Joshua 1:9 - Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.
The clock ticks slowly for a seven-year-old. That old minute hand meanders around, chitchatting with old friends, while twenty-two anxious pairs of eyes will it to go faster go faster go faster.
That's how it was when I was in 2nd grade. We couldn't wait for 9:15. Most of us were still learning how to tell time, but Big-Hand-on-the-Three, Little-Hand-on-the-Nine was something we all learned the very first day. RECESS!
I loved school. Most kids will say their favorite thing about school is recess, but I loved freshly-sharpened pencils and pink erasers and clean spiral notebooks. I loved writing my name at the top of my paper and organizing my binders. School made sense to me. There were rules and a schedule and structure. I knew what to expect. I did my homework. I got good grades. I didn't misbehave. My pigtails were always neat, my shirt was tucked in, and my skirt always went right to my knees.
I didn't understand kids who didn't follow the rules. Frankly, they irritated me. Those rule-breakers poked and prodded at my structured, well-organized day until it was full of holes. I went home on the school bus feeling like I was missing something.
Ty was the worst. He was loud and obnoxious and unruly. He ran in the hallway and threw food in the cafeteria. He never raised his hand and I'm pretty sure his bottom didn't touch his chair the entire year. When 9:15 rolled around, he became a four-foot-two-inch dust devil in Bugle Boys and KangaROOs, turning the playground into pre-pubescent bedlam.
You see, Ty liked to lift up little girls' skirts. The teachers thought we were just playing chase, but really it was a much more perilous game. Ty was a Fox hunting the Geese. Whether you were wearing Care Bears or Rainbow Brite on your butt, if Ty caught up with you, every second grader knew it. Because even if they didn't see it, Ty made sure they heard about it.
It was a sunny April morning. I'd managed to steer clear of Ty all year. Some of his victims had gotten smart and started wearing shorts underneath their skirts and dresses. They hung upside-down from the monkey bars, flaunting their freedom. All the Cabbage Patch Kids were safely hidden behind a layer of cotton. I started to climb the ladder to the slide, thinking those girls were pretty clever for outfoxing the Fox, when I felt a whoosh of air on my backside. I didn't even have time to run away.
"Strawberry Shortcake! Strawberry Shortcake!"
The rule-follower in me was also somewhat of a tattletale. But I left her on the slide and took off after Ty. I think he was a little surprised that I was chasing him, because he didn't go very far. Determination, anger, and a gaggle of hostile little girls cheered me on.
Ty turned around and smirked. "Strawberry Shortcake! Strawberry Shortcake!"
I didn't say a word. I just did what any self-respecting little girl in Strawberry Shortcake undies would do.
I kicked him in the nuts.
That kick was so full of spite, it must have felt like an iron weight instead of a seven-year-old girl's size 2 foot. It wasn't just vindication for exposing my undies to the entire playground. It was months of anger and frustration for this rule-breaking, skirt-lifting, food-throwing boy. I kicked him so hard, he had to go to the nurse. And I got a nice long visit with the principal.
Ty learned a lesson that day. He never lifted the girls' skirts again.
I'd like to say I learned a valuable lesson, too. But I didn't. I was just seven, after all.
Even as I got older and the world began to make more sense, I went on to kick many more people right where it hurt the most.
Old friends, new friends, family, people I barely knew...
Somewhere along the line, I'd given them the power to hurt me. Some of them put dents in my structured, organized life. Others took jackhammers to it. Buried in the rubble, I felt like I'd lost control.
Say hello to Spite, Revenge's quiet cousin. Revenge is blatant and brazen and barefaced. But Spite is sneaky and sly. It tiptoes into your heart and sets up camp, jabbing its stakes deep into every corner. Then it goes to work. Quiet and relentless, it chips away slowly at your soul, and you don't even know it's there.
Fear gives birth to Spite. Fear of not measuring up. Fear of being alone. Fear of the unknown. Fear of losing control. We collect these moments of Fear and stack them up like gifts under a brittle, crumbling tree, and then we start writing Spite You cards. Spite feels powerful. It feels like force in the face of fear.
But what if we are giving part of ourselves away along with those Spite You cards? What if, instead of gaining power, we are really losing our soul?
Jesus had every reason to be spiteful. But I like to think that He was DEspiteful. He was born in a stinky stable, despite the fact that He was divine; people laughed at Him and doubted Him despite the fact that He'd performed countless miracles; He was tempted by the devil despite the fact that He created the world; He was beaten and mocked despite the fact that He came to save the very ones who spit on Him. At any time, He had the power to spite His tormentors. But when He was in the Garden of Gethsemane, He didn't say, "My Father, I will spite this human blight and save my divine behind." Despite all He'd suffered already, He said, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as You will." As He hung there with my sins and your sins and the sins of the whole world piling up on his weakening shoulders, He didn't say, "Spite them, Father, for they threatened Me and criticized Me and hurt Me and called Me names." He said, "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do." Jesus gave His fear to His Father, and held onto His power to save our disgraceful necks.
People have hurt you. They've made you feel unworthy and unloved and weak. They've threatened and criticized, leaving you afraid and discouraged. They've exposed every fear in your heart and taunted you with them. "Not good enough! Not smart enough! Not rich enough!" You feel like you've lost huge chunks of yourself. You are confused. You are angry and scared and broken.
Yet not as I will, but as You will.
You
are
enough.
You are worthy and loved and strong.
You are brave and you are inspiring and you are redeemed.
Yet not as I will, but as You will.
You are not spiteful. Let me say that again. You are not spiteful. You didn't choose for your fears to be exposed and criticized and used against you, but you can certainly choose whether or not you give someone the power to turn you into something you're not. No one has the power to change the life that God has planned for you. But you give them the power to change how you live that life when you live in fear instead of in faith.
Yet not as I will, but as You will.
The holes inside you may be making you weak, but Jesus is there to make you strong and courageous. He's calling you to do something BIG, and He knows it won't be easy. Don't turn your fear and your discouragement into spite for the ones who've hurt you, even if they've lifted your skirt and showed the world your Strawberry Shortcake underwear. Don't kick them where it hurts because you are scared and broken. It's your fear. It's your discouragement. Own them. Look them in the eye, and then lay them at the cross. Be DEspiteful. Be strong and smile, despite the fact that you're full of holes. Be courageous and follow the words He's whispering to your heart, despite the fact that you're scared to death.
Yet not as I will, but as You will.
For the LORD your God will be with you.
Calming your fears.
Filling your holes.
Wherever
you
go.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Soul Song
Job 11:16-18 - You will forget your misery; it will be like water flowing away. Your life will be brighter than the noonday. Even darkness will be as bright as morning. Having hope will give you courage. You will be protected and will rest in safety.
Hi.
Yes, I'm talking to you.
I know you're hurting. I can feel your pain.
Sit back and let me tell you a story. Maybe you've heard this one before.
Once upon a time, there lived a lonely little girl whose only friend was the forest. Every day, she walked up and down the rocky paths, listening to the birds trill their chipper melodies and the insects drone on and on about work. The leaves rustled like a thousand muffled footsteps, and somehow the harmony in the woods helped her forget how lonely she was.
One day, she noticed a bright red spot in the path. It looked like a splotch of paint. The splotch hopped from one rock to another, fluttering its scarlet wings, and she realized it wasn't paint. It was a bird. All the birds that lived in the forest were gray and not very pretty. But this bird was different. It didn't blend in with the forest the way the other birds did. Watching the little red bird filled her heart with blue skies and sunbeams.
As her mother tucked her into bed that night, the little girl asked about the red bird.
"It's called a cardinal," her mother said. "Cardinals are very powerful birds. They can help you find your Soul Song."
"What's a Soul Song?" the girl asked.
"A Soul Song is a moment that speaks to your heart. It can be anything. A night when the stars dance for you. The sun washing away the darkness. A snuggly hug or a kiss goodnight. Whatever brings peace to your soul. That's a Soul Song. Now close your eyes and go to sleep, my little bird-watcher."
As she drifted into the Kingdom of Dreams, a red speck skipped alongside her.
The little girl went to the woods the next day and the next day and the next, and as she set out each morning, her heart was filled with blue skies and sunbeams. But each evening she trudged home with a heart whose light had burned out. The cardinal had disappeared.
Eventually, she stopped looking for him. She tried very hard to forget him. The forest's choir sang to her again, but the harmony was different. Something was missing.
And then one day, a breath of wind from crimson wings danced past her face. She chased it, but the cardinal was too fast. It disappeared into a bush freckled with ruby flowers, and got lost in the bejeweled vines.
From then on, the little girl brought a bird cage with her whenever she went to the woods. If she could catch the cardinal, she would have her very own Soul Song and her heart would always be filled with blue skies and sunbeams.
Many days past, and she got discouraged. Loneliness turned the skies gray and blotted out the sunlight. She missed the cardinal terribly.
And then she saw him, perched on a low branch. He stared at her with careful, ebony eyes. She sat down on a tree stump and began to cry.
When she looked up, an old man was sitting beside her. He had a scruffy white beard and bright blue eyes. His tan vest had lots of pockets. Binoculars hung around his neck. He was watching the cardinal, too.
"Why are you crying?" he asked.
"I've been searching and searching for this cardinal. Now I found him, but I forgot to bring my bird cage so I could take him home with me!" she cried.
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Because he has the most beautiful red feathers I've ever seen. And he fills my heart with sunshine!"
"I see. So you wanted to put him in a cage and take him home because you're lonely?"
The little girl nodded, hanging her head.
"Do you think the cardinal would like being in a cage?" the old man asked.
"Well..." The girl paused to think. "I would feed him and play with him and clean out his cage every day. It would be a very nice life!"
"But would he be happy?"
The little girl looked around at the the cardinal's endless home in the forest. She watched him hop from branch to branch and thought about the one tiny swing inside the bird cage.
"No," she whispered.
"Don't chase the cardinal," the man said. "Don't try to put him in a cage. If you take away his joy, the reasons he makes you happy will disappear, too."
The little girl thought for a moment. "You mean we'll get bored with each other?" she asked.
The old man chuckled and nodded. "Something like that." Then he stood up and walked away, whistling a tune that sounded a lot like the melody of the forest.
The girl sat there watching the cardinal as the light faded around her. He danced and frolicked in the tree, stopping every once in a while to look at her. When nothing but a blush of color was left in the day, she started for home. The cardinal hopped along the branches beside her as she walked. As the path curved, there was a flash of scarlet, and he was gone.
Darkness seeped in. The little girl stared out her window into the beginnings of night, wondering if she'd said goodbye to the cardinal for the last time. That night, the Kingdom of Dreams was bathed in crimson tears.
The next morning, fiery sunlight streamed into her room. It was so bright, she could see it even with her eyes closed. She squinted, and looked toward the window. A tiny shadow skipped around inside the brilliant light.
And her soul began to sing.
(Not) The End.
Epilogue
What is your Soul Song?
I wish I could write a thousand lines, filling in all your blanks. But I can't. I don't know why God tells us to do the things He does. Sometimes it seems to me like the things I hear from Him are things He would never say. But then I remember - I am not God. It's not up to me to interpret, just to let go and follow. One thing I do know is that holding on to something too tight destroys Destiny. It interferes with His Divine Decree for you. I imagine He doesn't like it one bit when we try to recreate His Design with our death grips. All those eons He spent weaving our Fates together in an infinite tapestry, and in the blink of an eye, we rip it to pieces. Destinies begin to unravel. Souls stop singing.
He will direct you out of this misery into golden sunshine where the cardinals dance in the trees. Place your hope and trust in Him, and He will give you the gift of courage for whatever He's calling your heart to do.
Expect hills. Expect people to be oblong. Expect monsters to come roaring out of your closet. But don't avoid the hills. Don't keep waiting for people to become round. Don't slam the door on the monsters. You've been doing that for way too long. It's time to make a change. In you.
While I have your attention, make sure you're listening for those three little words. They are the Soul Song's greatest hit. He's whispering them to your heart right now.
Can you hear Him?
Hi.
Yes, I'm talking to you.
I know you're hurting. I can feel your pain.
Sit back and let me tell you a story. Maybe you've heard this one before.
Once upon a time, there lived a lonely little girl whose only friend was the forest. Every day, she walked up and down the rocky paths, listening to the birds trill their chipper melodies and the insects drone on and on about work. The leaves rustled like a thousand muffled footsteps, and somehow the harmony in the woods helped her forget how lonely she was.
One day, she noticed a bright red spot in the path. It looked like a splotch of paint. The splotch hopped from one rock to another, fluttering its scarlet wings, and she realized it wasn't paint. It was a bird. All the birds that lived in the forest were gray and not very pretty. But this bird was different. It didn't blend in with the forest the way the other birds did. Watching the little red bird filled her heart with blue skies and sunbeams.
As her mother tucked her into bed that night, the little girl asked about the red bird.
"It's called a cardinal," her mother said. "Cardinals are very powerful birds. They can help you find your Soul Song."
"What's a Soul Song?" the girl asked.
"A Soul Song is a moment that speaks to your heart. It can be anything. A night when the stars dance for you. The sun washing away the darkness. A snuggly hug or a kiss goodnight. Whatever brings peace to your soul. That's a Soul Song. Now close your eyes and go to sleep, my little bird-watcher."
As she drifted into the Kingdom of Dreams, a red speck skipped alongside her.
The little girl went to the woods the next day and the next day and the next, and as she set out each morning, her heart was filled with blue skies and sunbeams. But each evening she trudged home with a heart whose light had burned out. The cardinal had disappeared.
Eventually, she stopped looking for him. She tried very hard to forget him. The forest's choir sang to her again, but the harmony was different. Something was missing.
And then one day, a breath of wind from crimson wings danced past her face. She chased it, but the cardinal was too fast. It disappeared into a bush freckled with ruby flowers, and got lost in the bejeweled vines.
From then on, the little girl brought a bird cage with her whenever she went to the woods. If she could catch the cardinal, she would have her very own Soul Song and her heart would always be filled with blue skies and sunbeams.
Many days past, and she got discouraged. Loneliness turned the skies gray and blotted out the sunlight. She missed the cardinal terribly.
And then she saw him, perched on a low branch. He stared at her with careful, ebony eyes. She sat down on a tree stump and began to cry.
When she looked up, an old man was sitting beside her. He had a scruffy white beard and bright blue eyes. His tan vest had lots of pockets. Binoculars hung around his neck. He was watching the cardinal, too.
"Why are you crying?" he asked.
"I've been searching and searching for this cardinal. Now I found him, but I forgot to bring my bird cage so I could take him home with me!" she cried.
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Because he has the most beautiful red feathers I've ever seen. And he fills my heart with sunshine!"
"I see. So you wanted to put him in a cage and take him home because you're lonely?"
The little girl nodded, hanging her head.
"Do you think the cardinal would like being in a cage?" the old man asked.
"Well..." The girl paused to think. "I would feed him and play with him and clean out his cage every day. It would be a very nice life!"
"But would he be happy?"
The little girl looked around at the the cardinal's endless home in the forest. She watched him hop from branch to branch and thought about the one tiny swing inside the bird cage.
"No," she whispered.
"Don't chase the cardinal," the man said. "Don't try to put him in a cage. If you take away his joy, the reasons he makes you happy will disappear, too."
The little girl thought for a moment. "You mean we'll get bored with each other?" she asked.
The old man chuckled and nodded. "Something like that." Then he stood up and walked away, whistling a tune that sounded a lot like the melody of the forest.
The girl sat there watching the cardinal as the light faded around her. He danced and frolicked in the tree, stopping every once in a while to look at her. When nothing but a blush of color was left in the day, she started for home. The cardinal hopped along the branches beside her as she walked. As the path curved, there was a flash of scarlet, and he was gone.
Darkness seeped in. The little girl stared out her window into the beginnings of night, wondering if she'd said goodbye to the cardinal for the last time. That night, the Kingdom of Dreams was bathed in crimson tears.
The next morning, fiery sunlight streamed into her room. It was so bright, she could see it even with her eyes closed. She squinted, and looked toward the window. A tiny shadow skipped around inside the brilliant light.
And her soul began to sing.
(Not) The End.
Epilogue
What is your Soul Song?
I wish I could write a thousand lines, filling in all your blanks. But I can't. I don't know why God tells us to do the things He does. Sometimes it seems to me like the things I hear from Him are things He would never say. But then I remember - I am not God. It's not up to me to interpret, just to let go and follow. One thing I do know is that holding on to something too tight destroys Destiny. It interferes with His Divine Decree for you. I imagine He doesn't like it one bit when we try to recreate His Design with our death grips. All those eons He spent weaving our Fates together in an infinite tapestry, and in the blink of an eye, we rip it to pieces. Destinies begin to unravel. Souls stop singing.
He will direct you out of this misery into golden sunshine where the cardinals dance in the trees. Place your hope and trust in Him, and He will give you the gift of courage for whatever He's calling your heart to do.
Expect hills. Expect people to be oblong. Expect monsters to come roaring out of your closet. But don't avoid the hills. Don't keep waiting for people to become round. Don't slam the door on the monsters. You've been doing that for way too long. It's time to make a change. In you.
While I have your attention, make sure you're listening for those three little words. They are the Soul Song's greatest hit. He's whispering them to your heart right now.
Can you hear Him?
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Monsters in the Closet
Proverbs 17:17 - A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in a time of need.
Laundry is my constant enemy. Just when I feel like I've conquered it, someone spills a drink and it multiplies like evil beasts in a cheesy 1980's horror flick. It's the worst kind of monster. Patient. Relentless. Disguised in frilly skirts and Dora panties.
To escape my garment gremlins, I frequently clean out drawers. To make it in my house, you better get worn more than once, not require ironing, have an adjustable waistband, and be stain-resistant. Otherwise, it's adios. Better luck next time.
My son and I cleaned out his drawers last week. They'd gotten so full, he couldn't shut them without the laundry monster sticking out its taunting tongue. I designated a Keep pile, a Donate pile, and a Not Sure pile. He got to work, spreading out every shirt and unfolding every pair of shorts. After a few seconds of thought, he set each one in the Keep pile. The only thing he was Not Sure about was whether or not to Donate his things to strangers.
It's not that the boy has no compassion. In fact, it's one of his many gifts. The thing is, he extends his bountiful grace to his belongings. Because that two-sizes-too-small Transformers t-shirt will get its feelings hurt if he gives it away. I tried. I explained that needy little boys would be thrilled to have that t-shirt. He looked at me skeptically. He was not thrilled. His response: "I can save it for my kids."
I asked him why he didn't want to give away any of his clothes. With a wisdom I didn't know an eight-year-old could possess, he said, "Mommy, you know I don't like change."
I get that. Boy, do I ever. Letting go is difficult, even if it's just a t-shirt. Sometimes it's the memories that seasoned old shirt holds
(what happens in lady's apparel, stays in lady's apparel)
and sometimes it's less sentimental
(I'll wear it again when I lose weight...get it altered...it goes vintage...).
Either way, we shove it at the back of the closet and forget about it until the laundry monster starts sticking out its textile tongue. Then we take it out, give it a few seconds thought...and shove it into a plastic box under the bed.
Like I said, letting go is hard.
My emotions don't always fit just right, either. They are often too tight or too loose or too bright or too bland or too brazen or too boring. Whatever they are, wearing them in public makes me feel too vulnerable, so I put them on shelf or cram them in a drawer and pretend they don't exist. Every once in while, I pull them out and look at them with
(anger, remorse, longing, bitterness, nostalgia, affection)
the same old eyes, but I never examine them for value, never see if they are past their sell-by date. They get put right back where I don't have to look at them.
The trouble is, emotions don't like to be left alone. Funny things can happen in the dark. Anger ferments into Resentment. Fear and Worry breed like spores in a petri dish. Guilt feeds on Joy. Love dies.
I've always cherished my friends, but only recently I realized that God has put people in my life to encourage me to take out those emotions and examine them. On Sunday afternoon, my pastor's 18-year-old daughter surprised me by saying, "When I saw you at church this morning, I thought, 'I want to be just like Courtney when I get older!'" My first reaction was to duck-and-cover. If ever God was going to strike me down, it had to be that moment. You heard me say it was the pastor's daughter, right??? I nervously replied with something about how she would never want to be like me. She looked a little perplexed, and I quickly turned away. Propriety gnawed at my gut, so I did the right thing, turned back, and thanked her. But the moment had passed. The compliment had been swallowed up like a mirage in a thirsty desert.
Gratitude has a permanent spot on a shelf way back in the corner of my closet. I don't take compliments well. They make me uncomfortable. Every time I am blessed with a compliment, the devil whispers in my ear that it's all a lie. And I believe him.
The enemy doesn't want me confronting any of my emotions. He wants my Anger to ferment. He longs for my Fear and Worry to breed. He steals my Joy and spoon feeds it to my Guilty Conscience. He murders my Love with his poison-tipped whispers.
But when I call on Jesus, He responds with simple, yet impenetrable words: Get behind me, Satan! And though He is the only Friend I will ever need, He loves me so much that He gives me even more: people with arms to hold me and shoulders to cry on and tongues to remind me of His Truth.
Ever since Anna's beautiful compliment, I've made an effort to think about the divine friends God has blessed me with, and how they remind me that the real ME isn't stuffed in a corner somewhere...
...my friend who never gets tired of my whining and consistently reminds me that God has a plan.
...my friend who has been to hell and back, and could still see the worth in this sinful, messy woman.
...my friend who leaves me in awe of her neverending loyalty.
...my friend who knows me inside and out, and isn't afraid to open every can of worms hiding in my closet.
...my friend who hung in there when I was crazy and doubtful and unfaithful and afraid; who never, ever gave up on me; who saw me ugly and snotty and blubbering, and still thought I was beautiful.
How convenient it is to keep festering emotions hidden on a shelf! I totally get it. It's easier on the old ego to post the picket fence as your status update than it is to expose your beautiful mess of a life. The irony is, God "friended" you with those folks so you wouldn't have to hold on to those whispered lies. Take down your Anger and your Joy and your Fear and your Gratitude, and share the real YOU with your friends! Jesus promises that a friend is always loyal, even when faced with your cluttered closets and dirty drawers.
Sunday afternoon, God sent an angel to open my eyes. I've been pulling emotions out of dark corners ever since. Last night, I found my Joy, smoothed out the wrinkles, and went on a date with one handsome boy and two exquisite little girls.
Funny thing about Joy...
It never goes out of style.
Laundry is my constant enemy. Just when I feel like I've conquered it, someone spills a drink and it multiplies like evil beasts in a cheesy 1980's horror flick. It's the worst kind of monster. Patient. Relentless. Disguised in frilly skirts and Dora panties.
To escape my garment gremlins, I frequently clean out drawers. To make it in my house, you better get worn more than once, not require ironing, have an adjustable waistband, and be stain-resistant. Otherwise, it's adios. Better luck next time.
My son and I cleaned out his drawers last week. They'd gotten so full, he couldn't shut them without the laundry monster sticking out its taunting tongue. I designated a Keep pile, a Donate pile, and a Not Sure pile. He got to work, spreading out every shirt and unfolding every pair of shorts. After a few seconds of thought, he set each one in the Keep pile. The only thing he was Not Sure about was whether or not to Donate his things to strangers.
It's not that the boy has no compassion. In fact, it's one of his many gifts. The thing is, he extends his bountiful grace to his belongings. Because that two-sizes-too-small Transformers t-shirt will get its feelings hurt if he gives it away. I tried. I explained that needy little boys would be thrilled to have that t-shirt. He looked at me skeptically. He was not thrilled. His response: "I can save it for my kids."
I asked him why he didn't want to give away any of his clothes. With a wisdom I didn't know an eight-year-old could possess, he said, "Mommy, you know I don't like change."
I get that. Boy, do I ever. Letting go is difficult, even if it's just a t-shirt. Sometimes it's the memories that seasoned old shirt holds
(what happens in lady's apparel, stays in lady's apparel)
and sometimes it's less sentimental
(I'll wear it again when I lose weight...get it altered...it goes vintage...).
Either way, we shove it at the back of the closet and forget about it until the laundry monster starts sticking out its textile tongue. Then we take it out, give it a few seconds thought...and shove it into a plastic box under the bed.
Like I said, letting go is hard.
My emotions don't always fit just right, either. They are often too tight or too loose or too bright or too bland or too brazen or too boring. Whatever they are, wearing them in public makes me feel too vulnerable, so I put them on shelf or cram them in a drawer and pretend they don't exist. Every once in while, I pull them out and look at them with
(anger, remorse, longing, bitterness, nostalgia, affection)
the same old eyes, but I never examine them for value, never see if they are past their sell-by date. They get put right back where I don't have to look at them.
The trouble is, emotions don't like to be left alone. Funny things can happen in the dark. Anger ferments into Resentment. Fear and Worry breed like spores in a petri dish. Guilt feeds on Joy. Love dies.
I've always cherished my friends, but only recently I realized that God has put people in my life to encourage me to take out those emotions and examine them. On Sunday afternoon, my pastor's 18-year-old daughter surprised me by saying, "When I saw you at church this morning, I thought, 'I want to be just like Courtney when I get older!'" My first reaction was to duck-and-cover. If ever God was going to strike me down, it had to be that moment. You heard me say it was the pastor's daughter, right??? I nervously replied with something about how she would never want to be like me. She looked a little perplexed, and I quickly turned away. Propriety gnawed at my gut, so I did the right thing, turned back, and thanked her. But the moment had passed. The compliment had been swallowed up like a mirage in a thirsty desert.
Gratitude has a permanent spot on a shelf way back in the corner of my closet. I don't take compliments well. They make me uncomfortable. Every time I am blessed with a compliment, the devil whispers in my ear that it's all a lie. And I believe him.
The enemy doesn't want me confronting any of my emotions. He wants my Anger to ferment. He longs for my Fear and Worry to breed. He steals my Joy and spoon feeds it to my Guilty Conscience. He murders my Love with his poison-tipped whispers.
But when I call on Jesus, He responds with simple, yet impenetrable words: Get behind me, Satan! And though He is the only Friend I will ever need, He loves me so much that He gives me even more: people with arms to hold me and shoulders to cry on and tongues to remind me of His Truth.
Ever since Anna's beautiful compliment, I've made an effort to think about the divine friends God has blessed me with, and how they remind me that the real ME isn't stuffed in a corner somewhere...
...my friend who never gets tired of my whining and consistently reminds me that God has a plan.
...my friend who has been to hell and back, and could still see the worth in this sinful, messy woman.
...my friend who leaves me in awe of her neverending loyalty.
...my friend who knows me inside and out, and isn't afraid to open every can of worms hiding in my closet.
...my friend who hung in there when I was crazy and doubtful and unfaithful and afraid; who never, ever gave up on me; who saw me ugly and snotty and blubbering, and still thought I was beautiful.
How convenient it is to keep festering emotions hidden on a shelf! I totally get it. It's easier on the old ego to post the picket fence as your status update than it is to expose your beautiful mess of a life. The irony is, God "friended" you with those folks so you wouldn't have to hold on to those whispered lies. Take down your Anger and your Joy and your Fear and your Gratitude, and share the real YOU with your friends! Jesus promises that a friend is always loyal, even when faced with your cluttered closets and dirty drawers.
Sunday afternoon, God sent an angel to open my eyes. I've been pulling emotions out of dark corners ever since. Last night, I found my Joy, smoothed out the wrinkles, and went on a date with one handsome boy and two exquisite little girls.
Funny thing about Joy...
It never goes out of style.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Head for the Hills
John 8: 31-32 - If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.
I had a dream.
I had a dream of the Fourth of July.
I had a dream of celebrations surrounded by white picket fences. Crisp apple pie and pitchers of lemonade set on red checkered tablecloths. Hamburgers sizzling on the grill, homemade vanilla ice cream in the icebox, and watermelon juice trickling down a child's chin.
I had a dream of fireworks so bright, I could see them when I closed my eyes.
I opened my eyes, and remembered that my kids are with their dad today. No apple pies in my future. And if I want ice cream, I'll have to settle for Blue Bell. I will watch my fireworks on TV. If I'm awake. And if Storage Hunters is a rerun.
Pity party, table for one, please.
This morning, instead of packing up the car with coolers and casseroles and cakes decorated like American flags, I loaded my bike and set out. I planned on an easy ride so I could spend my energy wallowing in my broken dreams.
As I rolled up on the intersection, I glanced to my left. I'd never gone left. To the right was flat, smooth pavement. Easy. Painless. Exactly what my sore psyche needed. To the left, the road curved into a hill. An obnoxious bully that would push me and tease me and make me feel like I'm not good enough. I hate hills. I'd always avoided the left because of that hill.
Today, God had different plans. Today, I went left.
Not only was there a hill. There were lots of hills. I could see them in the distance, lurking, looming. They taunted me like a gang of steroid-shooting, pimple-popping meatheads. Groaning, I argued with myself. Turn back and go the safe and simple route! Plow forward and face the meatheads! Turn back! Face the meatheads! Back! Meatheads!
I didn't turn back. Slowly, steadily, I took on each hill. Some weren't as intimidating as they seemed from a distance. We got to know each other and then we parted ways with a friendly smile.
But others attacked me. I felt trapped. I couldn't just stop. Getting started again would be impossible. I couldn't turn around. If I did, I'd just be facing the backside of the meatheads, and sometimes they were even uglier from behind.
So instead of letting the hill stuff me in a locker, I looked past it to the other side. I focused on the sweet freedom of the downhill, wind blasting past me like a live thing while the landscape liquefied into a blurry canvas of yellows and greens and browns.
Forty-five miles later, I pedaled to my car on legs that felt like jelly donuts, and I had one thought in my head.
"I'll never do that again!"
The hills in life can be just as daunting. We see them up ahead, and worry settles in our hearts. Questions hammer our thoughts.
Can I make it up that hill?
What if I fail?
What if I fall?
Is there time to turn back?
What if the hill defeats me?
What will become of me then?
What is your hill today?
Can I give you a bit of encouragement as you face the meatheads?
God gives you the freedom to choose your path in life. But the path of healing and growth and deep relationship with Him will seldom be the easiest or the smoothest. God doesn't promise that His path will be without hills. In fact, His Word tells us that taking the easy way out can leave you crushed and broken and lost in the dark alleys of Rock Bottom. Population: You.
But He does promise that Jesus will be alongside you as you navigate the hills. The meatheads can't push you around because Jesus' muscles don't give out. The heat doesn't bother Him. He doesn't get thirsty or tired. His back doesn't ache and His skin doesn't burn and your incessant complaining just makes Him smile.
Listen to Jesus whispering to you in the rush of the wind and the beating of your heart. He speaks the Truth, and His Truth is all you have to hang on to. That Truth is that He loves you. He would never leave you to take on the meatheads by yourself. The hills may leave you feeling beaten, but by His grace, Jesus heals - bruised muscles and broken hearts. And then He makes you stronger.
Turn to Him. Take Him with you when you go on a ride. Let Jesus be your GPS, and when a hill looms in your future, give Him your worries. He wants them! He doesn't want you dragging them along as you climb that hill. And trust that even if the hill leaves you exhausted and out of breath, He will breathe life back into you on the other side.
I still don't like the meatheads. But they don't scare me anymore.
Because I know that sweet freedom is just a hill away.
I had a dream.
I had a dream of the Fourth of July.
I had a dream of celebrations surrounded by white picket fences. Crisp apple pie and pitchers of lemonade set on red checkered tablecloths. Hamburgers sizzling on the grill, homemade vanilla ice cream in the icebox, and watermelon juice trickling down a child's chin.
I had a dream of fireworks so bright, I could see them when I closed my eyes.
I opened my eyes, and remembered that my kids are with their dad today. No apple pies in my future. And if I want ice cream, I'll have to settle for Blue Bell. I will watch my fireworks on TV. If I'm awake. And if Storage Hunters is a rerun.
Pity party, table for one, please.
This morning, instead of packing up the car with coolers and casseroles and cakes decorated like American flags, I loaded my bike and set out. I planned on an easy ride so I could spend my energy wallowing in my broken dreams.
As I rolled up on the intersection, I glanced to my left. I'd never gone left. To the right was flat, smooth pavement. Easy. Painless. Exactly what my sore psyche needed. To the left, the road curved into a hill. An obnoxious bully that would push me and tease me and make me feel like I'm not good enough. I hate hills. I'd always avoided the left because of that hill.
Today, God had different plans. Today, I went left.
Not only was there a hill. There were lots of hills. I could see them in the distance, lurking, looming. They taunted me like a gang of steroid-shooting, pimple-popping meatheads. Groaning, I argued with myself. Turn back and go the safe and simple route! Plow forward and face the meatheads! Turn back! Face the meatheads! Back! Meatheads!
I didn't turn back. Slowly, steadily, I took on each hill. Some weren't as intimidating as they seemed from a distance. We got to know each other and then we parted ways with a friendly smile.
But others attacked me. I felt trapped. I couldn't just stop. Getting started again would be impossible. I couldn't turn around. If I did, I'd just be facing the backside of the meatheads, and sometimes they were even uglier from behind.
So instead of letting the hill stuff me in a locker, I looked past it to the other side. I focused on the sweet freedom of the downhill, wind blasting past me like a live thing while the landscape liquefied into a blurry canvas of yellows and greens and browns.
Forty-five miles later, I pedaled to my car on legs that felt like jelly donuts, and I had one thought in my head.
"I'll never do that again!"
The hills in life can be just as daunting. We see them up ahead, and worry settles in our hearts. Questions hammer our thoughts.
Can I make it up that hill?
What if I fail?
What if I fall?
Is there time to turn back?
What if the hill defeats me?
What will become of me then?
What is your hill today?
Can I give you a bit of encouragement as you face the meatheads?
God gives you the freedom to choose your path in life. But the path of healing and growth and deep relationship with Him will seldom be the easiest or the smoothest. God doesn't promise that His path will be without hills. In fact, His Word tells us that taking the easy way out can leave you crushed and broken and lost in the dark alleys of Rock Bottom. Population: You.
But He does promise that Jesus will be alongside you as you navigate the hills. The meatheads can't push you around because Jesus' muscles don't give out. The heat doesn't bother Him. He doesn't get thirsty or tired. His back doesn't ache and His skin doesn't burn and your incessant complaining just makes Him smile.
Listen to Jesus whispering to you in the rush of the wind and the beating of your heart. He speaks the Truth, and His Truth is all you have to hang on to. That Truth is that He loves you. He would never leave you to take on the meatheads by yourself. The hills may leave you feeling beaten, but by His grace, Jesus heals - bruised muscles and broken hearts. And then He makes you stronger.
Turn to Him. Take Him with you when you go on a ride. Let Jesus be your GPS, and when a hill looms in your future, give Him your worries. He wants them! He doesn't want you dragging them along as you climb that hill. And trust that even if the hill leaves you exhausted and out of breath, He will breathe life back into you on the other side.
I still don't like the meatheads. But they don't scare me anymore.
Because I know that sweet freedom is just a hill away.
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