A Life Controlled by Drugs

He’s sitting in jail as I write this, and his parents have made the heart-breaking decision to let him stay there for the next three weeks. His life overtaken by drugs, he is facing numerous charges of breaking into cars, car theft, drug possession, and driving under the influence. His parents hope to negotiate with the district attorney so that he will be allowed to go to rehab instead of prison, assuming, that is, that he will agree to go to rehab.

His life certainly didn’t start out this way. Raised by loving, Christian parents, he attended a Christian school for 13 years, kindergarten through 12^th grade. His father is a minister; church attendance and involvement have always been a way of life for this family.

I began to see small changes in him last year. He started hanging out with a fast crowd. He seemed angry, sullen. This year, the difference was more dramatic: weight loss, frequent absences, sleeping in class, and occasional extreme silliness. He often smelled like cigarettes. We called his parents to let them know, since it is a violation of our school code of conduct for students to smoke. His mother said that although he used to smoke, he promised her that he had quit. That was enough for her, but we knew he was still smoking; I was gravely concerned that it was not all he was doing. I scheduled for the “drug lady”, a police representative who brings a dog specially trained to sniff out drugs, to visit our school. There are very specific laws against searching students without cause, but a random visit from the “drug dog” can provide that cause. Unfortunately it was too late. One week before she was scheduled to visit, he ran away from home.

It happened on Saturday. His dad, on the advice from a counselor friend, bought him a brand new pool table. It seems he was advised to find something they could do together to help with their relationship. They spent the afternoon playing pool followed by dinner at his favorite restaurant. After a fun-filled day, the father turned in, satisfied that he had taken the first step to mending the relationship. Once the boy was sure that his parents were asleep, he fashioned a rope to his bedpost, shimmied down two stories, and ran away. A little over one semester away from graduation, he took off. No note, no call, no thought to his future, no concern about his family, just gone.

Two weeks later, his dad is sitting in my office, ready to withdraw him from school. He is a broken man: pale, emotional, guilt-ridden, at a loss for words, and perplexed as to the best course of action for his son. His days, which just a few weeks earlier, were filled with ministry opportunities, now are driven by gut-wrenching decision after decision.

I’ve been thinking about this boy a lot the past few weeks. I may not be tempted by drugs, but, like everyone else, I am vulnerable. I am all too familiar with the stench of Satan’s hot breath as he looms closer and closer seeking control over me.

“Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings. And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm, and steadfast.

To him be the power for ever and ever.

Amen.”

I Peter 5:8-11

Out of the Mouths of Babes

One of the blessings of working at a Christian School is a morning devotional we call chapel. In the early childhood building (grades pre-k through second grade) the teachers pick a value of the week, such as love, honesty, etc. and plan the devotional around that theme.

Recently, one of our kindergarten teachers was preparing a skit for her class to perform in chapel. In the midst of assigning parts, she asked as her eyes scanned the room, “Who wants to be Jesus?” One little energetic, mischievous five-year-old boy quickly thrust his hand in the air. “Ok, Petey, you can be Jesus,” she said cautiously, trying to smother her skepticism that she could trust him with such an important role in the skit. Immediately, the little boy next to him, his usual “partner in crime”, reacted in a droll voice, “Well, if he’s going to be Jesus, I need to be God.”

It starts early, doesn’t it?

“He asked them. ’What were you arguing about on the road?’ But they kept quiet because on the way they had argued about who was the greatest. Sitting down, Jesus called the Twelve and said, ‘If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and the servant of all.’ "

Mark 9:33-35

It Only Takes A Spark

"Just as an inferno begins with but a spark,
a field grows vast and plentiful from the sprinkling of seeds"

~ Stephanie Fries ~

There were about 100 of us from church who went camping together this past weekend. We enjoyed three days and two nights under the stars. We cooked our meals by campfire, slept in tents, and enjoyed the beauty of nature. Each morning someone would create a mix of wood, Sterno logs, and charcoal so that we could alternately cook our meals and keep warm. It was amazing to watch the blaze come to life and even more amazing how little stoking it took to keep the fire going.

At night we gathered around the fire to sing songs of praise. Inevitably, someone would start the hymn "Pass It On", which is often called, “It Only Takes a Spark”, not only because it is a beautiful song, but because of the irony of the song in relation to sitting around a campfire.

This hymn was originally part of a musical, written in 1969 by Texan Baptist musician Kurt Kaiser called, "Tell It Like It Is”. In the minds of many people, Kaiser and his friend Ralph Carmichael revolutionized the gospel music industry. In the mid-1960s, they wrote a series of musicals that incorporated the new sound of rock and roll to reach out to the youth who were feeling neglected by the church. Kaiser and Carmichael were amazed as the [musical] sold out its first run of 2,500 copies. In total, they sold about 500,000 copies of the musical. It remains his signature song today.

Pass It On

It only takes a spark to get a fire going.
And soon all those around can warm up in its glowing.
That’s how it is with God’s love,
Once you’ve experience it.
You spread his love to everyone;
You want to pass it on.

What a wondrous time is spring,
When all the tress are budding
The birds begin to sing, the flowers start their blooming;
That's how it is with God's love,
Once you've experienced it.
You want to sing, it's fresh like spring,
You want to pass it on.

I wish for you my friend, this happiness that I've found;
you can depend on him, it matters not where you're bound.
I'll shout it from the mountaintop;
I want my world to know;
the Lord of love has come to me,
I want to pass it on."

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love another.”

John 13:34-35

God Doesn't Like Bragging

In my previous post, Confessions of a Germaphobe, I confessed to bragging about my health, which I attributed to my persistent avoidance of doorknob touching. I soon learned that God doesn’t like bragging.

Last Friday night, my beloved and I ate a wonderful dinner and headed for the airport to catch a plane for Kansas City to visit Kindred Spirit and her husband Sammy. As we sat in the terminal waiting to board, I began to feel uncomfortable. In minutes, my stomach was bloated and cramping. It was pretty miserable, but quickly forgotten as we boarded the plane and headed to KC.

On Saturday, Kindred Spirit and I enjoyed a day of shopping and running errands. By late afternoon, I became distracted by my new visitor, a rolling stomach ache. After a couple of hours of that, it, too, went away. Sunday was a full day that ended with a visit to the Cheesecake Factory with family and friends. We had a wonderful meal, topped with a group dessert; you know the kind, a huge piece of cake and eight forks. I took one bite…one bite of the cake and was overcome with a sinking feeling. I am going to throw up. Right here, right now. My mind raced as we walked to our cars to head back to Kindred Spirit’s house. Can I make it to the house? Do I tell her in case I need her to pull over?

I did tell her and we made it, just barely. I then took a nap until time to catch the plane home. By that time I felt somewhat better; mostly I was just anxious about getting on a plane in case I got sick again. She dropped us off at the airport; we made it through security and stood in line to board. As you may know, Southwest Airlines does not have assigned seats, so it is first come, first serve. The flight was running behind schedule, so after about thirty minutes of standing in line, I started feeling bad again. Scouting around for the nearest restroom, it dawned on me that I was not going to throw up; I was going to pass out.

I leaned into my beloved and whispered, “I’m going to pass out.”

“No you’re not. You’re fine” (his attempt at positive thinking).

“I am. I’m going to pass out.”

You know how it feels when your arm or leg goes to sleep? Passing out feels like your whole body has gone to sleep. It tingles all over, everything goes black, and you have zero muscle control.

He grabbed me before I hit the floor, and together with a kind fellow passenger, dragged me to the nearest chair, then stuffed my head between my knees. The blood rushed back to my head and I soon felt better, awkwardly embarrassed, but better.

The airline allowed us to pre-board. We took seats near the front and I slept the whole way home. Once home, I was up sick most of the night, slept most of the next day with a splitting headache; I missed two days of work in all.

When I returned to work today, I received some genuine sympathy, but quite a bit of ribbing too. “So, how’s that doorknob thing working for you?”

Lesson learned the hard way: God doesn’t like bragging.

“Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom

Or the strong man boast of his strength

Or the rich man boast of his riches,

But let him who boasts boast about this:

That he understands and knows me, that I am the Lord, who exercises kindness, justice, and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight, declares the Lord.”

Jeremiah 9:17

Confessions of a Germaphobe

You may have noticed from my profile that I am a germaphobe. In particular, I am paranoid about public restroom facilities and doorknobs of any kind, anywhere.

Since I work in a school, I am faced with doorknobs all day long. I have become quite creative about opening doors without touching the knob. I might push the door open with my shoulder or elbow as you would do if your hands were full, or, if pulling the door open, I might whip out a Kleenex that just happens to be in my pocket, or cover the doorknob with my jacket to open it.

Shortly after school starts each year, we have our usual rash of illnesses that come from being cooped up in classrooms together and touching the same doorknobs. One by one during October each person in the high school office succumbed to a particularly nasty stomach virus. Everyone that is, except me. As the days wore on, I must admit that I got rather cocky, whipping out my Kleenex, avoiding all doorknobs. Last week, I took it to the next level. I bragged, not once, but several times. “I am the only one in my office who has not taken a sick day. Have I mentioned I don’t touch doorknobs?”

I realize that so many of these germs are also air-borne, but I have no control over that, so I refuse to think about it. Somehow, it makes me feel in control over my health to know that I am doing something proactive; I am actively avoiding doorknobs.

In my next post, I’ll share the lesson I learned the next day from such bragging, but for now, let me just say:

“Do not boast about tomorrow,

for you do not know what a day may bring forth.”

Proverbs 27:1

The Language of the Mind (Potential - part three)

The incident I shared in Potential – part two has weighed heavily on my mind as I have compared this young man to my own life growing up and that of the two boys I mentioned in Potential – part one. I am one of those people who responds positively to talk of my potential. To me, it means that someone sees qualities in me that I may not even see in myself. It motivates me to a higher level of behavior, effort, or achievement.

I am convinced, though, that such talk does not have the same effect on everyone. The difference, it seems, is in the interpretation, which is filtered by the language of the mind, what you say when you talk to yourself. For example, if you are constantly telling yourself that you are fat, then when someone comes along and says, “Wow, you are a big girl” because you are 5’11”, what you might hear is, “Wow, you’re really fat!” because to you big means fat.

In Potential – part one and part two, I shared stories of children who grew up with bitterness in their hearts, in spite of loving, nurturing parents. I am convinced that this heart problem is poisoned by the language of the mind. In 1986, Shad Helmstetter published: What to Say When You Talk to Yourself – A Rational, Methodical, incredibly Simple Program for Success and Lasting Self-Change.

He compares the human brain to an incredibly powerful personal computer that is capable of doing anything reasonable as long as you know how to use it correctly. However, if you give your mental computer (brain) the wrong directions, it will act on those as well and will continue to respond to the negative programming that you and the rest of the world have been giving it without even being aware of it.

Check this out: “Through scientific discovery, the relationship between your own "mental programming" and whether you will succeed or fail in any endeavor you undertake, from something as important as a lifetime goal to something as small as what you do in a single day, has been proven. In short, how successful you will be at anything is inexorably tied to the words and beliefs about yourself that you have stored in your "subconscious" mind!” (p10-11) The brain simply "believes" what you tell it most! And, what you tell it about you, it will create. It has no choice!” (p11-14)

He recommends a “Self-Management” Sequence – Five Steps that can control your success or failure.

1. Behavior: The step that most directly controls your success or failure is your behavior ("actions"). How you manage yourself, what you do, how you act, and every word you speak will determine how well everything in your life works for you.

2. Feelings: How you feel about something always affects what you do and how well you do it.

3. Attitudes: Your attitudes are the perspectives from which you view life.

4. Beliefs: What you believe about anything will determine your attitudes about it, create your feelings, direct your actions, and in each instance, help you do well or poorly, succeed or fail. The belief that you have about anything is so powerful that it can even make something appear to be something different than what it really is. Belief does not require that something be the way you perceive ("see") it is. It only requires that you believe that it is. Perception is reality.

5. Programming: Your beliefs are created and directed entirely by your programming. You believe what you are programmed to believe. Your programming ("conditioning") from the day you were born, has created and reinforced most of what you believe about yourself and what you believe about most of what goes on around you, whether the programming was true or false.

Your programming sets up your beliefs, and the "chain reaction" begins:

(1) Programming creates beliefs

(2) Beliefs create attitudes

(3) Attitudes create feelings

(4) Feelings determine actions

(5) Actions create results

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "Everything begins with thought. Life consists of what a man thinks about all day".

Even better and more simply put is the King James Version of Proverbs 23:7:

“For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he.”

What are your thoughts on this?

Learning To Be Grateful

"Like the proud mother who is thrilled to receive a wilted bouquet of dandelions from her child, so God celebrates our feeble expressions of gratitude."
~ Richard Foster~

From the time they were old enough to talk, I wanted my children to learn the art of saying “thank you” upon receiving a gift.

In anticipation of the event, such as a birthday or Christmas, we would talk about gifts, the thought behind the gift, the money spent on the gift, the importance of gratitude and sensitivity to the feelings of the giver.

I can still remember when Sweet Pea was two years old. We were having Christmas with the extended family: grandma, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I sat with her as she opened each gift, shared her excitement, then watched with pride as she set the gift down, scanned the room for the giver, made her way to her chair, wrapped her chubby little arms around her neck, and said, “Thank you so much Grandma!”, before going back to her spot to open the next gift. Needless to say she was always the last one to finish opening all of her gifts. As the years wore on, it became comical to watch as each of my four children opened a gift with glee, set it down, scanned the room then trampled over mounds of strewn boxes and wrapping paper until they found the giver to give that personal “thank you”, then stumbled their way back to their spot to open the next gift.

Since children are an open book, we also talked about facial expressions. Opening a pair of socks from grandma may not have had the appeal of the newest toy, but the love, money, and thought behind the gift were just as important.

We did the same thing for birthdays and birthday parties. At such events, it is not unusual to open a duplicate gift. We actually practiced for such events, so that a petulant, “But I already have one!” could be replanted with, “This is the best. Now I have two!” It worked out pretty well; all duplicate gifts went to Grandma’s house so that they had toys to play with whenever she babysat.

It is not too difficult to express genuine gratitude on special occasions such as birthdays and Christmas, but how does that compare to my daily gratitude? Like the child who expresses great joy over receiving the coveted toy, I frequently express my joy to God over the people and things that mean so much to me. However, like the child who receives socks for Christmas, I often fail to thank God for the things that I need but have come to take for granted: my health, the health of my family, my strength, mental abilities, freedom, democracy, a job I love, a steady paycheck (I could go on and on), until, of course, I am in danger of losing one of these things.

I can’t remember the last time I thanked God for my health until I suffered through two days of a stomach virus. A stomach virus; how small that is when I know of countless people who suffer on a daily basis for years with chronic and even terminal illnesses. Yet I need a wake-up call in the form of a two day virus to remember to thank God for my health.

Can you relate?

“You are my God, and I will give you thanks;

You are my God and I will exalt you.”

Psalms 118:28

The Power of Words (Potential - part 2)

A young man was sent to my office one day by a teacher who was frustrated by his behavior in her classroom.

This high school junior was tall, handsome, intelligent, athletic, out-going, and well liked. His parents were highly successful professionals. Unable to have children of their own, they adopted this boy and his brother when they were babies. His father was an elder in their church and their family was very involved in church activities. He seemingly had everything going for him. However, about the time he entered high school, he chose to run with a fast crowd; their weekends usually involved poker parties with alcohol wherever they could find a home with the parents gone. I never knew if he participated in these activities, but these were the kids he chose as his close friends. By his junior year, we began to see distinct changes in his behavior and attitude.

Sitting in my office, he was not happy. He felt that he had been unfairly singled out by his teacher for something that “everyone was doing”. Knowing that I could not reach him in this state, I allowed him to vent until he calmed down sufficiently so that we could talk. This was not the first time he had been sent to my office, so we already had a good rapport. Rather than berating him for what he had done, I began to ask questions about his plans, his dreams, and his future. I told him about the good I saw in him and in his future. Then I did the unspeakable; I used the “P” word. In my attempt to motivate him, I told him that he had a bright future, tremendous potential.

He exploded.

“I am sick of hearing about my potential!” he spewed.

“Has someone said this to you before?” I ventured cautiously.

“My dad; he’s always talking about my potential,” he snarled sarcastically.

I waited a few seconds then whispered, “What does that mean to you, when your dad says you have great potential?”

He looked me square in the eye and said, “It means I’m not good enough as I am.”

If only we could know with certainty the words that would motivate and encourage our children, and at the same time, assure them of our unconditional love. May our prayer as parents be like the psalmist, David, who prayed:

“Teach me good judgment and discernment, for I rely on your commands.”

Psalms 119:66

Can you think of a time that your well-intentioned words backfired?

Potential (part one)

When someone tells you that you have great potential, what does that mean to you?

I knew one Christian family whose dad tried to motivate his two sons by praising their potential. One of his sons was encouraged by the fact that his dad saw promise in him, even though this talk usually followed some kind of reprimand. He knew that his dad believed that he could do whatever he set his mind to; he was not forever defined by his behavior as a teenager.

His brother, on the other hand, heard an entirely different message. His dad also spoke of his great potential after he had made a poor choice. However, this boy was not convinced that his dad saw the good in him, because he saw no good in himself. As a result, “you have great potential” to him meant “you are not good enough as you are.”

The two sons grew up. One son became a Christian; the other did not. The Christian son got a college education, married a Christian woman, and had his own sons who also became Christians; the other did not. The Christian son held a respectable job and provided for his family all of his life; the other did not. His life involved drugs, alcohol, crime, failed marriages, numerous jobs, depression, and anger.

What went wrong? Here were two boys raised by the same parents in the same Christian home, with the same upbringing, hearing the same words, yet, their lives took two decidedly different turns that affected generations to follow in very different ways.

One obvious difference between these two boys was their self-esteem, which was deeply affected not only by environment, but their response to that environment. We have all heard stories of children born to wealth who squander their life away, or the inspiring stories of children who grow up in extreme poverty or neglect, only to use that as a catalyst to building a life of achievement and purpose.

A poor self-esteem filters in negative thoughts and words in to further reinforce how that person esteems or values himself. How often do you say things to yourself like, “I am so stupid”, “I have no friends”, “I am so fat (ugly, dumb, fill-in-the-blank)”, or “Why do I do the same dumb things over and over?”

In contrast, a good self-esteem filters in constructive thoughts and words. “Ok, so I blew it. I know I can do better next time.” “It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything with a friend. I need to reach out to others more.” “So I’ve gained a few pounds. Here’s what I need to do to get my eating and exercise back on track.”

A person with a good self-esteem will recognize their shortcomings and weaknesses, but rather than be defined by them, will identify them, own them, and strategize ways to deal with them.

Perhaps what we need is not more self-confidence, but more God-confidence, confidence in God to love us no matter what, confidence in his promises, and confidence that he will mold us and shape us to do his will. How differently the lives of the other son and the generations that followed him would have turned out had he truly understood and accepted the magnitude of God’s unfailing love.

“But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,

whose confidence is in him.”

Jeremiah 17:7

One Best Friend

By nature, I am a one best friend person. Even as a child, I wanted one best friend, even though I remember having a best friend at home, a best friend at school, and a best friend at church. Still, if forced to choose, I knew who my overall best friend was.

When I got married and moved to a strange town, my beloved was my one and only friend, my best friend. Although I still consider him to be my best friend, it is unrealistic to expect him to take the place of my girls. He won’t get manicures and pedicures with me. He doesn’t like chick flicks. He doesn’t like to exercise, and he hates to shop. He thinks four pairs of shoes are plenty: black, brown, athletic, and work boots. We can’t wear each other’s clothes or try each other’s favorite lipsticks. He refuses to go in a Michaels or Hobby Lobby; he doesn’t appreciate romance novels, and he would rather eat hard candy than chocolate.

I remember sometime within the first few years of my marriage feeling unsettled and dissatisfied. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I found myself very critical of my beloved, as if he could do nothing to please me. Then God taught me something through Dr. James Dobson. I don’t remember which of his books it was, or even if I heard it on his radio show. I do remember that he was talking about our culture; how families have moved away from each other, how we don’t even know our neighbors, and how, with the husband and wife both working outside of the home, wives often do not find or take the time to cultivate close female friendships. He reasoned that most wives, having worked all week, spend their evenings doing those things that housewives do during the day. Weekends are spent with their families. Consequently, they put undue pressure on their husbands to meet all of their needs, even those needs that would better be met by girlfriends with similar interests (review paragraph two).

I took Dr. Dobson’s lesson to heart and looked for opportunities to develop, cultivate, and invest in female friendships. It wasn’t long before my attitude toward my beloved changed as I no longer felt that he and he alone should meet all of my needs. During our time together, we were able to choose those things that we both enjoy, rather than me haranguing him because he doesn’t enjoy to (fill-in-the-blank with something from paragraph 2).

Just like in most things in life, balance is the key. One should never spend so much time with friends that family suffers, but I thank God for my girls.

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work:

If one falls down, his friend can help him up.

But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up.”

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Find Your Girls

I was talking with the mom of one of my students the other day. I asked about her daughter’s adjustment to college; although she is doing well, her roommate is apparently having adjustment problems. Apparently she hit the floor running by going after the boys, trying to secure a boyfriend before he could be snatched up by another new freshman.

My former student wisely pulled her aside one day and said, “Look, you’re going about this all wrong. You need to find your girls first. Your girlfriends are more important, for they will stick with you long after you have broken up with the boy of the month. Find your girls.”

I was impressed with such sage advice coming from a girl so young. It turned out, though, that this was the advice her mother had given her when she transferred to our high school a few years back.

I started thinking about my girls, the friends who are so dear to me. Each of my girls has an important role in my life.

There are the girls I like to chit-chat with just to pass the time of day. We work together and meet for lunch as often as we can.

There’s the girl I meet every day for exercise. We both bring potential topics to share and whatever we don’t get to is saved for the next time.

There are the girls I go to when I need a boost or someone to pray with.

Then there’s the one girl who can make me laugh like no one else as we share our childhood memories. Come to think of it, she makes me laugh no matter what we are talking about.

There are the girls who swap recipes with me, and those who like to get together and quilt. Some of my girls and I like to share spa days, mani’s and pedi’s, and shopping or road trips.

One of my girls and I manage to squeeze in outlet mall shopping whenever we go to a work-related convention.

I have a group of girls who meet a few times a year for dinner. We helped each other through a difficult time years ago, and although most of us no longer work together, the bond is still there.

Some of my girls are my daughters, some are my colleagues, and some are just friends.

Yep, that’s pretty good advice. First, find your girls and love them for who they are.

“My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.”

John 15:12

Traditions

"These children are the seeds my days plant, the blooms of the next generations."
~ Ann Voskamp ~
"Holy Experience"

We have many traditions in our home. One tradition began when my oldest children were potty-training. My beloved and I took turns sitting with them, trying to keep them on the potty seat occupied with puzzles, books, and conversation until they relaxed enough to let nature take its course. Once that happened, the parent on duty took the “big boy” or “big girl” to the other parent to brag about what they did on the potty. When my beloved brought our child to me, I jumped up and down and clapped, which eventually provided another incentive for using the potty. “As soon as you use the potty, we’ll go tell Mommy and she will jump up and down and clap!” Oddly enough, this worked.

As the years rolled on, Mommy was expected to jump up and down and clap for every bit of good news: finished the puzzle, let’s show Mom. Took a nap, won’t Mommy be proud. Shot the basketball through the goal, let’s go tell Mom. Made an A on the report card, take it home to Mom. It seems I jumped up and down and clapped through each milestone of their lives.

As one by one my children left for college, I wanted there to be no doubt in their minds how happy I was whenever they came home. Sweet Pea attended Pepperdine University in Malibu, California, so her visits home involved airfare and were planned way ahead of time. Each time she came through the revolving door to baggage claim where we waited, her eyes scanned the area, looking for a familiar middle-age woman trying to discretely jump up and down and clap. A year and a half ago, Sweet Pea and her husband announced that they were having a baby. Once again, she looked at me expectantly. Obediently, and with much exuberance, I jumped up and down and clapped, and subsequently pulled a muscle in my back. That was difficult to explain at work. “So, how did you hurt your back?” “Um, well, I kind of jumped up and down and clapped……with gusto. Long story.....kind of a family tradition sort of thing. That’s really all I can say about it.”

Kindred Spirit attended Harding University, which is six hours away. She drove home more than she flew. Not entirely comfortable with this, my beloved and I took turns calling her every hour, checking on her progress. As the time drew near for her arrival, we stood by the curb. As soon as we saw her car turn onto our street, my excitement took over and, bless her heart, she drove up with a big grin on her face as she saw her mom standing by the curb, jumping up and down and clapping.

My Buddy chose Oklahoma Christian University, which is three and a half hours away. He liked to surprise us by pretending that he left later than he did, or was caught in traffic, so he could see the surprised looks on our faces when he appeared at the door hours earlier than we expected. At least that’s what he told us. In reality, as much as he seems to enjoy his old mom still jumping up and down and clapping at his arrival, I think he prefers it at the door to our home rather than by the curb.

Lovey also chose Oklahoma Christian University. She and Buddy just came home for the first time since school started this year, along with her new boyfriend, and her new college best friend. I had to work the gate (take money for admission) at our home football game, so I was not home when they arrived a little earlier than expected. Toward the end of my shift, though, I looked up to see all of them pile out of the car with big grins on their faces. I do hope they warned their friends about their odd mom, because I jumped up and down and clapped as I ran around the car hugging and greeting each one.

The father of the prodigal son had a similar strategy.

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.”

Luke 15:20

Won’t it be great when God greets us the same way as we enter heaven?

Humbled (part 2)

My second most recent humbling experience took place at church. At our church, parents of children birth through 5^th grade must check their children in at one of the new computerized kiosks located in the children’s wing. Parents give the volunteer the name of their family and child, and the volunteer locates their names on the computer screen and prints computerized name tags with bar codes. Only the parent with the matching bar code may pick their child up after Bible class.

Since this is a fairly new system, only the two children’s ministers have been trained to use it. Their efforts to elicit volunteers to man these kiosks have been unsuccessful so my daughter, who is the technology minister, volunteered to help out. Computers are her business. She is a fast learner and simply walked up, asked if she could help, and in minutes took over the booth. After her first Sunday to help out, she told me about it. I asked if she thought it was something I could do, and she eagerly replied, “Sure, it’s easy. I can show you how real fast.”

“It’s easy.” That simple sentence should have been my first clue that I was in big trouble. The next Sunday, I marched up to the kiosk, ready for my on-the-job training. As the children’s minister saw me coming, her face broke out in a huge grin. She backed away from the kiosk she was working, grabbed her keys, thanked me for coming and over her shoulder said, “It’s easy. Just follow the yellow brick road. That’s really all you need to know. Follow the yellow brick road.”

What does she mean by that? As the line to my kiosk began to stack with one frazzled parent after another, each holding the hand of a restless child, I’m staring at my computer screen with color coded buttons that I am supposed to touch in a certain order to indicate the age and class of each child. My daughter leans over and says, “When in doubt, push the yellow button.” Fairly certain that I might be able to execute this registration I look up at the first parent.

I smile a little uncertainly. “Good morning. Name please?” “Schneider.” “Could you spell that please?” “S-c-h-n” “That’s all I need. I’ve found you. Who are you checking in today?” I navigate through each of the steps to check their child in, stopping my daughter at the next kiosk each time I hit the wrong button so she can get me back on track. As she stops checking in her family to correct my errors, I look sheepishly at her family and mine. “I’m sorry for the delay. This is my first time.”

After checking in a few families and needing my daughter’s help on each one, I decided to start off on the right foot with those in my line. “Good morning. This is my first time. Please bear with me.” Then the next parent steps up. “Good morning. I’m new and kind of slow. I’ll be just a moment.” “Good morning. How are you today? I’m new at this.”

As the morning progressed, this greeting became my mantra. After one agonizing, slow, fumbling check-in after another, I looked up to find that my line was empty. All the children were checked in. I made it.

I still say that on-the-job training is not my favorite, especially with an audience of restless children and frazzled parents, but every once in a while, a little dose of humility is probably a good thing.

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand,

that he may lift you up in due time."

I Peter 5:6

Humbled (Part 1)

I had two humbling experiences this week. This one took place at school.

I am feeling pretty proud of myself, having volunteered to work the gate at our school’s volleyball tournament on Saturday. I sign up for the two hour early morning shift. Being a morning person, I know I can be perky, take their money, and give directions to the various courts, all at the same time, but, no. The Athletic Director looks at the sign-up sheet and says, “It’s easy to get people to work the gate; I need you to work the clock.” “But I’ve never worked the clock!” The panic is evident in my voice. “It’s easy. Every time a team scores, you push two buttons.”

It’s easy, he says, assuming that those two simple words will calm me down. But if it is not be easy for me, I will feel really, really stupid.

On Saturday morning, the varsity volleyball coach, thrilled to see that I have shown up, greets me with a smile. “Just so you know, I’ve never done this before.” “It’s easy,” he says. “Just push these two buttons when someone scores. Oh, and you’ll need to set the timer when someone calls a time out. Just push this button, this button, and then this one. And remember, it is very important to push this button to the off position before you reset it. You’ve kept the books at games for years. Compared to that, this will be a piece of cake.” As he walks away, I look down at the endless array of buttons I have to choose from, none of which have an obvious off position.

What have I gotten myself into? I love to learn new things, but not like this! I like advance warning, time to practice, and, most importantly, written directions. What I have is learn as you go in front of coaches, players, parents, and refs, every mistake noticed, every mistake public, humbling, humbling, humbling.

I muddle through and two hours later I am finished, having managed to work the clock for six games with just a few mishaps. This is one time when, instead of being proud to have learned something new, I am definitely humbled by it.

“Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.”

James 4:10

Stretch Armstrong

One of my son’s favorite toys as a little boy was a rubberized doll called Stretch Armstrong. Stretch was unique in that his arms and legs could be pulled and stretched to about four times their original length. Stretch could not stretch himself, though. The stretching required an outside source.

The same is true of my Christian walk. Every time I submit to the will of God, I stretch a little. Every moment I spend in the presence of God, I stretch even more. On my knees, stretch, in the word, stretch, serve others, stretch, deny myself, stretch.

Even though it appears I am stretching, changing, and growing as a result of these things, in reality, just like Stretch Armstrong, I can’t stretch myself. Only God can stretch me. Only God can change me.

And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. 2 Corinthians 3:18 (NIV)

Gratitude

My beloved and I are on a plane headed for Dallas from Kansas City. With security heightened it has taken longer than usual to get through security checkpoints. In addition to the usual forbidden items, they have recently added any liquid, gel, or paste. After searching my purse, they threw my brand new, unopened water bottle away.

I should have known, but a little inconvenience in the name of safety is a small price to pay. I positioned myself across from the security checkpoint, watching each person’s reaction as they were pulled aside for a body or carry-on search. Most patiently followed the directives of the airport personnel, but some travelers went out of their way to let everyone know how annoyed they were.

How soon we forget. No doubt every passenger who boarded what would become their tomb on September 11, 2001 anticipated a routine flight. No doubt their primary concern that day was catching their plane.

I have been to other countries where it was commonplace to see soldiers stationed throughout the airport with machine guns, and this was before September 11. I read that anyone flying out of New Delhi, India should arrive three and a half hours before take-off. Sure puts the ninety minutes required for my flight in perspective.

Unfortunately, while security measures are tightening all over the world, we in the U.S. are adjusting to some of these issues for the first time. While we have no choice but to follow these security measures, we are in complete control as to how we respond to them.

What if I were to respond with gratitude? Would I be more tolerant as I stand in line to check in? Would I smile and say a kind word to the one who x-rays my luggage or to the one who checks my ID? Would my gratitude be evident as I put all of my belongings in a tub to be x-rayed? As the alarm goes off and I am pulled aside to be searched, am I grateful that TSA is taking every precaution for the safety of all passengers? Will I thank every employee I come in contact with who is just doing his job? Is it possible to be grateful and it not become evident to those around me?

“Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

I Thessalonians 5:18

Expired

My beloved and I planned a relaxing weekend getaway to visit Kindred Spirit and Sammy in Kansas City. We purchased our airline tickets months in advance. We printed up our own boarding passes the night before.

The day of our trip, we left in plenty of time to leave our car in long term parking and still arrive 90 minutes before take-off as recommended. We hopped aboard the shuttle that would drop us off at the door to our terminal. Or so we thought. Neither of us paid any attention to the destination of the shuttle we chose. It was not until it arrived at terminal E that we realized that it was not going anywhere near terminal A, which was our destination. Bailing out at terminal E, we ran half a block down the sidewalk and tried to get on two more wrong shuttles before landing on the shuttle that would deposit us at the door to terminal A.

At this point we still felt pretty good, that is, until we checked in our luggage and showed our identification and boarding passes to the lady behind the counter. She peered over her glasses. “I’m sorry sir. It’s expired.” “What’s expired?” my beloved asked. “Your driver’s license,” she answered. “Apparently you had a birthday four days ago. Well your license expired then. That means your boarding pass is no good.” “No good?” “No good. I’ll have to print you another one; and you really need to get that license renewed.”

She printed another boarding pass and attached a sticker to it. This sticker flagged my beloved as the person who is attempting to board a plane as a passenger with an expired driver’s license. As a result, while I sailed through security both to and from Kansas City, he was pulled over and searched, first with a wand, then by hand.

My beloved chose to be good-natured about the whole thing. His driver’s license is, after all, expired, and while I don’t understand the connection between an expired driver’s license and terrorist activity, I am deeply appreciative of our government’s attempts to protect us in the air.

It just goes to show that no matter how well we plan, things happen that are beyond our control. What is within our control is how we respond. As the apostle Paul wrote from behind bars:

“Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 2:5

It Could Have Been Worse

My wallet was stolen. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. I certainly don’t know by whom. I do, however, know how much. Using two ATM cards, and two credit cards, he or she managed to do over $2200.00 worth of damage to my checking accounts and credit card accounts in one day, before I even knew the wallet was gone and before the banking institutions put a temporary freeze on the accounts due to “unusual spending activity.”

Friday: I spend all evening canceling those cards, filing a police report, and sinking into a black hole.

What am I going to do? Gotta pray. Give it to God. Don’t worry.

How can I get out of this black hole?

Saturday: I make a list. I call it:

It Could Have Been Worse

…if my social security card had been in my wallet (identity theft)

…if the banking institutions had not put a freeze on the accounts when they did

…if the bank had chosen not to believe that those were fraudulent charges

…if the bank had not replaced the money stolen from my checking accounts

…if they had been able to access my savings account with my ATM

…if I were not getting paid in a few days

Sunday: this praise hymn gets stuck in my head:

When upon life's billows
You are tempest-tossed,
When you are discouraged,
Thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings,
Name them one by one,
And it will surprise you
What the Lord hath done
Refrain:

Are you ever burdened
With a load of care?
Does the cross seem heavy
You are called to bear?
Count your many blessings,
Every doubt will fly,
And you will be singing
As the days go by.
Refrain:

When you look at others
With their lands and gold,
Think that Christ has promised you
His wealth untold;
Count your many blessings,
Money cannot buy
Your reward in heaven,
Nor your home on high.
Refrain:

So, amid the conflict,
Whether great or small,
Do not be discouraged,
God is over all;
Count your many blessings,
Angels will attend,
Help and comfort give you
To your journey's end.
Refrain:

Refrain:
Count your blessings,
Name them one by one;
Count your blessings,
See what God hath done;
Count your blessings,
Name them one by one;
Count your many blessings,
See what God hath done.

J. Oatman Jr., 1897

Monday: I feel better already!

I'm Sorry

Why is it so hard to say, “I’m sorry?”

Why are others sometimes resistant to accepting my apology?

Is it them?

Is it me?

I used to be queen of the flippant, “Sorry!”

How about the belligerent “Ok, so I’m sorry. Now are you happy?!”

Then there’s the sarcastic, “I’m sorry already!”

The annoyed, “I said I’m sorry. What more do you want?”

The demanding, “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

Or how about, “Once again, I’ll be the one to apologize!”

I used to get hung up on being right, on winning the argument. And I sure wasn’t going to apologize if I did not do anything wrong (in my way of thinking), or, if I was not the one that started it in the first place. For example, "I only said that hurtful thing to you because of what you said to me." The "You started it so you need to apologize to me" line of reasoning.

Many years ago, I realized that I had no clue how to apologize, because my apologies never seemed to help the situation. Here I was, patting myself on the back for saying, “Sorry!”, while at the same time, my words, my tone, and even my body language were sending another message.

Who is supposed to apologize, anyway? The one who started it? The one who acted the worst? I used to think so, but who is going to make that call? Honestly, I no longer think the answers to those questions are important. I have discovered that there is usually something for which I need to apologize, whether I started it or not.

Think of an apology as salve. Let’s say your body is burned and you need some type of medical attention, fast. You want salve, slathered on, coating your burn, going deep into the wound. Then, and only then, will you relax as you feel it begin to do its work. It numbs the pain. Oh, you still have the wound. You still remember the pain. You may even feel vulnerable, fearing that the pain will return. It will take time to heal completely, but you can deal with it because of the salve.

I think for the apology salve to work, I also need to act fast. Here are some things I have come to believe are important when I apologize.

1. I think of apologizing as an event that deserves my undivided attention. I want to send the message that what is about to happen is important. It will mean turning the TV off or stepping away from loading the dishwasher.

2. I will use my loved one’s name. Who doesn’t love the sound of their own name?

3. I will look my loved one in the eye. The eyes are the window to the soul. It is my loved one’s soul I have wounded. It needs the salve.

4. I will gently touch my loved one as I speak. I will be sensitive to this because he may be so hurt he will not welcome my touch. If that is the case, I will try touch later when the salve has had time to take effect.

5. I will use my soothing voice, which to a loved one is a salve of its own.

6. I will say, “I’m sorry” in descriptive terms. For example, “Loved one, I’ve been thinking about it, and I realize that I owe you an apology. I hurt you when I (fill in the blank with specifics). I love you and I am deeply sorry. " Here the salve is going directly to the wound.

7. I will give my loved one time alone, time to heal. I will accept that I cannot regulate how much time that will take.

8. I will pray for my loved one’s healing and for the relationship to heal.

9. I will realize that my loved one may feel vulnerable, fearing that the pain will return.

10. I will take care to give my loved one and our relationship extra care and attention, just as I would if he were hurt physically.

I think Peter has the right idea.

“Finally, live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil for evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.”

I Peter 3:8-9

Mayonnaise Sandwich

When we were first married, my beloved was in the Air Force. We lived in town the first year and he commuted to the base just outside of town. From time to time, one of the other airmen would call for a ride. Usually he didn’t mind, but he always dreaded the call from Larry.

Larry was in his early 20’s, married, with children. His wife stayed home to care for the children and money was scarce. Every day Larry packed the same lunch: mayonnaise sandwiches. He took two pieces of white bread, slathered mayonnaise in between, and called it a sandwich. Now, that’s just sad.

Even sadder were the stories he told. He told great tales about dating movie stars, or about his previous job as a commander in the Russian military. My beloved could never tell if Larry believed his own tales, or if he created this fantasy world as a way to cope with the realities of his real life.

That was over 30 years ago, but I’ve never been able to forget that mayonnaise sandwich. It had nothing of substance, nothing of value. Yet he filled up on it every day.

What do I fill up on every day that substitutes for substance, for nutritional value (physical or spiritual) in my life? Is it television, the internet, my own thoughts, or just piddling? Is it complaining, worry, depression, or just idleness? Do I get so distracted by the urgent that I lose sight of the important? Is it just me, or does this happen to you?

It happened to Martha. Her sister, Mary sat at the feet of their guest, Jesus, “listening to what he said.” Martha, on the other hand, was “distracted by all the preparations that had to be made” and complained to Jesus about it. “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

“The Lord answered, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.’” Luke 10:38-42