Transform Away!

I have a confession. 

All too often I launch into the flow of my day before giving God my time. Well...look at that sentence, would you? "Flow of my day!" It's not mine, it's His! 

Forgive me, Lord. Please transform me.

He reminds me "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, declares the Lord." Isaiah 55:8 (English Standard Version). So whose thoughts and ways do I want to follow? Surely not my own! 

Transform my mind, Lord, so my thoughts are in line with Your thoughts. 

In starting my day without putting the Lord first, I am missing out. Missing out on that tender time with Him. Missing out on the sweetness of morning worship and praise. Missing out on listening to His heart, His desires, and how He feels toward me. 

I need that time with Him first thing in the morning. Before the sun comes up. Before I do anything else. He hears my heart all day, what better way to begin the day than to listen for and hear His heart? I desire to be in sync with Him and flow with Him throughout the day. 

Transform my heart, Lord, so my entire being will be inclined to hear and know Your heart.

I need to hear Him say "For I know the purposes which I am planning for you...purposes of peace and not for evil; to give you posterity and a hope." Jeremiah 29:11 (Literal translation). I desire to walk in His purposes for me, not my purposes for me. I long to fulfill what He laid out for me before the foundations of the earth. 

So, I must die to myself, to my desires, to my agenda, to my shallow, selfish ways. "For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." Philippians 1:21 (English Standard Version) A resounding YES! 

Transform my desires, Lord, so they become Your desires.

Today, I live for, through and in Jesus Christ. I desire to honor and glorify Him in all I say and do. And it's a good...no...great...no...amazing day! 

Thank you, Lord, for Your transforming power. Transform away!

Pranks

It began with a loud thwack to my dorm room door. Followed by another. My roommate and I woke up with a start. “What was that?” She turned on a light. To our horror a colored liquid was flowing across our floor at a rate of speed that required action – quick!

Someone had broken balloons filled with colored water at the base of our door. In the middle of the night! No other room in our cube was hit. No one fessed up. It was a mystery. Who? Why?

Then my poor car became the target.

To give you some context, I graduated from college over thirty years ago. (Gulp! That number is sobering.) Decades before laptops and cell phones, let alone the Internet, IPods and IPads. Completing a research paper meant hours in the library searching through card catalogs, the stacks, microfiche, professional journals and impatiently waiting for the arrival of inter-library loans.  It meant waiting for an available typewriter with a typewriter eraser or, better yet, Liquid Paper close at hand. But I digress.

My always generous grandmother gave me the money to buy a car when I was nineteen. My bachelor uncle got volunteered to take me car shopping. It didn’t take long. I found what I wanted at the first dealership we visited. A 1975 VW Beetle in bright yellow with black trim. Four on the floor and the wonderful engine sounds that only a Bug could make. I was thrilled! My uncle thought I was crazy! And I named her Myrtle.

Did I know the heating system would leave me shivering in our frigid winters? No. Did I know my bright Bug would become the target of pranks that would leave me fearful, shaking and in tears? No!

I didn’t use my car every day. I lived in a dorm on campus so I parked Myrtle on campus. I frequently walked to work. I welcomed the mind-clearing blocks of semi-solitude.

One day I was met with a sight that left me stunned. My car was turned sideways in the parking space. Yep, Myrtle's nose was inches from the passenger door of one car and her rear bumper was inches from the driver door of another. Oh, it fit quite nicely! I worked for a l-o-n-g time moving inch-by-inch, forward and reverse until my little car was free from her predicament. I was late for a dental appointment. Did they believe my less-than-believable story? No!

I chalked it up to someone having fun at my expense. I moved  Myrtle to a different lot and I just put it out of my mind. Until….

One day I chose to drive to work instead of walking. I jumped in Myrtle and she wouldn’t move. Forward or backward. Not an inch. Not a fraction of an inch. I couldn’t imagine what was going on. I knew very little about cars (a condition that has not changed, I might add!). All I really knew was I had to get to work.

Puzzled, I stepped out of my car and looked under it. Oh, come on! Cement blocks were expertly placed so no one could see them at a glance. The tires were off the ground by less than half an inch. I had no time to think about it. I ran the ten blocks to work. I flew through the door of Don’s Super Valu and headed straight to the assistant manager. I explained my situation. He looked a bit amused as he told me I should have called to let them know I was going to be late. Gee, why hadn’t I thought of that? A group of guys from work were gracious enough to rescue my Bug from its pickle. And I became the proud new owner of four cement blocks!

I began choosing parking spots as out-of-the-way as possible, preferably remote. But how do you hide a bright yellow Bug? Keep in mind this was before mini vans and SUV’s expertly concealing cars from view. Myrtle could be spotted anywhere due to its unique shape and its bright color. I appreciated that when I exited malls at Christmastime but I felt helpless now. And scared.

And I made a mistake. I parked in a very visible lot in the heart of the campus. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I returned to the lot several days later. Myrtle was out in the middle of the lot. Not in a parking space mind you but right smack in the aisle in everyone’s way.  And under her windshield wiper was a stack of tickets! My heart sank…twice.

I grabbed the tickets and drove straight to the campus security office. I was shaking. And crying. I told the clerk my situation. After sympathetically listening to my story, she agreed I shouldn’t have to pay the tickets.  I couldn’t thank her enough. I didn’t have the money to pay one of the tickets let alone several of them.

And the pranks stopped as suddenly as they had begun.

The school year came to a close and I moved off campus with a bunch of friends. As I sat on the porch one sunny summer afternoon, one of my housemates handed me a letter. It was from an old boyfriend who had graduated a couple of months earlier. I had no idea how he got my address or why he was writing at all. 

Curiously, I read it. And the puzzle pieces fell into place.

It was an apology. For not treating me the way I deserved to be treated. For breaking up with me. And for being an accomplice in his flatmate’s quest to make my life miserable.

They had been on my suspect list but I had zero proof. We’d all been in choir together. I knew these guys well. I’d hung out at their apartment. We’d spent countless hours together in rehearsals, performances, and choir tours. We’d ridden the same bus all the way to New Orleans and back. I appreciated the apology but in some ways it hurt even more.

I never heard from my old boyfriend again. Or his flatmate. But I wondered why I had become the recipient of his wrath. Sure, I’d witnessed how his playfulness could be tipped with meanness. But, why me? Then I remembered. I had rebuffed his interest in me. It was just an instant in time. I guess that was all it took.

Have you ever felt tormented? By people, dreams or memories?  I’ve known all of these. I’ve felt helpless and alone, scared and anxious about what’s next.

Years have gone by. I’m not that frightened young woman anymore.

What’s changed? My life does not belong to me anymore. I gave it to Jesus Christ.

Sure I have dreams and visions that may be concerning but I’ve learned to turn them over to the Lord of my life. I ask for wisdom and revelation. Are there spiritual implications? Am I under spiritual attack or is there some action I am being called to?  

And I take authority, the authority that Jesus has given me. There is no need to be frightened. He’s got me.

Do people hurt me, disappoint me, make my life miserable at times? Of course but I remember how God sees me and I can let it go. I can forgive and move on. I can choose new playmates in a new playground if that is God’s desire for me.

I am free!  Fear will not defeat me!

And years later what did I buy? A bright red New Beetle! In all the years we had Oskar, he was always where we left him and in the condition we left him. J

(This is one of several posts I intend to make dealing with fear so stay tuned!)

Oh Boy!

Young boys often express themselves in unexpected, unappreciated ways. Agree or disagree, I came to know this truth in an up-close-and-personal way as a fourth grader.

It happened so fast it was a blur. During recess one day, a sixth grade boy dropped worms down the front of my dress and proceeded to smash them with his open hand. Ewwwww!

I was completely repulsed and ran screaming to the little girl's room. I tearfully tried to clean up the mess. The worm innards left a stain on my sailor dress that never came out. I loved that sailor dress. And my wardrobe was limited. Why?

It seems the guilty party "liked" me. I can tell you I didn't like him after that experience! I'm sure he hadn't given any thought to my reaction. But come on! Smashing worms to my chest was supposed to elicit undying love? I don't think so! 

What is it with young boys? Is the goal to gross out the object of their affections? How do they conjure up these expressions of fondness? Is success measured by the volume of screams and/or intensity of tears? I know boys and girls are wired differently but this particular behavior baffles me. 

I suppose someone could apply for a government grant to study this behavior. It is likely the research has been done by an eager grad student. I wonder what conclusions they reached?

Keep in mind, I do not have brothers. My male cousins may have given me a clue. But I didn't catch on. 

I'm just grateful that most boys grow out of this behavior. If not, I fear our species would be in grave risk of extinction.

Sleep Interrupted

My deep sleep - complete with dreams - was invaded by the sensation of something crawling on my back. I leaped out of bed with a move that would have made an Olympic gymnast proud. I nailed the landing, too! Not bad for a large, middle-aged woman, if I do say so myself.

Fearful of what I may see, I looked back at the very spot I vacated seconds before. I began to breathe again when only a stink bug remained. If it had been a spider, the neighbors may have been awakened by my screams!

If you are unfamiliar with stink bugs, they are slow moving, prehistoric-looking creatures that appear to be a shield with legs. The name? Well, there is a reason for it. If a stink bug is in distress, it lets off an unmistakable stench. It may very well have an impressive scientific name but I do not know what it is, nor do I care.

I grabbed a tissue and picked up the now stinky stink bug. I confess. I ended its life. Disposal of the body complete, I thought I would go back to sleep. There on the bottom sheet were two legs. Apparently I had made a swipe during my frantic exit that resulted in partial dismemberment. I disposed of the appendages and attempted to go back to sleep.

I discovered one cannot sleep when every nerve ending is in hyper drive. 

God's Hands and Feet

During my childhood, my father was hospitalized on two different occasions. On our small family dairy farm, his absence was felt in a big way. My sister and I took up the slack as best we could. We got up at 4 a.m. to milk the cows and complete all the chores before school. And twelve hours later we repeated it.

One of Dad’s hospitalizations was in the Spring of my eighth grade year. The fields needed to be prepared, corn and oats needed to be planted. My sister was more experienced with tractors and equipment, but the field work was more than either of us could take on. Mom was focused on Dad, as she needed to be.

It was during this season that we experienced the outpouring of our neighbors. It was something to witness! They had their own lives and their own farms yet there they were, completing all that needed to be done. Not because they had to or because it was expected. It’s something neighbors did.

What an example of selflessness! It made an impression on me, an indelible impression. It didn’t matter if we disagreed on politics or attended a different church, neighbors helped neighbors. We could count on each other to come through in those tough times.

Our neighbors were living examples of God’s Word.

“Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. “ Romans 15:2 ESV

“Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor.” 1 Corinthians 10:24 ESV

 “For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” Galatians 5:14 ESV  

“Everyone helps his neighbor and says to his brother, ‘Be strong!’” Isaiah 41:6 ESV

Farmers are exceptional people. Farming communities are special places.

Larry and I are privileged to live in a farming community. While we are not farmers, we have the joy of watching the seasons go by surrounded by farm fields. We love it! And I know, given similar circumstances as we had so many years ago, the people in this community would rally and do exactly the same thing.

And I thank them and honor them for being God’s hands and feet.

Loss

Loss. We all experience it. It’s a part of life, a hard part.

It causes us to examine our lives and our relationships.

It challenges us.

It angers us.

It scares us.

It alters our lives, our perspectives, our futures.

I know so many who have faced far greater loss than I have, loss they carry with them every moment of every day.

Tonight, I have an opportunity to love on two sons who lost their mom. 

The eldest is a gifted teenager who needs his mom to be there for him as he faces life, its choices and its paths. The youngest is still so very young. He needs his mom, her love, her guidance, her faith and her encouragement along the path to manhood. 

These two instantly came to my mind when I heard the news of their mother’s death…handsome, loving, precious boys. I know God will meet all their needs but not the way anyone here on earth could have envisioned it.

Their cheerleader is gone. The person they depended on the most is gone. It’s tragic, oh so tragic.

My prayer is that they would cling to our triune God as they grieve.  I don’t know how anyone survives loss without the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  

In those times where I’m feeling scared, misunderstood or in pain (physical or emotional), I crawl up into the lap of my Father God. It is under His wings that I seek refuge. (Deuteronomy 32:11; Psalm 17:80) It is from Him I gain strength. (Exodus 15:2; Psalm 46:1; Psalm 59:9 & 17; Psalm 58:35; Ephesians 6:10; 1 Corinthians 1:3-4)

Oh the comfort that comes with the knowledge that Jesus the Christ is interceding on my behalf. (Hebrews 7:25 ESV) He knows what it is to be human:  the loss, the pain, the limitations. But also the joy of being His Father’s beloved Son and sharing His Father’s love and truth with everyone He met.  He is my example, my brother, my friend.

And the Holy Spirit, well, I don’t wish to face a day without the amazing gift of of the Holy Spirit. It is through the Holy Spirit that I receive the guidance I need, the answers I seek and the comfort I long for. (John 16:13 ESV)

May tonight’s home-going be a blessed tribute. Something these boys can look back on as a celebration of her life, her faith, and her legacy.  

She is worshiping her King in His very presence. When I think of that, I have to smile. 

Cherish

After completing a Christian mystery and suspense novel this morning, a friend came to mind. There were no parallels between her and the story, no similarities at all. But there she was.

She had gone home to be with the Lord in the early months of 2012.

We had worked together, prayed together, worshipped and praised together. We had both left our mutual place of employment months before her death. She lived in Akron. We live in rural Wayne County. We didn’t see each other. An occasional phone call was all we had.

She had called me requesting prayer prior to going in for tests. We could have talked for hours but we kept the conversation relatively short. That was her last call to me. I found out about her diagnosis and prognosis through another friend on Facebook. I was confident that if anyone could beat cancer, she could. I believed she would know complete healing.

She was a prophetic intercessor who knew people all over the country, perhaps the world. She knew what God was doing, both from what He shared with her and through her connections. The woman was connected. I knew she was being upheld in prayer by many, many people.

I can still picture her dancing for Jesus. Robed in a flowing white praise dress, she expressed her adoration to her King beautifully. I was enthralled watching her when I was to be worshipping myself. Reaching, twirling, gliding across the floor. She was born to worship.

I made an occasional phone call, sometimes talking with her and sometimes with her husband. Friends who were closer to her family would keep me current on how she was. One Sunday, I felt a strong pull (or was it a push?) to visit her. She was back in the hospital so we dropped in after church. Family and friends were there by the dozens. The family room was overflowing. They were celebrating her birthday.

Immediately upon entering her room, we greeted her husband and daughter. We washed our hands and joined those by her bedside. I can only imagine what registered on my face as I looked at the person in the bed.

Shock.

Confusion.

 Disbelief.

Fear.

I would not have recognized her. In a few short months, the cancer had ravaged her body to the degree I would not have known her if it were not for the family by her side. She was down to eighty pounds. Her thick, beautiful hair was gone. Wisps were growing in close to her scalp. Oddly, only her hands looked familiar despite how thin they were… those hands that I had seen reaching for Jesus time and time again.

We chatted with her husband. The dear man was hanging on by a thread. He dozed off from time to time. His daughters sent him home to shower and change clothes but I doubt he had truly slept in months.  The love he and his wife shared was deep and abiding. Their story is not for me to tell but it was truly amazing.

Her hospital room was incredible. There wasn’t a place my eyes could travel without taking in scriptures and promises of God. The walls were papered with promises. Promises of hope. Promises of purpose. Promises to see, meditate on and cling to when life was presenting its greatest challenge.

At one point - quite by a miracle of God - my husband and I were alone with her. Softly and slowly, I began to sing the first song that came to my mind. “Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. There’s just something about that name....” Larry joined in as we sang it through twice. 

We had a few more minutes with her before her husband declared she needed to rest. At times she spoke with clarity, at other times I simply could not understand what she was trying to get across.  She needed rest. There had been so many visitors to celebrate with her that day.

 A few of us gathered around her bed and prayed. She held my hand and said something I did not understand. I apologized that I didn’t understand. She repeated it. I looked to her husband for some assistance in comprehending what she was asking. He didn’t know either. It was clear she wanted something but I just didn’t know what it was.

She died two days later. Her final words to her husband were  “it will be OK”.

In my mind’s eye, I can see her dancing and worshipping with the heavenly host.  While we would have preferred she experience healing in this life, her healing took place at the time of her earthly death.  Now she is experiencing a life I can only imagine.

I am happy for her, but tears come when I think of her. There are things I would have liked to have said. Time I wish I had given to her. Worship and prayer I would have treasured with her.

Months after her death, the Holy Spirit gave me a gift. He told me what she had asked me the last time I saw her. “I want to sing with you.”  

I wish I had known. But my understanding was in God’s timing.

She is where she is meant to be, singing, dancing, worshipping her King in His very presence.

I want to sing with her, too. And one day, we will.

Cherish each day and the people God has placed in your life before they slip away….