Winning

Can you win and yet still lose? Or lose and still win?

This morning I was reading about the Pharisees and how they saw the Jews being drawn like moths to an eternal flame in the man of Jesus.

For the Pharisees and teachers of the law, it wasn't about finding the truth—whether Jesus was the Messiah. It was about keeping their power.

Being the ones the people looked to, envied, submitted to. They liked the adulation rather than being seekers and teachers of the truth, which is really what their position was about.

They were the ones who studied the Old Testament scriptures and were known for their superb knowledge. Yet rather than share this knowledge, they held it over the people and made it a noose around their necks.

So when people were drawn to Jesus like starving men to a buffet table, the Pharisees stared at the backs of the people as they walked away, rather than looking over their heads to see what they were moving toward.

John 12:19 states: Then the Pharissees said to each other, "We've lost. Look, the whole world has gone after him!"

How often do we worry more about what we are giving up in power and control, rather than what is best for us and those around us?

We focus outward rather than inward and upward. Blame rather than take responsibility. Allow life to happen and then resent the outcome rather than making choices and accepting the results.

It's easy to walk in fear and regret rather than to risk and accept.

I notice how often I put things off out of a fear that I won't do them "right." So rather than allowing those things to pile up, I'm taking chances, making choices. I now have a willingness to accept the outcome, whether it turns out well or not.

There is peace in that kind of acceptance, because I will be gentle with myself and applaud my willingness to choose, rather than berate myself for choosing wrongly.

Lessons and Grumblings

It seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, most things do when you plan them months in advance.

But last night I was hitting myself on the forehead and whining, "Why did I schedule my son's orthodontic consultation at 7 am?"

I'm barely awake by eight. And it's on the other side of town, so we'd have to leave at six-thirty o'dark.

I was concerned that in my bathrobe and yesterday's make up, they wouldn't even let us in the door. And the doctor would surely frown on my curling up with a blanket in a spare exam chair and finishing my sleep.

We arrived (in the dark) at a lovely new office building with office people bustling around inside. I shuffled to the front door, with my eager and chattering son right beside me—starting the day in the dark apparently not a hindrance for him—and attempted to enter.

Attempted.

The doors were locked. Baffled faces peered out at us. I prayed we were at the wrong building, but the doctor's name was plastered across the door. No luck.

They let us in and then politely explained that our appointment was scheduled for the next day. I nearly started pulling hair (my own). But I didn't. I breathed deeply and as the receptionist left to see what she could do, I whipped out my cell phone and texted my woes to a friend.

Blame started to flow from my fingers—their fault. I knew I'd written the appointment down correctly.

But as my thumb hovered over the send button, I paused. Grumbling is what led the Israelites to go around and around that mountain in the desert for forty years.

So I erased the blame and just stuck to the woe part.

Moments later she was back. Miracle upon miracle, a technician had arrived early. And then the orthodontist showed up ahead of schedule. They plopped my son in a chair and went to work. (They were wonderfully kind.)

I wrapped my bathrobe tighter (actually wore my running gear so I'd look like I was used to getting out of bed with a bang) and sat there in awe. They probably would have showed up early even if I hadn't grumbled, maybe even worked us in.

But then again. . . maybe not. Maybe they would have stopped at Starbucks as I grumbled my way home.

Casting Our Cares

My cares have gained weight this week. Pulling me down and draining me.

In previous weeks, the pain ebbed and flowed, but this week it washed in and continued a slow rise like a river cresting its banks during a flood.

At times I felt like I was barely treading water with concrete blocks strapped to my feet. Where was the ship that had kept me afloat this past month? That ship of faith.

I'd pushed it away, instead focusing on activity, busyness—the doing part of life that kept my mind occupied and my body moving.

But like a flood, grief won't be contained. It doesn't have anywhere to go if we dam it up. It just keeps rising until we can't hold it back.

The dam breaks and out it comes in a rushing torrent, sweeping you along, drowning you with pain.

But the torrent doesn't last once the pressure subsides. Grief spends itself and leaves you hollowed out.

Today I reached for God's hand, desperate for His comfort. Allowing Him to fill the hollow places and renew my bruised soul.

Joy comes in glimpses, flashes of sunlight on a winter day that wink between the yellow leaves and hide behind the dark clouds.

God weaves the joy with the sorrow, the memories with the missing. He blends the colors of our life into a rich tapestry that holds as many tears as laughter.

Our sorrow becomes a blanket of comfort and understanding that He can drape around another's weary shoulders. We can be His arms, His shoulder, His cradling lap to those that need His touch but are too burdened to find Him.

None of our pain is wasted. Every tear is collected, every burden sifted through His fingers.

With Him there is comfort.

Coming Back

Today was my first full day back to writing. I've attempted to write these past couple weeks, but the words weren't there. The creativity well was empty.

Grief seems to zap the energy from a person's body as well as hinder the ability to think clearly. My husband lost his cell phone the other day and had to back track to find it. He'd thrown it out with the recycling.

I think what I've learned over these past six weeks, is that there is no normal. There is no proper way to be. Each person's process is unique to them. And it's important to just be. To be how you are. To let yourself feel what you feel.

I've had good days and bad days and a few wonderful, joy-filled days. And I knew those days were a gift. A reprieve the Lord gave me, lifting me above the circumstances and letting me fly.

How thankful I am to Him for his incredible mercy and compassion.

Real and Limited

Went to a Women of Faith conference last weekend. Had the privilege of being the guest of one of the speakers.

I was amazed by the transparency of the speakers. Success and fame does not exempt a person from struggles. And these women didn't try to hide their hurts and failures. They were clearly vessels who wanted to be used to bring glory to God.

And that's the kind of vessel he can use.

It's so easy to think that we have to promote God. That if we exhibit anything less than Christian perfection, we're letting God down.

We forget that we weren't designed to be perfect. God bypassed that button and went straight for "limited."

Limited in power. Limited in our ability to do it right. Limited in love.

Just plain limited.

When we get that concept, freedom is right around the corner. Because when limited leans in and taps into the Unlimited God, He can do all things through us.

Love, hope, accept, accomplish, realize dreams, create the unimaginable.

God wants to accomplish his purposes through us—his limited, imperfect people.

It's through our humility and brokenness that God can do amazing works.

The Value of Self

Learned something about myself today. I want people to like me.

Okay, I know you're scrunching up your forehead with a, "Huh? Doesn't everyone?"

And you're right. Probably 99.9% of the population does want to be liked. The other 0.1% pretends they don't.

But I realized that I've curtailed my actions, kept silent at times, and laughed at stupid comments, all in an effort to please people into liking me.

Sometimes it was out of fear that I'd be wrong. That I'd say something that others didn't agree with.

I didn't want to be on one side of the fence with everyone on the other staring at me in stupefaction.

Because the message I grew up believing, was that there is always a right and a wrong way of believing / thinking / acting and you better figure it out quick.

And piggybacking that notion was the certainty that being wrong would diminish your value.

So I'd strive not to be wrong at all costs. This translated into a lifetime of trying to become what I thought others wanted me to be.

The sad result was that others didn't get to know the real me, just the me I thought they'd like. My smoke and mirrors act didn't give them the opportunity to embrace the real me.

The me that God designed me to be.

Fortunately, God has placed us on a journey where He can take those mixed-up moments and half-baked fears and infuse them with his truth to transform our thinking.

He wants to expose the weakness and flaws and lead us onto his path of peace, where mistakes are not to be feared and hidden, but exposed and learned from. Not a source of shame, but a stepping stone to move us closer to him.

I don't know about you, but His is the hand I want to hold as I jump from stone to stone.

Comfort

I checked on the kids before heading for bed and found my strapping twelve-year-old nestled under the covers with his younger brother.

Both of them sawing logs.

He'd told me earlier that he was scared (forty-five minutes into what I'd thought was the tenth ploy to stay up a little later). I hugged him and offered a brief prayer of comfort, but my heart wasn't into it.

My heart was already lusting for the warm bubble bath and pint of Ben and Jerry's that was waiting.

We moms get so weary by the end of the day that it's easy to miss a sincere need in the mine field of wants we navigate daily.

But my son had a need and he figured out a way to get it taken care of. All he needed was a warm body mere inches away to feel safe. Didn't matter that it was the brother he'd threatened to knock the eye teeth out of the day before.

When we have a need, do we go to the One who knows us so well? The One who hears our intimate thoughts?

He is comfort without measure, a mere breath away.

Real and Limited

Went to a <A HREF="http://www.womenoffaith.com">Women of Faith</A> conference last weekend. Had the privilege of being the guest of one of the speakers.

I was amazed by the transparency of the speakers. Success and fame does not exempt a person from struggles. And these women didn't try to hide their hurts and failures. They were clearly vessels who wanted to be used to bring glory to God.

And that's the kind of vessel he can use.

It's so easy to think that we have to promote God. That if we exhibit anything less than Christian perfection, we're letting God down.

We forget that we weren't designed to be perfect. God bypassed that button and went straight for "limited."

Limited in power. Limited in our ability to do it right. Limited in love.

Just plain limited.

When we get that concept, freedom is right around the corner. Because when limited leans in and taps into the Unlimited God, He can do all things through us.

Love, hope, accept, accomplish, realize dreams, create the unimaginable.

God wants to accomplish his purposes through us—his limited, imperfect people.

It's through our humility and brokenness that God can do amazing works.