The Sock Exchange

Every Christmas the women of my church get together for lunch, followed by a sock and holiday treat exchange. This was only my second time, but I remembered it as a sweet time of fun and fellowship last year and was looking forward to it. In fact, I was so excited about it that I showed up a week early with my socks and plate of goodies. 

So a week later, when the real day arrived, I was ready with my wrapped-a-whole-week-early socks and a fresh batch of cookies. It was just as entertaining as I remembered, and I came home pleased with my tray of yummies and socks with which I emerged, victorious, from the battle.

See, it’s not so much a pleasant, easygoing gift exchange as it is a cunning game of chance and avarice. It’s Dirty Santa at its finest, with 40 women vying for Christmas socks that cost, at the most, $5. It’s great. And a more than a little revealing. Here are a few thoughts about this year’s Christmas sock exchange:

You can have Chick-fil-A on Sunday. It just takes foresight and a working oven to reheat the nuggets and strips.

Women can be extremely competitive when it comes to socks. This may surprise you, but not me. I once stood in line for hours to buy my daughter clothes at a Buster Brown factory sale. It was only after I got inside that I realized I didn’t have the fortitude to fight other women for toddler outfits. I actually witnessed the manager stop the frenzy once because an elderly woman had been knocked down and other women were throwing armloads of clothing they didn’t want on the floor. True story.

Sweets cover a multitude of sins. Women who snatch socks right out of their sisters in Christ’s very hands are once again best friends when they circle the treat table and load up their platters with sweets. Grace truly is amazing.

People have different tastes when it comes to socks. I like fuzzy socks I can wear to bed. The pair I walked away with this time were even “infused with shea butter.” Not sure how that works, but they sure feel nice. Other women went for multiple packs of Christmas socks. And for still others, the perfect pair of socks didn’t have a Christmas theme at all, but could be worn long after the holidays. It all worked out because we’re all different, even though we’re created in God’s image. Maybe if we just tried a little harder to see and love each other the way God does, in spite of our socks, the world, not to mention our Christian community, would be a better place.

Jesus didn’t appeal to everyone, either. From the Sadducees and Pharisees to the zealots and occasionally his own followers, He wasn’t exactly the Messiah most people were looking for. But He was and is God incarnate, and if He doesn’t always fit our idea of a savior then maybe our vision is too small.

You can’t judge a pair of socks by its wrapping. Some socks come in bags stuffed with bright tissue paper, some in colorful packages tied with curly ribbon, and some tucked in holiday mugs or cookie tins, adding to the allure. But no matter how pretty or plain the package, there’s no way of knowing what kind of socks are hidden inside until you unwrap them.

Isn’t it the same way with people? How can we possibly know anyone’s heart until we take the time to unwrap the outer layers? Sometimes those wrappings are taped tightly and double knotted, but it’s always worth the effort to reveal the gift inside.

Jesus didn’t come to us in luxurious trappings, either. And yet He was the most extravagant gift ever given and received, priceless love straight to us from the heart of God.

“This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” – Luke 2:12 

Finally, don’t hold onto anything in this world too tightly, or you’ll surely lose it. Every time I got a pair of socks I had my eyes on (okay…I was coveting), along would come another woman determined to possess MY SOCKS. In truth, it was comical because they were just socks. On the other hand, Jesus said,

“… whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.” – Matthew 16:25

Jesus came into the world and gave His life so we might be able to unclench our fists and hand Him our lives. In return, He promises life eternal with Him and life abundant here on Earth. It really is the best gift exchange of all.

Lost & Found

"All who wander are not lost." - Tolkien

I can’t remember ever being lost, geographically speaking.  It’s not that I have a great sense of direction, because trust me, I don’t.  If you ask me to point the way...well, pretty much anywhere...your chances of arriving at your destination will be iffy, at best.  

And I know I’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time on many occasions, not to mention the wrong place at the right time  But genuinely, “Don’t know where I am or how I got here” lost?  Not ringing a bell.

Now, there have been many times when I’ve marched to the beat of a different drummer and ended up in trouble as a result… Take the time I took my three-year-old sister, Ellen, for a walk around downtown Bethesda, Maryland. My Mom, Dad, Ellen, and I, plus my Granna and Granddaddy, were visiting my Uncle Flinn and Aunt Courtney, who lived in Bethesda at the time. And I guess I got bored, because I decided it would be a fine idea to take Ellen on an adventure.  (Poor Ellen is 7 years younger than I, and when we were growing up that usually made her an easy target accomplice, willing or not.)

But this particularly day my intentions really were honorable when I said, “Granddaddy, I’m taking Ellen for a walk, ok?” He gave me his sweet smile and his blessing (or so I thought) and said, “Ok.”

So off we went. I can’t tell you how many city blocks we covered, but I guess we were gone a long time in “grown-up minutes” because when we got back to the house, everyone was very excited—yes, that’s the word—EXCITED to see us.

It turned out Granddaddy forgot I told him what we were up to or, more likely, just plain didn’t hear me.  Either way, I was in big trouble. See how happy everyone (ok, just Ellen) looks in this picture, taken after our homecoming?  Recognize the look on my face, front right?? But my point is that I was never lost. I knew exactly what I was doing (if not where we were going), I had an alibi (albeit one with poor hearing), and I held her hand the whole way (which should have counted for something). 

Then there are other, less dramatic trips, when I start out knowing where I’m going and stay the course the whole way, only to arrive without a clue as to how I got there.  Ever get in your car to go to work (before that second cup of coffee) and when you get there you only have a vague recollection of driving the last couple of miles? Or worse, you can’t remember whether the light was really green at the last intersection? (Disclaimer: If you’re my friend Trooper Claude, I’m not sayin’ this has ever happened to me…ever hear of “literary license?”) Anyway, it’s not a good thing, being lost in thought while you’re driving. But it’s not the same as being lost.

Now I have a GPS and the chances of my getting lost are even less. If I even think about wandering off course, I get the “RECALCULATING” message, obviously recorded with a big sigh and a disgusted eye roll.  In fact, with the exception of the time I was in downtown Pittsburg, driving in circles around super tall buildings, my GPS hasn’t let me down.  And the best part? I don’t have to fold it like a map!

Did I mention I love my GPS? It’s true, but as much as I love my Garmin, I love my internal GPS – God Positioning System, a.k.a. the Holy Spirit – even more because it’s never let me down. Oh, I may have turned down the volume on occasion, or let my battery run down, but those are user errors. If I’ll stay tuned into His voice and focus, listening to the exclusion of all of the distractions around me, I’ll always be heading in the right direction.

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it." (Isaiah 30:21 NIV)

And on top of that, I have my map – His word…

Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path. (Psalm 119:105)

…and my personal navigator – Jesus Christ.

 For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost. (Luke 19:10)
The truth is, I HAVE been lost, spiritually speaking….but I’m not anymore, and for that I’m eternally grateful.

Note:  This post is in memory of my Dad, my Granddaddy Settle, and my Uncle Flinn...I miss them all so very much.

Heartbroken

No one I know would argue when I say it’s been one stormy spring. In fact, it seems we’ve had more than our fair share of severe thunderstorms, complete with damaging hail and devastating tornadoes not typically seen in this part of the country. You could say we're weather weary.

The weather's made us a little jumpy, too.  We head home from work, school, and ball fields with one eye on the sky, watching for lightening and unusual cloud formations, ready to pull over and dive into a ditch if necessary.  Most of us now know where the safest places in our homes are in the event of a tornado and, if you live in the country like I do, you’ve laid up supplies of water and batteries.

In Brumley Gap, I’ve lost electricity for 12+ hours on at least three occasions in the last month alone. And when your water comes from a well, no power means no water, either. Of course, life without lights, showers, DirecTV, and, heaven forbid, high-speed internet is really just an inconvenience. Yet, if I’m being honest here, it makes me cranky. Embarrassing, but true. 

David Crigger 

But before you say I’ve lost all perspective, I know that my inconvenience is someone else’s nightmare. I watch the news and it’s been horrific. According to NOAA News, “April 2011 set a new record for the month with 875 tornadoes that killed 361 people,” some of them close to home in Southwest Virginia and East Tennessee. On Sunday, May 22, 2011, an EF-5 tornado hit the city of Joplin, Missouri, leaving an estimated 132 people dead and 750 others injured, with 156 unaccounted for in Joplin. And on May 24, 2011, deadly tornadoes claimed 18 additional lives in Oklahoma, Kansas, and Arkansas.

These are unimaginable statistics that I can hardly comprehend.  And that’s not all. Tsunamis…earthquakes…mudslides…wildfires…not to mention acts of terrorism…all can easily overwhelm me with reports of suffering, death, and devastation.  The news can be mind-numbing, and I sometimes worry that it will numb my very heart and soul, as well.

And then there are the disasters that don’t make the news…lives imploding in drug and alcohol addiction, child abuse, cancer diagnoses, divorce, and financial ruin, just to name a few. These are the everyday disasters that drop like bombs all around us and threaten to shatter our worlds and shake the very foundations of our faith.  

So how do I process all of this bad news, much less respond, as a Christian?

  

Well, I’ve been praying lately that God would break my heart for what breaks His. It’s not that I’m inviting heartache; I just don’t want to be numb. It feels like a good first step.

I've also been trying to come to terms with the fact that He looks upon the heart:

“The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” ~ 1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)

I know this scripture, taken from the story of Samuel trying to figure which of Jesse’s sons God had in mind to be Saul’s successor as the next king of Israel, is more about physical appearances. But haven’t our “things” become a reflection of who we are, at least in this world?

So if all of the “stuff” that makes up my life was destroyed, what then? Could my heart stand alone? If everything in this world is stripped away, leaving only my heart, isn't my relationship with Jesus all that really matters in the end?

Ultimately, as heartsick as this world and its disasters may leave me, I want to focus on people’s hearts, and who they belong to.  And to do that I have to be heartbroken. It's the only way my heart can truly reflect the love of Jesus to people who are hurting for His mercy and grace.

As He Leads Me

It’s a rare thing for me to take a day off for no reason at all, and even more remarkable for Larry and I to have the same day off. But however unusual, it happened that way two Mondays ago and we set out for the mountains of North Carolina.

Our first stop was lunch at one of my favorite places – Café Portofino in Boone. How can you go wrong when the theme is garlic? I have a history of good memories at Café Portofino, and suggest you make some there, should you find yourself in Boone, NC. I’ve shared some great meals with friends, and recently with family celebrating Ben’s graduation from ASU. But this particular day it was just the two of us, and we lingered a long time over our bianca bread, pizza, and lemon blueberry cake.

When we couldn’t stretch lunch out any longer, we took off for Grandfather Mountain, where I hadn’t been since my children were small. It was a beautiful afternoon, with glorious, far-reaching views. I’d forgotten how breezy and cool it is on top of the mountain, and how fluid the mile high swinging bridge feels under your feet, much like being on a boat.

Still, the bridge didn’t frighten me. There were rails along the sides and I watched the crowd crossing without plunging to a tragic demise for several minutes before we started across. But when we got to the other side and I realized the plan included hiking up the rock face to the top, hesitancy crept in, along with all sorts of excuses to stay put. I have a bad knee, and my balance was never all that great, even with two good knees. And to be honest, I’m not as flexible as I used to be. But I’m also not as fearful as I’ve been in the past, either. So I took off my flip-flops (causing Larry some concern) and made like a not-so-nimble mountain goat, my hand in his, one step at a time.     

I quickly discovered that my best bet was to keep my eyes on Larry's back and on the rock just beyond my bare feet, rather than taking in the panoramic views all around me as I climbed. Sometimes I would have to step down to get a good foothold before I could move any farther up, and at least once I had to take a step back and re-evaluate my path. But for the most part, I just trusted my faithful guide to lead me on.

When we got to the top, the two of us sat on a flat rock for the longest time, just taking in the view and enjoying God’s creation in HD. I never cease to be amazed by His imagination! When we finally started back down to the bridge, we worked our way back along the rocky course slowly, him leading the way and me following close behind, molding my feet to the rocks. 

It was on the way down that it occurred to me: This is the way I should be living my life every single day, eyes on Jesus as he leads me safely along the paths of my life. 

Oswald Chambers wrote,

“We have an idea that God is leading us to a particular end, a desired goal; He is not. The question of getting to a particular end is a mere incident. What we call the process, God calls the end….God's training is for now, not presently. His purpose is for this minute, not for something in the future. We have nothing to do with the afterwards of obedience; we get wrong when we think of the afterwards. What men call training and preparation, God calls the end. God's end is to enable me to see that He can walk on the chaos of my life just now. If we have a further end in view, we do not pay sufficient attention to the immediate present: if we realize that obedience is the end, then each moment as it comes is precious.”

I can’t look off into the future too far or I’ll surely misstep and likely fall. I may have to step down some days in order to eventually climb higher – my life course isn’t designed to be level, as much as I’d like it to be. And sometimes I may even have to step backward because I've let go and wandered off the path. Or I might be called to reach back and help a friend or family member over a tough spot. But I believe if I’ll just keep my hand in His and continue putting one foot in front of the other, He will be faithful to lead me over the rocks and level ground alike. 

“When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.’” ~ John 8:12

Breaking Bread

One day in the not so distant future I’m going to figure out just how many breakfasts we’ve delivered through our church’s New Hope Outreach Center. I can’t even recall what year we began, thanks to the efforts of Missy Sarver and a handful of faithful volunteers, but it’s been an adventure in ministry every step of the way.

We started out with the idea of serving people who, in theory, would come to Pleasant View UMC weekly for a hot meal and other services we might provide. But God quickly turned that idea upside down and showed us that we were to go out into our mission field, meeting people where they were, and feeding them not only breakfast every Saturday morning, but also fellowship, encouragement, and the gospel of Jesus Christ.

To my knowledge, we’ve only had to abandon our efforts two Saturday in many years, and both of those were due to winter weather. We’ve shared Christmas greetings from the children in our church, cards from our kitchen team, and countless smiles and hugs from our dedicated delivery teams.

I’ve written about this ministry here before, but I was on the schedule to cook this morning and for some reason I felt compelled to document it from the kitchen. Maybe someone reading needs to know what we’re all about, so here it is, with apologies for the poor quality of my cell phone photos…

This is Ellen. She always beats me to the church on Saturday morning and she's a sweetheart. She's smiling...really.

Typically she mans the oven and I take care of laying out the boxes and pantry food (i.e., fruit, oatmeal packets, etc.) Today's menu: Sausage, eggs, biscuit, fruit, oatmeal. We put together 30 meals at a time.

First we box 'em, then we bag 'em...we've gotten pretty good at it over the years. It's too early for me to be doing math, but here are 81 meals, ready to go.

Now we wait for the delivery volunteers to show up. There are six routes in Abingdon and Washington County. At 8:40 Ellen and started getting a little nervous (it's not good if our drivers doesn't show up), but they all came and here are some of their smiling faces. (My apologies to the others...I forgot to save three of the photos on my phone.)

Karen and her sweet mama, Betty were bound for White's Mill and Senior Drive.

David was heading toward Bradley St. and Washington Court!

And Robbie and Marty were delivering meals to A and B Streets and the big apartment complex! (Doesn't Marty look excited?)

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'" ~ Matthew 25:40

Good Question

Good Question

Even as I’m typing this, our church's youth praise band is taking the stage at Resurrection – an annual youth conference in Gatlinburg, Tennessee which, according to the website mission statement, “brings youth groups together for awesome fellowship and authentic worship, where the Gospel is proclaimed, and youth have a spiritual renewal and a closer walk with Christ.”

More than 12,000 people were at Resurrection last year...pretty heady stuff for a band of kids who typically play in our church basement on Sunday nights for a crowd of maybe 30 contemporaries. But this is more than just a performance; this is worship, and the opportunity to reach other teens – a lot of other teens – with the good news about Jesus.

Just writing about what they’re experiencing right now brings back a sweet memory of when my son Ben was in high school and playing with the youth band at that time. They also were privileged to play at Resurrection one January weekend and even got to meet Chris Tomlin backstage. I hope it’s a good memory for Ben, as well. In fact, both of my children experienced Resurrection several times, and it’s my prayer that those weekends were a big part of their faith journeys. Again, from the Resurrection website: “Resurrection lasts more than just 48 hours – it’s something that accompanies youth on their walk with Christ all year long.”

But back to this weekend, or actually, several months ago… Our youth band was sharing in a Friday night worship service at a nearby church when, as they were being called to the stage, the worship leader asked, “What is your band called, anyway?” They looked at each other, perplexed because they hadn’t come up with collective name, and Katie replied, “Good question!” So Good Question they became. And the more I’ve though about it, the more I’ve come to believe, as comedic writer Dave Barry says, “That’s a great name for a band!” Follow me…

If you’re in a band that’s all about the music, then any catchy name will do. But if you’re about lifting up the name of Jesus through your music, then you have to ask the question: Who do you say He is? It’s the only way to make a difference and it’s the only question that really counts in the end.

When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, "Who do people say the Son of Man is?" They replied, "Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets."

"But what about you?" he asked. "Who do you say I am?" Simon Peter answered, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God." ~ Matthew 16:13-16

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. ~ Colossians 1:15 (NIV)

Perspective

Southwest Virginia hasn’t seen a winter this cold and snowy for many years. We’ve been having the kind of weather that wreaks havoc with my heating bills and, not to get political, kills the whole global warming argument for me.

Weather like this demands that I change the way I think about everyday living. For instance, if it snows during the night will I be able to get to work in the morning? Will I lose electricity, and if so, how will I stay warm? What will I eat and drink in the interim? Once I have all of the questions answered in my head (Hannah’s jeep until she goes back to Radford…the woodstove and a beautiful load of dry cherry from Larry…canned food and bottled water, or wine if I’ve planned really well), I can rest a little easier. But in spite of the fact that we rarely think about food and shelter most days, it gets down to basics really quickly when the weather gets bad.

Virginians also have short memories, and forget how to drive in snow. The first really bad storm of the season came exactly a week before Christmas and it took me seven hours to make the 25 minute trip from work to home. At one point I’d been stuck on the bridge over the north fork of the Holston River for hours and I was down to less than a quarter of a tank of gas. I had one bar on my cell phone, my windshield wipers had quit working, and I knew the electricity was already off at my house. I was less than 2 miles from home, but it may as well have been 2,000. Eventually I took a leap of faith and made it to our friends’ house, where Hannah was, by taking the river road. I was there for almost 24 hours and can’t remember when I’ve been so thankful for a fire and friendship. You could say it changed my perspective.

On New Year’s Day I had another perspective altering experience, this time the result of a conversation I had with my friend Steve. Regular readers will remember Steve, who bikes around the country witnessing to Jesus’ love and faithfulness to everyone he meets. I’m always a little ashamed of my self-centeredness and the ease with which I take the gifts in my life for granted when I talk with Steve. But it’s never because he makes me feel that way. In fact, he’s always truly glad to hear from me or see me, and, because he loves to talk, he usually fills our conversation with praises to God for blessings I would surely miss…a new bike and cart in which to carry all of his earthly belongings…an extended stay in a shelter in Dalton, Georgia….a network of friends who keep track of him and his travels, and who keep him in their hearts and prayers.

I’m thankful to be in that network, because I have a connection with Steve now and always want to know how he’s doing. But selfishly, I’m also thankful for the perspective knowing him gives me. I have much but am often ungrateful, while he has little, and is always grateful.

So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness. – Colossians 2:6-7 (NIV)

Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful. And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ… – Colossians 4:2-3 (NIV)

Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our "God is a consuming fire. – Hebrews 12:28-29

Father God, please continue to bless Steve richly, giving him food and shelter in the cold weather, strengthening his faith, opening the door for him to share your message...and Lord, please shake up my perspective anytime you see fit.

Falling Back

Tomorrow may just be my favorite day of the year—Fall Back Day. In fact, when I woke up yesterday my first thought was, “Is it possible to take my “fall back hour” two days early?”

Our lives are so jam-packed, crammed full, insanely busy…what could be better than an extra hour in our days? One minute we think we’re in control and the next everything feels like it’s spinning out of control. What’s wrong with this picture? Surely this isn’t what Jesus intended by a more abundant life?? So I’ll gladly take that extra hour (or 60 minutes, or even 3,600 seconds, however you choose to look at it) and I’ll spend it a hundred different ways in my mind…then I’ll sleep in an extra hour tomorrow morning.

I think time is fascinating because our time in this world is limited. We don’t know how long we have, and we don’t have the same number of days. In his book, Becoming Real , Steven James writes, "As far as we know, we’re all the same age. Not that all of us are the same distance from birth, but we are the same distance from death." The time we’re given is absolute, with a beginning and ending and a middle that, for the most part, is ours to make the best of.

A friend recently asked me this question: “If you could go back in time to when you were 18 and give yourself one piece of advice, what would that advice be?” Assuming I’d actually take my own advice (a big assumption when you’re 18 and know everything), I’d tell myself to let God use everything in my life for good, and I do mean everything.

I’ll turn 50 next year, and looking back now I can see that my life so far has been one long string of teachable moments. Some of those have resulted in valuable lessons I’ll draw on for the rest of my time here. Others, unfortunately, were painful to no avail, their usefulness lost on me, and thus lost for God’s purposes.

The truth is that I wouldn’t go back to being 18 for anything. And I wouldn’t change my life, even if I could. The road's not always easy, and occasionally it’s just plain hard. Sometimes that’s just life, while other times it’s a consequence of my hard-headedness.

But God is faithful, and I’ve learned that He can use my everything for His glory, if I’ll only let Him. So my goal now is to give it all to Him – good and bad alike. After all, he gave it all for me, and how sad it is when we let our suffering all be for naught. That’s a victory I’m not willing to hand over to the enemy.

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." ~ 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)

When I woke up yearning for that extra hour yesterday, Steven Curtis Chapman’s new song, Heaven Is the Face , was playing on the radio. I lay in my bed, overwhelmed by all this man and his family have been through and how he is letting God use their pain to further His kingdom. Here’s a description of the new album, Beauty Will Rise (available 11.33.09), taken from www.stevencurtischapman.com:

“Created in the past 10 months in the walk through the darkness of the loss of his daughter Maria, and while God continues to meet him there on the journey…part lament, part praise, part grief, part hope, part wrestling, part pondering…these tracks resonate as Steven’s personal psalms.”

Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not looking to be a martyr. But I do want to live my life as a book of personal psalms, singing about the journey from the mountains to the valleys, and everywhere in between.

“Heaven is our home. Let’s live like it.” ~ Steven James

Overflow

Here I bring my stains and crowns
Gentle river wash me now
Your love is deeper than I know
Your ways higher than I can go

Lead me in Your holiness
I will follow, I confess
Glory is the song I sing
Your life is living me

And where would I be
Without You, without You?
Where would I be
Without You?

I will bow before the cross
Cherish my Redeemer's cost
There is nothing I can do
But only stand amazed by You

Mercy new with every day
Wrapped up in Your arms of grace
Nothing more, You're all I need
Your life is living me

Like a waterfall
You fill my heart and overflow
Like a candle flame
You light my way
And lead me as I go

Spirit overflow
Let me overflow

Chris Tomlin





Photos of Cascades Recreation Area in the Jefferson National Forest, Pembroke, Virginia by Hannah Link

Open up the Sunroof

Yesterday I helped Hannah move back into her dorm, and it was a bittersweet day for me. On the one hand, I missed her before I even drove off campus. I enjoyed her company at home this summer, and I can say with a glad heart that she’s my friend, as well as my daughter. The house seems very quiet and still tonight.

But on the other hand, when I told her goodbye I knew I wouldn’t want it any other way. During the drive back to Abingdon I was thinking how much easier it was to leave her there this year, knowing she’s going to be just fine. I was pretty sure she’d be okay last year…but you’re never 100 percent sure, you know?

As I was heading south into the sunset on I-81, tired but thankful for the day, I opened my sunroof to get some fresh air. While I cruised along, deep in thought, I would occasionally smell something that would pull me into the moment. That’s just part of the fun of having a sunroof. Sometimes you get a wonderful fragrance, like freshly cut hay or wild honeysuckle. Other times it’s not so pleasant, like when a trucker burns up his brakes on a steep incline, or when I pass that chicken farm between Staunton and Harrisonburg on my way to visit Mom.

Either way, when the weather’s fine and you slide the sunroof open you experience the trip on an elevated sensory level. You become part of your surroundings, rather than just passing through them. And last night it occurred to me that living is like that, too. It’s easy to isolate myself and watch life pass through the windows. I may get to where I’m going, but I’ll miss so much along the way…

If I make the effort to be open to life though, I can experience everything God has for me, and never wonder what I might have missed. He may even prompt me to take a few detours I never would have been brave enough to explore on my own. And even if it rains in my sunroof, like it did the other night while we were celebrating Hannah’s birthday in Carrabba’s, I’ll count it as part of the journey. God is good, all the time.

But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. ~ 2 Corinthians 2:14 (NIV)

Super Sense

A good friend with a fun sense of curiosity recently asked me this question: If I could have any one super power, what would I choose? (And yes, this was the same friend who asked me what my "warning label" would say.) He picked flight and I hate to be unoriginal, but that would be pretty cool. I mean, who wouldn't want to be able to fly, other than people afraid of heights, and maybe my mother?

Ultimately I dodged the question with a vague mention of Space Ghost Coast to Coast, who had really neat wrist bands that could shoot out all sorts of "rays," the most memorable to me being an "odor ray." (Yeah, this is how people with three wishes end up wasting them all in fairy tales...) But then I found this illustration, and I wondered if common sense might not be a more valuable super power:


"Let the wise listen and add to their learning,
and let the discerning get guidance - for understanding proverbs and parables, the sayings and riddles of the wise.

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge,
but fools despise wisdom and discipline."

Proverbs 1:5-7 (NIV)


Call it common sense or wisdom - it was precious enough for Solomon to ask for, and that makes it priceless to me.

WARNING(S)

www.weblogs.baltimoresun.com

Ever wonder what it would be like if people came with warning labels?

Yesterday a friend asked me what my warning label would be, if I came with one. I know his intent was to provoke a short, pithy answer, but the question really got me thinking. (Hint: Don't ask a writer for anything unless you're prepared to read their entire answer.)

Would interactions between people be easier if we came with warning labels, or would those warnings reduce our relationships to polite but distant exchanges? Would we ever think it would be worth the time and effort to really get to know someone, or would we write them off based on their warnings? For that matter, do we already write people off based on labels?? (Hint: You shouldn't have to think on that question too long.)

When I tried to write my own warning label I couldn't help thinking of several other people I could write labels for much more easily. And while I'm sure my friends and family could add several more warnings to my label, I'm just thankful God already knows all of the warnings, including the ones I can't see for the "plank in my own eye." The even better news is, He's still working on me.

So, without further ado, here's my warning label:

WARNING(S): While generally proven reliable in tests, there have been reports of starting difficulties, particularly during early morning hours and in cold weather. If unit will not start, prime engine with 1-2 cups of coffee and wait one hour. There have also been reports of problems shutting unit off at night. This technical difficulty is easily remedied with a glass of milk and any book. To accelerate shutdown, place in bed and cover with a goose down comforter.

Due to age, unit is prone to overheating. When this happens, simply turn a fan on high or set the AC on low until temperature regulates.

This particular model may occasionally become discouraged, anxious, worried, or just plain weary. To remedy these situations, whisper truth directly into the heart (Isaiah 40:28-31, Proverbs 3:6, or Philippians 4:6-7, depending on its condition) and let unit rest as long as necessary. In case of hurt feelings, it may be helpful to remind her that she is, “God’s baby girl,” and treat her like the princess she is.

Finally, in rare situations unit may act impulsively, sometimes changing direction entirely. If this happens, simply hold on tightly and wait for emotions to subside. Unit should self-correct in due time.

NOTE: This model includes the following modules: Cooking, Wine Tasting, Love of the Arts (Books/Music/Movies/Plays), Creative Writing, Sense of Humor, Loyalty, Encouragement, and Ability to Drive a Straight Shift. This model is NOT equipped with the following optional modules: Diva Personality, Camping, Skiing (water or snow), Crafting, Money Saving, Gardening, Puzzle Solving, or Enjoyment of Sushi.

Photo #2: www.thewritersworkshop.com

Farmer's Market Finds

Tulips, fresh spinach, and edible flowers (Redbud blossoms and Johnny Jump-Ups)...also chicken cacciatore and a bialy - yum!


Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land.
~ Song of Solomon 2:12 (NIV)

Lean Into It

I had a big agenda for yesterday…a long to-do list that started with me delivering breakfasts from our church to nine families around town. It normally takes less than an hour to deliver my usual route, so when I pulled into the church parking lot I was already thinking about what great things I might find at the Farmer’s Market later.

Pleasant View UMC has about 100 people on 8 or 9 delivery routes that we cook breakfast for every Saturday, and to my knowledge we’ve only missed one Saturday (due to an ice storm) in almost 10 years. Different people cook and deliver each weekend, so occasionally wires get crossed and a driver will have to deliver two routes. Such was my fate yesterday.

After making several calls and not finding anyone who could come and deliver the orphaned route, I grudgingly said I would do it in addition to the one I was already delivering. I think my exact words to God and my friend Sue were, “I’ll do it, but not with a joyful heart!” Not exactly a picture of Christian action and humble service, but hey, I had things to do, you know? I had a plan.

Well, it turned out God had a different plan. Typically when we deliver meals, the exchange is pleasant and fairly commonplace. “Good morning…I've got your breakfast. So, how’re you doing today? Great? Glad to hear it! Let me know if we can do anything for you, and we’ll see you next week.”

The conversation, which I believe is often more important than the meal itself, isn’t always that superficial. After you deliver to the same people for awhile you get to know their stories…their needs…what kind of place they’re at in their lives. A lot of them are poor, lonely, elderly, or all of the above, and you grow to love them.

All the same, you don’t delve deeply every Saturday, and sometimes people don’t even open their doors. So it was an anomaly when, on my very first stop, I was able to share with Mary's daughter that if she would call the church office Monday, I felt sure our Helping Hands Ministry could help take care of the birds in the eaves of their house. The daughter was relieved to have a solution that might keep her 80-year-old mother off of the ladder. I got a big bear hug and a blessing, and my heart was immediately softened and changed about my purpose.

A few streets over, I was surprised to find myself in a lengthier than normal conversation with Jerry, whose daughter and son-in-law are moving into the area and don’t have health insurance. I was glad to share information with him about our new facility that just opened this week – The Wesley Clinic – created specifically to serve the uninsured on Fridays from 9-4 p.m.

When I arrived at Della’s house, a crew was mowing her lawn. She mentioned that she was glad to have them there, but she would have to go out later and sweep the grass off of her sidewalk. That might not sound like a big deal to you, but Della has a condition that keeps her physically off balance all of the time, and so sweeping is a big deal to her. I’m ashamed to say I tried to leave, and ultimately had to turn around on my way to the car, go back and ask for her broom, and sweep the sidewalk for her.

The highlight of my morning came when I stopped at Marie's house. We'd never actually met; I'd only put her meal on top of the freezer in her enclosed porch, per instructions. So when I opened the door and she was waiting for me, it took me aback a little. But her daughter and three grandchildren lost everything they owned in a tornado in Florida this week; two of their neighbors were killed. Marie knows they have everything because they have each other, but she still wanted prayer for her daughter, and after I prayed with her (is there anything so humbling?) she told me her life story, filled with pain and abuse and sorrow that ultimately resulted in a testimony that absolutely blew me away.

Early on in my deliveries yesterday I heard God tell me very clearly, “Lean into this.” ...In other words, don't just go through the motions. And to think that my plan would have had me fly through my deliveries yesterday and not truly offer Jesus to anyone.

So don't just skim the surface with people. Take the time to ask the hard questions, and really listen to the answers. Sometimes you’ll have a solution, and sometimes you won’t. But if you’re where He wants you and you’re open to His leading, He’ll do the rest.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” ~ Isaiah 55:8-9 (NIV)

Mowing photo from www.swfwmd.state.fl.us/.../outdoors/mowing.jpg

The Promise

God, who began a good work in you, will be faithful to complete it. (Philippians 1:6)

Out of Focus

Somewhere between one Easter and the next, the cross tends to grow a little fuzzy to me. It’s not that my faith wanes, or Jesus’ sacrifice for me is diminished in any way. But we dash on to Pentecost, then through the Christian calendar to Advent and Christmas and before we know it, it’s Lent and we’re rounding the corner to Easter on two wheels again.

So tonight, as I knelt at the altar during our Good Friday service, I saw the cross move into focus like a slide projected on a screen in my mind. And I prayed the prayer author Anne Lamott freed me to pray every time I’m on my knees: “Thank You, thank You, thank You!” I want so badly to love Him more, to serve Him with abandon, and to let Him fill up the empty places in my heart that I’m so busy trying to fill with other things.

Besides a crystal clear image of the cross in my mind’s eye, I also left church tonight with a question that lingered from the shadow play our Youth presented. (And as an aside, they never cease to amaze me. What a tremendous loss for people who don’t see how genuine our kids are and how deep their faith runs.) The question on my heart tonight, taken from one of the Stations of the Cross, is this:

When have I carelessly nailed someone else to the cross?

Idle gossip that spreads like a wildfire...a reply that barely holds back anger...a judgmental heart that doesn’t see the big picture... It’s so easy to fall into the trap, and the worst part is that we don’t even usually realize we’ve done it. But there’s no justification. There’s only Christ on the cross, his heart grieved by our callous treatment of each other.

I want to drop my mallet and nails at the foot of His cross, and let His mercy wash over me like sweet spring rain. And I’m so very thankful that His cross makes that possible. As my friend Beth reminded me, “It’s Friday...but Sunday’s coming!”

For God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from Him. ~ Psalm 62:1 (NRSV)

Ordinary Donkeys

From Pastor Jim's Palm Sunday message...

Palm Monday

The donkey awakened, his mind still savoring the afterglow of the most exciting day of his life. Never before had he felt such a rush of pleasure and pride. He walked into town and found a group of people by the well. "I'll show myself to them," he thought.

But they didn't notice him. They went on drawing their water and paid him no mind.

"Throw your garments down," he said crossly. "Don't you know who I am?" They just looked at him in amazement. Someone slapped him across the tail and ordered him to move. "Miserable heathens!" he muttered to himself. "I'll just go to the market where the good people are. They will remember me."

But the same thing happened. No one paid any attention to the donkey as he strutted down the main street in front of the marketplace.

"The palm branches! Where are the palm branches?" he shouted. "Yesterday, you threw palm branches!"

Hurt and confused, the donkey returned home to his mother. Foolish child," she said gently, "Don't you realize that without Him you are just an ordinary donkey?"

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away. ~ Isaiah 64:6 (NIV)


Palm Monday taken from Daily Wisdom, edited from Hot Illustrations for Youth Talks by Wayne Rice. Copyright 1994 by Youth Specialties, Inc.

Photo of Danny and Brandy, two ordinary donkeys, by my friend Johnna Hernandez.

Saints & Shamrocks

When I was about 14 I decided I had to have a St. Christopher medal. I didn’t just want one; I desperately needed one. Nevermind that our family wasn’t Catholic and I didn’t have a clue who St. Christopher was. It was absolutely imperative that I have a medal memorializing him.

My parents, infinitely wise when it came to knowing the difference between wanting something and needing it, just ignored me. But my Granna and Grandaddy, on the other hand, believed it was their duty as good grandparents to give me whatever would make me happy (and possibly get me to pipe down) at the moment.

And so it came to be that I wore the likeness of St. Christopher on a chain around my neck the rest of that summer. It turned out he was the Patron Saint of travelers, which was ironic, considering I didn’t even have my license yet.

I’m not sure why I had to have that medal. C.A., my closest friend growing up, was Catholic and when I slept over we would occasionally go to Saturday night Mass just so we could go out later and sleep in on Sunday. That alone made Catholicism way cooler in my book than Methodism, but I really think I wore that St. Christopher medal more as a fashion statement, much (and I really hate to say this) like some Christians wear the cross.

I know this is true about Christians and the cross because once, while browsing in the Cokesbury bookstore at Lake Junaluska, I overheard a mother and daughter shopping for a cross on a chain. I’ll never forget this mother asking her daughter if she wanted a plain cross, or “one with the little man on it.”

The older and hopefully wiser I get, the more that story breaks my heart. I wear a cross most days, and it’s meaning is deeply personal to me. It’s a reminder of whose I am and who He calls me to be in the world every single day.

I have no idea what happened to my St. Christopher medal. It’s probably in the bottom of a dusty box somewhere in my mother’s house, but today’s not his day anyway. It’s St. Patrick’s day. Just in case you know as little about St. Patrick as I did about St. Christopher, here’s his story from Catholic Online, Saints & Angels:

St. Patrick of Ireland is one of the world's most popular saints. Apostle of Ireland, (he was) born at Kilpatrick, near Dumbarton, in Scotland, in the year 387; (he) died at Saul, Downpatrick, Ireland, 17 March, 461. Along with St. Nicholas and St. Valentine, the secular world shares our love of these saints. This is also a day when everyone's Irish.

There are many legends and stories of St. Patrick, but this is his story. Patrick was born around 385 in Scotland, probably Kilpatrick. His parents were Calpurnius and Conchessa, who were Romans living in Britian in charge of the colonies.

As a boy of fourteen or so, he was captured during a raiding party and taken to Ireland as a slave to herd and tend sheep. Ireland at this time was a land of Druids and pagans. He learned the language and practices of the people who held him.

During his captivity, he turned to God in prayer. He wrote, "The love of God and his fear grew in me more and more, as did the faith, and my soul was rosed, so that, in a single day, I have said as many as a hundred prayers and in the night, nearly the same." "I prayed in the woods and on the mountain, even before dawn. I felt no hurt from the snow or ice or rain."

Patrick's captivity lasted until he was twenty, when he escaped after having a dream from God in which he was told to leave Ireland by going to the coast. There he found some sailors who took him back to Britian, where he reunited with his family.
He had another dream in which the people of Ireland were calling out to him "We beg you, holy youth, to come and walk among us once more."

He began his studies for the priesthood. He was ordained by St. Germanus, the Bishop of Auxerre, whom he had studied under for years.

Later, Patrick was ordained a bishop, and was sent to take the Gospel to Ireland. He arrived in Ireland March 25, 433, at Slane. One legend says that he met a chieftain of one of the tribes, who tried to kill Patrick. Patrick converted Dichu (the chieftain) after he was unable to move his arm until he became friendly to Patrick.

Patrick began preaching the Gospel throughout Ireland, converting many. He and his disciples preached and converted thousands and began building churches all over the country. Kings, their families, and entire kingdoms converted to Christianity when hearing Patrick's message.

Patrick by now had many disciples, among them Beningnus, Auxilius, Iserninus, and Fiaac, (all later canonized as well).

Patrick preached and converted all of Ireland for 40 years. He worked many miracles and wrote of his love for God in Confessions. After years of living in poverty, traveling and enduring much suffering he died March 17, 461. He died at Saul, where he had built the first church.

Patrick was a humble, pious, gentle man, whose love and total devotion to and trust in God should be a shining example to each of us. He feared nothing, not even death, so complete was his trust in God, and of the importance of his mission.


Why a shamrock? Patrick used the shamrock to explain the Trinity, and has been associated with him and the Irish since that time.

So celebrate the good work of St. Patrick today. And remember: Green clothing? Good. Green beer? Bad.

Let the March Madness Begin!

Congratulations to the Radford University Highlanders basketball boys, a.k.a the Big South Conference Champions! They beat VMI 108 - 94 this afternoon to not only win the title, but also a ticket to the NCAA tournament. Working their way up from 7th to 1st by the end of the season, they're moving on to March Madness for the first time in 11 years, and only the second time ever.

So well done to the Highlanders, from an old alumni. And Hannah and her friend Kaitlyn say, "WHAT WHAT!"

Radford bold and free, on to victory.
Hail our quest to be the best,
Tartan pride for all to see.
GO RADFORD!
Wave flags and sound the horns.
Hold the colors high.
Cheer our team on to victory,
That’s the spirit of ole RU!