Fallen Short

"for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God"

(Romans 3:23)

Almost everyone recognizes this verse. We teach it to our toddlers. Those of us who have grown up in the church, AWANAs, Sunday School, VBS... we know it by heart.

The teacher in me needs to step out of this indoctrination for a moment and ask a question. Does anyone see anything wrong with this quotation? Yes, Jimmy? That's right: it's not a complete sentence! There is no capital letter, which means there is something that comes before it, and there is no punctuation, which means that there is something that comes after it.

I challenge you, quick, before you grab your Bibles or skip on over to Biblegateway.com, what is the whole idea that this excerpt has been chopped out of the middle of? Don't know off of the top of your head? I didn't either. However, when I was assigned to look up 3:23 and read it, just 23, seeing it in the middle of a paragraph bothered me... so I read the whole thing.

Ladies and gentleman, a paragraph from Romans 3:

¹⁹ Now we know that whatever the law says, it says to those who are under the law, that every mouth may be stopped, and all the world may become guilty before God. ²⁰ Therefore by the deeds of the law no flesh will be justified in His sight, for by the law is the knowledge of sin.

²¹ But now the righteousness of God apart from the law is revealed, being witnessed by the Law and the Prophets, ²² even the righteousness of God, through faith in Jesus Christ, to all and on all who believe. For there is no difference; ²³ for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, ²⁴ being justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, ²⁵ whom God set forth as a propitiation by His blood, through faith, to demonstrate His righteousness, because in His forbearance God had passed over the sins that were previously committed, ²⁶   to demonstrate at the present time His righteousness, that He might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus.²⁷ Where is boasting then? It is excluded. By what law? Of works? No, but by the law of faith. ²⁸ Therefore we conclude that a man is justified by faith apart from the deeds of the law.

Now, I understand that the whole paragraph is awfully big for a toddler to memorize, but isn't "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" awfully heavy? Especially without the good part of the story? We don't let our kids go to movies with scary scenes, but they can memorize "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." and then follow it up with, "For the wages of sin is death;" (Romans 6:23a) (Yet another verse with suspicious punctuation warning all that we shortened because it was too big, and in turn made it too heavy by cutting out the wordy redemption part. In this one, we didn't just clip a verse out of a paragraph, we clipped a phrase out of a verse!) 

I remember not liking those verses for as long as I have memorized them. I still sigh and roll my eyes as I hear them being taught to the new generation of guilt ridden followers. They only made me feel dirty, shameful. What a horrible use of the Bible. In their entirety, they were supposed to make me feel blessed and treasured.

As adults, we mentally clip scriptures regularly as often as our subconscious feels the need to beat us down. We bask in our failures and forget the parts that glorify God's overcoming them. We need to be focusing on the whole story to be able to battle when our subconscious starts clipping the good parts out. After all, since when did any story lover stop in the middle of the chaos and trial portion of the book, and decide to move on to something else? Never. We cling to the story until the redemption, the rescue, the victory comes through.

We need the whole story.

Romans 6: 21-23 

 What benefit did you reap at that time from the things you are now ashamed of? Those things result in death!  But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life.  For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 3:22-23

This righteousness is given through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.  

Because we are all too aware of our sins and falling short. We know without needing to be told that we carry death within us. What we really need to memorize, carry with us, be reminded of regularly is the rest of the story.

"but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord."

"all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. "

As for toddlers memorizing things, if they are not mature enough to handle the size of: "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." or all of Romans 3:22-23, then maybe we ought to reconsider whether they are mature enough to handle the weight of, "for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" and "For the wages of sin is death"

It scares us, because rule followers are easier to raise and control, but I truly believe that in a room of adults, we'd rather be locked in with the grace believers than the rule followers. Maybe grace is what needs to be drilled in from toddlerhood, rather than fear and insufficiency.

Because what is the point of learning about death and failure, if we do not learn about life, grace, and the glory of God?

If we do not learn both parts, then by clipping verses and redemption ideas apart, this is an area in which we have truly fallen short for both ourselves and our toddlers.

Is That Supposed to Be a Picket Fence?

(This is not my picture, but when I thought about going to take a picture of a lovely house and picket fence, I realized the neighbors might get creeped out...thanks Google Images)

    Growing up, everyone has a basic idea of what life will be like when they are "grown up." We hear even little children talk about, "When I grow up, I'm gonna marry so-and-so..." and "My house will look like..." It's a natural process for children, and honestly, it's just plain cute. It's interesting how this process starts in everyone so young, this drive to achieve the American middle class dream. I started calling these the "Picket fence" dreams, because a house, a spouse, a dog, some kids, a yard, and a picket fence to keep it all in seems to be the most common picture of middle class success and happiness. It may not be everyone's personal dream picture, but we all know and recognize those picket fence dreams of how we thought our lives were supposed to go, or the pattern we think others expect our lives to follow, way back when  we were solidifying our versions of "right" and "wrong" "good" and "bad" in our childhood psyches. They all lend to the pattern and timeline people feel their lives should follow, if they are doing it right.
     As a whole, picket fence dreams are not necessarily wrong. They can be sweet and positive things. The problem comes when picket fences don't  mesh with someone's personal dreams. Sometimes those two ideals conflict uncompromisingly. Then there is the other, very real issue: Picket fence dreams cannot always be happily accomplished by sheer effort and force of will. Sometimes life does not land that way. Sometimes we are left feeling insufficient.

     The truth of the matter is, I have no picket fence around my yard. I didn't follow a path that led to a yard with a picket fence. I might never live that picket fence life. The hardest truth I had to learn about this is that I like my fence free life. I like the adventure that a less than typical path has allowed me. For the longest time, I felt that I needed to explain, justify, or just feel insufficient and shuffle off to a corner over the fact that I did not marry right out of school, I have no children, I have no house, I did not settle into a career straight out of school, I have no dog in my yard, I have no prospective leads that may lead to that life, and (here's the zinger) I do not have those things because I did not choose those things. I did not choose those things because my priorities were and are different. That last part was the hardest part for me to understand fully.

       I am in the life I am in now not because I am insufficient at life in general, but because it is the life I am best suited to live right now.

      It's like this: In the beginning, we are all given this box of materials with no directions inside.

We grow up, looking around, observing others, listening to other people's descriptions of what they did with their own box of materials. What we see is that everybody used their materials to build picket fences and beautiful lives. Some of us decide those lives and picket fences are so great, that we decide to build similar ones of our own, and this thrills us. Another set of us decide that because that is what everyone did with their box of materials, this must be what that box of materials is for, and so we dutifully decide to build picket fences just like them. As we try to do so, we develop resentment towards our awkward, lopsided, ugly fences and also the people who built beautiful fences.

     For the latter half of us, the main error is assuming that this is what everyone did with their box of materials. The reason we do this is because cute homes and picket fences are the most visible, recognizable constructions from similar boxes of materials. We fail to realize that the people who built zoos, airplanes, boats, bridges, restaurants, hang gliders, museums, and bike paths also started with similar boxes of materials. They just looked into their box, looked at the houses and picket fences around them, and said, "That's cool, but I can't sail to Iceland on a picket fence...and I think I'd rather go sailing."  or, "This would make a fantastic elephant cage! Let's go find an elephant!!!"

     I personally failed to see those things, because first, I didn't realize they started with boxes too, and second, people who decide to build airplanes with their boxes typically do not park their airplanes in the neighborhood for little kids who are trying to decide what to do with this seemingly random box of materials to notice. Third, while the boxes of materials may be similar,  I made the mistake of assuming that everybody's box is identical. They are not. Not at all. It can be very frustrating for a person to try to work a propeller into the creation of a picket fence, but sometimes, they try anyway.
 




   In the end, we all build something. We all get splinters, smash our thumbs, and run into problems, no matter what we end up building. The difference is, the people who really looked at their boxes to see what the materials actually inspire and then look themselves to see what their souls are built for, end up building quality products that they love, and the splinters, smashed thumbs, and broken pieces are just minor details in their stories of success, because they loved building it. The people who take their boxes and try to force them into what they think everyone else thinks they must create, end up with half-hearted excuses for picket fences or airplanes, splinters that fester enough to cause gangrene, an unexplainable sense of shame, and an unshakeable aura of bitterness.

It's not wrong to build a cute home and a picket fence, if that's what your box and your soul agree on.

It's also not wrong, quirky, or absurd to end up building an airplane, zoo, tree house, boat, or whatever, instead, if that's what makes your particular soul dance. What matters is this: Whatever you end up building, will you be happy or bitter about the splinters you suffered while building it?

Quaint, I know, but it has taken a long time for me to reach and fully accept this weird little epiphany of mine.

(Thanks, Google)

Now, I'm off to find a hang-gliding okapi to add to my flying treehouse zoo-restaurant thing, but I'll leave you with this sticky note:

What's in your box? What's in your soul? What are you building? Are your splinters worth it?

Is your picket fence an airplane?

...Wait

 A while ago, I had put myself on a "wish list fast", because I had found that all of my prayers seemed to be little more than a grocery list for God to fulfill. What I needed was a stint of time where I didn't ask God to give me things and fix my life, but instead thanked him for what he was doing, and asked only for guidance.
Toward the end of last year, I felt that God had given me permission to try something new: "Ask, and then wait."

I have a tendency to request something from God and then go out and work myself into exasperation trying to attain it. I am a lot like Abraham's wife, Sarah. I find myself trying to help hurry God along in his promises.

So, on the corner of my blue dry erase board I wrote, "Dear God, I would really like a home please." I left it up on the corner for two months of nervous waiting.

Then God provided me with a trailer: an affordable, and generally nice, just right for me space.

Once moved into my trailer, living on my suddenly very small income, I came to a pressing realization: I needed a job. The possibilities looked very bleak.

God must have laughed. My dear, sweet, silly child... Wait.

He saw my need for reassurance, though, and he had compassion on my frail heart.

It had been stormy all week, and on the night before my birthday, I fantasized to myself, "I would really love it if the sun would shine for my birthday."

My birthday was beautifully shiny day. I grinned and thought it was a wonderful coincidence. Dear, sweet, silly child. Wait.

I thought to myself as I went about the morning, "I would really like to treat myself to frozen yogurt from Yogurtland." But the day got busy, and I didn't have time to stop.

I had to go to my parents' house, and on the way over, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up something for my mom. At the register there was a display of Hostess Cupcakes. Maybe you don't know this, but before I went gluten free, Hostess Cupcakes were my cigarettes...it was like a 3 pack a day habit. I lingered on the thought of, "What I wouldn't give for a Hostess Cupcake!" as I made my purchase.

Not more than 5 minutes later, I walked into my parents' house. Mom led me to the kitchen, where 18 home made, gluten free Hostess Cupcake mock-ups (complete with the white swirl of icing on top) were sitting on the counter waiting for me. They were excellent! I heard myself repeating, "I was just wishing for these!" What a crazy coincidence.

Dear, sweet, silly child. Wait.

Basking in the glory of my surprise, I got a call from my friend Laura. She asked if she could meet me, because she had a treat for me. She came to my parents' house.

Her gift? A bowl of Yogurtland frozen yogurt. She said apologetically, "I hope you like the flavors I chose, I sort of guessed." Laura happened to guess my two absolute favorite flavors: Red Velvet Cake Batter, and Rootbeer Float.

What a coincidence.  Silly child.

This story may seem pointless to you, but it was very special to me. I didn't realize the impact it would have on me as it was happening. The moments were just happy little events as they were happening.

As I drove home, pondering in the silence of the car, I felt God's knowing smile as all connected. I had three small wishes for my day. All three were things I could easily live without, but God coordinated them for me before I had even managed to desire them that day.

God cares enough for me to pull something special together, to give me a day where the frivolous, childish desires of my heart were fulfilled, not because I needed those things, but because He wanted to show me that he is into the details. I needed his reminder that he hears all the desires of my heart, the frivolous ones, too.

I felt like the card attached to the day said,

"Happy Birthday, dear one! I love you and you are very special to me. If you think that was great, wait until I get to the important stuff! Love, God."

I know that we spend our whole lives hearing about how God will provide for us, but like the Israelites in the desert, I tend to need a lot of reminding. This was enough. I still didn't have a job at the end of the day, and honestly, I didn't know how ends were going to meet, but the panic was gone. I was reassured that however it was going to happen, God is good at the details and He cares about my frail heart.

Less than a month later, a job came pounding on my front door, and when I tried to bolt the door, God was kind enough to place a friend there to throw the door open for me. The job fits my needs perfectly right now, and it showed up at just the right time (not a second sooner). The best part is, God's provision doesn't stop here. It doesn't stop at finding me a new home, or landing me a job.

In the long view of things, those details are insignificant, and I feel loved because God takes care of the insignificant things for me, too.

It is often hard for me trust God to give me what I feel is important. I fight and wear myself out trying to do His job for Him so he can give me what I want RIGHT NOW.

I really just need to remember to ask, stand back... and Wait.

I'll be there...

(Quick warning: In order to find photos for this post, I had to dig through my old honest-to-goodness-real-film photos from my childhood point and shoot cameras.. there is only so much quality one can expect from an 8-16 year old with a 35mm and a questionable quality of scanner!)

I really won on the day they were handing out grannies.

 My Granny has many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She was the kind of grandmother who could halt a displeasing behavior with a few curt words, but still manage to make a grandchild feel extremely, securely loved and like a uniquely special individual. She played our silly games(even though she disliked most of them), watched our age-level movies, and read our grade level books, and generally valued our personhood at whatever age we were, which allowed us a level of closeness that other people might not achieve with grandparents.


The same curiosity and independence that were the bane of her cooking abilities formed the random escapades she invited us along that formed of our now cherished memories. I say all this just to preface what an important and special role Granny has held in my life. She died in July of 2008, and while occasionally I regret that I could not steal more time with her, I also feel privileged- as the daughter of her fifth and youngest child- to have been able to know Granny for as long as I did. I am grateful for the time I got, and as she knows Jesus, I am glad she is finally with him.

I am at peace about Granny going to be with Jesus. Some days though, I miss her more than others. There are some situations that spike an automatic desire to go visit Granny: 

Coming across a bag of Lays sour cream and onion flavored potato chips tucked away in a corner. Sitting down to a pile of of books, or perusing a used bookstore. Driving to the coast. Taking a stroll on a lovely day through a park or particularly forested area. Settling down to a cup of tea, or soup. Finding an excitingly strange foreign film, or watching a great book-based movie.

It is during these moments that I catch myself mentally loading up the car to go to Arroyo Grande and looking forward to a lunch at the Back Door Deli.

I remember several years ago, when my two youngest siblings were in those years of annoying car trips. We often drove to the coast as a family, spending the weekend with Granny and Grandad. While Melody and James were between the ages of 4 and 10, the ever present question was "Are we there yet? How much longer?"

They asked this so many times that Mom came up with an auto-response that soon became so traditional that even after they outgrew that stage, someone would always ask the annoying question just to hear the response before we got there.

"We'll be there when we see Granny waiting for us on the front porch waving."

Granny often did that. When she knew we were getting close, she would go stand on the front porch and wait for us to arrive. It became a joke those times when she wasn't there on the porch that even after we were there, we weren't really there until we saw Granny.

Sometimes, I drive past her old home, and there is a quiet pang of loss, knowing that she wouldn't be waiting for me there, if I stopped by. Granny's house was always a sanctuary: leave all bullies, worries, and stresses on the freeway, they couldn't come through Granny's door. Recently, during one of those pangs, I reminded myself what a relief it is that she is in heaven, fully well, unrestricted and rejoicing with Jesus.

I love Jesus, too. There is a certain amount of comfort I take in knowing that not only will I be able to bask in the presence of my savior, I'll get to see Granny again. Somehow, knowing that my once tangible Granny is there in Heaven makes my Jesus, who I have never physically hugged, feel even more tangible in those times when I really need a hug. 

Even during the difficult times, I can keep moving forward, because eventually, I'll get to go to my real sanctuary. It is striking to me how similar life is to the drive I so frequently used to make to Arroyo Grande: long, steep, and twisting, sometimes exhausting, other times it isn't all that bad, occasionally fun, occasionally boring, filled with glimpses of breathtaking beauty and unexpected dangers, some days it goes by quickly, others it drags on forever, but in the end, it is well worth the trip. There are phases in my life when the trip is so long, so foggy and dark, so scary, and exhausting that I hear my soul wearily nagging God with that annoying question. 


But I already know.

I'll be there when I can see Granny waiting for me on the front porch waving.
 And this time, Jesus will be standing right next to her.

Until then, I'll keep traveling, and usually, I'll enjoy that traveling.

However, when I do finally get there, I want a hug from both.

Quitters never win

There are days when you want to quit. You look at what you are doing with you life and realize how minuscule, inefficient, and meaningless it seems compared to the grand scheme of things.

What you want to quit varies according to the day.  Often it is a job.  If I remember correctly, working generally consists of 80% insults,  1% positive feedback, and 19% insults you just haven't managed to overhear yet.

I remember as a student, the idea of quitting seemed blissful at times. As a student you spend a majority of your time scrambling to learn something, only to realize next semester that you are scrambling so hard to learn this new subject that you can't remember a thing you learned last semester.

"Being nice" is another occupation that tempts quitting to the extreme.  Sure, sometimes, doing the right thing can be gratifying, but often, it means holding the restaurant door for the entire lunch rush because it seems nobody else's mother trained them to take the door as they walk through.

I am ashamed to admit that often "Serving others" is also high on my quitting list, at times.  I want to make a positive change, and when I am met with an overwhelming service need, or change is overly resistant, I am quick to throw my hands in the air and claim that my efforts are pointless, that no one would even notice if I did quit, that nobody could truly succeed in this particular effort.  It's just a drop of fresh water in this world's ocean; the osmosis takes over, and the ocean engulfs the raindrop as though it never happened.

We want to quit when we are dissatisfied with the results of our efforts.  I have realized that I am driven heavily by results, and while this can be a good thing, it is also a foothold for the devil, if I am not careful.  I get caught up in the results, rather than the process, in the gratification, rather than the integrity.  When I lose my focus like this, I become vulnerable to the voice that says, "Don't bother. Walk away. You're not up to the task.  Nobody cares what you do anyway. They're all laughing at you.  Other people are taking the easy way out and getting rewarded for it."

Why bother? Going to school is just going to make you a more educated unemployed person with extra debt. It's useless: trying to make friends in a time of life where it seems most people have set their life up just the way they want it, leaving few vacancies.  Why buy a homeless person lunch when that one meal is not going to heal an addiction, clean a record, restore hope, provide a job, education, and apartment?...it will just be one meal. Why tithe when 10% of little is even smaller?  Why study, you just can't understand it.  Don't waste the effort, you cannot calm someone else's storm, you cannot soothe the turmoil of someone else's soul.

What I forget in the midst of this acidic discouragement is that it is not important whether I see the results of my actions. It is not necessary for me to know the justification of obedience. What is important is that I mind my actions and my attitude and make sure that they are righteous. It is important that I find my righteousness in Christ, and that in Christ I find the desire and strength to be obedient, to love without demanding gratitude, to give without the attitude of ownership, to live in such a way that my God is glorified through me, rather than besmirched by me.

Sure, there are some situations that really do need quitting, but most situations just need courage and gumption. I am realizing that in those dark moments of whatever topic that is haunting me, it is when I want to quit the most that I need to rebel against those urges. I need to work harder, fight smarter, focus better, and in a few days, weeks, months, when it does not feel so desperate,  I need to re-evaluate the situation. Otherwise, I am saying, "Here, Satan, I tied my heart up on this string, and even put a loophole for your finger, enjoy! Jerk it as you please. There's probably an awesome mud hole filled with broken glass nearby to drag it through." And that just doesn't seem smart... or pleasant.

What is this blog, a cry for help? you ask.  No. It is just me reading a lot of books, living a lot of life, and thinking a lot of thought.  It is me calling out all those sometimes-wanna-be quitters--including myself-- in situations large and small, and hopefully encouraging us to recenter our focus, and remember what truly matters in the long run.


To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—  to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen.    Jude 24-25

Thanks for letting me meander.

My cat reminds me of God...

And if my cat had anything to do with the editing, this blog would end with the title.  Fortunately for my salvation, the title requires explanation. Let me start by explaining about my cat.

I trapped my cat as a 3 week old kitten from a long line of feral cats. She hated me.  She hated everyone, but I am particularly good with animals.  I have never had an animal hate me before. Fear? Yes, but hate? Never.  It took 2 months longer than the other kittens we caught to get her to tolerate my presence.  I finally managed this by locking her in the bathroom with me while I read a book for hours, ignoring her.  It took weeks of this before she made the decision to approach me.  Before that, every time I held her resulted in my bleeding, a lot.  It took a year before I could reach out to her without her scampering away, three years before she was willing to cuddle up in my lap.  She would not take food or treats that I offered her(not even hot dog bits, or cheese), I had to fill her food dish secretly.  As a kitten, she had a bacterial infection, and 3 different kinds of parasites at once, meaning she had to pinned down daily for medications. Later on, she got ringworm, and though she had begun to like me, I still had to wrestle her down to treat her every day.  Now, she loves me.

A year ago, I scooped this opinionated fluff ball up and cradled her in my arms to rub her belly. She closed her eyes and purred with satisfaction, and as I watched her tilt her head side to side, I caught sight of the healed over scars on my own arm. They were a few of the many scars this cat had inflicted on me as a scared and angry kitten.  I was surprised to see they were still there.  I was surprised to see them and then realize that I felt a deep love for the kitten that had put the scars there.  As I pondered this, I felt God murmur in my heart, I know the feeling.

You were living in a place of death, but I rescued you
You hated me, but I loved you
You hid from me, but I found you 
You ran away, but I pursued you
You lashed out against me, but I forgave you
You were diseased, but I healed you
You were anemic, but I gave you life
I gave you good things, but too often you turned away 
You were scared, but I waited for you trust
You wanted the wrong thing desperately, but I protected you
I know what is best for you, even when you don't like it
And when I see the scars I took on your behalf,  I do not feel regret. Only love.

And so as I stood there, and rubbed my cat's tummy, I gained a new appreciation for how great my God is.  Because of this when I look at my cat, I am reminded of God's great love for me.  I am reminded that God went to great efforts to love me, and that I was not incredibly lovable.  Even during those times when I vehemently tell him to take his love and shove it, he relentlessly loves me.

Much to my cat's disappointment, I do not consider her a god. She is simply a consistent reminder of God's great patience, mercy and love for me. 

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us.

                  1 John 4:18-19

Because mirrors should be nicer...

A few days ago, I posted about how, even though I try to do better, sometimes the mirror can best my self confidence.  As the band, SuperChic[k], put it, "Sometimes I have good days and it's good to be me. Sometimes I get the best of insecurity, and it's quite alright to be the one and only, but today I feel like the one and lonely."  I believe we all can understand that feeling from time to time.

I have been thinking about how many  battles I have had with the mirror, the goriest of which were done during my preteen and teenage years.  People often do not know about children's battles with the mirror, because the children fear that if they mention that something about themselves haunts them, someone might agree that it's true: they really are ugly, awkward, stupid, worthless.  We would all rather fear that it might be true than take the risk of asking, and having someone confirm our fears.

As many of you know, I sponsor some kids through Compassion International.  These kids are really important to me, and it may sound strange, being as I have never met them, but I love them.  When I first signed up to be a sponsor, I did not realize the opportunity I had been given, but it only took a short time for Liline to show me how much she looked up to me, just for choosing her.  I really don't deserve to be this considered  this cool, but for some reason, she places great import in everything I say.  Because of this, I try to see areas where I can encourage my kids where the people in their daily lives may not be able to.

With my sponsored kids, I can't be there to pick them up, and brush the dust off of their knees, or put the bandaids on broken hearts.  I don't know what is being said to them daily.  I can't know when they are having good days or dark days, but I try to make sure that when they are having their dark days, they have a full stock of letters and reminders to scare off those beasts that lurk in their darkness.

So, one day, as I was perusing that dangerous place known as Michaels craft store, I came across these paper mirrors for a dollar a piece.

A light bulb came on, and I bought three, and a 20 pack of markers.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I find that when I am most discouraged or disgusted with myself, I will at least once glance in my mirror, as if to see if it really is as bad as I feel. The problem with this is that the mirror often has a sharp tongue, and rarely disagrees with the dark feelings.  We use a mirror every day, before we leave the house.  I am going to take advantage of this fact.

Because, it's about time mirrors started showing people some love.  Alok Nath, being in India, writes in a script that I can't even figure out which side is up, so I will have to tell him that word means "Handsome" and that is why I chose to cover the rest of it in hearts, so instead of reading it, he might be able to get the gist of love. (There is a protective plastic to protect the mirror. For a paper mirror, it has quite a good reflection under that plastic)

This one goes to Abigail, who lives in Ghana and speaks some English.  This one is not as artistic, but I wanted her to look at this mirror and think nothing but good about herself!  Especially "Loved"   It is my theory that most of our insecurities, and self abusive choices we make stem from our fear that we are not lovable.  In my mind, it is most important that we let the people that we love know it...often!

This last one is for Liline, whose given name is Magarette. She will be 13 this summer, so I thought she might like something a little more elegant than playful. She speaks Creole and is learning French in school, so I looked up some French for her. "God loves you"  "I love you" "Beautiful" "Intelligent"  and "Precious"  are what I chose for her.

I am really pleased with how these little projects turned out, plus I enjoyed the opportunity to color again!  It delights me to think that when they look into these and see themselves, they will also see things like "Beautiful"  "Smart"  and "Loved" and hopefully they will associate those things with themselves more often. I hope that they will be cheerful little candles for my "kids" on their dark days.

Because, quite frankly, it is about time for mirrors to learn their manners, and for us to stand up to them.  It is also time for those of us who are older, and have already seen the reflective battlefield too often to step in, help our younger loved ones to develop positive habits when looking at themselves, and show them how to put that reflector in its place.  It starts by us filling their reservoirs up with love, so that when they are feeling low and they turn to look at their reservoir, they see a lake and not a puddle.

An aptly spoken word...

I work really hard to make sure I am not repeating negative things to myself when I look in the mirror. This is a habit I have been working on for many years.  There was a point in my life that God made it clear to me that he didn't appreciate me insulting his creations, and that I am one of his creations.  Sometimes, however, it is a hard habit to enforce.  Sometimes, I get up in the morning and I have only negative and whiny things to mutter at the mirror. Sometimes, I look in the mirror and see that awkward teenager again, with ears that stick out, an overbite, freckles, an overly long neck, and a dash of orange hair to call attention to it all. On those days, I content myself with either silence, rehearsed words, or sometimes a song that was on a cassette we listened to often throughout childhood, "God made me like I am, a special God design. Everything God made is good, I'm really very fine..."

Yesterday was one of those mornings.  I especially struggle with thinking nice thoughts about myself on days where I'm suffering from an onslaught of acne.  Ten years ago, I thought this battle would be over, and it is really quite disheartening at times to realized it's almost as bad as it was then.  To add to this, i wasn't feeling well. This morning, I contented myself with silence(a common occurrence the earlier in the morning it is), put on mascara and sunscreen, got ready for church, and left.  I am new at church, so I still cringe a little when the leader says, "Go ahead and stand and greet those around you."  Usually, I march in and find an empty spot, and ask if they mind my sitting there, because I hate to sit alone. Feeling lurkish, I had chosen a seat on an empty aisle, in the last row of the section, on the far side of the church. So, upon the order to greet people, I did the necessary standing up, intending to wait a few seconds and sit down to simmer in the funk again.  It didn't work.

One of the older women who first welcomed me into the church saw me, and crossed the room to give me a hug. That felt good.  Then, the woman who really was the first person to welcome me, hurried over shortly afterwards to give me a hug.  That felt good too. I started thinking maybe, in spite of my bad attitude, I might just surface for some of this cheerful air.  Then, she placed her hand on my face, and leaned in as if to tell me a secret, and whispered, "You're so pretty!" She smiled and looked me directly in the eyes, and then it was time to sit down.

It was a good thing it was time to sit down, because the compliment caught me so off guard, a slight breeze might have knocked me over.  Were I the crying sort, I might have done so.  Instead, I just marveled.  All of a sudden, I felt pretty again.  It was as if she had reached into the mud pit, and pulled me out by my scruff, sprayed me down, and left me in the warm summer sun to drip dry. It felt blissfully good.  And realizing the fact that God loved me enough to put that on her agenda, felt equally good.

Compliments are strange things in our culture.  Usually, we brush them off, because we are pretty sure it was just the polite thing to say, or something a person had to say to fulfill their duty as friend, mother, or some other relative.  When good manners do not call for a compliment and we truly feel that it is genuine, it is amazing the impact a compliment can make.  It can make a day.  Often we think good things about each other, but don't say them, because it would feel awkward.  The compliment that pulled me out of my pit was a good wholesome reminder that I should also be on the look out for opportunities to encourage others.  After all, I'll never know just how much a person might need it at that moment.

"A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver."  Proverbs 25:11

I don't know if this situation is what Solomon meant this verse for, but I feel like maybe I needed an apple yesterday, and someone was kind enough to provide it.

The cul-de-sac...

When I was younger, I lived on a cul-de-sac. In my opinion, a cul-de-sac is one of the best places for a child to grow up, especially if it has many children on the street, and multiple sturdy climbing trees.  A cul-de-sac has very little traffic, and the traffic it does have has to slow down.  The bulb is a wide open space, perfect for baseball, basket ball, hockey, and tag.  Children only have to glance down the road, and if they see a car turn onto the street while a game is going on, there is a resounding a chorus of young voices calling out, "Car!" and the game pauses as everyone clears off the street for a moment.  We used to spend hours every day outside, running, climbing, and riding our bikes. 

One of the best feelings of childhood is to play so hard you can feel your lungs, your face, your throat, and your legs burning. Your whole body tells you to quit, but your spirit, in the name of laughter, fun and competition, won't let you, because "IT" is right on your heels, and the last thing you want is to be "IT" next. You race for the designated tree, wrap your arms around it and cry, "Safe!"  And at that age, you are both naive enough and faithful enough to truly feel safe.  Finally, collapsing onto the grass, and rolling onto your back,  you gasp for air as you listen to your heart beat out the dance of endorphins, and watch the sky spin in response.  Air has never felt so crisp before. Cold water becomes sweeter than soda, and this time, the breeze really could pick you up and fly you away, and you would be delighted.  Everything throbs, your diaphragm aches like it might just quit this time, and there is sweat streaking down your face like a broken sprinkler, and yet you are having a blast. And being young, tomorrow you won't feel the consquences at all. 

We used to play until the sky darkened.  The smells of each household's dinner would creep out and mingle and, wrap itself around us. We would eek out those last streams of light. Some times we couldn't even see the puck during the last stretch of the game, but we had to get a few more goals in before the street light came on.  Then, sadly, the street light would switch on just as the residual glow of the sun began to fade, and we would tumble into our respective houses, and wonder why Mom insisted we needed baths. We felt great, why wash it off?  Later, we would drop into bed, and sleep a sleep so restful our adult selves should be jealous about it now.

Maybe adults should play tag more often. We might end up less stressed, sleep better, and be happier to see our neighbors.

I miss my cul-de-sac: the squealing, chasing, laughing, gasping, running, climbing, flying. I miss the unshakable belief in safety.  I miss the unconquerable confidence that allowed me to climb far too high on branches far too thin.  I miss the lack of long-term consequences. I miss gazing up at the sky and the security of truly feeling that when I talked to God, he heard me, every time.  The sky felt so close and immense, and so did God.  I miss the faith that if anything should ever go wrong, all I had to do was send Mom and Dad in, and they would talk it over with the offender and fix it, and then the problem would then dissolve into nothingness. I keep those times close at hand, because the memories are so good, and the feelings so comforting.

I'm glad I was one of the kids who got to grow up on a cul-de-sac. I am also glad that I grew up, even if growing up means having to eventually leave the cul-de-sac, face the traffic, lose the "safe" tree, learn that there is no "pausing the game" to let the traffic fly by, understand there are some things parents can't fix, stop climbing nearly as precariously, and occasionally feel like my prayers are going no where. 

There are growth spurts that you can't have in a cul-de-sac world, joys that you can't get from running, depths that cannot be gained before the street light comes on, stains that cannot be scrubbed away in baths, and heights that you can't reach by way of trees. There are adventures in the grown-up world that are much too big to fit in my cul-de-sac, and I'll take the lumps in exchange for those adventures.  Every once in a while, however, it's still nice to run until you can't breathe, and then keep running until all you can do is collapse, to pretend for a moment, that the cul-de-sac is back, and there really is a "safe" tree, and you really can fly, and to remember that God really is that immense and close, and he really is listening, no matter how grown-up you think you are.

Do we really love?

This, my friends, is more of a question that I have been asking myself than an accusation or a sermon. I am just sorting out the ponderings that tag along with the initial question.  Do I really love? 

I catch myself wondering this often, lately.  In my lifestyle, I think it is much easier to be selfish without as many obvious tell-tale signs.  I have no spouse, or children to demand selflessness of me, and thus, when I choose not to be selfless, it is not nearly as obvious. Case and point: I have never picked up my kids from school, and CPS has yet to be called on me for such negligence, and I get no dirty looks from other parents, either. 

Maybe that is just how it appears from my own perspective. Maybe people see directly through my supposedly camouflaged “me” time and “me” choices.  I have been working on reading through the Bible for the past six months or so. It is slow at times, and some times hard to digest. I think, though, that this is what keeps bringing me back to the question: do we really love?   

We definitely have knee jerk reactions.  For example: ask me if I love Jesus, and no matter how I am behaving or feeling at the time, you will get an immediate yes from me.  Now, it is true, I do love Jesus, even and especially in the darkest hours of my life. What bothers me about my response is not that I say “yes” every time, but that I do not always behave “yes” during all those other times, those other times when nobody is asking.  Ask me to provide a verse about love, and you will normally hear, “Love the Lord your God, and love your neighbor as yourself.” fall out of my mouth before I realize that I still can’t remember the verse numbers.  

 These are not necessarily bad habits, except that I catch myself slipping into only words and training. I suspect that most people do.  Often I show people love because it is a knee jerk reaction, or I feel good when I do, or because I know I should, or because I know someone is watching. Often I don’t show love because it would be uncomfortable, nobody would know that I didn't, I don’t know how, or I just failed notice the opportunity. 

I hold the door for strangers, and often cut off the same strangers on the road, safely tucked inside the anonymity and oblivion of my car.  I see someone who needs a friend, and my fears of clumsiness and rejection can overpower the initial impulse of love.  I want to be an international missionary. I have often been alerted to the fact that I should be a missionary wherever I am, that we all technically are.  We are supposed to be missionaries “here”…and after that is said, it is rare that anyone, including myself, actually takes action for those here-people.  Do we really love? 

I don’t write this to cause guilt. I certainly do not write this because I am so sufficient in this subject. I think of all the subjects of my life, I fail the most in real love.  Honestly, it is just a reflection that seems to have taken a liking to me lately.   Kicking it away has clearly failed, and so I challenge myself instead to try.  Try to be more aware of love, of that fact that love is not always, nor is it usually, a warm, fuzzy feeling. It does not always get rewarded with gratitude. It should not depend on gratitude, because love should never be for sale.  

I write this because I want to love. I want to really love; not just use the cute word that looks so pretty on greeting cards and rhymes so cheesily well with “above” and “dove". I want to truly and immensely love, to really love, for the sake of love: The love that loves when irritated, uncomfortable, injured, spurned, lost, and even abused. With that summary, immense love becomes immensely intimidating, and I remember why I often fail. While I fail, I have already been given this sort of immense love.  I really like being on the receiving end of it, actually.  How is it that a simple 4 letter word stumps me so easily when I try to think of it beyond noun properties? I don’t know, but I think I'll keep trying.

“And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”

Mark 12:30-31 

Thanks for letting me ponder.