned by everyone and hated because he is a tax collector climbs a tree to see Jesus. Jesus walks right up to the tree and tells Zacchaeus to come down because He plans to have dinner with him that night. The short legal thief does what he is told. Jesus goes home with him, and Zacchaeus proclaims that he is giving away a bunch of money as a result. Jesus declares salvation to Zacchaeus as a result.
Simple story. Except it is so simple it gets tripped over.
I was taught that Zaccharus gets granted salvation because he proved his sincerity to Christ. No. If Jesus only declared Zacchaeus saved because he gave away money to prove his sincerity, then that would be earning his salvation. That isn't how Christ works. And honestly, that kind of sensationalism isn't going to last because that is based on the euphoria of the moment. Jesus would have known Zacchaeus' heart and would never have declared salvation to a dram king. So something else had to have happened.
The key isn't what Zacchaeus did. It's why he did it.
See, there is this tax collector who has economic power. He can add fees to the taxes collected. He can be cruel in the ways he enforces tax collection. He can be as ruthless and heartless as they come, and for some people, that power defines them. It means they are valuable. They are valuable because of the power over people, and they are valuable because of the money they can make from it. This guy has position, power, and money...and no real life. The Romans don't care for him. He is only a pion. The Jews hate him. And where does that really leave him? Up in a tree...with only the hope of a glimpse of true celebrity because there is no way a religious celebrity was going to pay any attention to him.
Except He did.
Can you imagine being Zacchaeus up in that tree searching for just the head of the celebrity you are waiting for when you see this massive crowded moving in some way as those it is water crashing upon the bottom of the tree where you are, and suddenly, there at the base of the tree a face looks up at you. THE face looks up at you and says, "Hey, come down and let's go have dinner at your place."
In other words, "I've come to this point just to see you, and I know no one else would be caught dead in your presence or in your house unless they need something from you, but I've come because you need something from Me."
What Jesus was really saying, "You are valuable to me. In fact, you are so valuable to me, I'll risk being a celebrity and being on the front page of every gossip magazine just to be with you."
I don't think Zacchaeus responded by saying, "Lord, look! I'm so different that I'm going to do all this good stuff. Aren't you impressed?" I don't think it was a haughty man who spoke to Jesus. I think it was a humbled one who said, "Lord, Lord, I get it. I give half of everything I own to people who need it because they are valuable. I will make recompense for how I have cheated people because relationship is more important than gold. I get that I'm valuable, not because of what I own, but because of You. I'm valuable because You chose me."
And did you notice that Zacchaeus wasn't offended when Jesus said He had come to seek and save the lost? A proud person would look at themselves and be sorry they had to be found or saved, and honestly, I don't think they would be saved because they are not humble to receive the truth that they cannot fix themselves. However, when a person realizes their only value is in the value placed on them by Christ, they realize that being sought and found is a declaration of value. It is a clear demonstration of how loved they are.
God so loved--so valued--the world that He gave His only Son that whoever should believe in Him--not their own ability to be good or holy--should not perish but have everlasting life.
When Zacchaeus climbed that tree, maybe he was looking for a celebrity. Maybe he was looking for someone bigger than himself. What he found was just how important he was, and that had nothing to do with money and position, and everything to do with Jesus.
Showing posts with label value. Show all posts
Showing posts with label value. Show all posts
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Sunday, March 15, 2015
The Unholy War on Women...and Men
A friend of mine on Facebook shared an article about a famous woman dressed in a bustier and skirt made of pinkish latex. The general consensus in that comments was that this was a bad idea. One man, however, did not find it enough to simply express his disapproval. Instead, he blended her family's name with an incredibly foul word in such as a way as to suggest this is the defining aspect of these women.
I expressed my offense at his word choice and assured him there are other words to express one's disapproval than that. In my opinion, his comment was a full-frontal assault against women. Not just that woman, but all women, and that is not okay.
I see women on a regular basis whose husbands, boyfriends, fathers, and even sons beat on them physically and mentally. They call them all kinds of names that rip at their self-value, courage to do great things, and belief that they are made for a glorious purpose. I see how words hit just as hard as a fist, and I see how enough small hits with a hammer can split a boulder wide open as easily as one blast of TNT. That man's comment was a verbal hit with a pretty big hammer, and I refuse to stand by and let men unleash on women, whether the hits are big or small, fist or word.
Because women deserve better.
Women deserve to be valued. They deserve to be encouraged. They deserve to be seen as gifts. They deserve words that give them boldness to believe in their purpose and to live big.
And so do men.
No. Men aren't the victims of physical violence as often as women, but I know women who can beat the masculinity out of a man with their mouth as effectively as a man can beat a woman black and blue with his fist. Both are equally as wrong.
And I really wish I could say the battle is across gender lines, but it isn't. I seen the women wage war against women, and I see men wage war against men, and I wonder while we are tearing down the gifts of God how much of the provided answers to problems we keep praying for and wondering why no answer comes are being destroyed one devaluing comment and one hateful action at a time.
I'm afraid the real answer should terrify us.
Terrify me.
So I ask, not really sure I want to know, but fully knowing I need to know:
Lord,
How do I wage war against the gifts you've breathed life into?
How do I tear them down with...
...my attitudes,
...what I do that tells them they are unimportant,
...what I don't do to remind them how important they are,
...what I say that tears at their courage,
...what I don't say to encourage them to live boldly?
Dear God, show me where I am part of the problem and change my heart and mind so I am part of the answer. Amen
I expressed my offense at his word choice and assured him there are other words to express one's disapproval than that. In my opinion, his comment was a full-frontal assault against women. Not just that woman, but all women, and that is not okay.
I see women on a regular basis whose husbands, boyfriends, fathers, and even sons beat on them physically and mentally. They call them all kinds of names that rip at their self-value, courage to do great things, and belief that they are made for a glorious purpose. I see how words hit just as hard as a fist, and I see how enough small hits with a hammer can split a boulder wide open as easily as one blast of TNT. That man's comment was a verbal hit with a pretty big hammer, and I refuse to stand by and let men unleash on women, whether the hits are big or small, fist or word.
Because women deserve better.
Women deserve to be valued. They deserve to be encouraged. They deserve to be seen as gifts. They deserve words that give them boldness to believe in their purpose and to live big.
And so do men.
No. Men aren't the victims of physical violence as often as women, but I know women who can beat the masculinity out of a man with their mouth as effectively as a man can beat a woman black and blue with his fist. Both are equally as wrong.
And I really wish I could say the battle is across gender lines, but it isn't. I seen the women wage war against women, and I see men wage war against men, and I wonder while we are tearing down the gifts of God how much of the provided answers to problems we keep praying for and wondering why no answer comes are being destroyed one devaluing comment and one hateful action at a time.
I'm afraid the real answer should terrify us.
Terrify me.
So I ask, not really sure I want to know, but fully knowing I need to know:
Lord,
How do I wage war against the gifts you've breathed life into?
How do I tear them down with...
...my attitudes,
...what I do that tells them they are unimportant,
...what I don't do to remind them how important they are,
...what I say that tears at their courage,
...what I don't say to encourage them to live boldly?
Dear God, show me where I am part of the problem and change my heart and mind so I am part of the answer. Amen
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Being the Answer
Daddy,
This morning I took time to watch part of the video of Miley Cyrus at the VMAs. I couldn't watch it all because I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because I'm so sorry she thinks that is all she is. I wanted to cry because the man with whom she sang thought it was okay to treat her like that in front of people. I wanted to cry because those people thought it was fabulous. And none of them realize how much they've lost themselves in thinking all of that was okay and "edgy", and porn of all forms devalues everyone involved because you can't call a human a piece of meat without saying all humans can be cheap piece of meat including yourself, and, Daddy, I can only imagine how that makes you want to cry.
And instead of asking how she can do that, I'm asking for wisdom to teach my daughter to never do that because she is so far more valuable than that and to teach my son to be a man of honor who would never dishonor a woman that way. I'm asking how you want me to speak into the lives of the young ladies in my life and how to invest in them so they know they are priceless and never need to act cheap to get attention, and how do I speak to the young men and live in front of them to show them how a woman of character acts and how they are to treat her?
Lord, I see the problem. Show me how to be the answer.
This morning I took time to watch part of the video of Miley Cyrus at the VMAs. I couldn't watch it all because I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because I'm so sorry she thinks that is all she is. I wanted to cry because the man with whom she sang thought it was okay to treat her like that in front of people. I wanted to cry because those people thought it was fabulous. And none of them realize how much they've lost themselves in thinking all of that was okay and "edgy", and porn of all forms devalues everyone involved because you can't call a human a piece of meat without saying all humans can be cheap piece of meat including yourself, and, Daddy, I can only imagine how that makes you want to cry.
And instead of asking how she can do that, I'm asking for wisdom to teach my daughter to never do that because she is so far more valuable than that and to teach my son to be a man of honor who would never dishonor a woman that way. I'm asking how you want me to speak into the lives of the young ladies in my life and how to invest in them so they know they are priceless and never need to act cheap to get attention, and how do I speak to the young men and live in front of them to show them how a woman of character acts and how they are to treat her?
Lord, I see the problem. Show me how to be the answer.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Beauty isn't by the Numbers
Been seeing a lot of stuff on FB that has judgments about "thin" women being less desirable to "real men" than "curvy women" are. Do we truly understand this is still hating. Curvy women calling thin women less desirable or less "whatever" is NO DIFFERENT and JUST AS JUDGMENTAL as thin women trashy curvy ones. To this I say...
Ladies, we are women. We are beautiful.
We are created in the image of a perfect God.
I don't want you to be like me. I want you to be like you.
You are priceless.
You are an answer to a prayer.
You are a heart needed in this world. Your LIFE matters.
I thank God for you. My world would be missing something without you because there is no one who can be you.
So be you with joy. You are amazing.
So be the amazing you with great joy.
Ladies, we are women. We are beautiful.
We are created in the image of a perfect God.
I don't want you to be like me. I want you to be like you.
You are priceless.
You are an answer to a prayer.
You are a heart needed in this world. Your LIFE matters.
I thank God for you. My world would be missing something without you because there is no one who can be you.
So be you with joy. You are amazing.
So be the amazing you with great joy.
Friday, December 28, 2012
A Better Answer--Part 8, The Power of Personal Presence 2
In my last post I shared some of the ways people have been a comfort by simply being themselves and being here. However, each of us has our own empty spots, the spots where a presence would feel good.
I can't list all the possibilities, but if you take a little time, ask a few questions, you can figure some things out. If you ask about favorite memories or traditions or what they did every spring or fall, you may be surprised at how much you can find out. People like to tell stories. They like to remember. They like that people want to hear.
It is a heart-lifting surprise when someone gives you room to remember instead of telling you to forget.
Maybe it is a trip to see fall leaves every year.
Maybe it is putting in the flowers or a trip to the beach or opening day of movies.
Maybe it is putting up lights for Christmas or tailgating at a football game or visiting a flea market.
Maybe it is watching fireworks or attending musicals or just a special day.
What do you say once you know? Say something honest.
"I know you and (the person you love) did (this thing). I was wondering, would you like some company? Would you like someone to do that with you? If not, would you like to do something totally different? I know it must be hard to do by yourself. I'll do it with you, or we can do something else. Just tell me what you need."
Or, just show up.
I have no idea how many times I wish someone had just shown up at my door and said, "I'm taking you to (coffee, dinner, the theatre, the botanical gardens...anywhere but here."
I have found two obstacles when it came to asking for help.
1. Being in pain is exhausting. Simply trying to get the kids and myself through the day...especially on days when I really needed someone to step in and help me breathe...just doing what had to be done took all my energy. I couldn't think of what I needed or how anyone could help. Even when people asked what I needed, I had no answer.
2. I had asked for help, for company, for simple presence, and the responses had hurt. I was already drained. I refused to risk inflicting more mental or emotional pain on myself.
My husband had moved out. My mom was dying of cancer. My kids were trying to find their way through the rage and pain. I was tired on every level.
I wrote a simple text.
"I can't put two thoughts together."
A few minutes later my phone rang.
John asked me a few questions, told me to get pen and paper, and gave me the plan to get me through the weekend. I had to think about nothing. It was a Godsend.
Valentine's Day is hard. Rob died around 12:30 am on February 15th. We associate it with Valentine's. The emotional tsunami that hit last year felt suffocating. My kids were in unbelievable pain. I was trying to get through the day as a woman who had not been single in nearly 24 years....as a wife who was still trying to figure out what had gone wrong with her marriage...and as a person whose friend had died.
I hurt. Dear Lord in heaven, how I hurt.
And that day people texted and emailed. Told me they were praying. Confessed they had no idea how hard it must be but they were standing with me in their hearts, thoughts, and prayers.
And then there were the flowers and the DVD.
My friend Kristi had been praying for a month about how to love me on Valentine's Day, and the Lord had answered.
She gave me a beautiful bouquet and the Courageous DVD. I have never loved cut flowers so much. I watched Courageous and cried. It was more than a movie. It was an answer to prayer. I had asked the Lord how I'm supposed to be a mom and a dad, and He showed me all He wanted was for me to be courageous, to fight the good fight, to be a good example. If I could instill His character, the kids would come through okay. He is the answer. I simply had to live courageously in Him.
Kristi had no idea about my prayer or my heart...or how hard it can be to be a mom and dad. She only knew her friend was facing Valentine's alone, and she wanted to help. So she prayed and asked the Counselor, the peace Prince...the One who is with me constantly...and she put love into action.
Birthdays are hard, whether it be having a birthday without someone...or finding the way through the birthday of the one lost. When our friend Lonnie died, multiple friends graced his wife with her favorite flowers on her birthday, just like he did. Sure she cried, but it was a good cry.
Anniversaries are hard. I've spent the last two anniversaries doing vulnteer work. It kept me busy all day, and I was so exhausted when I got home I showered and fell asleep.
Some events are hard. Watching WonderGirl be Willie Wonka, the character her dad had always wanted to be, tested my ability to keep breathing. Thank the Lord we were surrounded by a few dozen friends who held my hand, offered a shoulder, and gave a standing ovation for WonderGirl's courage.
The way to be present varies from person to person because the empty places, the hurting spots, vary with each relationship and with each life. It doesn't take a huge presence to make a huge difference, though. Some courage to invade space, a bit of time, and the willingness to see beyond the platitudes hurting people so often dole out will speak love greater than you can imagine.
You may never know how much your presence is needed in a day, how much strength it gives, or how deeply appreciated it is because honestly, for love like that, there are no real words...only heart deep gratitude.
Presence like that isn't the easiest thing to do...but it is a powerful thing to do.
I can't list all the possibilities, but if you take a little time, ask a few questions, you can figure some things out. If you ask about favorite memories or traditions or what they did every spring or fall, you may be surprised at how much you can find out. People like to tell stories. They like to remember. They like that people want to hear.
It is a heart-lifting surprise when someone gives you room to remember instead of telling you to forget.
Maybe it is a trip to see fall leaves every year.
Maybe it is putting in the flowers or a trip to the beach or opening day of movies.
Maybe it is putting up lights for Christmas or tailgating at a football game or visiting a flea market.
Maybe it is watching fireworks or attending musicals or just a special day.
What do you say once you know? Say something honest.
"I know you and (the person you love) did (this thing). I was wondering, would you like some company? Would you like someone to do that with you? If not, would you like to do something totally different? I know it must be hard to do by yourself. I'll do it with you, or we can do something else. Just tell me what you need."
Or, just show up.
I have no idea how many times I wish someone had just shown up at my door and said, "I'm taking you to (coffee, dinner, the theatre, the botanical gardens...anywhere but here."
I have found two obstacles when it came to asking for help.
1. Being in pain is exhausting. Simply trying to get the kids and myself through the day...especially on days when I really needed someone to step in and help me breathe...just doing what had to be done took all my energy. I couldn't think of what I needed or how anyone could help. Even when people asked what I needed, I had no answer.
2. I had asked for help, for company, for simple presence, and the responses had hurt. I was already drained. I refused to risk inflicting more mental or emotional pain on myself.
I thank God for those I never had to ask.
My husband had moved out. My mom was dying of cancer. My kids were trying to find their way through the rage and pain. I was tired on every level.
I wrote a simple text.
"I can't put two thoughts together."
A few minutes later my phone rang.
John asked me a few questions, told me to get pen and paper, and gave me the plan to get me through the weekend. I had to think about nothing. It was a Godsend.
Valentine's Day is hard. Rob died around 12:30 am on February 15th. We associate it with Valentine's. The emotional tsunami that hit last year felt suffocating. My kids were in unbelievable pain. I was trying to get through the day as a woman who had not been single in nearly 24 years....as a wife who was still trying to figure out what had gone wrong with her marriage...and as a person whose friend had died.
I hurt. Dear Lord in heaven, how I hurt.
And that day people texted and emailed. Told me they were praying. Confessed they had no idea how hard it must be but they were standing with me in their hearts, thoughts, and prayers.
And then there were the flowers and the DVD.
My friend Kristi had been praying for a month about how to love me on Valentine's Day, and the Lord had answered.
She gave me a beautiful bouquet and the Courageous DVD. I have never loved cut flowers so much. I watched Courageous and cried. It was more than a movie. It was an answer to prayer. I had asked the Lord how I'm supposed to be a mom and a dad, and He showed me all He wanted was for me to be courageous, to fight the good fight, to be a good example. If I could instill His character, the kids would come through okay. He is the answer. I simply had to live courageously in Him.
Kristi had no idea about my prayer or my heart...or how hard it can be to be a mom and dad. She only knew her friend was facing Valentine's alone, and she wanted to help. So she prayed and asked the Counselor, the peace Prince...the One who is with me constantly...and she put love into action.
Birthdays are hard, whether it be having a birthday without someone...or finding the way through the birthday of the one lost. When our friend Lonnie died, multiple friends graced his wife with her favorite flowers on her birthday, just like he did. Sure she cried, but it was a good cry.
Anniversaries are hard. I've spent the last two anniversaries doing vulnteer work. It kept me busy all day, and I was so exhausted when I got home I showered and fell asleep.
Some events are hard. Watching WonderGirl be Willie Wonka, the character her dad had always wanted to be, tested my ability to keep breathing. Thank the Lord we were surrounded by a few dozen friends who held my hand, offered a shoulder, and gave a standing ovation for WonderGirl's courage.
The way to be present varies from person to person because the empty places, the hurting spots, vary with each relationship and with each life. It doesn't take a huge presence to make a huge difference, though. Some courage to invade space, a bit of time, and the willingness to see beyond the platitudes hurting people so often dole out will speak love greater than you can imagine.
You may never know how much your presence is needed in a day, how much strength it gives, or how deeply appreciated it is because honestly, for love like that, there are no real words...only heart deep gratitude.
Presence like that isn't the easiest thing to do...but it is a powerful thing to do.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
A Better Answer--Part 7, The Power of Personal Presence 1
It was a horrible day. The kind of day you wish you could do over, take things back, handle everything differently.
My son was angry and screaming.
I was angry and screaming.
He slammed doors.
I slammed doors.
My daughter just tried to stay out of the way of the rage and flying verbal knives.
It was a horrible day.
And in the midst of all the horrible, Mary Kate was coming over to help me paint my son's room. A student of mine a handful of years ago. Now a young woman. Instead of a student, she was now a friend...but how far into horrible will friends go?
How much horrible does one want their friends to see?
So I called.
It's bad.
"I'm okay with bad."
Don't come.
"I'm ten minutes away."
Don't come.
"I will paint in a room by myself."
Don't come.
"You don't even have to speak to me."
Don't come.
"I'm not scared."
When I turned off my phone, she had agreed to turn around and go home.
I knelt on the floor and sobbed so hard I ached.
I don't know how long I sat there. I can't tell you what went through my mind. All I know is when I picked my phone and asked, "Where are you?", she answered, "Two minutes away sitting in the parking lot wondering how angry you'll be when I just show up at your door anyway."
"It's really bad."
"I'm not afraid of really bad."
"It's pretty insane."
"Insanity doesn't scare me."
"If insanity doesn't scare you, I need you."
"I'm on my way."
I sobbed. Talked. Maybe some of it made sense. Probably didn't.
She listened.
She sat on the paint spotted drop cloth and listened. I don't remember her saying a word. I just remember she was there.
She was also there when I spent a damp morning walking through the rain dripping grass pulling up ragweed that had taken over my yard.
The week before I had worked in the yard, cleared some flowerbeds...cried the whole time. My husband and I had done the yardwork together. It was my first year to do it alone, and oh what I would have given for someone to just sit in a lawn chair near me, sip sweet tea, and talk. I didn't expect anyone to get on their knees or sacrifice their backs. I just wanted a presence.
It is amazing the comfort a simple presence can offer when all the heart can see is the empty.
And she chose to be present.
She wandered the yard in boots, pajamas, and a jacket with me while we filled three large outside trashcans with milkweed. We talked some. I don't know what about. I remember what I kept thinking.
I kept thinking of kneeling in my front yard over a flowerbed the week before with tears dripping off my chin and telling God how nice a companion would be...and how He gave me one. It was love defined lived out in my backyard.
It took months for me to be able to think of writing thank you notes, and when I finally decided I was ready, I pulled out the notes, suddenly couldn't breathe, and walked away from the notes. I mentioned this to some friends, and four of them offered to come and sit with me while I wrote the notes, offered to make me sweet tea, address envelopes, write the notes for me if I needed. What did I need? They were in.
I didn't want people to see me trying to sort through the emotions and thoughts of a marriage gone wrong, a husband who didn't want to be here, and a life gone away. I couldn't explain how I could go from anger to sobbing in seconds, and I didn't trust people to understand. I was wrong. I should have let them come. I should have trusted their strength more. I should have...allowed them to comfort me with their presence.
The next day I wrote the thank you notes by myself...and cried the whole time. Even though I didn't allow my friends to be there, their love and support gave me courage for the task...and knowing they would be there was love.
It was WonderBoy's birthday, and I was trying to be courageous, but sometimes courageous needs a friend to stand strong.
I sent a text to my friend John.
"I know birthdays will get easier. I know a time will come when we get through the day without memories, without fighting tears. It isn't today."
He wrote back. "I can't imagine. Focus on getting through today. Tomorrow will be easier."
A few texts and a bit of time later, and WonderBoy was ready to head out for dinner and lasertag.
I texted: "Deep breath. I can rock this."
John responded: "Yes, you can."
And I did.
Yes, this is crazy...I'm not afraid of crazy.
I can't imagine how hard this is...but I'm still believing in you.
I can't fix hell...but I'll walk through it with you.
Wherever you are, whatever you are in...
...I'm not afraid of the pain....
...I'm not afraid of the crazy...
...I'm not afraid of the hard days...
...I'm there. I'm in with you.
That is love.
That is powerful.
My son was angry and screaming.
I was angry and screaming.
He slammed doors.
I slammed doors.
My daughter just tried to stay out of the way of the rage and flying verbal knives.
It was a horrible day.
And in the midst of all the horrible, Mary Kate was coming over to help me paint my son's room. A student of mine a handful of years ago. Now a young woman. Instead of a student, she was now a friend...but how far into horrible will friends go?
How much horrible does one want their friends to see?
So I called.
It's bad.
"I'm okay with bad."
Don't come.
"I'm ten minutes away."
Don't come.
"I will paint in a room by myself."
Don't come.
"You don't even have to speak to me."
Don't come.
"I'm not scared."
When I turned off my phone, she had agreed to turn around and go home.
I knelt on the floor and sobbed so hard I ached.
I don't know how long I sat there. I can't tell you what went through my mind. All I know is when I picked my phone and asked, "Where are you?", she answered, "Two minutes away sitting in the parking lot wondering how angry you'll be when I just show up at your door anyway."
"It's really bad."
"I'm not afraid of really bad."
"It's pretty insane."
"Insanity doesn't scare me."
"If insanity doesn't scare you, I need you."
"I'm on my way."
I sobbed. Talked. Maybe some of it made sense. Probably didn't.
She listened.
She sat on the paint spotted drop cloth and listened. I don't remember her saying a word. I just remember she was there.
She was also there when I spent a damp morning walking through the rain dripping grass pulling up ragweed that had taken over my yard.
The week before I had worked in the yard, cleared some flowerbeds...cried the whole time. My husband and I had done the yardwork together. It was my first year to do it alone, and oh what I would have given for someone to just sit in a lawn chair near me, sip sweet tea, and talk. I didn't expect anyone to get on their knees or sacrifice their backs. I just wanted a presence.
It is amazing the comfort a simple presence can offer when all the heart can see is the empty.
And she chose to be present.
She wandered the yard in boots, pajamas, and a jacket with me while we filled three large outside trashcans with milkweed. We talked some. I don't know what about. I remember what I kept thinking.
I kept thinking of kneeling in my front yard over a flowerbed the week before with tears dripping off my chin and telling God how nice a companion would be...and how He gave me one. It was love defined lived out in my backyard.
. . . . .
It took months for me to be able to think of writing thank you notes, and when I finally decided I was ready, I pulled out the notes, suddenly couldn't breathe, and walked away from the notes. I mentioned this to some friends, and four of them offered to come and sit with me while I wrote the notes, offered to make me sweet tea, address envelopes, write the notes for me if I needed. What did I need? They were in.
I didn't want people to see me trying to sort through the emotions and thoughts of a marriage gone wrong, a husband who didn't want to be here, and a life gone away. I couldn't explain how I could go from anger to sobbing in seconds, and I didn't trust people to understand. I was wrong. I should have let them come. I should have trusted their strength more. I should have...allowed them to comfort me with their presence.
The next day I wrote the thank you notes by myself...and cried the whole time. Even though I didn't allow my friends to be there, their love and support gave me courage for the task...and knowing they would be there was love.
. . . . .
It was WonderBoy's birthday, and I was trying to be courageous, but sometimes courageous needs a friend to stand strong.
I sent a text to my friend John.
"I know birthdays will get easier. I know a time will come when we get through the day without memories, without fighting tears. It isn't today."
He wrote back. "I can't imagine. Focus on getting through today. Tomorrow will be easier."
A few texts and a bit of time later, and WonderBoy was ready to head out for dinner and lasertag.
I texted: "Deep breath. I can rock this."
John responded: "Yes, you can."
And I did.
. . . . .
Yes, this is crazy...I'm not afraid of crazy.
I can't imagine how hard this is...but I'm still believing in you.
I can't fix hell...but I'll walk through it with you.
Wherever you are, whatever you are in...
...I'm not afraid of the pain....
...I'm not afraid of the crazy...
...I'm not afraid of the hard days...
...I'm there. I'm in with you.
That is love.
That is powerful.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
The Missing Answer--When a Baby is Lost
Donna brought up a hard topic in her comment this morning. A friend has lost a baby, and...wow...what do you say to that?
I think there is no pat answer, but I will share what insight I have.
I have a friend who has lost two babies with a son between them. We have talked throughout the years of healing, and I will share what she has said I did well.
First, I cried with her. She called me, told me about the loss, and we cried together.
I think I muttered, "I'm just stunned. I'm so sorry," a dozen times or more. They had tried so long to get pregnant and were so excited...I just cried.
Second, I also sent her a card on her due dates. I know that might odd, but I've learned moms do not forget their due dates, and those days are very hard for a lot moms. Often they feel like they are alone because no one remembers, and by then, they are supposed to be "past it", so they try not to say anything. Society is really cruel with what we expect folks to sweep under the rug. I chose to jerk the rug up.
I wanted her to know I remembered these precious lives that had been part of her. Most folks either forget those dates or try to let them slip by unnoticed. I wrote in the cards if they were the wrong thing I was sorry, but I wanted her to know I remembered these precious gifts. For probably 2 or 3 years after that, I would call or email and say, "I know this would have been a birthday. How are you?" It was so non-glorious. I had NOTHING. BUT, she said the fact I remembered was precious, and I remembered the names they gave the babies.
She thanked me who knows how many times. She said it felt good to know her babies were remembered...that SHE was remembered.
Along those lines, I also checked in at Christmas, especially the first Christmas because this was their first child, and they had been trying for a couple of years to get pregnant. That year they lost their son but two nephews were born well and healthy. Can you imagine how hard Christmas was? I confess I couldn't. BUT, I wanted her to know I knew she must be hurting.
Something I did for another friend was take her to lunch or coffee or something...and coincidentally, our plans always fell at the same times as baby showers for other friends of hers. She knew I understood if she wanted to go to those showers, but she always chose time with me...after all, we already had plans, she wanted to keep her word, and she knew I was really looking forward to that time. A few times, our plans conflicted with first birthday parties. Oddest thing how that happened. It was like they planned those things just to make it so she couldn't go.
I think the key is to let the person know you realize they have lost someone, someone very real.
I hate that garbage about, "Well, at least you never held that baby and learned to love it." I loved my babies from the second I saw those two pink lines. When I was 9 weeks pregnant with my son, I started spotting and cramping. A beating heart has never looked so beautiful as his did on that monitor that day in the ER. Losing a baby is heart-shredding stuff. There is no "at least", and the whole, "God needed that baby more than you..." If I were on a jury and a parent were being tried for violence comitted by him or her against someone thoughtless enough to say that, I would send that parent home without so much as a reprimand. In fact, I might pat the parent on the back and thank her for educating the masses on the result spewing obviously thoughtless comments. Just saying.
I think in some ways losing a baby during pregnancy can be harder because folks don't realize how hard it is. I've never experienced it, but from conversations I've had, the feeling no one understands or gets that YOUR CHILD HAS DIED is horrificly painful.
I think a good guiding principle is to remember that baby was a person, and those who lost that baby lost a valuable life. Treating that life as valuable, demonstrating to those grieving that you know this is a life-shaped hole in their hearts, showing the lost baby is precious and those dealing with the loss are precious...that is where our compassion and comforting abilities has to pour from. That is honestly all we have to give.
And as always, I'm a big proponent of asking what the person needs.
Instead of just saying, "Call me if you need me," you make the call. Say something like, "You were on my mind today, and I am concerned about you. I don't know what I can do, but I know this is incredibly hard and painful, and is there anything I can offer you? Do you just need to talk? You need to cry? You need me to make dinner? Want me to take your other kids so you can just have some rest?"
Honestly, this person may not be able to think of a way you can help because thinking is not a strength when one is grieving. Do a bit of thinking for this person. Toss out some ideas. Give the person a chance to pick something instead of having to expend the energy to create an answer.
And if you aren't close enough for physical presence, ask the same questions via phone or computer. "How are you? I'm praying for you. You've been on my mind. The holidays are coming up. I am concerned about you. I know these can be hard, and some folks feel they just have to push through as happy as possible. Are you alright? Need to talk?"
Sometimes I just say, "I can understand feeling like something is missing...a friend of mine dealt with a lot of anger during the holidays the year she lost her son...I think Mother's Day would be hard..." I'm amazed at how making an effort to empathize opens doors for conversation and offering comfort.
I've also asked frankly, "How do you need me to be on this road with you? I want to be here, and I don't know how. Tell me what I need to be for you."
Speaking from experience, it is crazy amazing how powerful it is when someone tries to step into the pain instead of trying to make you get over it. It is wildly comforting when someone walks right into where you are instead of expecting you to pull it together and get to them.
I think the greatest thing anyone can do is acknoweldge the loss and the pain. A gift from God has been lost. Yes, that baby is in His hands, but a momma and daddy have empty arms. Empty arms hurt. The size of the baby doesn't matter. The loss is still heart-size.
Parents need to know someone else knows that, too.
I think there is no pat answer, but I will share what insight I have.
I have a friend who has lost two babies with a son between them. We have talked throughout the years of healing, and I will share what she has said I did well.
First, I cried with her. She called me, told me about the loss, and we cried together.
I think I muttered, "I'm just stunned. I'm so sorry," a dozen times or more. They had tried so long to get pregnant and were so excited...I just cried.
Second, I also sent her a card on her due dates. I know that might odd, but I've learned moms do not forget their due dates, and those days are very hard for a lot moms. Often they feel like they are alone because no one remembers, and by then, they are supposed to be "past it", so they try not to say anything. Society is really cruel with what we expect folks to sweep under the rug. I chose to jerk the rug up.
I wanted her to know I remembered these precious lives that had been part of her. Most folks either forget those dates or try to let them slip by unnoticed. I wrote in the cards if they were the wrong thing I was sorry, but I wanted her to know I remembered these precious gifts. For probably 2 or 3 years after that, I would call or email and say, "I know this would have been a birthday. How are you?" It was so non-glorious. I had NOTHING. BUT, she said the fact I remembered was precious, and I remembered the names they gave the babies.
She thanked me who knows how many times. She said it felt good to know her babies were remembered...that SHE was remembered.
Along those lines, I also checked in at Christmas, especially the first Christmas because this was their first child, and they had been trying for a couple of years to get pregnant. That year they lost their son but two nephews were born well and healthy. Can you imagine how hard Christmas was? I confess I couldn't. BUT, I wanted her to know I knew she must be hurting.
Something I did for another friend was take her to lunch or coffee or something...and coincidentally, our plans always fell at the same times as baby showers for other friends of hers. She knew I understood if she wanted to go to those showers, but she always chose time with me...after all, we already had plans, she wanted to keep her word, and she knew I was really looking forward to that time. A few times, our plans conflicted with first birthday parties. Oddest thing how that happened. It was like they planned those things just to make it so she couldn't go.
I think the key is to let the person know you realize they have lost someone, someone very real.
I hate that garbage about, "Well, at least you never held that baby and learned to love it." I loved my babies from the second I saw those two pink lines. When I was 9 weeks pregnant with my son, I started spotting and cramping. A beating heart has never looked so beautiful as his did on that monitor that day in the ER. Losing a baby is heart-shredding stuff. There is no "at least", and the whole, "God needed that baby more than you..." If I were on a jury and a parent were being tried for violence comitted by him or her against someone thoughtless enough to say that, I would send that parent home without so much as a reprimand. In fact, I might pat the parent on the back and thank her for educating the masses on the result spewing obviously thoughtless comments. Just saying.
I think in some ways losing a baby during pregnancy can be harder because folks don't realize how hard it is. I've never experienced it, but from conversations I've had, the feeling no one understands or gets that YOUR CHILD HAS DIED is horrificly painful.
I think a good guiding principle is to remember that baby was a person, and those who lost that baby lost a valuable life. Treating that life as valuable, demonstrating to those grieving that you know this is a life-shaped hole in their hearts, showing the lost baby is precious and those dealing with the loss are precious...that is where our compassion and comforting abilities has to pour from. That is honestly all we have to give.
And as always, I'm a big proponent of asking what the person needs.
Instead of just saying, "Call me if you need me," you make the call. Say something like, "You were on my mind today, and I am concerned about you. I don't know what I can do, but I know this is incredibly hard and painful, and is there anything I can offer you? Do you just need to talk? You need to cry? You need me to make dinner? Want me to take your other kids so you can just have some rest?"
Honestly, this person may not be able to think of a way you can help because thinking is not a strength when one is grieving. Do a bit of thinking for this person. Toss out some ideas. Give the person a chance to pick something instead of having to expend the energy to create an answer.
And if you aren't close enough for physical presence, ask the same questions via phone or computer. "How are you? I'm praying for you. You've been on my mind. The holidays are coming up. I am concerned about you. I know these can be hard, and some folks feel they just have to push through as happy as possible. Are you alright? Need to talk?"
Sometimes I just say, "I can understand feeling like something is missing...a friend of mine dealt with a lot of anger during the holidays the year she lost her son...I think Mother's Day would be hard..." I'm amazed at how making an effort to empathize opens doors for conversation and offering comfort.
I've also asked frankly, "How do you need me to be on this road with you? I want to be here, and I don't know how. Tell me what I need to be for you."
Speaking from experience, it is crazy amazing how powerful it is when someone tries to step into the pain instead of trying to make you get over it. It is wildly comforting when someone walks right into where you are instead of expecting you to pull it together and get to them.
I think the greatest thing anyone can do is acknoweldge the loss and the pain. A gift from God has been lost. Yes, that baby is in His hands, but a momma and daddy have empty arms. Empty arms hurt. The size of the baby doesn't matter. The loss is still heart-size.
Parents need to know someone else knows that, too.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Finding Relevance--What is Relevant?
When I finished writing that last post, I sat here awhile and thought about Jesus finding people. I just kept thinking about the woman at the well (story below). She was a Samaritan, which meant the Jews thought she was trash, and she shacked up with a list of men, so her people thought she was trash. This woman who was the community gossip column.
She was so tired of the stares and jeers and cutting comments that she waited until all other women had come to the well and gone home before she snuck up there by herself. I doubt she strolled up there, whistling a happy toon. I think she probably walked with her eyes down, her body rolled in trying to make herself small, trying to be as small a target as possible.
I think she was used to feeling man's hands on her, but she never really knew the feel of love.
I think in many ways she was a shell, numb, empty. She had given the best of her, and now she was simply a person trying to get through the day until...she didn't know what. Things were never going to get better.
Then this Jewish man shows up at the well one day and asks her for a drink, and her world is rocked.
Not only does He not care that she is a Samaritan, He doesn't care that she has lived with multiple men and is living with one now. In fact, He is unconcerned with her past or her present circumstance.
His only concern...she is empty...and He has what it takes to fill her.
So why did He mention her past?
Because He wanted her to know He knew her. He wanted her to know He already knew the worst and darkest. He already knew the ugly...and it had no relevancy at all.
He wanted to silence that voice in the back of her mind that likes to torment with, "If He really knew...If He knew everything...There is no way He could want or love someone with a past like that. He could never love or want someone like you."
He told her right up front, "I already know everything, and I want you anyway. I knew all that when I started walking toward you, and I came here just for you. I know how empty you are. I know how life has drained you. I know what you have given away, and instead of making me turn the other direction, it made me walk right straight to you."
The very thing that made others walk away from her is what made Jesus go find her.
We are strange critters, we humans. We go to doctors when we are sick because they are doctors and we are sick. Their whole purpose is to make sick people well. It is what they want to do, so when we go to them sick, we never expect them to berate us, "You know it is flu season. You didn't have the sense to get a flu shot? Then, honey, you are on your own. I don't have time to deal with idiots who know better than to skip a flu shot and then get sick because they are dumb. I only take care of people who do all the right things--like wash their hands, wear masks, get immunizations, take vitamin C, exercise daily, eat right--and don't even get me started on that number on that scale out there. YOU have obviously not gotten it right or you wouldn't be sick, so no, I have no desire to help you."
Sure. We expect them to mention the blood pressure, the weight, the option of a flu shot, but good grief, they are here to help us. Even if it a lifelong smoker battling lung cancer, we expect the doctor to try to help us.
That is what they do. It is who they are!
All of the other stuff is irrelevant.
THE ONLY RELEVANT FACT IS WE ARE SICK AND IN NEED OF A DOCTOR!
But when the Great Physician shows up, we get ashamed of the fact we are sick because we didn't take the flu shot. We're ashamed of the cancer our lifestyle has caused. We are ashamed of how sick we are, and surely, if He knows...
He knows what we forget.
And when He seeks us out, when He sits down at our place of loneliness, when He walks into that place no one else will go with us, it isn't because He doesn't know us...It's because He does.
......
4 Now he had to go through Samaria. 5 So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6 Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon.
7 When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” 8 (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)
9 The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)
10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”
11 “Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? 12 Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”
13 Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
15 The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”
16 He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.”
17 “I have no husband,” she replied.
Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband. 18 The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”
19 “Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet. 20 Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”
21 “Woman,” Jesus replied, “believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. 22 You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. 24 God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.”
25 The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”
26 Then Jesus declared, “I, the one speaking to you—I am he.”
39 Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I ever did.” 40 So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. 41 And because of his words many more became believers.
42 They said to the woman, “We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world.”
She was so tired of the stares and jeers and cutting comments that she waited until all other women had come to the well and gone home before she snuck up there by herself. I doubt she strolled up there, whistling a happy toon. I think she probably walked with her eyes down, her body rolled in trying to make herself small, trying to be as small a target as possible.
I think she was used to feeling man's hands on her, but she never really knew the feel of love.
I think in many ways she was a shell, numb, empty. She had given the best of her, and now she was simply a person trying to get through the day until...she didn't know what. Things were never going to get better.
Then this Jewish man shows up at the well one day and asks her for a drink, and her world is rocked.
Not only does He not care that she is a Samaritan, He doesn't care that she has lived with multiple men and is living with one now. In fact, He is unconcerned with her past or her present circumstance.
His only concern...she is empty...and He has what it takes to fill her.
So why did He mention her past?
Because He wanted her to know He knew her. He wanted her to know He already knew the worst and darkest. He already knew the ugly...and it had no relevancy at all.
He wanted to silence that voice in the back of her mind that likes to torment with, "If He really knew...If He knew everything...There is no way He could want or love someone with a past like that. He could never love or want someone like you."
He told her right up front, "I already know everything, and I want you anyway. I knew all that when I started walking toward you, and I came here just for you. I know how empty you are. I know how life has drained you. I know what you have given away, and instead of making me turn the other direction, it made me walk right straight to you."
For Jesus, the only thing relevant was her need.
The very thing that made others walk away from her is what made Jesus go find her.
We are strange critters, we humans. We go to doctors when we are sick because they are doctors and we are sick. Their whole purpose is to make sick people well. It is what they want to do, so when we go to them sick, we never expect them to berate us, "You know it is flu season. You didn't have the sense to get a flu shot? Then, honey, you are on your own. I don't have time to deal with idiots who know better than to skip a flu shot and then get sick because they are dumb. I only take care of people who do all the right things--like wash their hands, wear masks, get immunizations, take vitamin C, exercise daily, eat right--and don't even get me started on that number on that scale out there. YOU have obviously not gotten it right or you wouldn't be sick, so no, I have no desire to help you."
Sure. We expect them to mention the blood pressure, the weight, the option of a flu shot, but good grief, they are here to help us. Even if it a lifelong smoker battling lung cancer, we expect the doctor to try to help us.
That is what they do. It is who they are!
All of the other stuff is irrelevant.
THE ONLY RELEVANT FACT IS WE ARE SICK AND IN NEED OF A DOCTOR!
But when the Great Physician shows up, we get ashamed of the fact we are sick because we didn't take the flu shot. We're ashamed of the cancer our lifestyle has caused. We are ashamed of how sick we are, and surely, if He knows...
He knows what we forget.
The only thing relevant is that we are sick...and HE is the cure.
And when He seeks us out, when He sits down at our place of loneliness, when He walks into that place no one else will go with us, it isn't because He doesn't know us...It's because He does.
......
John 4
New International Version (NIV)
Jesus Talks With a Samaritan Woman
1 Now Jesus learned that the Pharisees had heard that he was gaining and baptizing more disciples than John— 2 although in fact it was not Jesus who baptized, but his disciples. 3 So he left Judea and went back once more to Galilee.
7 When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” 8 (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)
9 The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)
10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”
11 “Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? 12 Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”
13 Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
15 The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”
16 He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.”
17 “I have no husband,” she replied.
Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband. 18 The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”
19 “Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet. 20 Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”
21 “Woman,” Jesus replied, “believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. 22 You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. 24 God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.”
25 The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”
26 Then Jesus declared, “I, the one speaking to you—I am he.”
39 Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I ever did.” 40 So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. 41 And because of his words many more became believers.
42 They said to the woman, “We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world.”
Friday, December 14, 2012
Finding Relevance
I have just finished scheduling part eleven--ELEVEN--of a series about grief and helping and support and...there is so much more running through my mind, but there are already ELEVEN posts. Is it really smart to write MORE?!
Seems sort of hyperfocused to me. Not my idea of a topic to read a large audience, and surely God wants to reach a large audience. He wants His word out, right? And yet, every time I sit down--or just try to sleep--this topic about grief and helping others in the midst of loss or trauma sits right in the forefront of my mind...so I keep writing...and I'm wondering...
What am I doing?!
My mind worries.
What if in the next 11 scheduled posts people find me depressing or babble-some? What if readers begin to suspect my closest neighbor has a perpetual cloud over him and has a hard time keeping up with his tail? What if people decide I am wholly NOT undaunted? What if people see no reason to keep reading?
What if people don't find these ELEVEN posts relevant?
What He keeps speaking to me is that numbers are not relevant.
The Lord sometimes feeds multitudes, but it wasn't a crowd standing around a well at happy hour that had His heart. It was one woman who walked up when the sun was hot so no one would see.
When He walked into that graveyard, He wasn't looking for an adoring crowd. He was looking for a man who needed to find sanity in a crazy world.
It wasn't about the numbers.
It was about a lonely woman at a well who had succumbed to public opinion...only to find out Jesus' opinion is the only one that mattered...and a man in a graveyard who had succumbed to the craziness of this world...who found out real sanity is found in Christ alone.
Being found is always relevant.
Seems sort of hyperfocused to me. Not my idea of a topic to read a large audience, and surely God wants to reach a large audience. He wants His word out, right? And yet, every time I sit down--or just try to sleep--this topic about grief and helping others in the midst of loss or trauma sits right in the forefront of my mind...so I keep writing...and I'm wondering...
What am I doing?!
My mind worries.
What if in the next 11 scheduled posts people find me depressing or babble-some? What if readers begin to suspect my closest neighbor has a perpetual cloud over him and has a hard time keeping up with his tail? What if people decide I am wholly NOT undaunted? What if people see no reason to keep reading?
What if people don't find these ELEVEN posts relevant?
What He keeps speaking to me is that numbers are not relevant.
The Lord sometimes feeds multitudes, but it wasn't a crowd standing around a well at happy hour that had His heart. It was one woman who walked up when the sun was hot so no one would see.
When He walked into that graveyard, He wasn't looking for an adoring crowd. He was looking for a man who needed to find sanity in a crazy world.
It wasn't about the numbers.
It was about a lonely woman at a well who had succumbed to public opinion...only to find out Jesus' opinion is the only one that mattered...and a man in a graveyard who had succumbed to the craziness of this world...who found out real sanity is found in Christ alone.
Being found is always relevant.
Friday, December 7, 2012
A Better Answer--Part 5, The Power of Credibility
It was WonderGirl's first time back at youth since her dad had died, and the sermon that night just happened to be about honoring fathers and their being the unquestionable head of the house. For WonderGirl, this was a double whammy. First of all, she no longer had a living father, and second, he had chosen to walk out on his family so he could "be happy". The topic of fathers was not a good one for her, and the idea of honoring a father who abandoned his family...yeah, not really.
When the pastor asked the young people to raise their hands for comments or questions, WonderGirl's hand went up. When he pointed to her, she said she thought honor was earned, and some fathers didn't earn it. The pastor told her he didn't care what the father had done. He should be honored and given authority over the house.
WonderGirl cared.
When she got to the car, she was just about beside herself. She was livid, and and she was hurt. By the time the door closed beside her, she was in tears. She unleashed the entire 30 minute drive home. I listened.
When we got home, she went to her room to work things out with God, and I posted on social media an explanation of what had occurred and asked for prayer.
One of the women took that opportunity to tell me I was coddling my daughter and allowing her to walk in anger, that I was allowing her--even encouraging her--to wallow in anger, and we needed to get over it.
As tactfully and calmly as possible, I informed this person that I didn't know how she could make a statement based on blips on a social media page, that there is a whole story she didn't know. She replied that she didn't know what was happening the rest of the time. She was only going by what she saw online, and based on that, she had given her opinion.
My point exactly.
She didn't know what was going on the rest of the time. She never called. She never emailed personally. She never texted. She never messaged. She made no effort to contact us or be part of our lives in anyway beyond the blips of the media page, but that was enough for her to make judgments--and they were judgments--about our hearts, our feelings, our thoughts, and our healing.
I deleted her from my list of friends online. Then I deleted her from my phone and my email.
And I didn't miss her .
Earlier this week I was talking to a friend about the family, and she was asking me about different aspects of life. Specifically, she asked me about the possibility of my dating or having a relationship, and we talked. It is a personal topic, and she knows it, but I also know her heart. I know it because she has walked the hard road with us. She has listened and loved through the ugliest. She has handled honesty I wouldn't put on anyone else. She has proven herself with phone calls, cards, texts, and coffee. She knows the story because she has walked it with me.
When she shared her thoughts on my lack of dating and lack of relationship, it wasn't someone tossing out a personal opinion based on her own filter. It was my heart friend looking closely at my children and me and being concerned for us.
And I listened.
And today as my mind has rolled her words over and over and sorted through thoughts and feelings that popped up while I went through boxess of family pictures and keepsakes, she is the one I texted.
When it comes to helping people on a personal level, there had better be a relationship.
If there isn't, the person will see the "concerned advice giver" as a judgmental busybody who is invading space where they are not welcome. They will not receive the person or advice as a blessing. Instead, they will reject the person and their words with a curse because the person is not speaking to them or their lives. They are simply giving their filtered opinion based on something having nothing to do with the hurting person.
Trust has not been established. Obviously there is no respect.
Honestly, it comes across as arrogance, and arrogance is never helpful.
A few months ago I served as a victim for an emergency response drill. While we were waiting for the drill to start, a female victim and I struck up conversation. While talking, the fact Rob had died came out, and she asked if I were dating anyone. No--and before I could say anything else, she informed me I shouldn't date anyone till the kids were grown, and they didn't need to lose another parent, and I owe my kids--
My palm shot out in a clear, "Stop right there," fashion.
"Excuse me, but you don't know me. You don't know my family. You obviously have no clue what you are talking about."
"Well, I just think--"
"I don't care what you think. I have no reason to care what you think. And you have no reason to think you have a right to dictate to me how to live or how to care for my kids."
You don't know.
You don't know my family.
You don't know how we live.
You don't know our story.
You don't care enough to learn it.
That means you don't care about us,
so why in the world should I care about your thoughts, feelings, or advice?
If the best you have to offer is opinions from the cheap seats, keep your opinions to yourself. Be helpful by not being hurtful.
If you really want to help on a personal level, you have to get on the level of the person. Invest in the person. Write the texts. Send the cards. Clean the house. Buy the coffee. Listen.
Instead of saying you care, SHOW you care. Otherwise, they won't care at all.
When the pastor asked the young people to raise their hands for comments or questions, WonderGirl's hand went up. When he pointed to her, she said she thought honor was earned, and some fathers didn't earn it. The pastor told her he didn't care what the father had done. He should be honored and given authority over the house.
WonderGirl cared.
When she got to the car, she was just about beside herself. She was livid, and and she was hurt. By the time the door closed beside her, she was in tears. She unleashed the entire 30 minute drive home. I listened.
When we got home, she went to her room to work things out with God, and I posted on social media an explanation of what had occurred and asked for prayer.
One of the women took that opportunity to tell me I was coddling my daughter and allowing her to walk in anger, that I was allowing her--even encouraging her--to wallow in anger, and we needed to get over it.
As tactfully and calmly as possible, I informed this person that I didn't know how she could make a statement based on blips on a social media page, that there is a whole story she didn't know. She replied that she didn't know what was happening the rest of the time. She was only going by what she saw online, and based on that, she had given her opinion.
My point exactly.
She didn't know what was going on the rest of the time. She never called. She never emailed personally. She never texted. She never messaged. She made no effort to contact us or be part of our lives in anyway beyond the blips of the media page, but that was enough for her to make judgments--and they were judgments--about our hearts, our feelings, our thoughts, and our healing.
I deleted her from my list of friends online. Then I deleted her from my phone and my email.
And I didn't miss her .
Earlier this week I was talking to a friend about the family, and she was asking me about different aspects of life. Specifically, she asked me about the possibility of my dating or having a relationship, and we talked. It is a personal topic, and she knows it, but I also know her heart. I know it because she has walked the hard road with us. She has listened and loved through the ugliest. She has handled honesty I wouldn't put on anyone else. She has proven herself with phone calls, cards, texts, and coffee. She knows the story because she has walked it with me.
When she shared her thoughts on my lack of dating and lack of relationship, it wasn't someone tossing out a personal opinion based on her own filter. It was my heart friend looking closely at my children and me and being concerned for us.
And I listened.
And today as my mind has rolled her words over and over and sorted through thoughts and feelings that popped up while I went through boxess of family pictures and keepsakes, she is the one I texted.
When it comes to helping people on a personal level, there had better be a relationship.
If there isn't, the person will see the "concerned advice giver" as a judgmental busybody who is invading space where they are not welcome. They will not receive the person or advice as a blessing. Instead, they will reject the person and their words with a curse because the person is not speaking to them or their lives. They are simply giving their filtered opinion based on something having nothing to do with the hurting person.
Trust has not been established. Obviously there is no respect.
Honestly, it comes across as arrogance, and arrogance is never helpful.
A few months ago I served as a victim for an emergency response drill. While we were waiting for the drill to start, a female victim and I struck up conversation. While talking, the fact Rob had died came out, and she asked if I were dating anyone. No--and before I could say anything else, she informed me I shouldn't date anyone till the kids were grown, and they didn't need to lose another parent, and I owe my kids--
My palm shot out in a clear, "Stop right there," fashion.
"Excuse me, but you don't know me. You don't know my family. You obviously have no clue what you are talking about."
"Well, I just think--"
"I don't care what you think. I have no reason to care what you think. And you have no reason to think you have a right to dictate to me how to live or how to care for my kids."
You don't know.
You don't know my family.
You don't know how we live.
You don't know our story.
You don't care enough to learn it.
That means you don't care about us,
so why in the world should I care about your thoughts, feelings, or advice?
If the best you have to offer is opinions from the cheap seats, keep your opinions to yourself. Be helpful by not being hurtful.
If you really want to help on a personal level, you have to get on the level of the person. Invest in the person. Write the texts. Send the cards. Clean the house. Buy the coffee. Listen.
Instead of saying you care, SHOW you care. Otherwise, they won't care at all.
Monday, March 29, 2010
More Valuable Than Butterflies
Today the children and I joined our co-op buddies at the Botanic Garden's butterfly exhibit. Because we had a large group, we were able to attend a very informative class on butterflies. The leaders explained how the butterflies were shipped from all over the world to be on display here in Texas. They also explained the butterfly life cycle and the importance of specific plants for specific species of butterflies. Certain aspects of butterfly behavior were discussed as well, and we were encouraged to take time to observe those behaviors. Mostly, they suggested we take time to just watch and behold.
I did just that, and what I beheld left me amazed...not just by the butterflies but by the wonder of me.
Butterflies are more than just a pretty face. Generally speaking, they are bugs. They do bug jobs. Specifically, they wander from flower to flower, picking up pollen and dropping it off, being the catalyst for new life. This is no small thing. Take away the butterflies, and a huge number of those flowers we love in the spring would disappear, too. They not only offer up their own beauty. They enable others' beauty as well.
I love that.
However, a butterfly's functionality isn't what made me stop and stare. Without thought, I was captivated by the art of the butterfly, not its part in creation but its creation by a purposeful Creator.
As I looked at the artwork that sat stone still in front of me, I became lost in the meticulous design of each scale on its wings, the blending of colors, and the perfection of its design. My eyes were fixed on this creation whose life span is a blink of an eye compared to mine. What I saw was not a bug or a nifty pollinator. I stared at a masterpiece formed by a God bigger than the universe with the ability to make something so tiny and delicate, and He knew every single scale on that butterfly's wings. He knew where it had been laid. His hands recreated it in the chrysalis, and He smiled when it took flight.
He watched with the same wondrous joy I did, and He was captivated, too.
If the God of all the earth cares that much for a butterfly, how much more me, the masterpiece made in His image, the one He longs to have as a companion? He holds the butterfly in His hand, but He holds me in His heart. Is anything more wondrous than that?
I did just that, and what I beheld left me amazed...not just by the butterflies but by the wonder of me.
Butterflies are more than just a pretty face. Generally speaking, they are bugs. They do bug jobs. Specifically, they wander from flower to flower, picking up pollen and dropping it off, being the catalyst for new life. This is no small thing. Take away the butterflies, and a huge number of those flowers we love in the spring would disappear, too. They not only offer up their own beauty. They enable others' beauty as well.
I love that.
However, a butterfly's functionality isn't what made me stop and stare. Without thought, I was captivated by the art of the butterfly, not its part in creation but its creation by a purposeful Creator.
As I looked at the artwork that sat stone still in front of me, I became lost in the meticulous design of each scale on its wings, the blending of colors, and the perfection of its design. My eyes were fixed on this creation whose life span is a blink of an eye compared to mine. What I saw was not a bug or a nifty pollinator. I stared at a masterpiece formed by a God bigger than the universe with the ability to make something so tiny and delicate, and He knew every single scale on that butterfly's wings. He knew where it had been laid. His hands recreated it in the chrysalis, and He smiled when it took flight.
He watched with the same wondrous joy I did, and He was captivated, too.
If the God of all the earth cares that much for a butterfly, how much more me, the masterpiece made in His image, the one He longs to have as a companion? He holds the butterfly in His hand, but He holds me in His heart. Is anything more wondrous than that?
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Noteworthy People
I love personal emails. The right words at the right time can do wonders for turning a bad day around or adding the icing to an already fabulous day.
As much as I love a good email, I love real mail even more. It is a thrill to open my mailbox and find an envelope with my name written with a human hand. There is wondrous joy in seeing that someone valued me enough to take time to address an envelope and jot down love on paper.
In the world we live in, love often takes a backseat and value gets hidden under to do lists. It takes a deliberate choice of action to make people the priority they need to be.
I choose to live deliberately.
During a lull in the day, I amass my supplies within my reach on the couch. Boxes with event labels on the end, pen, and home organizer notebook. My laptop sits closed on the floor awaiting its turn.
Beside me is my cup of chocolate milk or coffee, and before me, the TV glows soft with a heart-filled movie or TV show. The story of wounds too real becoming hearts restored plays on as I do my share to contribute to heart health.
I flip open the book to the blue sheets under the tab "Cards and Dates". Four columns per page. Each column a month of names, birthdays and anniversaries.
"Lord, show me the right card and give me the right words."
I open the boxes I have bought in bulk at the store--the only way I can find time or budget to supply so many cards.
I begin with next month's list. Three anniversaries. I read the cards sometimes more than once until I know which card goes with which couple. I write the name on the front and the date in the upper right hand corner--where it is easily covered by a stamp.
Next, I look through the names for children's birthdays. Then I find cards for the men (because there are always fewer of those). Finally, each lady on my list is given a card.
When I am done, three months of cards lay before me with name and date written on the front and a card tucked loosely inside.
Then I pull out my gold folder with the stationary musts. The stamps will be pulled out each week as needed, but for now, they stay snug and secure in their pocket. One sheet of return address labels is emptied as each envelope receives its own.
Finally, as the TV drones on, and I give it only fleeting attention, I open my laptop and pull up my contacts. Quickly, I place the envelopes in alphabetical order and start writing in names.
When the stack is finished, I reorder them according to dates, so they are easily pulled each week, stamped, and mailed. Before closing them, though, I pull out the seemingly impersonal card, pray for words of encouragement and wisdom, and write my heart of celebration, gratitude, and joy for the one who will find the joy of her/his name in human writing. Sometimes I write a prayer, sometimes a word of encouragement. Always something heartfelt.
It is my way of touching heart when hands are too far apart and letting someone know that in my life, they are noteworthy.
As much as I love a good email, I love real mail even more. It is a thrill to open my mailbox and find an envelope with my name written with a human hand. There is wondrous joy in seeing that someone valued me enough to take time to address an envelope and jot down love on paper.
In the world we live in, love often takes a backseat and value gets hidden under to do lists. It takes a deliberate choice of action to make people the priority they need to be.
I choose to live deliberately.
During a lull in the day, I amass my supplies within my reach on the couch. Boxes with event labels on the end, pen, and home organizer notebook. My laptop sits closed on the floor awaiting its turn.
Beside me is my cup of chocolate milk or coffee, and before me, the TV glows soft with a heart-filled movie or TV show. The story of wounds too real becoming hearts restored plays on as I do my share to contribute to heart health.
I flip open the book to the blue sheets under the tab "Cards and Dates". Four columns per page. Each column a month of names, birthdays and anniversaries.
"Lord, show me the right card and give me the right words."
I open the boxes I have bought in bulk at the store--the only way I can find time or budget to supply so many cards.
I begin with next month's list. Three anniversaries. I read the cards sometimes more than once until I know which card goes with which couple. I write the name on the front and the date in the upper right hand corner--where it is easily covered by a stamp.
Next, I look through the names for children's birthdays. Then I find cards for the men (because there are always fewer of those). Finally, each lady on my list is given a card.
When I am done, three months of cards lay before me with name and date written on the front and a card tucked loosely inside.
Then I pull out my gold folder with the stationary musts. The stamps will be pulled out each week as needed, but for now, they stay snug and secure in their pocket. One sheet of return address labels is emptied as each envelope receives its own.
Finally, as the TV drones on, and I give it only fleeting attention, I open my laptop and pull up my contacts. Quickly, I place the envelopes in alphabetical order and start writing in names.
When the stack is finished, I reorder them according to dates, so they are easily pulled each week, stamped, and mailed. Before closing them, though, I pull out the seemingly impersonal card, pray for words of encouragement and wisdom, and write my heart of celebration, gratitude, and joy for the one who will find the joy of her/his name in human writing. Sometimes I write a prayer, sometimes a word of encouragement. Always something heartfelt.
It is my way of touching heart when hands are too far apart and letting someone know that in my life, they are noteworthy.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
My Birthday
I lied. I admit it. And it wasn't even a "sort of lie". This was a big fat "I know I'm lying" lie.
My family asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I told them I really didnt' know. But I did. I not only knew what I wanted, I wanted it a lot. However, I couldn't tell them that, so I lied.
However, now, I have to tell you the whole truth about it because--no lie--it was amazing.
The week after Christmas I turned 41. Note the candles. Four blue and one green. Great idea by the Man of my Dreams. Kept him from going through all the matches we owned, and the fire department didn't have to come check out the glow over the horizon, and I didn't have to hyperventilate trying to blow them all out.
In the past my birthday hasn't been a big deal. It comes a week after Christmas and right after New Year's. Folks are still trying to convince themselves to finish off the turkey leftovers and wondering why they stayed up to watch that crazy ball in New York. Really, it has just never been that important.
Until this year.
And that is what makes it so very important.
When I was growing up, there was a person of significance in my life that told me multiple times over several years that they* wished I had never born, that their life would be easier without me, and in fact, the world would be a better place if I weren’t in it.
I now know statements such as that are called “word curses” because they steal, kill, and destroy. They steal identities, kill dream, and destroy destinies. They are lies from the pit of hell, and they can only be overcome with the Truth of God. Thankfully, over the years, I have come to know the Truth.
The Truth is I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Before the beginning of time, the Lord already had plans for me. His plans for me are always good, and they entail hope and a future. He plans to do me good and not harm. I am here, not by some cosmic freak accident, but because the God of the universe deemed it so, because He has things planned for me to do. According to His Word, all He made is good, and as one of His creations, I am good. He delights over me with singing. His love for me is beyond my wildest dreams, and His greatest desire is unity with me.
I know this. This is the Truth.
And yet, when the bravado drops, honestly digs deep, and I answer the question of what I really want, I sheepishly confess I want to know the world is better because I’m here. I want to know I am sharing the important part of me, the God part of me, the only part of me that matters. I want to know my being here makes a difference because of the difference He has made in me. It isn’t enough to simply take up space and do no harm. I want to know whatever realm I enter is better when I leave than it was when I arrived. I want to know people’s lives are richer because He put me in them…because He is in mine.
The fact is I have a pretty ordinary life. I am a wife and mom, which I love. I don’t take big trips. I don’t do glamorous things. When I write the family Christmas letter, I have a hard time filling up a paragraph about my life. When people ask what I’ve been doing, there really isn’t much to say. As I said, a pretty ordinary life. Can an ordinary life really mean that much? I wanted to know.
How does one ask for such a gift?
Does one dare? Is that shallow? Is it immature? Is it…dumb? Unsure, I lied and told my family I didn’t really want anything in particular, and I told God my heart.
A few months ago, my friend Rhonda Harkin told me the Lord always gives her a gift on her biological birthday and her spiritual birthday. I had been asking for a promise for the year to come for several years, but I had not asked for a birthday present…until this year.
I try to never put parameters on God’s gifts. I miss things when I do that. Sometimes I’m so busy looking for one thing that I don’t see the wonderful gift He set before me. This year, I was brave in that I told Him I wanted a Word, the kind of Word that rips off lies that dangles over my life and affects me in ways I don’t always realize. I wanted the kind of Word that I could go back for the rest of my life and say, “This is what God said.” I wanted a Word declaring destiny, something that screamed, “This is how amazing I declare my daughter to be,” and I wanted to not miss it.
But, knowing God is infinitely more wise and amazing than I can imagine, I left it up to Him.
But…in my heart of hearts, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be utterly cool to get a mailbox full of cards from people telling me I make a difference to them and their lives are better because of me?” Really, though, how likely was that to happen?
On the morning of my birthday, I got up before the rest of the house and enjoyed my quiet time. I waited to see if God had anything big to say. Nothing. And yet, I felt He had a smug smile and a sense of anticipation, like He had something planned and was just waiting to yell, “Surprise!”
When my family got up, they made me breakfast, gave me pens and books. The perfect gifts for me. But what struck me were the cards.
Each one had given me a card, and in each card were words that said, “Mom, my life is amazing because you are in it.” “My wife, my world is better because of you.” “Mom, you are so important to me.”
Words I had requested in secret lay before me. I read them allowed, letting them soak the atmosphere, letting them soak my heart. The Lord had heard my heart’s request, and He had given me these gifts. I sat amazed.
The Man of my Dreams let me know that there was another gift, but it was coming in the mail, so I had to wait. I didn’t care. I had what I had asked for. It hadn’t been the mailbox full of cards, but it had been cards full of the exact words I had said I wanted to hear. And I was so thankful.
A few hours later, I sat in the same chair with another box in my hands. Although it was brightly wrapped, it was obviously a shirt box. However, when I shook it, it didn’t sound like clothes. In fact, I had no idea what it could be.
I carefully pulled the tape, unwrapped the box, and folded the paper. Then I lifted the top.
My breath caught.
The box was filled with envelopes. In each envelope was a birthday card.
At first I looked at each envelope, the writing, the return address. Friends for decades and friends for only a few months. Cards from all over the United States.
A box full of them.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Back in November, I borrowed your computer and got email addresses from your sent items list. I emailed everyone, told them about your birthday, and asked them to send a card. I had them send it to (our neighbor’s) so you wouldn’t know. I feel bad because it really isn’t anything I got you, but I hope you like it.”
How does one say, “It is perfect,” and not sound cliché?
But it was. It was the exact thing I wanted, the thing I had no words…or courage…to ask for. There it sat in my hands.
For a full half hour or more, I opened envelope after envelope. Again, I saw my words lying before me. “My life is richer because you are in it…You have made such a difference to me…The world is a better place because you are here.”
There were a variety of material gifts tucked in as well, and I liked them, but they weren’t the real gift.
A few hours later, a friend stood at the door. She held out a card and a gift, but I knew. She was the gift. Her time. Her thoughtfulness. Her sharing my day. Everything she said by what she did. That was the gift.
That night I sat in the quiet of my study with a box of cards in front of me. The perfect gift. And yet, I knew that wasn’t the real gift. The real gift was the people who had filled the box, the ones who fill my heart.
Pretty amazing, isn’t it?
Wondering about the gift the Lord gave me or what He said? He said I’m so important that even before I knew what I really wanted, He was already putting it together. In fact, before Rhonda had told me about her birthday gifts, He was already working on mine.
I think the greatest gift He gives me, other than salvation, is His ongoing expression of love. I am in awe of His intimate observations of me, not as an omniscient God, but as a devoted friend and Lover. I am forever amazed at the details He makes into important things...the ways He makes me important.
He overwhelms me.
I am left in awe of how important my ordinary life is to such an extraordinary God. And knowing that makes all the difference...in everybody's life.
That's the Truth.
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2010
(For all those who were part of this amazing gift, please know you have made a difference in my life, and I am so very thankful for each of you. The cards, goodies, and kind words are so deeply appreciated, but YOU are the real gift. I love you.)
*Please note, I do know I am talking about one person and am aware that “they” is a plural pronoun. I have chosen to be gender unspecific on purpose.
My family asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I told them I really didnt' know. But I did. I not only knew what I wanted, I wanted it a lot. However, I couldn't tell them that, so I lied.
However, now, I have to tell you the whole truth about it because--no lie--it was amazing.
The week after Christmas I turned 41. Note the candles. Four blue and one green. Great idea by the Man of my Dreams. Kept him from going through all the matches we owned, and the fire department didn't have to come check out the glow over the horizon, and I didn't have to hyperventilate trying to blow them all out.
In the past my birthday hasn't been a big deal. It comes a week after Christmas and right after New Year's. Folks are still trying to convince themselves to finish off the turkey leftovers and wondering why they stayed up to watch that crazy ball in New York. Really, it has just never been that important.
Until this year.
And that is what makes it so very important.
When I was growing up, there was a person of significance in my life that told me multiple times over several years that they* wished I had never born, that their life would be easier without me, and in fact, the world would be a better place if I weren’t in it.
I now know statements such as that are called “word curses” because they steal, kill, and destroy. They steal identities, kill dream, and destroy destinies. They are lies from the pit of hell, and they can only be overcome with the Truth of God. Thankfully, over the years, I have come to know the Truth.
The Truth is I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Before the beginning of time, the Lord already had plans for me. His plans for me are always good, and they entail hope and a future. He plans to do me good and not harm. I am here, not by some cosmic freak accident, but because the God of the universe deemed it so, because He has things planned for me to do. According to His Word, all He made is good, and as one of His creations, I am good. He delights over me with singing. His love for me is beyond my wildest dreams, and His greatest desire is unity with me.
I know this. This is the Truth.
And yet, when the bravado drops, honestly digs deep, and I answer the question of what I really want, I sheepishly confess I want to know the world is better because I’m here. I want to know I am sharing the important part of me, the God part of me, the only part of me that matters. I want to know my being here makes a difference because of the difference He has made in me. It isn’t enough to simply take up space and do no harm. I want to know whatever realm I enter is better when I leave than it was when I arrived. I want to know people’s lives are richer because He put me in them…because He is in mine.
The fact is I have a pretty ordinary life. I am a wife and mom, which I love. I don’t take big trips. I don’t do glamorous things. When I write the family Christmas letter, I have a hard time filling up a paragraph about my life. When people ask what I’ve been doing, there really isn’t much to say. As I said, a pretty ordinary life. Can an ordinary life really mean that much? I wanted to know.
How does one ask for such a gift?
Does one dare? Is that shallow? Is it immature? Is it…dumb? Unsure, I lied and told my family I didn’t really want anything in particular, and I told God my heart.
A few months ago, my friend Rhonda Harkin told me the Lord always gives her a gift on her biological birthday and her spiritual birthday. I had been asking for a promise for the year to come for several years, but I had not asked for a birthday present…until this year.
I try to never put parameters on God’s gifts. I miss things when I do that. Sometimes I’m so busy looking for one thing that I don’t see the wonderful gift He set before me. This year, I was brave in that I told Him I wanted a Word, the kind of Word that rips off lies that dangles over my life and affects me in ways I don’t always realize. I wanted the kind of Word that I could go back for the rest of my life and say, “This is what God said.” I wanted a Word declaring destiny, something that screamed, “This is how amazing I declare my daughter to be,” and I wanted to not miss it.
But, knowing God is infinitely more wise and amazing than I can imagine, I left it up to Him.
But…in my heart of hearts, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be utterly cool to get a mailbox full of cards from people telling me I make a difference to them and their lives are better because of me?” Really, though, how likely was that to happen?
On the morning of my birthday, I got up before the rest of the house and enjoyed my quiet time. I waited to see if God had anything big to say. Nothing. And yet, I felt He had a smug smile and a sense of anticipation, like He had something planned and was just waiting to yell, “Surprise!”
When my family got up, they made me breakfast, gave me pens and books. The perfect gifts for me. But what struck me were the cards.
Each one had given me a card, and in each card were words that said, “Mom, my life is amazing because you are in it.” “My wife, my world is better because of you.” “Mom, you are so important to me.”
Words I had requested in secret lay before me. I read them allowed, letting them soak the atmosphere, letting them soak my heart. The Lord had heard my heart’s request, and He had given me these gifts. I sat amazed.
The Man of my Dreams let me know that there was another gift, but it was coming in the mail, so I had to wait. I didn’t care. I had what I had asked for. It hadn’t been the mailbox full of cards, but it had been cards full of the exact words I had said I wanted to hear. And I was so thankful.
A few hours later, I sat in the same chair with another box in my hands. Although it was brightly wrapped, it was obviously a shirt box. However, when I shook it, it didn’t sound like clothes. In fact, I had no idea what it could be.
I carefully pulled the tape, unwrapped the box, and folded the paper. Then I lifted the top.
My breath caught.
The box was filled with envelopes. In each envelope was a birthday card.
At first I looked at each envelope, the writing, the return address. Friends for decades and friends for only a few months. Cards from all over the United States.
A box full of them.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Back in November, I borrowed your computer and got email addresses from your sent items list. I emailed everyone, told them about your birthday, and asked them to send a card. I had them send it to (our neighbor’s) so you wouldn’t know. I feel bad because it really isn’t anything I got you, but I hope you like it.”
How does one say, “It is perfect,” and not sound cliché?
But it was. It was the exact thing I wanted, the thing I had no words…or courage…to ask for. There it sat in my hands.
For a full half hour or more, I opened envelope after envelope. Again, I saw my words lying before me. “My life is richer because you are in it…You have made such a difference to me…The world is a better place because you are here.”
There were a variety of material gifts tucked in as well, and I liked them, but they weren’t the real gift.
A few hours later, a friend stood at the door. She held out a card and a gift, but I knew. She was the gift. Her time. Her thoughtfulness. Her sharing my day. Everything she said by what she did. That was the gift.
That night I sat in the quiet of my study with a box of cards in front of me. The perfect gift. And yet, I knew that wasn’t the real gift. The real gift was the people who had filled the box, the ones who fill my heart.
Pretty amazing, isn’t it?
Wondering about the gift the Lord gave me or what He said? He said I’m so important that even before I knew what I really wanted, He was already putting it together. In fact, before Rhonda had told me about her birthday gifts, He was already working on mine.
I think the greatest gift He gives me, other than salvation, is His ongoing expression of love. I am in awe of His intimate observations of me, not as an omniscient God, but as a devoted friend and Lover. I am forever amazed at the details He makes into important things...the ways He makes me important.
He overwhelms me.
I am left in awe of how important my ordinary life is to such an extraordinary God. And knowing that makes all the difference...in everybody's life.
That's the Truth.
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2010
(For all those who were part of this amazing gift, please know you have made a difference in my life, and I am so very thankful for each of you. The cards, goodies, and kind words are so deeply appreciated, but YOU are the real gift. I love you.)
*Please note, I do know I am talking about one person and am aware that “they” is a plural pronoun. I have chosen to be gender unspecific on purpose.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
The Value of Nurturing
Cindy left a comment on "Be Still and Know" that leads right into where I was heading next, so I am going to post it here.
Cindy said, "What a true statement, Jerri! I've recently been impressed with the need to have more women friends, and to nurture the friendships I already have. We women need each other!"
Yes, we do.
"The need to...nurture the friendships I already have."
As my daddy used to say, "Now, that'll preach."
Instead of talking about the importance of what Cindy said, I want to talk about the application of it, and I want you to talk back.
A few years ago, a friend of mine went creative for her three best friends' Christmas gifts. She went completely out of the box. She took one friend to an ice sculpture display and a lovely restaurant, one her friend loved but could not often afford. Another friend was taken to a ballet. I was taken to a Michael W. Smith concert. I have no idea how much those gifts cost, but I can tell you for one evening I felt like royalty sitting in my evening dress listening to amazing music in a beautiful music hall. Now, Vicki says she picked those three things because she wanted to go but didn't want to go alone, and her husband wasn't interested. If that is true, his loss was our gain, and I thank the Lord for her generous selfishness.
I confess, this is not an area where I have excelled, but I am working on it. I'll toss out some things I do and have planned for the future.
1. Cards. I used to be really good at sending cards, but then I had children. I have a friend who always has cards to us on time, and I asked how she did it. She said she takes $20 to the dollar store along with her list for three or four months and buys cards for everyone there, goes home and puts the addresses on them, and finishes signing them the third week of the month before they are to be sent out.
I made my easier.
I went to Family Christian store when they had a "buy one get one free" sale, and I bought 8 boxes of cards. On the third week of the month, I do the cards for the next month (or sometimes I do several months at once depending on how many cards I need to send and the time I have right then). Where the stamp goes, I put the latest date possible to send them. I used to put the date they were due, but that only led to procrastination. On Sunday night, I pull out my cards, pick the cards to send that week, and stick a stamp on them. They go in the mail on Monday.
2. Notes. I used to do this a lot, but again, then I had children. I used to pick two or three people from my address book and drop a note to them just telling them I appreciate them and speaking a blessing over them.
3. Coffee with a friend. Not always easy to plan but usually worth it.
4. Cookie exchange. I have never hosted this, but I have attended, and I want to host one. Lots of ladies bring two dozen cookies with copies of the recipe and take two dozen cookies home with them. Lots of eating, singing, and talking involved.
5. Cookie bake. I have hosted this, and it was a hit. I was actually shocked at how much of a hit it was, and I was surprised by the number of women who were unhappy they weren't invited. What I did was simple. Everyone sends out an ingredients list, so we all bring what we need (including utensils, storage containers, and ingredients). We then share our recipes, bake together, and spend the day in a "cookie bee". We talk. We laugh. We go home with tons of cookies for the holidays.
Those are a few things I've done and want to do. Now, your turn. What do you do to nurture your friendships? Tell us.
I know there is some unspoken rule on how much one is supposed to leave on comments. Ditch the rule. It's more of a guideline anyway. Make your comment as long as you need to or email me personally. uniquelyb (at) tx.rr.com I'm going to make a post of all the comments, so share abundantly!
Cindy said, "What a true statement, Jerri! I've recently been impressed with the need to have more women friends, and to nurture the friendships I already have. We women need each other!"
Yes, we do.
"The need to...nurture the friendships I already have."
As my daddy used to say, "Now, that'll preach."
Instead of talking about the importance of what Cindy said, I want to talk about the application of it, and I want you to talk back.
A few years ago, a friend of mine went creative for her three best friends' Christmas gifts. She went completely out of the box. She took one friend to an ice sculpture display and a lovely restaurant, one her friend loved but could not often afford. Another friend was taken to a ballet. I was taken to a Michael W. Smith concert. I have no idea how much those gifts cost, but I can tell you for one evening I felt like royalty sitting in my evening dress listening to amazing music in a beautiful music hall. Now, Vicki says she picked those three things because she wanted to go but didn't want to go alone, and her husband wasn't interested. If that is true, his loss was our gain, and I thank the Lord for her generous selfishness.
I confess, this is not an area where I have excelled, but I am working on it. I'll toss out some things I do and have planned for the future.
1. Cards. I used to be really good at sending cards, but then I had children. I have a friend who always has cards to us on time, and I asked how she did it. She said she takes $20 to the dollar store along with her list for three or four months and buys cards for everyone there, goes home and puts the addresses on them, and finishes signing them the third week of the month before they are to be sent out.
I made my easier.
I went to Family Christian store when they had a "buy one get one free" sale, and I bought 8 boxes of cards. On the third week of the month, I do the cards for the next month (or sometimes I do several months at once depending on how many cards I need to send and the time I have right then). Where the stamp goes, I put the latest date possible to send them. I used to put the date they were due, but that only led to procrastination. On Sunday night, I pull out my cards, pick the cards to send that week, and stick a stamp on them. They go in the mail on Monday.
2. Notes. I used to do this a lot, but again, then I had children. I used to pick two or three people from my address book and drop a note to them just telling them I appreciate them and speaking a blessing over them.
3. Coffee with a friend. Not always easy to plan but usually worth it.
4. Cookie exchange. I have never hosted this, but I have attended, and I want to host one. Lots of ladies bring two dozen cookies with copies of the recipe and take two dozen cookies home with them. Lots of eating, singing, and talking involved.
5. Cookie bake. I have hosted this, and it was a hit. I was actually shocked at how much of a hit it was, and I was surprised by the number of women who were unhappy they weren't invited. What I did was simple. Everyone sends out an ingredients list, so we all bring what we need (including utensils, storage containers, and ingredients). We then share our recipes, bake together, and spend the day in a "cookie bee". We talk. We laugh. We go home with tons of cookies for the holidays.
Those are a few things I've done and want to do. Now, your turn. What do you do to nurture your friendships? Tell us.
I know there is some unspoken rule on how much one is supposed to leave on comments. Ditch the rule. It's more of a guideline anyway. Make your comment as long as you need to or email me personally. uniquelyb (at) tx.rr.com I'm going to make a post of all the comments, so share abundantly!
Friday, May 9, 2008
Who Gets to be Right?
For the last six weeks or so I've been under a cloud. Actually, it's been more than a cloud. It's been a pretty steady downpour of criticism and rejection from lots of ample sized clouds that seem to never move off my radar.
I shared some of the frustrations of my homeschool loop, but that isn't all. I've struggled with some prolific criticism of my writing from a one particular person, and there have been a few potshots that have left me with some flesh wounds. :-)
I have chosen not to say anything because really, there is nothing to say. There is nothing anyone could say to make me feel better. It isn't about those people, and I know that. In a recent post to said homeschool group, I stated that others only affect us where we have a wound or something in need of healing.
I've written about healing before, and I believe it is God's desire to heal all sickness, whether that be physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual. If that is true, then I have to wonder why healing doesn't happen. One answer I have found to be true is that we sometimes do not receive the healing offered us.
I have not received the healing offered me, and thus, I have spent weeks sick at heart.
One of my recent posts asked the difference between judging and opinions and whose opinion gets to be right? A lot of people seem to have the opinion that I talk just to hear my head rattle. They feel I have nothing of importance to say, and they believe I simply talk so I can have the last word. Some feel I am too verbose, too descriptive, and too flowery in my writing. Simply put, those folks do not think too highly of me, and they don't seem to think I have much-if anything-to contribute. That is their opinion.
Their opinions hurt.
There. I said it. I don't like criticism. I don't like conflict. I don't like being told I'm unimportant and have no value. I don't like hearing people tell me that my gifts aren't treasured or worthy of value.
However, those people are entitled to their opinions, and their opinions of me aren't very high.
On the other hand, I know so many of you, not just on this blog but through personal emails and friendships, and you have your opinions, too. You've shared them through birthday cards, sympathy cards, emails, your own blog entries, and phone calls. Your opinion is that my writing makes sense, shares Truth, and impacts people. Your opinion is my gifts are treasures with great value to make a difference. You have extremely high opinions of me.
So if their low opinions hurt so much, why don't your high opinions heal so much?
Because sometimes I don't have the sense to embrace the healing held out to me. Sometimes I don't have the sense to recognize the most valuable opinions come from the people who are most valuable to me--the ones who hold my heart tenderly and speak Truth with kindness in their eyes even when I don't want to hear it, the ones that laugh with me, cry with me, listen to stories about my children and ooh and aah at the right times. The valuable people are the ones I can be real with, and they find it endearing.
So, my beloved ones, I am so sorry I did not receive the healing you've held out so faithfully. I have thankfully come to my senses. Granted, it's still raining, and there will always be a cloud around, but I think back to splashing through the puddles rather than sitting in them.
Thank you for being the opinionated bunch you are. I think you are wonderful. Granted, it's only my opinion, but I'm convinced I'm right.
I shared some of the frustrations of my homeschool loop, but that isn't all. I've struggled with some prolific criticism of my writing from a one particular person, and there have been a few potshots that have left me with some flesh wounds. :-)
I have chosen not to say anything because really, there is nothing to say. There is nothing anyone could say to make me feel better. It isn't about those people, and I know that. In a recent post to said homeschool group, I stated that others only affect us where we have a wound or something in need of healing.
I've written about healing before, and I believe it is God's desire to heal all sickness, whether that be physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual. If that is true, then I have to wonder why healing doesn't happen. One answer I have found to be true is that we sometimes do not receive the healing offered us.
I have not received the healing offered me, and thus, I have spent weeks sick at heart.
One of my recent posts asked the difference between judging and opinions and whose opinion gets to be right? A lot of people seem to have the opinion that I talk just to hear my head rattle. They feel I have nothing of importance to say, and they believe I simply talk so I can have the last word. Some feel I am too verbose, too descriptive, and too flowery in my writing. Simply put, those folks do not think too highly of me, and they don't seem to think I have much-if anything-to contribute. That is their opinion.
Their opinions hurt.
There. I said it. I don't like criticism. I don't like conflict. I don't like being told I'm unimportant and have no value. I don't like hearing people tell me that my gifts aren't treasured or worthy of value.
However, those people are entitled to their opinions, and their opinions of me aren't very high.
On the other hand, I know so many of you, not just on this blog but through personal emails and friendships, and you have your opinions, too. You've shared them through birthday cards, sympathy cards, emails, your own blog entries, and phone calls. Your opinion is that my writing makes sense, shares Truth, and impacts people. Your opinion is my gifts are treasures with great value to make a difference. You have extremely high opinions of me.
So if their low opinions hurt so much, why don't your high opinions heal so much?
Because sometimes I don't have the sense to embrace the healing held out to me. Sometimes I don't have the sense to recognize the most valuable opinions come from the people who are most valuable to me--the ones who hold my heart tenderly and speak Truth with kindness in their eyes even when I don't want to hear it, the ones that laugh with me, cry with me, listen to stories about my children and ooh and aah at the right times. The valuable people are the ones I can be real with, and they find it endearing.
So, my beloved ones, I am so sorry I did not receive the healing you've held out so faithfully. I have thankfully come to my senses. Granted, it's still raining, and there will always be a cloud around, but I think back to splashing through the puddles rather than sitting in them.
Thank you for being the opinionated bunch you are. I think you are wonderful. Granted, it's only my opinion, but I'm convinced I'm right.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Beautiful Woman Part 5--Priceless
Priceless
Robin's comment on Beautiful Women Part 4 was where I was going next, and she is already there.
Too often we think value is what we do. We have to perform well. Right now, I am in bed with a stomach virus. I have spent much of the last 48 hours in a flat position. My husband has had to do the dishes. We've eaten out two nights in a row. My son's birthday was yesterday and instead of taking him out to the egg hunt (a touchy topic but not the focus here), to dinner for a fancy dessert, or out for a picnic, I spent the day lying down, trying to keep water down.
My performance stunk. Does that mean I have no value? Sounds stupid, BUT how many of you reading this look at your house and think about how dirty it is? How many of you look at your children and the ways you were a bad mom yesterday? How many look at the way you've not been the wife you want to be? How many of you look in the mirror and see a woman who has not worked out well, made the right menus, or kept to a diet? If any of those fit you, you are focusing on performance.
Now, don't get me wrong. I believe in being a good steward, and the Holy Spirit may be convicting you in those areas, but more often than not, the voice we hear is not about the Spirit. The voice we hear sounds like this:
"You need to get your act together and keep this house clean. So-and-so always has a clean house. You need to get your temper under control. You need to be more patient. If you hadn't gotten pregnant without being married or if you hadn't married such a jerk, your children would be so much better off. You created this huge mess, and your children are doomed with all kinds of curses all because you sinned. You better do something about your love life or your husband is going to want another woman. You need to do this for him or that for him. You need to be more understanding and less demanding. If you were self-controlled you wouldn't be fat (how many women look in the mirror and call themselves "overweight"? Most women use that word for others but throw the word "fat" at themselves)."
The enemy uses this stuff so he can show you all the things you aren't. Let's throw it all in the pot and boil it down to the bare facts: You aren't perfect.
Wow.
Did you know that already? So this isn't new for you, right? Just checking.
The Bible says while we were sinners God sent His Son to die for us. Because of our imperfection, Christ died for us. So, our perfection isn't what makes us valuable.
So what does?
Dictionary.com defines value as:
Robin's comment on Beautiful Women Part 4 was where I was going next, and she is already there.
Too often we think value is what we do. We have to perform well. Right now, I am in bed with a stomach virus. I have spent much of the last 48 hours in a flat position. My husband has had to do the dishes. We've eaten out two nights in a row. My son's birthday was yesterday and instead of taking him out to the egg hunt (a touchy topic but not the focus here), to dinner for a fancy dessert, or out for a picnic, I spent the day lying down, trying to keep water down.
My performance stunk. Does that mean I have no value? Sounds stupid, BUT how many of you reading this look at your house and think about how dirty it is? How many of you look at your children and the ways you were a bad mom yesterday? How many look at the way you've not been the wife you want to be? How many of you look in the mirror and see a woman who has not worked out well, made the right menus, or kept to a diet? If any of those fit you, you are focusing on performance.
Now, don't get me wrong. I believe in being a good steward, and the Holy Spirit may be convicting you in those areas, but more often than not, the voice we hear is not about the Spirit. The voice we hear sounds like this:
"You need to get your act together and keep this house clean. So-and-so always has a clean house. You need to get your temper under control. You need to be more patient. If you hadn't gotten pregnant without being married or if you hadn't married such a jerk, your children would be so much better off. You created this huge mess, and your children are doomed with all kinds of curses all because you sinned. You better do something about your love life or your husband is going to want another woman. You need to do this for him or that for him. You need to be more understanding and less demanding. If you were self-controlled you wouldn't be fat (how many women look in the mirror and call themselves "overweight"? Most women use that word for others but throw the word "fat" at themselves)."
The enemy uses this stuff so he can show you all the things you aren't. Let's throw it all in the pot and boil it down to the bare facts: You aren't perfect.
Wow.
Did you know that already? So this isn't new for you, right? Just checking.
The Bible says while we were sinners God sent His Son to die for us. Because of our imperfection, Christ died for us. So, our perfection isn't what makes us valuable.
So what does?
Dictionary.com defines value as:
1. relative worth, merit, or importance: the value of a college education; the value of a queen in chess.
2. the worth of something in terms of the amount of other things for which it can be exchanged or in terms of
some medium of exchange.
3. to consider with respect to worth, excellence, usefulness, or importance.
Get this. I mean, really get it. "The worth of something in terms of amount of other things for which it can be exchanged or in terms of medium of exchange."
A perfect Son was exchanged for you. That should not make you ashamed. It should scream of your value.
Do not allow the enemy to tell you that you were not worth it.
God says you were.
Do not allow the enemy to tell you to be ashamed.
God says to rejoice.
Do not allow the enemy to tell you to hide in the shadows for your imperfections.
God says to shine like a light on the hill and show off His.
Your value is not in your performance. You do not have value because you contribute. You contribute because you have value, and your value is not based on what you've done. It's based on what God was willing to do for you.
And you know what? It doesn't matter how you feel. Your emotions have nothing to do with the Truth.
The Truth says, "You are so priceless I died for you. I'd rather die than live without you."
That isn't worldly manipulation.
That is divine love, and it is priceless...
...just like you.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Beautiful Woman Part 4-- Contributing Beautifully
Contributing Beautifully
One of my concerns with having you look at Proverbs 31 and studying the contributions of this woman and others like her is the lie the enemy tells us which says we have value because of what we do. He tells us we have value because we contribute.
Let me give you a simple thought to meditate on and allow the Spirit to work into your spirit, mind, and heart.
You do not have value because you contribute.
You contribute because you have something of value to give.
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2008
One of my concerns with having you look at Proverbs 31 and studying the contributions of this woman and others like her is the lie the enemy tells us which says we have value because of what we do. He tells us we have value because we contribute.
Let me give you a simple thought to meditate on and allow the Spirit to work into your spirit, mind, and heart.
You do not have value because you contribute.
You contribute because you have something of value to give.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Beautiful Women Part 3-The Beautiful Truth
The Beautiful Truth
I realize most women hate the Proverbs 31 Woman. However, I love her. She embodies everything I want to be. She is organized, giving, wise, well-dressed, happy, secure, selfless, and beautiful.
If you take time to read through the many things that endears this woman to members of her home and those in the community, you will not hear mention of her height, weight, coloring. You will not hear the length of her hair or fingernails. What you will read is the power of her contributions to the lives of those around her.
Do another exercise.
Go to Bible Gateway, look up Proverbs 31, copy it to a Word document, and print it out.
Now, highlight all the places and ways this woman contributes to those around her.
Go ahead. Do it right now. It’ll take less than 5 minutes. You’ll spend longer reading forwarded jokes in your email today, and they won’t bless you nearly as much. I’ll meet you back here (hopefully) tomorrow.
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2008
I realize most women hate the Proverbs 31 Woman. However, I love her. She embodies everything I want to be. She is organized, giving, wise, well-dressed, happy, secure, selfless, and beautiful.
If you take time to read through the many things that endears this woman to members of her home and those in the community, you will not hear mention of her height, weight, coloring. You will not hear the length of her hair or fingernails. What you will read is the power of her contributions to the lives of those around her.
Do another exercise.
Go to Bible Gateway, look up Proverbs 31, copy it to a Word document, and print it out.
Now, highlight all the places and ways this woman contributes to those around her.
Go ahead. Do it right now. It’ll take less than 5 minutes. You’ll spend longer reading forwarded jokes in your email today, and they won’t bless you nearly as much. I’ll meet you back here (hopefully) tomorrow.
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Beautiful Women Part 2--The Double Standard
As some of you noticed or realized when looking up the women I listed, nowhere does God mention their weight or size. Nowhere does God tell us the color of their hair or eyes. In fact, we are given no specific details. All we are told is someone thought they were beautiful. We don’t know why. We don’t know what the winning characteristic was. We only know these women were beautiful.
I have a few blogs that I read. I don’t read them because the writers are a size 4. I don’t read them because the writer has straight teeth, milky skin, and silky hair. I read them because they feed my heart. They speak to me when I hurt and smooth balm over my wounded places. I read them because they make me laugh and help refocus my mind when I’m having a stressful day. I read them because they challenge me even when I would rather someone tell me there is integrity in mediocrity.
Most of us think the same way about the ladies who write the blogs we read. We don’t consider their weight, hair color, if they have two arms and two legs. We just know they are beautiful women who sow into us. We see them as wonderful and precious. We thank God that He has brought them into our lives because they are invaluable treasures.
But, when we look in the mirror, we use different criteria.
Suddenly, our value is inversely related to our dress size. Why is it that these women we think so highly of think so highly of US but we can’t? What do they see what we don’t? Could it be that they see the size of our hearts, and we can’t get beyond the size of our hips?
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2008
I have a few blogs that I read. I don’t read them because the writers are a size 4. I don’t read them because the writer has straight teeth, milky skin, and silky hair. I read them because they feed my heart. They speak to me when I hurt and smooth balm over my wounded places. I read them because they make me laugh and help refocus my mind when I’m having a stressful day. I read them because they challenge me even when I would rather someone tell me there is integrity in mediocrity.
Most of us think the same way about the ladies who write the blogs we read. We don’t consider their weight, hair color, if they have two arms and two legs. We just know they are beautiful women who sow into us. We see them as wonderful and precious. We thank God that He has brought them into our lives because they are invaluable treasures.
But, when we look in the mirror, we use different criteria.
Suddenly, our value is inversely related to our dress size. Why is it that these women we think so highly of think so highly of US but we can’t? What do they see what we don’t? Could it be that they see the size of our hearts, and we can’t get beyond the size of our hips?
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Beautiful Women Part 1--Of Sizable Importance
In the last few weeks I've seen the topic of size and women's self-image on several blogs. As I prayed about this, the Lord gave me the most wonderful homework, and I pass it on to you.
Find in the Bible the size and weight of any of the following women:
Ruth
Esther
Naomi
Rahab
Debra
Sarah
Bathsheba
The Shulamite Woman in Song of Solomon
Abigail
I'll give you until Friday to find out, and then I'll tell you the rest of what God had to say about it.
Blessings!!!
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2008
Find in the Bible the size and weight of any of the following women:
Ruth
Esther
Naomi
Rahab
Debra
Sarah
Bathsheba
The Shulamite Woman in Song of Solomon
Abigail
I'll give you until Friday to find out, and then I'll tell you the rest of what God had to say about it.
Blessings!!!
Copyright Jerri Phillips 2008
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