Quick Energy

Posted in life, words by

This week I got a darling, hand-made card from teenage sisters I never met. They wrote that they’d seen my prayer card on a mutual friend’s fridge and wanted to let me know that they’re praying for me.

It blew me away, the tangible gentleness and love and care. I depend on email most every day, and value it hugely. But I still love seeing my name and address on an envelope in the post. This surprise card motivated me to write a letter, and drop it in the postbox down the road. I’d been thinking about writing that letter for months, and the card was the final push to do it.

It’s easier to complain or seethe or stay silent during each day’s wear and tear. But no matter the situation, encouragement is never out of order, on this side of heaven. Who have you been thinking about and who could use your words?

“A wise person gets known for insight; gracious words add to one’s reputation. Gracious speech is like clover honey–good taste to the soul, quick energy for the body.” (Proverbs 16:21, 24, The Message)

 

Nobody Knows the Trouble

Posted in life by

I was telling a friend that I think that if any five of us were standing around the table, and we had our problems in our hands and put them all–ALL of them– out on the table for each other to see, we wouldn’t choose anyone else’s problems. We’d take back our own again.

She wasn’t so sure. She said she wished she had her friend’s problem instead of her own that were consuming her energy.

It made me think of other scenerios. A girl complaining to her friends that she had no free day to pack for her 2 week vacation to a Greek island. A bride trying on her dress and saying that her shoes weren’t the color she wanted. A homeowner complaining to a homeless man about the heating bill. To someone on the sidelines looking in, these all look like good problems to have.

I maintain that if we knew everything–everything– about our friends’ lives, and saw all their troubles, we would take back our own. But I am young and my life is good. I have problems and issues that make me sad and cry, or that I tell to only the closest to me, but most days, my life isn’t defined by problems. When I look at my friends who appear to have beautiful, enviable stories, I am jealous for half a second before I remember that they have problems that would have completely derailed me.

There are surely people who wouldn’t take back their own troubles if they were out on a table. I think of the widow raising eight children. My lady friends whose husbands have betrayed them on every level, week after week, year after year. The beautiful girl with cancer, another friend with Chronic Neurological Lyme Disease. Life is not fair and trouble is spread wide and without respect to age or talent or wealth.

Friends walk with, support, believe in each other. So her problems look silly or petty to you? They might be, but to her they’re huge. It’s really ugly when friends get together and compare their troubles and try to impress each other with the amounts of pain each is suffering. Sometimes we can give each other a splash of reality or perspective but most times it’s best to listen and not say much.

So I’d love to be going to a Greek island, and I wouldn’t complain about having little time to get ready for it. But, well…

There’s a difference between stuff you complain about and serious life experiences. Maybe I’m naive, but isn’t it generally true that at the end of the day we’d still choose our own troubles?

Article Recommendation: What’s a Man to Do?

Posted in recommendations, singleness by

This week my wise, gentle friend Elisabeth whom I’m never met but correspond with regularly, wrote a brave article here on Boundless. I say it’s brave, because it takes a lot of courage for a single woman with a quiet spirit to write about the unspoken dynamics between single men and women.

Chatting with Elisabeth this morning, she told me she’s gotten good feedback on the article, mostly from girls, which means it’s more than just me who says it’s accurate and well-done.

In her blog, Elisabeth writes an introduction for the article and says it took her way out of her comfort zone and that a lot of the points can apply to both men and women.

It’s a delicate balance, I know. Over-kindness and over-coldness are equally off track. Selfish rashness and selfish caution: both are outside the kingdom realm.

Believers in Jesus, whether we marry each other or not, are on parallel tracks toward a common goal. This is a lifelong closeness and commitment: not to one another, but to Him.  As C. S. Lewis describes in The Four Loves, we stand — not eye to eye, like lovers — but shoulder to shoulder with eyes on the same goal. And with eyes (and heart) on that goal, we’ll be steering very well.

Sometimes we don’t realize we have the power to hurt others, but as mature men and women, we need to recognize this and plan accordingly.

And honestly? It’s not impossible to get it right.

To Have and To Hold–A New Book!

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I’m delighted to tell everyone who will listen about a new book that my friend and mentor, Sharon, wrote. It’s out now! To Have and To Hold is written for women who find themselves alone and wondering how to think about themselves and life and God.

Sharon is a gifted teacher and mentor, and writes out of her own experiences and questions. I was privileged to read the manuscript, and what I liked best is how she is brave to ask and wrestle with questions that have no quick, pat answers. It’s a must-read if you are wondering why there are singles in the world, and what is God up to in your aloneness?

You can order the book now from Christian Learning Resource for only $10.99.

Call  800-222-4769       or email clr@fbep.org for your own copy.

And in your spare time, visit her lovely blog at www.tohaveandtoholdbook.com

Grace on a Plate

Posted in My Book, words by

Grace isn’t shocking enough to make the headlines. The words that give life and breath to the panting and exhausted don’t usually get said loudly enough for the world to hear. They’re whispered, or mouthed, and seen only by several eyes. But that doesn’t make them less important or powerful.

Micha Boyett wrote wise words here after a public, unloving book critique and a soft, gracious answer to that–actually, an invitation for a meal. The result of this grace was a gentle apology, and a great illustration of how powerful mercy is.  I found these words beautiful and convicting because when I hear criticism about my book, I am carnal enough that I drafted  a scathing, frigid letter sooner than send a dinner invitation.

After Jesus’s disciples absconded, and started living as though they’d never been with Him, He pursued them, gave them a miracle at work, and cooked breakfast for them. I wish I could have been there. His grace to them that morning had to have changed them profoundly–which is what grace and mercy does in its quiet way, without headlines and hoopla.

Micah is writing about words and relationships across the internet, which is an important part of communication. But I want grace to be even more important to me in the real-time, real-life words and actions that I engage in every day, in as normal things as breakfast or dinner.

I find the Internet to be the hardest place to follow the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount. Blessed is she who has the most blog hits? Blessed is he who stands by his theological stance with the most vigor and resentment?

On the Internet, we can talk a good game about Jesus. We don’t have to know each other. We don’t have to love each other from afar. Instead we can pick on each other’s wounds and brokenness and separate ourselves into more and more theological camps. Who needs denominations? We can just align ourselves with the blogger who reads the Bible the way we do and criticizes the ones we like to criticize.

We can be a generation of sarcasm, biting, and cutting. We can roll our eyes and slam the laptop shut. Then open it up again to see if all our friends on Twitter agree.

Or, we can learn earnestness from the example of Voskamp’s genuine kindness. We are also invited to hold the gospel out. We are invited to prepare a table and set a place for the one who criticizes our lives, our beliefs, our art. We are invited to live out the blessing of Jesus:

Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.

The world does not need angry theology: it needs a true, good story. It needs the good news that God’s compassion is deep enough to rescue, to remake, to restore our broken lives.

After all, we are followers of a Messiah who said in his kingdom our job is not to win the argument: it’s to make the peace, to see God, to show mercy.

Beauty and a Blog

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I’m a bit of a blog junkie, but don’t comment often on them. You’re supposed to get your name out there and comment on lots of blogs so that people find your link and discover your blog. My book needs publicity, but I don’t, and I don’t feel a compulsion to get my name out there, so I’m not driven to do lots of commenting.

What I like best is to have friends who blog, and when they post, I like knowing their email address, and being able to connect via email or Google Chat and have this dialogue going behind the scenes. I like that hugely.

That’s what’s happening with me and my friend Shari these days. Years ago, we were in the same writers’ critique group, and I always liked her pieces, plus her input and advice on what others wrote. Now she’s writing again, and I love to see it.

I think she’s brave and compassionate, intelligent and insightful. She blogs for love of words, and in that she’s able to speak for those who don’t write, but who feel the things deeply, and are happy to find someone who is walking with them who understands. Which is, I think, what our blogs are–not publicity so much as a way to communicate and identify with each other and not feel so alone.

A couples weeks ago, Shari wrote a post on beauty that gave me deep things to think about. I know it’s true that every woman wants to know she’s beautiful, and Shari put into words what is true–that our soul reveals itself and make us beautiful or otherwise, and no creams or colors can hide that. It makes me hope that my wrinkles are/will be from smiles and laughter.

As we mature, we find our inside becoming slowly, inexorably etched on our outside. I know this is true. I have seen it over and over. I love reading faces, and have case-studied this as extensively as possible in my small 29 years, particularly in the 28 ¾ in which I’ve been aware of beauty. People start to look more and more like who they are. It scares the willies out of me.

Each of us is given the wonderful opportunity/ terrible responsibility of painting our own faces. Before 30, only a glimpse of our work shows. After 30… oh boy. Then the peace of my heart begins to take a permanent place on my forehead. Then the bitterness of my soul finds a lasting home in the shape of my chin. Then joy begins to cling to the corners of my mouth. Then anger-in-private carves deep lines in public, to be seen by all. Then humility and confidence awaken visibly, like a halo around my face.

At first, it’s apparent only to those with sharp eyes. Soon, any casual observer can read it. (Isn’t it ironic that many of us find spouses before our souls start to show? Oh boys, beware, beware.)

If you like honest women’s blogs, you’ll like Shari’s. You’ll agree sometimes and giggle other times, like a recent post and its ensuing comments amused me.

Proud of you, Shari, and someday we’ll talk in real space and time again over coffee!

Dusty Feet

Posted in life, Poland, teaching English by

“Why did I say I’d do this?” I asked of  Ria who works and lives with me and has to pick up the pieces when I over-commit. I was scurrying to prepare a lesson for a new child whose English level I didn’t know, and was (again) out of my depth. “I knew I have time, but I’m not sure that I have the energy for this.” I like a challenge but I’d forgotten that energy is as precious a commodity as time. Ria shook her head and tactfully reminded me that she had tried to tell me I had enough commitments without adding more.

That morning I had known every minute of my day was committed to something, and I didn’t know if I could do everything. But during the prayer time at staff meeting, God invited me to just walk alongside Him for the day, and join along in what He’s doing. Immediately, the pressure was off. I didn’t have to perform, only stay in touch with the Spirit’s direction. I didn’t have anything to prove, no agenda except His.

I met beautiful people that day. Met one new friend in her home with her family, and saw her care well for her children and pets. Met my vet friend in her home, drank her coffee, ate yummy scrambled eggs and pickles, and watched her vaccinate a client’s dog with expertise and finesse. Had delightful lessons with various students who made me laugh and pushed my creativity to stay ahead of them.

Even so, it was a frazzling day. My emotional elastic was stretched beyond comfort and I dissolved into tears that night in prayer meeting, asking God for my friends’ salvation and as we were going home, Ria said “You sound tired out or fed up” and I said I was both. Not a good combination, but it was remedied with some quiet, some conversation, tea and a book.

I don’t want to think of how fractured I’d have been if I’d have been following my schedule that day. Instead of feeling pressured to fill a schedule with frantic energy, it felt freeing to me to ask how I can fall into step with what God is planning and doing. The focus changed from me to Him. A good change. Amazing, that He lets fallible people join Him in His designs.  Amazing, how He refreshes and restores daily after a day’s rigors.

So often I wish for a chance to walk beside Jesus and ask Him questions like the disciples did. In those days, students aimed to walk so close to their rabbi that the dust from his sandals would fall on their feet as they walked. I wish we could still do that.

What would happen if His children in every country would ask Him how to fall into step with Him? His Spirit is waiting to show us when we ask. I think it would change the world. We should recognize each other by our dusty feet.

Make the World More Beautiful

Posted in Poland, teaching English by

One of my favourite things about teaching English is all the variety I can implement in the lessons. I can get bored pretty fast, and a bored teacher equals a bored class.

I love reading stories with my classes. It gives them vocabulary and usage, plus some concept that I hope goes with them. Last week I read Miss Rumphius to my two 12 yr. old girls. I completely identify with Miss Rumphius in her life goals: to travel to far-away places, live by the sea, and make her world more beautiful.

This post inspired me to do something with the girls to make their world more beautiful. So I told them to bring some small stones to the next lesson. We painted them with little postive messages (this is an English lesson) that they came up with. Never say never. Smile! Hi, sunshine! Someone (heart) U. Tomorrow is another day. 

Today we took the painted little stones and a tube of glue to the train station, looked for deserted places, because we didn’t want too many people to watch us, and glued the stones here and there. On a cement trash can. On a curb by the stairs. On a planter.  The girls took great pride and thought in where they placed them, and we had fun, funny conversations the whole 45 min. as we walked and laughed in the sun. Part of the assignment was to talk in English the whole time, and they complied perfectly.

Then we walked to the ice cream kiosk for cones, which completed the lesson. We talked about our lessons finishing in five weeks, and they said they want to come back next year because they like lessons here, and their English is improving. Words this teacher fairly purrs at.

I want to see if the stones are still there in a week or two. Someone could easily kick them away if they wanted. But it doesn’t matter because I think two young girls know the phrase “make the world more beautiful” and that’s why I love stories.

Taken Care Of

Posted in life by

She stayed for several nights, my friend without a job and without a place to live. I hugged her before she left, and whispered in her ear, “Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” she said. “I have to.”

Because no one else will take care of her, she has to, and sometimes she can barely manage to do even that.

She has mountains to climb and dreams to fight for, all alone. I think about her and feel  that I have the riches of a millionaire compared to her. I have all the connections, all the friends (not on Facebook) and relations that a girl could ever want.  Much of who I am is because of what others have poured into me, the conversations and questions and time friends and family gave, and still give, me.

Some words I will never forget:

I think maybe you aren’t quite ok. Do you need to talk?

When I called to tell her I feel bothered and bewitched, she said, Shall I come over so we can talk? I’ll come right away.

In an email: Tell me everything—the good and bad and ugly. I want to hear it.

And there was the girl who saw my tears and wiped them away with her fingers and sent me flowers the next day.

I know that I have multiple support groups in place any time I need it. I live in the reality of having safe places to go to all over the globe any time I need an ear and advice, a cup of coffee, or a place to stay. It’s such an integral part of the fabric of my life that I often don’t acknowledge it or realize the wonder of it–

Until I’m with my lonely artist friend and I see again that everything I have is given to me, and for some mysterious reason, I’m not in her shoes even though I have the same potential and tendencies toward self-destruction and alienation that she does.

It is true that relationships go both ways. In response to my family and friends’ generosity in taking care of me, I have opened my hand to accept the love they offer. It’s humbling to be weak; it’s embarrassing to admit need. But I’m not willing (usually) to refuse a hand that’s offered to help me walk a little straighter. It’s a lot less lonely this way, too.

How Many Hours in a Mile?

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Last week, for no reason except that it was in front of me,  I picked up Lewis’ A Grief Observed. Douglas Gresham’s introduction took me in and it wasn’t long before I’d read all four chapters of the short book.

But not without being profoundly shaken. It’s a raw, intimate book, like reading someone’s journal, as Lewis walks  through debilitating grief after his wife’s death. Reading it is like watching the writhing of a man in agony. I barely had the emotional fortification to take it in. Parts of it made me cry, and drew me back to re-read them, as a kind of catharsis and soothing.

Living in a broken, groaning world, even without feeling the deep grief of death, I ask God lots of questions. It calms me somehow to know that He hears and understands and cares, and that’s enough, even though the questions don’t have answers.

Am I just sidling back to God because I know that if there’s any road to H. it runs through Him? But then of course I know perfectly well that He can’t be used as a road. If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as the means,  you’re not really approaching Him at all.

Lord, are these your real terms? Can I meet H. again only if I learn to love you so much that I don’t care whether I meet her again or not?

When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of  “No answer.” It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, “Peace, child; you don’t understand.”

Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable. How many hours are there in a mile? Is yellow square or round? Probably half the questions we ask–half our great theological and metaphysical problems–are like that.

Heaven will solve our problems, but not, I think, by showing us subtle reconciliations between all our apparently contradictory notions. The notions will all be knocked from under our feet. We shall see that there never was any problem.