Author: Lisa

Married for 17 years with 2 adult children, helping to parent our 6 year old grandson. Home is filled with the chaos that comes with Legos, mud and two very large dogs. Our world is centered around our Plum, the child who brings great joy and teaches us about grace.

Loving Who God Brings

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Plum, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

I found this post I wrote 6 years ago about loving and leaving, filled with worry but also trust in God that the future would work itself out.  Looking back on those years, I see how we struggled in mighty ways, how we relied on our faith and the prayers of our community relentlessly. The following is that story, from November 9, 2010.

 

Several years ago, Chef and I went to visit a home that advertised a Border Collie mix in the paper.  We already had one who was hyper and we thought, wrongly, that getting another would give her someone to play with and burn some energy.  As we circled the area downtown, I became skeptical, it was getting rougher by the block.  What were we getting into?  When we found the house and approached the door, we were startled to see a mangy, dirty mutt tied up out front, eating rocks and barking frantically.  We tried to talk to the owner but she had no care or concern about the dog, couldn’t tell us much beyond the fact it was 10 months old and had been in 5 homes already.  This woman never got off of her phone.  Her small, dirty-faced, raggedy-clothed children wandered aimlessly through the duplex, unattended.  It wasn’t the dog we wanted but we knew we couldn’t leave it there either.  Without even a second glance from the owner, we untied her and put her in our car.  She shivered and shook, looked at us with distrustful eyes the entire ride home.  Chef dropped us off and went to work, probably feeling a bit relieved to have an escape from what was clearly a mess.  I just kept looking at this dog and at our other, oh so beautiful full-blooded one and thought, “Well, I can give you a home I guess but I just don’t really love you…I don’t even like you.  Your coat is ugly, it is so dirty and you are smelly.”

I set to work.  I bathed her and fed her and let her sleep.  We let her create a safe place just for her so the other dog didn’t bother her.  She began to fill out and we discovered that her hair shone, really sparkled.  I have never seen that on a real animal but it does.  She flourished in this safe place, knowing her food was steady, her bed was secure. She clung to me, followed me everywhere, I was proud to show her off.  One day we realized we loved her as much as the other dog, that all the nurturing back to health was falling in love time.   

Our story with Mama is much the same.  It just isn’t over yet.  We took her in for a night and she stayed for 10 months. She came with a just backpack, as she left it took 2 trucks and 2 cars to remove all of her belongings.  She came to us emaciated, broken down, scared and depressed.  We love her and when you love your children, you have to say no as often or more than you ever get to say yes.  I look forward to the day of saying yes, you can come back, we love you.

I have been blessed to love many pets but there will never be another like that one we rescued. I miss her still, my shadow, my sweet snuggler. I have two new beasts that I adore but my heart still belongs to that girl who needed so much nurturing to come into who she was and then gave back all that she had. Our friends and family have watched me invest the same amount of nurturing into Mama. They question the wisdom of getting involved again, many times I do as well. There are days when I am sure that I hate this child, I am so full of resentment, anger, frustration that I pray to never have to see her again. God ignores those prayers. He brought her into my life as surely as he brought my favorite pet. People aren’t so easily convinced that we have their best interests in mind, people don’t trust just because you give food and shelter. People just aren’t always lovable. I know this because I am so often not. Yet despite any efforts to protect my heart, I love this girl. The nurturing time long ago was falling in love time.

This young woman needs a mother, I long for my daughter. Neither of us are the one we would choose. We are each who God has provided. This week I am helping her plan a quick courthouse wedding, I am making food for the after party. Twenty excited phone calls a day asking about details, several lamenting the lack of interest from her mother, I can’t help but be reminded of Stella’s wedding that I was not included in. I am careful to ensure Mama’s mom has her rightful place, mine is very much behind the scenes. I know the hurt that comes from snap decisions about forever memories. Still, God just keeps throwing this young woman and me together, the seeds were planted almost 7 years ago. I look at how she has grown into a woman who truly sacrifices for her child, who tries so very hard to be the best mom. I see her doing it, all the hard stuff, telling him no as much or more than she tells my Plum yes. I see that she is maintaining her own home, feeding her child, attending parent-teacher conferences and acting as a real advocate for her son.

I don’t mean to compare Mama to a canine in any pejorative sense. I love dogs. And damnit, I love her. I let my actions tell her, I keep showing up with food and support, giving her a safe place for her emotions. I am trusting that God only asks that I love who He brings, He will handle the transformation into something beautiful. After all, I know He is still working on me. I am forever grateful for those who set aside frustration and anger and let me come back, time and again, as I grow into my own beautiful coat, shining with the love of Christ.

Dirty Word

On By LisaIn Faith, Plum, The Chef2 Comments

I’ve been hearing a dirty word a great deal lately, in our church, even in the worship service.  A word that makes many of us so uncomfortable we look down, away, maybe chuckle nervously, seek out our coffee, something to do with our hands. We don’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. I attend a wonderful Methodist church in a university town, the members are skewed towards the highly educated and self-aware. We have been looking at our personal gifts, what we have been given by God to share with the world to build His Kingdom and bring glory to His name. But this word is cropping up and we don’t really like it. We can give money, make food for potlucks, teach Sunday school, but seriously, please don’t ask a bunch of introverts to become EVANGELISTS.  Yikes.  Might as well be cussing.

The concept of evangelism has been taken over in my mind to include the pushy judgey Christians who leave a card telling how to find salvation instead of a tip for the waitress who brought them their Sunday lunch and 20 sweet tea refills. It conjures up the image of the men on street corners telling passersby they are going to hell if they don’t repent. It makes me think of the elders who interviewed a young couple to see if they were worthy of attending that church, elders who said no and left these two young people so hurt they didn’t attend church for many many years. Evangelism feels like hurting others. I would rather cook for the potluck.

What I am learning is that the word has been coopted by a movement, twisted, distorted, surely the devil’s hand is in this. What greater delight could Satan have than to take the very tool to bring believers to God and make it so ugly and distasteful that God’s people recoil?  If I really dig into what it means to become an evangelist, I know that I am already fulfilling that role, I can’t escape it. My very life and actions are either bringing people to or away from God, my words can heal or do damage. This is not a choice, rather the very essence of every child of Christ. The fact that some push others away just makes my job more critical. I won’t be picking up any bullhorns, I am not printing up cards for restaurant distribution. I am becoming more aware of opportunities to invite others to meet my friends who worship with me, great people who are sinners and accept that there is room in the church for those who are struggling and seeking answers. We have space in my row for others who mess up every day and just keep trying.

While I have been inspired by the stories of John Wesley and the true evangelical nature of his faith, it is really a witness much closer to home that has convinced me to act. This week my Plum chose not to attend Sunday school, feeling shy again. He took up his place in the front row with me instead of working at the art table in the back. He declined my offer of one of the wonderful bags assembled for children full of coloring pages, books and crayons. He just wanted to fiddle with his Play-doh and hang out with gran. Pastor Joseph’s sermon on reaching out to our friends, inviting them to our church, didn’t fall on deaf ears.

A special event was held Sunday evening, Holy Halloween in which kids trick-or-treat to biblical characters. My plum had been returned to mama, we met up at church for the dinner before the fun stuff began. Once we began the tour of the rooms, mama pointed out a little girl from their apartment complex.  I was surprised to see her there, they do not attend our church.  When I asked how they knew of the event, she said Plum invited her.  I leaned down and whispered in Plum’s ear that I was proud of him, it was so nice of him to invite his friend. He looked at me a bit oddly and replied, “Pastor Joseph said to do that.” It was just that simple.

Maybe I have too many years of negative connotations with this one word, maybe I can’t overcome the anxiety that builds as I imagine some door-to-door preaching. What I do know is I can follow the example of an almost 6 year old and simply INVITE. I don’t have to make it harder than it is. Listen to the Pastor, do it. So, umm, err, hey, what are you doing next Sunday? I have room in my row. Come as you are, I’ll meet you there, as will the love of Jesus.

Practice, I need practice. Like anything, the more I invest in this the better I will get at it. Hope to see you Sunday, any Sunday. Also, Jesus and little kids rock. Just ask my Plum.

It Feels Like a Hat Day

On By LisaIn Faith, The Chef3 Comments

I wonder if I can wear a hat in church today? I mean, we no longer hold to fancy dresses and suits, do we still need to adhere to that rule as well? Isn’t it time to reevaluate some customs to see if they are pertinent? Maybe it just takes one person, me, to start the revolution, to wear a very tasteful hat into church today, to not remove it as I enter the sanctuary,to worship with my head covered, sing and pray and give my offering all with my hat on.  I think it is time someone takes up this cause, I feel called to move on it.

On a side note, I got a bit close to the bonfire last night and singed my hair and eyebrows. I didn’t even realize it until Plum and I went inside for s’mores supplies and I brushed my hand across the top of my head and former pieces of my hair fluttered around us like a sudden snow storm. At first I thought it was ashes, then realization hit as more and more “snow” fell and the distinct odor of fried hair filled my nostrils. As I quietly explained the situation to Plum, something along the lines of ,”Oh shit, Plum, I think I burnt my hair,” he shared my fear and concern with fits of laughter. Finally controlling his worry, he looked closer and added that I had also gotten my eyebrows, which led him back to more empathic hilarity.

I struggle to see without my glasses so my hair cut is a bit rough.I went back over it throughout the evening, the scissors ever at the ready when I found a bit that seemed longer than the rest. Have you ever tried to cut the back of your hair while assuring a 6 year old that it will grow back and appearance isn’t everything?  I didn’t talk about eyebrows which I have heard don’t really return as easily. This is actually a scientific experiment for us. Research if you will. We will chart the growth patterns of the fifty-something eyebrow, the ability to regenerate after a devastating loss.

Chef was out of town visiting his mother which is why I got to light the fire in the first place. I didn’t mention our adventure when he called on his way home. We have so many fun times with Plum this one just slipped my mind. Already in bed, huddled fully under the covers when he got here, we didn’t discuss any more about our day. Really who can remember every little detail?  Apparently almost 6 year olds. His first words to me this morning were not,”good morning my wonderful loving gran, who I adore, who makes me hot chocolate and plays battle games for an entire weekend even though she dislikes battling.”  No, he said, “Can I go wake up Grandpa and tell him about your hair?”  He is sometimes not that cute.

Anyway, I have this cute new hat that I am dying to wear and it is getting so chilly out and I need to protect my health and I think it is time to challenge some customs and I just need to figure out how to buy off this kid so he doesn’t go blabbing his mouth to the entire congregation. Also I have to find an eyebrow pencil.  All in all, nothing to write about today.

Mindless Patterns

On By LisaIn Faith1 Comment

Against my better judgement I downloaded one of those mindless games on my phone. Normally I play a round or two of Sudoku when I wake up with my coffee, a boost to the caffeine to get my brain going. Lately though I haven’t been able to complete the puzzles, my processing powers a bit foggy as a result of my neurological issues. Knowing this time will pass, I sought solace in a game of arranging tiles in a pattern to make them disappear. If only I could arrange my problems so efficiently.

I have gotten really good at this game, according to my survey of myself. I have no opponents, I don’t invite anyone else to send me extra pieces or super disappearing rounds. I just sit on the couch and play. Selections of tiles appear, I move them to the grid, they disappear. Over and over. I feel no smarter when the game ends, no more alert. I just start again. This is not healthy. This is escapism and I have gotten sucked in. Certainly I have practiced worst avoidance techniques. Years ago I played games on my laptop like one where I arranged a snake to gobble up something, I see the theme. I would make deals with myself, one more round and then do the dishes. One more round and then clean a closet. I stuck to my contracts pretty well back then, my house was spotless. I am not even making promises this time around, I think I have run out of cares.

We got slammed hard in July, the campaign has taken a toll on my mental health, I feel fragile these days. I need a win.  I need some tiles to line up, I want to create a pattern that works. I know I won’t really find it on my phone. When it seems like life just keeps delivering more hits, a high score feels good. Fleeting, but good.  Just like happiness, it doesn’t last. I know as a follower of Jesus, I have no promise of happiness. The prosperity gospel is not biblical teaching, I have no guarantee of financial security just by believing in Christ. I can’t send up my list of wants to God like Plum’s list to Santa, one we strive to deliver. God isn’t going to fix all the wrongs, deliver a job, bring back my daughter, pay off the mortgage, all with big red bows attached.

I am promised peace, peace that surpasses all understanding. I am promised joy. I am promised life everlasting. I am not promised a high score. Soon my foggy brain will clear, I will get back to real puzzles. I will be better able to see my joy, the deep lasting gifts that surround me. Today I am extending grace to myself, allowing a bit more time to arrange tiles. Until the fog clears, until the election is over, I will be on the couch moving tiles to grid. This season of mindlessness will pass, just as these troubles will be behind me. I trust God will forgive His child for resting up, taking a pass at the real world. He would surely rather I was immersed in scripture, lining up texts in patterns to save my soul. But let’s be honest, no one would want those to disappear.

Wallowing Wednesday Is Over

On By LisaIn Faith, The ChefLeave a comment

I can’t think of anything more annoying than needing to be at church when I am crabby. Unable to cast off my commitment, I had to show up when I wanted to stay on the couch, under the blanket and watch reruns of the Office. My day started out poorly and went downhill with each passing moment. I was reminded of a favorite children’s book, “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good , Very Bad Day” that I read to my kids and now to Plum when a day has just been rough. Alexander wants to move to Australia, the solution to everything going wrong from the moment he gets out of bed. Australia was looking realy good to me yesterday.

After receiving unwelcome news, I wallowed in self-pity, familiar territory where little was required of me, anger and bitterness could fester.  The dishes stayed dirty, the floor didn’t get swept. I sat and stewed until I finally ran out of time and had to get to church. Loading up my car with all the makings for the evening meal proved Herculean, the pork chops Chef had cut the evening before had leaked all over my fridge, the box stuck to the shelf. One crock pot didn’t ever get turned on, the apples weren’t cooked for the applesauce. At the church, the grill wouldn’t light. A local group was using our site for a meeting all week, they had their stuff in my way. I snuck outside to smoke one last cigarette before beginning, trying to find some peace. The only spot away from everyone was the preschool playground, the enclosed area with only a sliver of shelter from the rain. As I exited the building the door slipped from my grasp and I was locked out, fenced in, smoking on the playground. Royally pissed at the world, myself and even God who clearly had nothing to door with my bad habit, I had to climb the fence and walk around the building to gain entrance again. Maybe that was my chance to come in with a better attitude. I missed it.

One hundred and fifty chops had to be cooked inside with 10 minutes to go before service. I    was frustrated with Chef who had no control over the grill that wouldn’t light. I was irritated by all these people who came in with smiles and words of encouragement. Could they not sense that I was trying to wallow? No, they chose to eat the dinner, forgive the delay, compliment the macaroni and cheese, continue bringing smiles to my frown. What is wrong with these people? This is exactly why I didn’t want to be there. How can I possibly hold on to self-pity, how can I focus on everything that is wrong when these people insist on surrounding me? At the end of our class when we shared prayer concerns, I stated that it had been a rough week. One gentleman suggested I was ready for a blessing. Damnit. Straight to my soul. How could I sit among these people and not acknowledge how blessed I am? Because I AM so very blessed in big and small ways every day, even bad days.

At almost 53, I was still able to climb that fence. The dinner was cooked, the fridge will get cleaned. I have more hurdles ahead, so much unknown. If this group of people accept me on my crabby days, refuse to let go of a sister who is hurting and lashing out, what else do I really need? Maybe if I just keep showing up the rest will become clear. Yesterday was the day the Lord made, I did little rejoicing. Some days are just like that. God gave me a new day, another chance to be glad and work on my attitude. Wallowing Wednesday is over. Thankful Thursday has arrived. I am grateful no one witnessed me trying to climb that fence, that I didn’t rip my jeans. I am thankful Wednesday is behind me. I’m glad I have hot coffee, a warm home, a loving husband, and friends who show me grace. I am not researching ticket prices to Australia just yet.

Choosing When to Battle

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Plum, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

Insects and spiders are trying to take over my home. I don’t kill, instead I practice a catch and release strategy so it is possible the same damn spider is sneaking back in.  I am considering grabbing one of Plum’s Sharpies to start tagging my catch before placing it back out in the wild. Everyone else in the family shrieks when they see these huge spiders skittering across the floor, I get it, if it were a mouse I would be up on a chair myself. But spiders build intricate webs that I truly find breathtaking, OUTSIDE.  Thus, catch and release.

Earlier in the summer I moaned about the number of flies in our home caused by beasts who open the front door and stand in the space peering out, unable to commit. The flies also were welcomed in by a certain boy who raced out the back door towards the trampoline, a boy who could not be slowed by such a mundane tasks closing the door behind him to ensure our home not become the set for Amittyville Horror. Still, most of the flies are gone or at least slow enough even I can get them. The buzzing sound makes me insane when I am finally laying down to sleep. Okay, I do kill flies.

Unfortunately we have been invaded by a new insect, the stink bug. I wish it were a joke, a pun about Plum after he eats cheese or the beasts when they find feces from another species left in the yard and delight in rolling in it, covering their coat in this fresh new scent. Alas these bugs are real. Their primary defense is to emit a wicked awful smell if they are disturbed. Unlike a sneaky spider, these things fly in like a B-52 bomber, so loud, announcing they are ready to battle. They have confidence, they know they stink. I kill these too. I am not afraid to get a bit smelly to rid my home of fighter pilots who hide among the curtains and wait for me to turn out all the lights except the one by my bed. They rush in, a full squadron, land about my pillow and declare dominance. That may work in other settings but I protect my pillow. Catch and release, right into the toilet, a watery end to a worthy opponent.

Okay, I do kill. But not much. I really am non-violent but I am okay with confronting evil and protecting my family, my home. An inability to manage conflict doesn’t end the conflict. Avoiding problems doesn’t make them disappear any more than letting those bugs hang out in my home. They tell their friends they have a safe place, more come in.  They interrupt my sleep, torment my beasts, nibble on my clothes. Some disagreements must be faced in order to move forward.

The Old Testament is replete with battle stories. God led His people in righteous war, many other fights were not in His name. The challenge for me is to remember to ask God first, before I pick up any weapons.  Paul spoke beautifully about confronting evil, the true weapons I would need. He didn’t list guns or baseball bats, frying pans or even a flyswatter.

A Fight to the Finish

10-12 And that about wraps it up. God is strong, and he wants you strong. So take everything the Master has set out for you, well-made weapons of the best materials. And put them to use so you will be able to stand up to everything the Devil throws your way. This is no afternoon athletic contest that we’ll walk away from and forget about in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or-death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels.

13-18 Be prepared. You’re up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it’s all over but the shouting you’ll still be on your feet. Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words. Learn how to apply them. You’ll need them throughout your life. God’s Word is an indispensable weapon. In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other’s spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out    Ephesians 6:10-18The Message (MSG)

Facing the disruptions in our life with these weapons, we recognize we don’t have to go for the kill. Accepting that it is critical that we confront the wrongs and seek resolution, we must first put on God’s armor. It does get heavy though, we are blessed to have many who hold us up. Some battles are as swift as catching the spider, some last many months, years. Much of life happens in the waiting, joy can be missed if we are only focused on the war at hand. Unable to read before I fall asleep, waiting for the next stink bug to attack, adrenaline interferes with my ability to calm and relax. Once the threat is removed though, I have to choose not to ruminate on the damn bugs who pestered me in the first place. I have to choose peace.  Actively lowering my blood pressure after washing my hands, ridding my body of the stench, it is up to me to let it go, at least for another night.

This season of stink bugs will end. Confronting evil is a constant, warring with insects may well be my preparation. An influx of mice hoping for warmth may well be around the corner. God help us. I will need more than armor for that.

 

Lifting the Anchor

On By LisaIn Faith, The ChefLeave a comment

My “need to do” list has out-paced my motivation. The yard has grown more forlorn each passing day, my clippers haven’t left the shed. Summer plants are sad, blooms faded and forgotten. Empty pots sit neglected. Inside, a tote of holiday decorations mocks me daily. I ignore it. The rush of energy, the structure to my days is missing.  Too much time to think about the past and ruminate about what might lie ahead paralyzes me. Waiting for answers, seeking direction have stopped forward movement, all progress. Stuck.

Finally, tomorrow we will begin the steps of reconciling our past, putting betrayal behind us and looking fully to the future. The anxiety involved in facing those who have created such unrest is nothing compared to the hope of becoming unstuck, moving towards our future. I can feel the excitement building, the opportunity to begin again. A boat can’t move while anchored yet still is rocked, we have been tied to the past just the same. Truly severing all that held us in place and left us daily hit by waves, means we can chart our own course. Today feels new already, the tote holds promise, the yard not so intimidating. Today I am looking to the future, even knowing the anchor has yet to be raised. I can see it coming up though.  Look out, this ship is getting ready to move.

If you feel so moved, we covet your prayers tomorrow. Moving us out of port will take an entire crew, we are trusting that God is at the helm.

Surrender

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, PlumLeave a comment

I stumbled upon something I had written 5 years ago yesterday which stopped me in  my tracks. Reliving the moment was delightful but realizing I was still struggling with some of the same concerns was quite unsettling.

I got my first hug from Plum two days ago.  I had forgotten really what that feels like, what it means.  A show of affection from a toddler is the purest form of love that I have ever experienced.  I wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t asking for it and it just happened, caught me off guard.  He has been kissing a bit but I was the last to get one of those.  They are coming more freely and spontaneously and are often accompanied by tidbits of whatever he is eating.  I don’t even mind the transference of cherrios to my mouth or the smear of yogurt to my cheeks, I just love that he loves.  

As I relive this hug, the feel of his tiny head resting willingly on my shoulder, his whole body giving in to the moment, I understand what it means to surrender.  Anything I had left, I have given up.  I love this child with everything in me and now he has completely taken my heart.  I keep trying to reserve some, because I know there is so much hurt in the future for us, but there is no point holding out.  We just have to surrender and let go.

I have been struggling with the Let Go and Let God plan for years.  I let go, take back in repeated fashion or allow Him to have certain parts of my life while I manage (poorly) others.  Right now my heart is aching over the trouble my son has gotten into, the huge legal mess he has created and the fear that this still won’t stop his drug use.  My heart is breaking over mama who just wants someone to love her and chases the wrong ones, hoping someone will fill that void.  Watching these two young parents try to grow up and into the roles of adults is horrible reality tv that I can’t turn off.  They have minimal ability to guide this young mind into the world and yet here is he.  When will he become their everything?

So as my heart is breaking every minute of everyday, worrying about these two and what will become of them, for the baby’s sake at the very least… I got a hug:  a pure fleeting reminder to surrender.  A reminder to just give in to God’s love and let Him hold me and love me.  His faithfulness is not elusive like a toddler’s kiss.  I don’t have to earn it or seek it.  It is just there for me.  So my plan is to just keep loving this baby and delighting in his everything, relishing his love and laughter.  He knows that I am his safe place, I am his grandma.  The rest is just too big for us to fix, we are leaving it to God.  We have Cherrios to eat. 

We made it through the legal mess to the other side, mama is involved with a young man who truly cares about Plum, there is a new baby on the way. These young people have grown up, grown into better versions of themselves. Yet, still I worry, get caught up in the day to day struggles of surrendering my life to God. Reviewing how far they have come and seeing I have maybe not grown so much is illuminating, convicting. Plum’s hugs and kisses come freely unless it is time to board the bus at which point being cool is more important. His eyes implore me to understand. I do. I know his love is forever, just as my God loves me always. I patiently wait for the next show of affection, treat it as the treasure it is. How much more is my Father waiting for my surrender, my complete relinquishing of my worries and fears?  How much more does He treasure my affection?

The God who brought us through 5 years worth of minutes, seconds, of fear, worry about the future is waiting for me. The better version of me that just lets go. Today I am filled with the desire to hug God, to be held and glory in His faithful pursuit of me, the child sometimes too cool to publicly acknowledge HIm.

 

 

On the Path

On By LisaIn FaithLeave a comment

I’m in this study at church called Disciples Path. I signed up because our pastor asked for full congregational participation and I like him, believe in him, trust his requests. Having joined many of these kinds of groups in the past, I didn’t have grand expectations for new knowledge. I am not so arrogant as to assume I knew it all, just figured it would be more of a refresher, which I can always use. Plus I knew it would be enriching to meet together with the wider group each week for a meal and fellowship. I am accepting accountability on two fronts: I was wrong about the material and I am discovering what it truly means to be on this path.

Gaining a true understanding of the Methodist movement has been an eye-opener. I joined this denomination after traveling through Catholicism and a stint in Episcopal churches and then wandering away from regular attendance. Many years ago, on my daily hour commute I listened to Christian radio, I tried to be a good person but didn’t spend Sunday mornings with my butt in any pew. One particular program, just a quick blurb really, always caught my attention. A local female pastor who led an alternate worship at the local theater house spoke directly to me each week. I listened to her faithfully for a year but still wasn’t motivated to attend her gathering, until 9/11. Like much of the country, I needed a place to safely mourn with others, seek understanding, find peace. I went to her church, drug my family along.  Thus began our choice of Methodism. It wasn’t about the principles of the religion, it was about how the group worshiped, accepted, welcomed. We found a church home. As the kids grew, we moved from the aging congregation to one with more programing geared to youth, across town. We have been members for years now, without really looking at what that means. Fifteen years later, I can admit that I am finally grasping the basis of the practice I chose, the place I am sure God led me. Thankfully, what I am discovering still fits me and my values, my faith grows deeper each week in mining the rich history of the disciple John Wesley began in the 18th century.  I was wrong, I had much to learn.

I am really comfortable in my faith, my beliefs are rock solid. I thought that was enough. This class, the material and discussions, is challenging me to act out those ideas in a deeper more intentional manner, one that is requiring more of my emotional energy and inner peace than I anticipated.  Fully aware that I am not Mother Teresa, I knew I had more to give but didn’t consider how far off I was. While I am wrestling with how to get on the path, it occurs to me that my resistance is that the path is littered with others who are just as bad off as me. It would be infinitely more fun to travel with Mother Teresa or Ghandi or Mister Rogers. The people in my life are not so selfless, wise or sweet. They don’t wear cardigans and invite me in, they often are actually quite hurtful in their rejection. Rather than share great knowledge after thoughtful meditation, I get text after text of utter nonsense in the midst of emotional upheaval. Instead of living a minimalist existence to care for others, I am surrounded by people who want more and more of what I have for their own gain. How can I be a disciple outside of Wednesday night class, Sunday morning church?  I would have more confidence in my abilities if I could just stay in close proximity to my fellow congregants.

Trying to maintain and/or establish healthy boundaries to protect my well being seems at times to be in direct conflict with the call to rub elbows with the needy when those very same people are family. If only we were all walking the path, how much easier it would be. Yet I know all about that plank in my eye, I am certain others wonder about traveling the path with me. Realizing that boundaries are not walls, that emotional distance doesn’t mean exile, I am exploring what that means from a Jesus based perspective rather than the psychology fueled concepts I am more attuned to.  In a culture that is rife with labeling people as toxic and assuring us we have every right to banish people who don’t agree with us, I believe the intent of self-preservation in the face of danger has been hijacked into selfishness and self-centeredness at any cost.  A culture of reconciliation, room for healthy disagreement and respect for differences, has no room in this “my feelings are paramount, me-first” society. Where does that leave me and my desire for s smooth path? Out of luck.

I am being called to pray more, give more, act more, attend more, all with intention. I can’t find acceptance of knee jerk reactions and comfort zones anywhere in the material. Being a disciple is life encompassing, it wants all of me. Wednesday night and Sunday morning aren’t going to be enough anymore. I am being called to pray even for those who are building the bumps in my path, those who throw obstacles in the way. I know I can’t get anywhere unless I am willing to take a few souls with me, especially the ones who God just keeps putting alongside me. I hear you God, I am seeing what you want. I commit to trying harder to walk the path with the difficult ones and not just those who feel more like saints. I wonder if He is telling them the same thing, “Please child, just give Lisa a chance. I know she drives you crazy but there is something really special hidden inside. Take her hand, I will walk with you both.”

The class is almost over, I admit to being completely wrong about it. I can honestly say that I will also be bit more wary the next time my pastor asks something of me. He is not just after my time, he wants my soul.

Bringing Back our Colors

On By LisaIn Faith, PlumLeave a comment

Plum and I struggled to add color to our weekend, he was in black and white mode. If he didn’t color his apple homework pages immediately (bedtime on Friday evening) he would never remember to do it. If I didn’t let him play this game, I was never going to let him. I always tell him no about downloading more apps. If we made a list about games he wanted, I would lose the list. My bright sweet grandson was taken over by the all or nothing monster, it wasn’t pretty.  On one reprieve from the war, with a moment to reflect, I was able to determine that we were both fighting his anxiety. While this knowledge set off alarms I at least had a new strategy. I would not feed the anxiety monster. We would get back our colors.

This precious child has some very complicated genes. Addiction and mental illness could be lurking behind the blue eyes, height and crooked smile. Those ugly traits don’t need to be nurtured, rather I must give him the skills every day to confront them and let his intelligence and sweet soul overcome them. This is not to say that should depression and anxiety win out some where down the road that he has failed, that we have failed, but creating habits now of life choices of finding hope and seeing color surely will help. Please God let it help. A friend of mine posted an article about 4 traits that put kids at risk for addiction. I devour reads like this like my evening cookies. I want to know what I am up against and use every minute with him to overcome those damn genes. This article listed specifically anxiety sensitively.  This weekend we worked on that devil.

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips, cookies, water bottle and a blanket filled our bag as we walked down the gravel road, along the woods. We immersed ourselves in nature, got away from screens and dishes and homework. He loosened up, I waited for my opening. Finally as we sat on the blanket, our picnic down to crumbs, I asked him if he knew the difference between a rocking chair and a bicycle. We explored the benefits of each, one great for resting the other for racing ahead. Paraphrasing Erma Bombeck, I explained worry to this child. “Worry is like a rocking chair: it gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere.”  This was an image he could grab onto, this child who likes speed. He decided he wants to be a bike, go somewhere. We looked at the battles we had been having in the light of the rocking chair/bike choice, he was able to spot how he had been worrying and going nowhere.

We continued to use this language for the rest of the weekend, our battles diminished. Sunday morning brought a small squeamish, I asked if he was being a bike or a rocking chair. He paused and winked at  me. He labeled his anxiety quickly and chose to stop worrying. It won’t always be this easy, I am confident we will need to revisit this issue again and again. This weekend though we found the leaves were turning, we discovered caterpillars, we ate lunch under the autumn sun. Colors reemerged into the black and white.