How's Your Father Doing??

What a long weekend it was! We left on Thursday and drove south to visit colleges for our daughter, and then on Friday arrived on our son's college campus to attend his Graduation Ceremony on Saturday. We went from the highs of celebration to the lows of exhaustion, from the highs of the powerful commencement address that stirred our souls, to the lows of the late night packing up of his dorm room. Late, late night.

And then early, early morning we were up to prepare for a long 14 hour drive home that turned into a harrowing 17 hour drive--extended and lengthened due to all the stops along the way to check on four weary travelers in two cars, the one car overloaded with a car-top carrier and bursting out the seams.

I still haven't recovered. In fact, my left eye burst a blood vessel in the white of my eye, so I look as ravaged by stress as I actually feel. And though Safety Bill really took on the whole responsibility of the packing and the driving, I could not shake the Anxiety that rose within me. I hadn't slept well before we took the trip, and I certainly didn't sleep well during the trip.

I'm not sure if sleeplessness precedes an Anxiety Attack or if it's the ultimate outcome of it-- but either way, I was a mess. And I knew I was.

You should have heard my prayers late that night as Bill labored past midnight to get our son packed up before the 9am deadline the next morning. I prayed like a desperate person. I prayed about all the things that were burdening me-- and the trip home was only the tip of the iceberg. Launching a son into the world as a fully functioning adult is no easy thing, for some parents. There were financial burdens (since we were maxed out after four years of college, and now had a daughter heading to college in a year). I felt like a conglomeration of crisis points had converged and been presented to me to suddenly solve. I wasn't thinking rationally, really. And I was conjecturing all the worst case scenarios. And so I prayed frantically and pleadingly. It wasn't a pretty sight, and I certainly don't think it was music to God's ears.

You see, HE was listening to me, alright. But God was concerned about my state of mind and my well-being and He could tell...I was not well. And you see, I'm a reflection of who God is because I'm His child. He's my Heavenly Father. I'm told in Scripture, repeatedly, not to worry, and I'm supposed to know that God cares for my every need.

But the way that I was praying, as the hours got later and my physical reserves depleted themselves, sounded like I was frantically trying to get God's attention. I felt desperate to get a measure of peace, and I couldn't seem to access that promised peace. And so I prayed harder but in reality I might have been doing more pleading than praying. And I'm not so sure that a child pleading for her Father to help is a good reflection on that Father.

GOOD Fathers hear their children, the minute they call. Good Fathers WANT to help their children, and want to alleviate their fears. If you have a good father, people can tell: they look at you and see that you're well cared for, that you have a healthy self-esteem, that you are obviously loved and you know that you are.

Every time you call on your Father, the way you call Him says something about you....and something about Him. Think about that for a minute, because this isn't a judgment statement but rather a statement about reflection.

What do we reflect when we pray? Obviously when we are in trouble, when we are situationally anxious or worried, we won't always immediately express the confidence that we would normally have in God because our adrenaline is coursing through us, and our fight-or-flight response is heightened. But for the most part, if we have learned to trust God, if we have learned to rely upon Him, we should be able to express a measure of that even in our desperate prayers. Because our relationship with our Father is the Constant, and not the variable, our times of crisis-praying should still reflect, in some way, what we know is true about that relationship.

So as I prayed late into the night, that night...I began to hear myself. I heard the frantic tone in my voice ( I pray out loud). I heard the circuitous pleading. I heard the troubled voice of a child who does not know that God is listening, already responding, already deeply involved in her situation.

And I started to pray differently. I began to quote the promises in Scripture. I began to declare Who God says, in His Word, that He IS--not the way that I felt, in that moment, that He was (which was far away, inaccessible, hard to reach). I began to pray differently because I realized I sounded like an abandoned child. I sounded like a child who'd been living on the streets, hand to mouth, without a guardian or protector or Defender. And while I felt like one, in that moment (because Anxiety will run you into Dark, into the Deep Unknown of Despair), still I knew that I had a good heavenly Father--not a bad One, not an incompetent One.

I'm a reflection of Him. I'm a child, and spiritually speaking, though I'm supposed to mature, I still will always be a child in the sense of me belonging to Someone who created me. He's the eternal Father and always will be One. This aspect of our relationship will always be there.

And so every time I pray, how I pray will reflect what our relationship is like, and what kind of a Father I have, what kind of a child I am.

This is no small thing. What kind of a Heavenly Father do you have?? How do you know Him to act towards you? Do you understand His heart's motive? When He is silent, do you think that means He is also uncaring and cold? Your resulting conclusion will reflect what kind of a child you are, and what kind of a father you think God is.

Let me remind you, in case you're going through a crisis, in case you're feeling very anxious or worried or stressed out: God definitely cares about you, and does not want you to feel anxious or worried. He knows that you and I will battle these awful feelings that cause our stomachs to feel sick and our heads to ache and our fingers to tremble--but He does not want you to feel this horrible emotional pain because He does not want you to feel UN-Loved. Loved children are secure. Children who know they are loved feel loved.

What good is it if Somebody loves you- but you don't feel like they love you?? 1 Corinthians 13 begins with "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal." I'd like to add, that if you have a Heavenly Father who loves you, but you don't feel love, then you are--in your mind-- an unloved child. And what does that solve? What does that reflect? Unloved children have horrible parents. and children don't get to choose their biological parents, so it's not the child's fault if he or she is not loved by the parent. No child should be un-loved. Maybe the definition of "child" should really be "one who is loved."

And friend, you are loved. You have a Father who is merciful and constant in His watch over you. He tells us, in His word, over and over, not to worry. He does not want us consumed with anxiety. He wants to to be at peace, and to be at peace with Him- because "He himself is our peace" Eph.2:14.

He is our Peace. He is our Father. Call on Him today. Try out the voice of a child who is loved. Start speaking the words of a child who knows he can ask, freely, for help. Try asking boldly, because Your Father loves it when you trust that He is Good.

And when you bump into an old friend who asks you how your Father is doing, tell your friend what you've been learning about your heavenly father (even if they were asking about your human father).

Tell your friend that your Father is doing well...and therefore so are you.

Spiritual Exhaustion

This post is for exhausted people only. If you're pumped up about life and you've got everything figured out, enjoy your day and God speed. See you next post.

Okay, if you're still here reading, it could be that you've had a hard week so far, or maybe a rough month, or maybe it's been a really long winter. You might feel beyond tired-- you're actually weary. You feel like a wet noodle,maybe. If you're floppy and you know it, say amen.

But I've got some good news for you, friend. You can be weary and weak and just about out of steam. In fact you might have one last little prayer of "Help, God!" in you and you're about to utter it pleadingly- and even then you're not sure it will availeth much.

Can I tell you something about spiritual exhaustion? It happens. It happens to the best and the brightest and the strongest and the most well-intentioned of us. The fact that it happens is not the thing I want to tell you. That's just what I want to establish as our base line truth. Here's what I want to tell you though: spiritual exhaustion is not necessarily evidence that you've done anything wrong. In fact you may have been doing many things right, lately. You've prayed up a storm. You've read your Bible faithfully. You helped someone and never bragged about it. You've tried to utter blessing and not cursing when you've been hurt or rejected. You've tried to do good and not cause pain. You've tried, period.

Last summer, on vacation, my son tried and tried to skim board. Skim boarding is when you take a board and "skim" across the surface of the water-- but it's shallow water. You can't drown in it. You're just supposed to glide across it. Glide, I said. Not pound the surface. Not fight the current.

And now let's enter the "deep" end, here: you were not meant to always be pounding the surf, hitting against hard wave after wave. You were also meant for gliding. You were made for "easy" times too.

Don't get offended about that word easy. So many Christians do. I can hear all the pulpit pounders telling me that life is hard and the life of a disciple is harder and get ready to fight the good fight. And fight again. And fight to the end.

Do that. Fight when you need to. Contend for things when it's a matter of faith verses sight. But don't forget to glide....when you can. When there's a wave of ease and opportunity, by all means, take it! When Christ offers a yoke that is "easy" and a burden that is light, He is talking about ceasing from trying so hard and accepting the suitable and comfortable yoke of obeying what He's asked you to do. And sometimes obedience requires such perseverance and denying of self. And sometimes God sends a wave of refreshment and He expects you to take it ...and glide. Step out into the Spring air and breathe deeply. Enjoy that late evening walk. Take the hand that is offered to you instead of saying, "Oh, no, I'm fine."

Psalm 46:10 tells us to "Be still and know that I am God...." Stop all the strenuous exertion and get a revelation of how powerful He is and how weak and floppy you are. It's okay to be blown away by the contrast. One commentary on this verse digs deep into the meaning of "be still" and explains that it has to do with casting down or letting something fall. "...to be relaxed, slackened, especially the hands: It is also employed in the sense of not making an effort; not putting forth exertion; and then would express the idea of leaving matters with God, or of being without anxiety about the issue."

I'm all about persisting in prayer, persevering in prayer. I believe in contending for the promises of God. I believe Scripture tells us, over and over, that we must be bold and strong and obedient and faithful. But it also tells us that when we are weak, HE is strong. When we are "relaxed" He is still powerful--and not at all offended by our taking a glide across the water and shouting "weeee!" as we go.

Stop striving to make things happen. Let God see you relaxed and expectant at the same time. I can raise my hands to heaven and pray and I know this pleases God. But I can also let my hands hang down in exhaustion and marvel at the fact that God is never weary. I can honor Him even in my weakness; perhaps because when I know I am weak, I might just realize, in a greater way, how strong and powerful and capable God is. When I understand this, really understand this, that's my faith in God showing. I might even display more faith in God when I am going through a time where I'm weak and exhausted-- if I can admit He is not offended by my fatigue and I am not resistant to His offering of help and grace.

Be still before Him. Let go. Let your hands flop down in fatigue if you have to. Rest easy in the knowledge that He's got a wave of refreshment coming to you. It's for you. It's yours for the taking. Glide on it.

There's more where that came from.

The No and the Nod of God

I haven't been posting as much, lately--I know. But I've been having a sort of mini revival--all thanks to recently discovering anew that God's No is not the same as God's frown. I suddenly feel so loved and protected, in spite of all the No's I've had.

God's No is not such a bad thing, I've been discovering. But No is not a word we normally enjoy or appreciate.

Think of it: when you were a child and you reached out for something and heard a severe "No!" it was probably not an enjoyable experience. There might have been a No to dessert, a No to getting a toy, a No to going to a party. We remember the No's. And yes, of course, your parents (hopefully) said No to protect you: No to touching hot stoves, No to walking alone at Night, No to staying past curfew, etc etc. But still, a No is not a word we heartily embrace.

The word "No" has gotten a bad rep. And lately I've been discovering that when God says No, He might just be saying "I love you too much to let you go through that door....at least right now." Sometimes No is "Not yet" and sometimes God's No is a resounding Alarm not too unlike the clanging fire alarm that goes off because a call comes into the local fire station that some bo-bo has set their kitchen on fire because they had their dish towel too close to the stove (I have never done that, but I have set my hair on fire when I leaned too close to the candle, once. But no fire truck was needed, thank you).

When God says No it could often mean an indirect Yes to something else--something you don't YET have in mind, but God does. God always has your Best in mind when He answers you. Because He knows the plans He has for you (Jer. 29:11).

Lately I've had a renewed enthusiasm in coming to God in prayer and discovering that I really don't care whether he says No or nods Yes--I just care that He cares, that He bends down to listen to me...and that His Answer is always perfect, always in my best interest. Sometimes it takes me awhile to figure out His answer.

But one thing I know for sure: I'm begining to appreciate and love the No and the Nod of God...because I know that He loves me.

Between Two Worlds

I've just spent the last hour trying to clean out my email inbox. (I'm still getting these warnings that the mailbox is precariously full, though.) This is more a statement about my inability to make quick decisions about what is necessary and what is superfluous in life, than it is a question of pressing the delete button over and over. These are the things that weigh us down in life--I'm convinced of that. When your garbage cans and email inboxes are overflowing, it means things have caught up with you.

I've got more than spring cleaning on my mind, lately. It seems like it's time for me to do a little soul searching too; or maybe you would call it a re-balancing, like the way they re-balance the tires on your car so that uneven weight distribution doesn't cause noticeable vibrations.

I've spent a bit of time over the last week reviewing some news stories and videos about the Japanese people and their state of emergency after the earthquake and tsunami. They are not dealing with petty things like cleaning out email inboxes. They are dealing with issues of survival. They are trying to find someplace solid on which to stand. They're looking for lost loved ones and dealing with a death toll that some say is hovering near 22,000.

What can I learn from the Japanese? They are going through hell right now. They are learning to cope, to endure, to overcome. Everything is critical in their life right now.

I do not face these same challenges. But I'm called to the same actions of persevering, enduring, overcoming. In light of their overwhelming pain right now, the light bulb has gone on in my brain: it's called Perspective. I see things differently. I realize that I have some challenges in life, but I am not challenged to the point of death and despair. I realize that there are things I don't want to do in life, but I am not dealing with the daunting undesirable task of searching through dead bodies so that I can identify a loved one. I'm not in a season of crisis. I'm not, in any way, at the end of my rope, so to speak.

So on behalf of those who are in crisis, I contribute to the Red Cross relief efforts through my local grocery store. But more than that, I pray--for divine help, miraculous strength, a way...where there seems to be no way. And then I also set my mind about how I will deal with the challenges in my life. I want to have the right attitude, the right undercurrent of thought about every big and small problem: this is just an obstacle, a minor issue, a relational blip, a financial challenge; and I can deal with this.

It's not a feeling of guilt that teaches me this perspective. And it's not so much relief either--relief that I'm not living through the aftermath of catastrophe-- but it's the understanding that in between those two opposing worlds of guilt and relief is the healthy balance of an appreciation for Life, sweet and full, messy and frustrating, challenging and precious.

I think our Japanese friends would tell us this, that when all is said and done, a hand in yours, an embrace of comfort, an understanding look, a listening ear--these are the things we all cherish, no matter what season of life we're in. This is what Life is--the flow and the undertow, the crisis and the calm after the storm, and everything else in between that makes us look up for help and then reach out for those around us.... gratefully.

Back to School

This is going to be one busy week. I don't know why I am doing all this laundry and sorting and packing because when my son gets back to his college campus down south, it'll be the end to all that neat organized arrangement of things. His clothes will be everywhere. He will be everywhere (on campus and off campus on his jaunts to concerts). And I will be back here, up north, missing him, and wondering how he is doing.

But hey, I'm a veteran now. This is his second year away from home, at college. This is my second year of missing him but also enjoying the fact that my son is launched, off and running, on his way, and all those other cliches that let you know one era of life has ended and another has begun.

But I'm happy. I'm not crying or mourning the fact that he's leaving. He's as much part of my heart as ever, even though we spend more and more time apart. This is what it means for him to be an adult, and this is what it means for me to be the mother of a child-now-adult.

What it also means is that my praying has changed. How I pray for my son, now, as opposed to when he was a child, is so different. I pray for him to have wisdom, good judgment, sober thinking- because I don't need to pray that he'll enjoy life and grab it by the tail, cause he's already doing that.

And so I'm going to live well and strong as well. There's a lot more for me to learn and experience- even if I'm not at a college campus.

Dangerous Prayers

These last couple days I feel like I've been galloping on a fast horse, hanging onto my hat, and yelling out, "Whoa!" as I go thundering through interesting terrain at a hundred miles an hour. I'm not calling out Whoa so that the horse will stop- it's actually more an exclamation of surprise, wonder, exhilaration and a bit of mystical fear- all at the same time. Amazing things have been happening in my life lately. Absolutely amazing and surprising things. It's been an exhilarating ride.

It could be that I have been praying dangerous prayers, not realizing that they are dangerous. I don't mean dangerous as in bad, but dangerous as in risky, explosive, powerful. I didn't think of myself as a Risk Taker with a capital R, but I've stepped into the realm of Faith and miracles and unexplainable occurrences. And it all started when I delved into the real meaning of faith, doubt, skepticism, and unbelief. I found out where I am in that rushing current- and discovered that though I am prone to being skeptical and mistrusting, I don't want to be that way- and that counts. It counts as being one step closer to walking in Faith.

It really does matter what you want to be- even if you are not already expressing that reality. I want to be a trusting child, quick to perceive and believe the good that God has in store for me. I am becoming that trusting child- even if I am forty something years late in the process.

I looked back through my journal this morning and discovered that over the last couple weeks I was praying about Faith and deciding to walk in Faith; deciding to not only be a believer but be a big, bold believer. Here's some of the prayers I've been praying:

"I believe in Your perfect timing, Lord. I trust that You arrnage things perfectly. Please be pleased with my faith, Lord"

"I'm going to declare, Lord, that 'I hear the sound of abundance of rain' even though I'm speaking this in the midst of a drought." (1 Kings 18:41)

"Open my eyes to see the unseen realm of Your resources, Lord"

"I am ready to believe you Lord" (John 20:27)

"I am going fishing, Lord- even though I am discouraged" (John 21)

"I will launch out into the Deep- because I believe You, Lord"

"I will pursue knowing you, Lord" (Hosea 6:3)

And the most dangerous and explosive of prayers is when you declare this- because you really, suddenly, truly believe it-

"I really do believe that with You anything is possible!"

(And by the way, these are just the prayers that I've been praying. Who knows what others have been praying for me?!! Oh, the things we don't know and the things we don't yet see!!)

And You Shall Receive

Yes, it's true: we often have not because we ask not. But then again, we often find when we're not even looking- because sometimes we just don't know what we're looking for.

I am always looking for answers, I know that. It's just that sometimes I don't know the questions I am subconsciously asking God- and thankfully, He does. He does know what I am always looking for, what I am in need of, what I need right now.

After my phone call, the other night, from my friend who was in need of some serious prayer, I got thinking about how her problem with her teenager began, at some point, and she probably didn't know a problem was beginning. She couldn't really "see" something bad beginning.

But lately I have seen that I don't often see when my Answers are beginning- the Answers that I have been praying for, as well as the Answers that I didn't know I was requesting.

God reads our signs for "Help" no matter how misspelled they are or how misplaced they are. He can see when we are asking for help even when we don't realize we are. I am seriously encouraged by that.

I've begun to get quite comfortable with asking God, approaching Him, requesting help from Him. I'm becoming an Ask-er. No, that's not right. What do you call a person who asks God for help...a lot? What do you call someone who goes speedily to Him without worry that they are bothering God? What do you call someone who has no problem approaching God with every little thing that is on their mind?

Maybe you just call this person His child- His very loved and precious child. And that's what every single one of us can be. Just ask Him -and He'll tell you it's so.



(Photo credit: freerangestock.com)

For Her

I'm still kinda reeling from my phone call last night with a friend who I haven't heard from in a year or so. We became close, years ago, when I was living in her town (see, it was never my town because I had a feeling I was not going to be living there forever).

She and I are nothing alike and yet very much kindred spirits only because I care about family and my relationship with God with the same intensity she does. She called me last night because she was at the end of her rope. I loved how she did not even try to make small talk and try to catch up with me first before she plunged into the details of the agony and the trial she was going through- all because of a child, one of her children. It might as well have been one of mine- that's how I groaned inside over what her daughter was going through.

We talked for a long time. There weren't any answers to be given, or any recognized solutions, except the request I made that she try to talk more with her daughter about what the root of her pain was.

At the root of it all, at the bottom of it all- that's what we have to get to. We have to. Because if we never get down to the deep dark dirt of what we're really reacting to or running from, we don't know anything except that we are flailing and falling and nobody knows why.

I told her I would pray. And I don't mean the kind of prayers that are neat and nice and sweet. I mean the kind of prayers where you are warring, travailing, beseeching God, not letting Him forget for a teeny tiny second that we need His help, that we have to have His help, and that there must be a way for Him to make a way...for her.

When Prayer is Not Enough

I know, I know: the title of this post sound sacrilegious. But I'm not trying to be. I'm saying this respectfully when I say that I've recently become aware that I'm praying too much and not acting enough. ( I don't mean acting as in pretending or prancing around on the stage, either).

Here's just a little example of when praying could mean laziness or foolishness. We have our house listed for sale. There's a nice little sign out front telling the world that we're interested in selling our house. We are also Christians, so that means we are probably also praying that our house sells. Christians are supposed to "let our requests be made known to God"(Phil. 4:6). I think most Christians are pretty good about talking to God about all their problems and requests. I do that type of thing pretty well.

But what we also need to be doing, beyond praying about our house selling, is making it sell-able. I don't think God is going to do that part for us, no matter how much we request that He do. Though we did a lot of work on the interior, it's not the interior of the house that you first see when you drive by. Our driveway needs patching and a new top coating. We have more landscaping to do. One nice agent said that it has "a rather alpine feeling to it". That's a nice way of saying that we're covered in brush and trees.

We've got work to do if we want to get this house sold. That's just the plain hard truth. And that hard truth has recently been showing up in our life over and over again. Many of the things we want to progress in and change about our life have to do with the actions we will be taking, not the prayers we will be praying.

I do mean that literally. Most of the things that will physically change in our life ( our weight, our bank account, our jobs, our meals that we eat) all have to do with physical actions we take. Prayer might motivate these actions, or prayer can even sometimes spiritually hinder our actions. Well, not exactly Prayer itself- but what we think Prayer is and what Prayer does.

When I read Self-Help books, I'm always reading with an eye for what "the Christian" would say when reading statements about progress, change, behavior, action, goal setting. For many Christians, these words shock us or offend us. These words don't sound spiritual. They sound man-oriented, and we know we are supposed to be God-oriented, Faith filled, spiritually minded people. Do spiritually minded people make goals, plan ahead, make money, grow businesses? There's a debate about that. There's so much spiritualizing that goes on whenever talk turns to money, earning money, planning for business success, etc.

Want to make people squirm a bit? Try telling them that you are a committed Christian and you are a seeking to make more money. Or try telling them that you are reading the Bible and also reading 101 Ways to Grow a Multi Million Dollar Business- and that you're getting a lot out of both books. (And no,I'm not reading that book...yet- I just made it up. But something close to that title probably exists).

In this Chapter that T Hard Eker writes about playing the role of victim, he talks about Victim Clue #2: Justifying. He's a straight shooter. Listen to this:

"Rich people understand the importance of money and the place it has in society. On the other hand, poor people validate their financial ineptitude by using irrelevant comparisons. They'll argue, 'Well, money isn't as important as love.' Now is that comparison dumb or what? What's more important, your arm or your leg? Maybe they're both important."

I immediately thought of the many times I've prayed about something or heard about a friend praying about something- as though only prayer were needed. Have you ever heard a Christian say they're praying about a problem- and then months later you ask them how they're dealing with that problem, and they tell you they're still praying about it?! Maybe prayer and action are both needed here! But that's sometimes a tough thing for Christians to deal with.

She's so heavenly minded, she's no earthly good- ever hear that saying? It's a terrible indictment of any faith-professing Christian. Earth is where we need to be doing some good, 'cause Heaven doesn't need our help. Earth is where we need to be praying up a storm- and acting, in faith, because we have prayed.

Let me put another little blurb from Eker here: "Listen up, my friends: Money is extremely important in the areas in which it works, and extremely unimportant in the areas in which it doesn't work. And although love may make the world go round, it sure doesn't pay for the building of hospitals, churches, or homes. It doesn't feed anybody. Not convinced? Trying paying your bills with love."

Or in my case, try fixing my driveway with Prayer. Or try "bathing it in prayer", as we like to say. Hmmm. It still looks like a mess. The sink hole at the end of our driveway still is there. It's not as bad as the huge hole in the library's parking lot. That hole is so big they put orange cones around it and I don't even think that is warning enough, because if your car drove over that hole, you'd wind up in China- that's how bad it is!

So all this to say that Prayer is always good. Always. It's just that Prayer, by itself, is not always enough. At least, by that I mean, what we think Prayer is. We think it's talking to God about things and then God starts his heavenly fixing and arranging and orchestrating of events while we wait patiently- and maybe put a few orange cones around the problem so no one falls into it while we are waiting for our answer to prayer.

But that's a bit infantile of an understanding. Just like we can't deposit "love" into a bank account and expect to receive green bills in return, we can't just pray about things and then expect an answer to drop from the heavens.

We need to pray. And then we need to get to work. Whatever the work is, that's involved in the answer, you'll know. You'll know by the size of the problem and by the way it screams out for you to do something. Start with something simple, like seeing that the problem is there. Add some protective cones circling around it while you debate and pray and think about what to do. But don't wait too long. The hole will not fill itself.

The smelly problem does not get bathed in prayer and then miraculously stink no longer. No, the problem requires an answer. An answer usually involves action, of some kind. And maybe that's where we can start to see that not only though we prayed, but because we prayed, that we have work to do.

To That Man in China

This guy is not falling- he was pushed. PUSHED, mind you. At an hour and time in his life when he was debating the merit and value of his soul, his life- and someone pushes him off because he's frustrated and tired of the traffic jams that this suicidal man, standing on a bridge, was causing. This AP Photo tells a lot already, but you can read more about it here.

What's wrong with people that they can't seem to find empathy for someone in trouble- if it means that their own life will be inconvenienced or troubled momentarily?? Have we really come down to this- selfish anger over someone else who we feel is "selfishly" in trouble?

It seems that this is the underlying issue in this extreme case. One man is fed up and tired of those who are not stable and strong and successful. And maybe there's an underlying attitude here that the Pusher, in this story, felt- that if you're going to cause problems in society by not pulling your own weight, then at least fall apart quietly and away from my view and my route so that I am not hindered or inconvenienced by your agony!

Yes, according to Sir Walter Scott, its a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive, but it's a muddy, very deep hole we fall in when second we practise to add to some one's despair! From what I understand of the story, the Pusher guy was first going to try to talk the man down, but then he got fed up with it all, slipped through the police barricade, went up to the man and shook his hand- and then pushed him.

He survived the fall- but will he survive what happened to him? He was already battling mental illness of some kind, but maybe what he was battling was that he saw cruelty and meanness in the world and maybe nobody was agreeing with him. Maybe people made light of the heaviness and depression in his soul. His personal financial crisis was also enough that the man contemplated what no one should ever get to the point of contemplating. But we do. We sometimes get to a place in life where things look so bleak, so dark, so uncertain that we are not only beside ourselves, we are sick of our self, perhaps. And that's a scary place to be- if you have no friend, no dear one, to talk you down from your perilous perch on the top of a bridge.

Last night we got together with a couple I've known for a couple years, and my best friend Mu also, and we had a feast of fellowship. There was no pushing anyone over the edge. There was simply a lot of understanding, of "getting it", of camaraderie, of intuitive listening and a lot of nodding of head in agreement. We've experience some tough times, each of us, and we understood what the other was sharing.

I haven't felt that wealthy in a long time. You are rich when you have dear loving friends, when you have people who " get you", who know you, who see your value and your heart. You are not alone- when you are known.

I wish I could get a message to the man who was pushed from the bridge. I'd tell him that what happened to him was horrible beyond belief. But I'd also tell him that I'm so sorry that he got to the point in his life that he was so despairing of life and found himself on that bridge. I'd tell him that many times, many people have gotten to crisis points in their life, and we've all been on a type of bridge, at some point in our life.

The Apostle Paul, himself, had battled despair. At one point, Paul stated that “we were burdened beyond measure, above strength, so that we despaired even of our life. Yes, we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves but in God who raises the dead” (2 Corinthians 1:8-9).

But did you see that little tiny word in the above passage? Did you note that he said "we were burdened beyond measure"? There's nothing worse than being burdened and alone. But if we can go through tough times and crisis points with the arm of fellow comrade or friend around our shoulders, how blessed we are- even if we are blessed and burdened at the same time.

I'm so sorry, dear sir in South China, that you were burdened beyond belief. But I'm even more sorry that you felt so alone. I hope you feel the love and the prayers of those of us who have decided you shall not be alone anymore. We bathe you in our prayers. We uphold you with loving support, and we tell God- help this man, please. Overwhelm him not with trouble, but with your love. Let him know he is not alone.

More, Please!

Our son is back at his college campus, ready to start his second semester; and so our house is quiet again. I'm not baking up a storm anymore. Daily cakes and banana breads don't need to appear on the kitchen counter anymore. Our hunger- Bill's, Abby's and mine- is manageable. But when you're feeding a nineteen year old, their hunger never ends. It's a good sign, though. It means that they're healthy and growing.

Lately I've been thinking about spiritual hunger, what it is, what it isn't. I've been thinking about the things we do to address our hunger. And then I got thinking about the many ways God fills us when we're hungry. Like a gourmet chef in a deluxe kitchen, God has everything at His disposal to fix us up something that simply satiates our soul. And lately I've been discovering how easy it is to get your voracious appetite addressed: show up at meal time!

The thing is, God doesn't serve routinely. In spite of what many might think, I'm not so sure that Sunday is God's favorite day to "feed" us. I think He also likes Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday..... Maybe what really motivates Him, pulls on His heart, is hunger- real hunger. And God can tell- even when we can't- when we are truly hungering for Him. Those who hunger....are filled. By Him. He says it in His Word. If we are not getting filled, then we have to wonder: am I really hungry? Am I, maybe, just a fussy eater who is going to pick at whatever is offered, anyways, and the great Chef can tell that?

In our house, growing up, fussy eaters were frowned upon...tremendously. My parents' goal seemed to be to continually expose us to the choicest and weirdest of foods. Maturity meant you tried everything and oohed and ahhed over the flavor of it all. You really needed to pretend that you were enjoying the experience of eating all these healthy, strange foods, or you were going to be continually presented with them, over and over. Actually, even if you liked eating deer meat, soy beans, baked trout, or a weird lumpy kind of cheese, you were still going to keep getting these foods. This is the diet they thought was best.

So I wonder if we take our food fears to God. Do we place on Him our apprehension that we just know, for sure, that he is going to feed us something we don't like when we say we are hungry. And worse, if we go to God and say that we are hungry, and we don't even know for what, will God then surprise us with something awful and lumpy and chewy and tell us that THIS is what we were hungry for?

I read Jentezen Franklin's book on Fasting just before the New Year, and now I am reading a book about a woman who enters cooking contests. There's a lot of food descriptions in the book. Most of them do not entice me at all. I might have particular tastes, I am finding out.

I enjoy a good chunk of homemade bread with a lump of butter. I'll eat a piece of cake, once in a while, but for the most part I'm not that drawn to sugary things. Give me a steak (medium rare) anytime. And sure, throw in vegetables. Not because they're good for me. I like them. Especially if they're not overcooked. I love baked potatoes with sour cream and chives. And in the fish and seafood family, I'll take lobster, scallops, shrimp cocktail, and baked haddock. Oh, and lots of fresh spinach or spinach in a quiche. And omelettes with mushrooms, onions and swiss cheese.

See? A lot of this stuff is good for me- but I don't eat it primarily because of that. All of the food listed above are some favorites of mine. They satisfy my hunger and my taste buds. I've developed a taste for some of the above, and some foods I loved from early on. That's my physical hunger.

As for my spiritual hunger, I'm finding out that I relish not only times alone with God in quiet thought and reflective journal writing, but lately I've been quite chatty with Him. And I feel His pleasure at being with me. We've had a running repartee- with God getting His thoughts to me through a sense that I'm "feeling" His answer, rather than audibly hearing His replies.

People have asked me this question: how do you know when you are really hearing God talk to you? For me, it's when I hear something in my spirit that is too gracious and truthful and loving and forgiving for it to have come from me so quickly and easily. Proverbs tells us that " a soft answer turns away wrath" and I know that a gracious answer turns away doubt and fear. A loving, forgiving, welcoming answer draws me in.

You might say this is all about how He feeds me. I'm learning that with God, the feast that He prepares for me (in the presence of mine enemies, Psalm 23 tells us) is a feast that I want- even if I don't know it yet. He whets my appetite for more of Him as a way to draw me in and give me what I've been hungering for. He's glorious and He's good. To me. And I want more of Him.

Christmas Eve and Beyond

Ah, the bliss. It's Christmas Eve, and all through the house not a creature is stirring; not even Harry and his stuffed mouse. Well, actually Harry doesn't have a stuffed mouse. He has a bunch of toys, such as a stuffed grouse, a pheasant (which was recently eviscerated and now I have to sew it up again), his orange orangutan, and a couple other toys that don't interest him as much. But as you all know from visiting here at Faith Fuel, Harry's chief interest in life is contentment. He finds contentment through lots of naps and by following me around the house. Cause wherever I am, that may he be also- with me. That's his thinking.

Harry doesn't even seem to notice our sparkling Christmas tree, which is leaning precariously to one side. He doesn't notice that today is Christmas Eve and that we're about to celebrate the most life changing event in all of History: that of a babe being born via a virgin birth, a babe who is the Savior of the world. And I love that word, Savior. I love that Savior who is the Word, the living Word. I need a Savior. I don't know about you, but I need Him more than ever. I want Him to save me body, mind, soul, and spirit. And lately, especially have Him save the mind. I want Him to redeem and renew my thinking so I can perceive all of Who He is and How He works in my life. I do not want to be dull and slow to perceive.

The book on Fasting ( by Jentezen Franklin) arrived the other day, ironically. The fridge is loaded ( and taking center stage is the big hunkin' Standing Rib Roast we will have tomorrow, on Christmas Day) and our pantry is thankfully full. What an abundance of food and feasting with friends we will have! I feel happy about this type of rejoicing around the table. There's a time and a place for it- and the time is now.

But I'm hungrily reading the book on Fasting and my spiritual appetite is also fired up. This book is opening my eyes to the bright side of Fasting. Yes, there's a lack of food and natural sustenance when you go on a fast, but there is no lack of fellowship and feasting on God's Word while you abstain from food. And there's all kinds of fasts. To our generation, a fast where you eat only fruits and vegetables and drink only water would be a type of pain and suffering many would tremble at!

It's not avoiding food that is the key ingredient in a Fast. It's the drawing close to God, through Fasting, that stirs me. It's the breakthroughs of various kinds that occur when you break from natural food and cling to the Bread of Life and cry out "feed me till I want no more", as the song goes. As Jentezen Franklin points out, God is hungry. He is hungry for real fellowship with us and not our rituals of church going and half hearted praying.

Some of us are going through some real battles, real trials. Some of us do not have any half hearted apathetic gestures we are employing to get God's attention. No, instead, we are waving our arms furiously, signally to God, "Over here! Help! Please!" and we are hoping God is hearing.

HE is hearing us. He is seeing our prayers as well as listening to them. But we may not be hearing Him as clearly as we could. We may need to get more serious in our drawing near to God. We may have to push aside food, push aside frivolities and distractions and get desperately intent on knowing Him in all His goodness. When I say that, I mean that we will have to get intent on proving that we don't just know- in our head- that He is good, but that in our lives, His goodness and mercy overflows and many see it and are glad. When people see you blessed and spiritually fed and so content that bliss oozes from you, the world will grab you by the arm and say, Please tell me how you found such contentment!".

I am ready to feast and rejoice with my family at the Heralding of Good News of Great Joy- a Savior is born! But I am also ready, as the New Year approaches, to seek Him with all my heart so that all of my heart knows Him, experiences Him, and sees Him for Who He really is. I am ready for A NEW Year of real newness, fresh revelation.

He is the Way Maker. He is the One Who Makes A Way through the Wilderness. And I know I don't know Him well enough yet. My soul is not content to just be near Him, enough to feel drowsy and content like Harry does when he sleeps nearby at my feet. I want to know God so well that contentment and courage both infuse me, and the courage makes me bold and alive while the contentment keeps me a peace.

There's a journey you have to take if you want to know God. I'm on it. He is the Journey and He is at the end of my journey. Today, it's Christmas Eve. Tomorrow is Christmas Day. And after that, I will still be hungry for more of Him.

Saturday

Ah, Saturday. It's a day of bliss and repose for Harry (the same as Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...) but for me its a day to roll up the sleeves, plunge my hands into hot soapy water and clean- clean as though my life depended on it, clean with a vengeance, just clean!

I don't think there's any real spiritual value in cleaning house (meaning that you don't get extra credit with God), but I don't think cleaning lacks value. It lifts your spirit, sometimes, to tackle a job- such as the pots and pans in the sink- get it done, and know that you've accomplished something.

Because of the immense weight of national and international problems, you can sometimes think you have little to offer to this world. There are raging economic problems and complex political agendas and there's gaping needs in certain segments of the population and there's just plain greed and fraud in other segments. And then here I am with a messy house, a lazy dog, a world in need of such prayer, such help, that before I can even pray I feel overwhelmed, like what will my little prayers do for this big world?

And then that's when I feel like I haven't even addressed what I will do for my own little world I live in: will I clean it, at least? Can't I even try to make some order come out of the mess I sometimes live in?

Yes, I can, I tell myself soberly. I can do something about this little tiny bit of the world I live in. I can beautify it a bit, clean it up, make it cozy and warm and inviting. And if I do that, then when someone comes into my home, I might just minister to their spirit a little, calm their frazzled nerves with some hot tea and a nice chat on the couch (after pushing Harry off of it). I can do something about the world I live in. And having done something constructive about my little world, I might just sense that there's more I can do. I might believe that when I pray- when I apply myself to prayer because I believe He hears and answers them- something happens.

'Cause something just happened when I went to work, cleaning, scrubbing, rubbing. My hands went to work, yes; but my spirit started to see and believe that beauty can come out of a mess, hope can arise out of confusion, peace can come even though we live in a troubled world.

Love and Relief

There are some days when I have a lot of petitions, complaints and questions that I bring before God, but this is not one of those days. Today is a day of peace, both inner and manifested. My son is well. He is not critical or in danger. And that means that I am speechless with relief and in awe at how God worked in this situation.

I knew Alex was going to be okay when I received a text message from him at noon, yesterday, asking about bananas and exactly how do they ripen? These are the strange, delightful things that my son will often throw out to me- when he's full of questions or ready to do something silly or crazy because he is full of life.

There are certain gaps in his schooling where Alex missed simple facts and important data, such as memorizing the months of the year. I found out last year that he doesn't know the months of the year in order (I home schooled him in kindergarten so this must be my fault) yet the kid memorized the Periodic Table of the Elements for fun. Anyhow, Alex texted me a question about bananas. I furiously texted back, "Never mind bananas-Are you okay? Did you sleep well last night? Are you eating breakfast right now? How is your breathing?"

Just a few words from him about feeling surprisingly okay made me take a deep breath and sigh with relief. He told me the college nurse had him in twice to check on his breathing and that she was taking good care of him. I wanted to hug that nurse and squeeze her tight with all the relief and gratitude I felt. This is a major breakthrough for my son. If he comes through this cold without it turning into pneumonia and causing an Asthma attack, this will be a big deal. A very big deal.

Weeks before Alex left for college, he wound up getting the Pneumococcal vaccination. It happened only because his sister was sick, again, with a sinus infection and her doctor brought up having her tested to see if this vaccine would help. Alex's health history was brought up, and they were both tested. Abby didn't need the vaccine, they said, but Alex did. A shot in the arm was administered- which Alex took cheerfully. We had no idea that this vaccine would prove to be an ally in battle.

So my son is well enough to send text messages about green bananas and about the pizza he ate last night. He is still standing. I am too, for that matter. Standing on the promises of God, as that old hymn goes, and standing tall and strong in love and relief. I have no big questions to ask of God today. I don't want to discuss with God any plaguing questions I've had about justice or war or what seems to be unfair in life.

I am quiet with awe right now. My son was not only rescued but I was too. While fear rose up within me, something greater rose up as well. My cry went out to God. He heard my voice. He hears mothers everywhere. He listens to the lonely. He cares about the downtrodden. He lifts up those who have fallen. And everywhere you look, you'll find God at work, somehow, in some way, in a miracle in the making...if you will just wait long enough to see what He will do when you ask God to carry you through.

A Listening Friend to the End

I think it was last Sunday, or the Sunday before that we sang this song in church, "I am a friend of God...He calls me friend." I'm not sure what God gets out of my friendship but I do know what I'm learning about God in these years that He's been not only my Savior and Lord but the truest of friends. I've learned that God is an incredible listener. I don't know how he does it.

I'm not a very good listener. Ask my family, ask my good friend Mu, ask my dog, Harry. I mean, when I scratch Harry's ears and murmur, "You're such a good dog, aren't you. What a good boy. (Lots of crooning noises) You're Mommy's baby," I haven't let him get a word in all that time. Fortunately for Harry he doesn't communicate in words. He uses his paws in a form of sign language. He flips his water bowl when its empty and lets it clang loudly on the floor. He covers his eyes with his paws and lies there sighing like a model who has had a hard day with all the posing and preening for the camera. He comes up to me and places a paw on my lap while I'm writing, and then digs it in a bit if I fail to notice him- this is his way of saying he needs to go out.

You would think that after all these years of walking with God and Him listening to my prayers that I would have learned to be a better listener. But part of my problem is that I still struggle with this fear that God is not really listening to me but putting up with my ranting and droning on and on. How could He handle listening to the plethora of pleas that I bring before Him constantly?It would be enough to drive a person mad. But God is not troubled by all the listening He does. He is a listener. He designed the concept of listening.

One thing that gives me hope that He really does hear me is the promise that is articulated in 1 John, "This is the confidence which we have before Him, that, if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us .And if we know that He hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests which we have asked from Him" (1 John 5:14,15). Knowing that God hears me when I'm asking for help, asking for His perspective on my problem, makes me breathe easier. Knowing for sure that what I released to Him with a big sigh, and maybe a tear once in a while, is safe with Him, heard by Him, kept by Him- that makes me want to talk to Him more. The thing is, after I share something with God, He wants to share with me. He's got something for me to hear, and not just hear with my ears, but with my heart so that I take it in, feast on it, and make that truth concrete in my life. So I have to learn to listen better.

I intend to. I try. Here's what my "listening" times with God look like. Usually they occur early in the morning. My hair tufts up in the back, my eyes are baggy, I feel saggy, and I'm wearing my favorite blue toile flannel pajama top with mismatched bottoms. My husband says I look like a piece of old drapery. The coffee is in my hand, and the problems I'm ready to share with God are on my lips. This is my meeting with God. He asked for it. He said He could handle it. And every time I think, No,Lord- you really don't mean that, you couldn't possibly mean that, because I'm feeling like a wreck and I'm about to pour it all out- He interrupts my ranting and raving thoughts with His prompt of, Just Try Me on this.

The more I believe Him, and the more I share with Him, the more quiet I get....after a while. I settle down. I become responsive to His spirit, but only after I take Him at His word that He cares enough to listen to me, that He wants me to Call Upon Him in the Day of Trouble, that He wants me to Ask, Seek, and Find what I need. It's never anything new that I come away with. It's always the amazing thought that the God of the universe sat down with me, unpaid, without me making a formal appointment years in advance, with millions and millions of other people calling out for Him at the same time- yes, He lavished His heart on me enough so that He listened when I laid it all out in words...and even with words that I did not speak out loud.


(For more thoughts about Listening, you might like reading Virelle Kidder's book, Donkeys Still Talk: Hearing God's Voice When You're Not Listening)

When You're on an Icy Road

I'm quite discombobulated this morning (and apparently in a British mood as I am using the word "quite"). School was delayed two hours this morning due to snow and ice removal. It didn't mean that much of a slower start for us, other than the fact that Bill and I had our first few sips of coffee in bed this morning, rather than out on the couch where we normally sit. Harry was curled up on the couch, not at our bedroom door where he normally is when Bill first wakes up to make coffee. I swear, that dog can listen to the howling wind and sleeting and decide he will not go out and do his duty in that kind of inclement weather, and so he will sleep in on those mornings. This was one of those mornings.

But after a few sips of coffee, Bill said "Let's move out to the couch. I'm sinking into the hole in this mattress." (Here's a friendly reminder to turn your mattress over and around, every couple months, or you'll wind up with a mattress like ours- low and lumpy on Bill's side, and little to no impression where I sleep).

After a few more sips of coffee and some chit chatting on the couch (after pushing Harry gently off), Bill got going on the day. I woke up the kids, pushed Harry out the door to do his thing, and scurried around the house to get us all back on the clock. I was thinking about everyone's commute and feeling relieved that roads were clear now. But they were terrible last night.

Last night I got a phone call from someone who was driving home to their house, and in the middle of talking to them, I heard a sudden, alarming "oh no!", a thud, and then...nothing. It was not a good sound. My heart thumping in my chest, I frantically made a call to this person's relative to see if they were with them in the car. They weren't. But they heard back from this person, and ten minutes later told me she was okay. She had been hit in the side after swirling around on a patch of ice. She and I talked later. Remarkably, she sounded like this was no big deal. If it had been me, I would have been a mess.

I did have a near death experience on an icy road once. My daughter Abby was with me. This was several winters ago, yet she brought up this experience with me, just the other day.

"Remember when we almost got killed Mom?"she asked me as we were driving into the mall parking lot the other day. I looked sideways to see if trauma and scarring were evident in her expression.

"You remember that experience we had?" I asked her. She must have been about nine or ten at the time, sitting in the back seat of the car as I drove on a major road in our town.

"Yea, I remember. That's when you called out, "Jesus!" and we never got hit by the cars coming at us. That was really cool."

"You weren't afraid when it was happening, when the car was spinning out of control on the ice and the other cars were heading straight for us?"

"Oh no," she said calmly. "I knew we were going to be fine. I had faith. And I heard you pray."

Well, my prayer had been one word- the name of Jesus. It was a plea for His protection all summed up in His name yelled out in a mother's worst nightmare- spinning car out of control, cars heading toward us, cars right behind me. I had cried out His name, closing my eyes, and then the next thing we knew, after spinning in circles, we opened our eyes to see all the cars miraculously stopped around us. No one had hit us. One person got out of their car and said, "Lady, That was a miracle you didn't get hit."

That was a miracle, alright. But it was also a miracle, in my mind, that my daughter was not frightened, terrorized by the near catastrophe we were heading for. She actually saw it as a good experience- one where God showed up, intervened on our behalf, and did what we couldn't do: made it all turn out okay. If she can build on that conviction that God is with her, no matter what, she will be in good shape, faith wise.

I'm thankful for that experience. I was scared, half out of my mind, as it was happening. I still remember that helpless feeling of seeing major trouble heading straight toward me and knowing I could do nothing- except call out His Name.

My daughter saw the situation differently. She saw God moving faster than the cars that were heading toward us; God moving so fast to help us that she was filled with awe and wonder at what He did. He won't always intervene immediately to get us out of trouble. He may walk us through some troubling times.

But our faith should always enlarge so that we can "see" God at work in all the many ways He does reach out- sometimes literally- to show us how much He cares.

My Statement of Faith

Had a wonderful time with Mu, my best friend, yesterday. On top of a cinnamon spice coffee and soft leather chairs at the local cafe, she threw in a little bit of Shakespeare to enhance our morning chat. I laughed when she told me I need to "bear the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." I didn't know she was into Shakespeare.

After our inspiring time together, I came home to several "issues" I had to deal with. There were the arrows- and they weren't even arrows of outrageous fortune. They were arrows of reality and closed doors. Things seemed to only mount as the day went on. I went to sleep last night feeling a bit overwhelmed.

After getting the kids and Bill off this morning, I sat down on the couch with Harry snoring near me, oblivious to my conflicted state. I wrote in my journal. I let it all out- as I am accustomed to doing. When I opened my Bible, I wasn't even looking for answers. I just wanted to get grounded, again, on the truth that God reigns, He rules, and I have given my life over to Him. I wound up reading a passage from Isaiah 64-

"For since the beginning of the world
Men have not heard nor perceived by the ear,
Nor has the eye seen any God besides You,
Who acts for the one who waits for Him.

God acts for me while I wait for Him. It sounds like a more-than-fair arrangement. But waiting is often an excruciatingly hard thing to do. Is there anything we can do other than sit with our hands folded in our lap, our eye on the clock, our mind thinking "What could God possibly be up to that He won't let me get involved in the matter?"

While you're waiting for God to move on your behalf there is something you can do.

When there are no words left- you're done telling God how disappointed you are or how alarming your future looks to you- there's a statement you can make. It's a powerful action of belief and expectancy. It's a statement of faith, complete and emphatic.

Just raise your hands to Him. When all is said and done, God knows what He has in mind for you and me.

I don't normally run out of words, but when I do, I keep talking to God. And this is how I keep communicating with Him: I will lift my hands up to Him, even if tears fall down. I will lift up my statement of faith.

He hears me when He sees my lifted hands.

Baking, Bull Riding, and Beyond

It's been quite a day. I can't think of a better day to help me heal from the mess that yesterday was. The baking went okay, but everything else was chaotic- interpersonal relationships, communication catastrophes, mishaps and frustration, a teenager at odds with his mother, a daughter just trying to bake madeleines with her mom without getting her mom snatched away into a bru-ha with her son. A quiet husband- who could have spoken up and intervened to make peace, but chose the way he thought I should have taken- silent retreat. I do not retreat well- and I've got to learn how. Every battle raid is also a potential time for retreat- you've just got to know what's the right thing to do. Thank God for the evening and for fatigue- I slipped into sleep just knowing I was living a very real life with real problems. And then I slipped into la-la land and slumbered blissfully.

But today- what a glorious day. We all woke up and and by the time we got in the car for church, we were grinning at each other, happy to be at peace with each other again, thankful for grace for the day and forgiveness for the past. We get to church, and my husband and I were asked to pray for people as they came forward for prayer. (It was a special service at church). Praying for broken people with messy lives- oh, we know and understand what that's like. As I heard TD Jakes preach on TV the other night- you've got a beautiful, clean perfect life?- that's wonderful, I honor you, I applaud you- but you can't help me! Let me talk to someone who's been there, who knows what its like to live hurt and broken and get healed. Nobody wants to talk to a sinless saint- and besides, there aren't any!

Then we came home from church and took our daughter to the orchard (while suddenly studious, re-inspired son got to work on college applications)and ate hot cider doughnuts dripping with grease. (A bit of grease is good for you- it oils up your old joints). We came home, and I'm reading in bed when Bill yells up to me from downstairs, "Honey, your bull riding is on TV!!"

Now I am a fanatic about bull riding. My demeanor looks conservative but I am a wild bull rider inside.I love elegant tea parties, but I also get all excited about sweating ,brave men climbing on top of a 2000 lb. bull called Snortin' Harry or Kill Me Now (I made those up). All you have to do is stay on for 8 seconds- or possibly get stomped on, dragged around the arena, and get your guts kicked out of you. It is not for the faint of heart.

And deep inside, that's all I want to be- not faint of heart. Not a scaredy cat. Not someone who ducks out of the way instead of grabbing a charging bull by the horns.

Because in this life, you've got to be bold as a lion, tough as a bull, and tender hearted as a mother who can feel the pain in loving and letting go,

and go on anyhow.