Category Archives: On Faith

Decisions, decisions, decisions

On Faith, On Life, ,

This is an actual sign in the middle of Nevada.

My husband stumbled upon this photo that he took on one of our camping trips. He suggested I write a blog post on it.

“Yeah. That’d be cool.” Feigned enthusiasm.

“You could write about choices,” he says.

“Yeah. That’d be cool.” More feigned enthusiasm. In my head, I’m thinking something else.

Choices? I don’t want to write about choices. Acknowledging choices means having to make them. And I don’t want to. (Whine and stomp added for effect.) My natural tendency is to set up camp in front of the sign. Indecision begging me not to commit. To cling to the hope that I don’t have to chose.

However, upon embarking on this blogging journey, I committed to embracing it. I chose to write on life, faith and writing. And since I didn’t specify whose life, that leaves my life by default. Blah.

So fine. Choices it is.

“This way” or “that way?”

It didn’t take long for me to recognize what choice I am currently facing. In a nutshell, I am forced to chose what I will do while I am waiting. My agent recently submitted a proposal for a novel I wrote. And I’m waiting. I’d like to think I’m waiting for a book deal. Then reality sets in and I realize I’m probably waiting for numerous rejection letters.

When I’m waiting for my children while they are at piano lessons, I read a book. When I am waiting at the grocery store, I pretend not to read the magazine bylines. When I am waiting for the lasagna to cook, I check Facebook. But this waiting, this is different. I’m not waiting for an hour. I could be waiting for months. Life must continue in that interim.

What will I chose to do while I wait? And the two choices appear like a neon sign in the arid dessert.

This way or that way.

On the one hand, or this way, I can choose to be content. I can chose to live in the moment. To lay down the outcome and trust. To recognize, book deal or no book deal, all I have is today. Or I can go that way. I can chose to wrestle for control of the future. To attempt to hold the unknown in my hands and mold it into something of substance. Like holding water in my hands and squeezing it until it becomes ice. Not improbable so much as downright impossible.

Perhaps both paths lead to the same outcome. Perhaps, next week (that’s called optimism), my agent will call and say a book deal is on the table. Perhaps the choice isn’t where I end up, but who I have become by the time I get there.

But either way, this way or that way, I get to choose.

Tiny Bubbles

On Faith, On Life, ,

 

Have you ever seen a toddler play with bubbles for the first time? Their fascination is captivating. They follow and chase the free-floating orbs with euphoria. A small round ball, a tiny bubble drops and every ounce of attention focuses. With arm outstretched, they waddle hurriedly to capture and claim the treasure. The bubble continues to fall and explodes, sending small droplets of soapy goo to the adjacent blades of grass.

The toddler stops suddenly. Frozen. Staring at what was. And then, the lower lip juts out and their brows furrow. Liquid disappointment falls down their cheeks.

Shattered bubbles are painful regardless of age. Dallas Willard says, “Reality is what we learn when we find out we are wrong.” When the bubble pops, reality is there to stare us in the face. The world is brimming with tragedy and pain. Suffering and destruction. Our rainbow like, soapy clean bubbles cannot shelter us. Our illusions of safety are fleeting. But security, that is an altogether different matter.

Death’s shadow passed by again last night. My husband missed the first two innings of another baseball game tending to a “clean up” effort of another demonstration of man and car vs. tree. Tree won. A few days prior, he was called away from an award dinner to an officer involved shooting. All officers are fine. Suspect died in the gun battle he started.

The world is a dangerous place. Death and pain run rampant and try as we might, our small, gossamer, self-constructed bubbles are no match. Fragile and translucent. They don’t stand a chance against the razor-sharp shrapnel of everyday life.

Not everyone lives with such demonstrative examples of this. But no one is exempt. No one can walk through this life unscathed. And yet, we put forth great effort to try. For many years, especially with small children under foot, our motto had been, “Safety first.” Often spoken tongue-in-cheek, none-the-less it was applied with vigor and vigilance.

But what is left when the bubbles burst?

We are not safe from pain and trouble. We are not immune to suffering or tragedy. Our hope cannot reside in the residue of tiny bubbles. But who needs bubbles anyway? Our eternity is secure and sheltered in the capable hands of the Almighty God.

“These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

 

 

 

If you give a mouse a cookie…

On Faith, ,

You know that cute little children’s book? A simple act of giving a mouse a cookie turns into something way bigger and unexpected. I’ve never given a mouse a cookie. It makes an adorable children’s book but frankly, I have no intention of willingly giving a mouse anything except a bit of “d-CON.”

But it makes me think…what would I do? What if I gave God permission?

It’s a beautiful afternoon. Sitting beside a quiet brook and listening to the birds chirp. Communing with God. All is right with the world. In a moment of rapture, you tell God that He can have His way. You give Him permission to orchestrate your life as He sees fit.

Something occurs in that enchanted moment. Unseen and relatively unnoticed. A covenant is made. Not a contract signed with ink but a contract signed by the blood of the Lamb on the flesh of your own heart.

I have needed to be reminded lately, that I indeed gave God permission. My peaceful has been replaced by chaos. The world is upside down and inside out. The wheels have fallen off the bus and I can’t even find them to reattach them. “What is going on?” I wonder, often out loud like a crazy person.

And then I hear this…

“You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve. (John 6:67 NIV)

In other words, “When things don’t happen like you think they should, are you out?”

The world stops. A question has been asked and it demands an answer.

Am I out? But He has never disappointed. Over and over He has taken the broken trinkets and  baubles I seem to keep collecting. He takes the heartache and confusion that seem pointless. And then, He uses them to create something I could have never imagined. He incorporates every part into something that has value. A piece of art that proclaims with abandon that He alone is God. That He alone creates and He alone redeems.

I stop looking for the bus wheels and I give Him permission again. Well said Peter.

Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:68-69)

 

What am I doing here?

On Faith, , ,

Prison cell

Did Joseph ever forsake the dreams and visions of his youth? There he sits, in a jail cell in Egypt. Being sold into slavery was bad enough but to then be thrown into prison unjustly? I wonder if there were any conversations like this…

“OK God. Just checking to see if you got my new address? I’m pretty sure you knew I was no longer in my father’s house. Thanks for sparing my life by the way. Trying to keep perspective. But the most recent event is the transfer from Potifer’s house to prison. Just making sure you have my current info.”

“Joseph, I’m right here.”

“Right. Well, since we don’t have anywhere to be can I ask you something?”

“Yup.”

Joseph sits on the hard dirt floor with his arms wrapped around his knees. His focus stays on the ant scurrying past. He smirks. Even the lowly ant may come and go as he pleases.

“Remember those dreams I used to have? The sheaves of wheat bow down. Those ones. Remember?”

“Of course.”

Joseph waits for the Creator of the Universe to say more. The ant changes direction and God remains silent.

“Uh, can we talk about those?”

“What about them?”

“Well, I just mean this is about as far away from those as possible.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Really?” Joseph tries to keep his voice in check. The frustration mingles with anger but he cannot forget to whom he is speaking. “All right.” He sighs. “Could you at least let me know what to expect next?”

“I already have. That’s what the dreams are about.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” He bounds to his feet.

“I get that it doesn’t make sense to you. But it makes perfect sense to me.”

“Wait a sec.” Joseph stops pacing and faces the stone wall. “Are you telling me those dreams are going to be fulfilled?”

“Yeah. Why not? Yes, Joseph you are in prison. Do you think I looked away for one minute and the plan got away from me? Let me ask you something.” Joseph braces himself for a question from the mouth whose very spoken word hung the stars in the sky. “Did I go too far?”, he wonders.

“Do you think I would give you a dream and not prepare you for it? Do you think you were ready to see those dreams fulfilled while you were still a teenager and a daddy’s boy?”

The force of God’s questions puts Joseph back on the dirt. He cradles his head in his hands and tears stain the red packed earth. He braces himself for the lecture from the Almighty.

But God is silent. In the void of conversation, a warmth falls over Joseph’s shoulders. His breathing evens and the chisled lines of the cell walls blur. A weightless sensation envelopes him as the presence of God surrounds and supports him. Comforting. Sustaining. Solid.

Are you someplace you thought you’d never be wondering how you got there?

And then the Great I Am speaks.

“I am with you always. Do not worry about the dreams or how they will come to pass. Focus on Me. The One who will never leave you. And trust Me that I am still at work.”