Category: faith

My Mama’s Journals

by Coddiwompling, posted in faith, Family, Legacy of Love, Moving Forward, Perspective, Prayer, Uncategorized, Writing

I had the extreme fortune of being raised by a truly amazing woman. She was little more than a girl herself when I was born, and in many ways we grew up together. But my mom excelled in certain ways that I may never match. She was an artist. Her primary medium was cloth. She made most of our clothes until I became a brand-conscious middle schooler, and she could take a pile of random scraps and create adorable dolls or stuffed animals. My mom sang beautifully and sketched realistic renditions of her creative ideas. My sister and brother respectively inherited these traits, while I shared her enthusiasm for the written word.

One of my favorite things about my mama was how she loved. She cared and sacrificed for us kids, even into our adulthoods. But the One she really loved was Jesus. This woman was gaga crazy over her Jesus. It was practically impossible to talk to her without His name coming up, not even as an intentional thing, but simply because of the depth of their relationship, it naturally sprang out of her. If you talked to Florence, you could know that some Jesus was going to overflow out of her and get splashed all over you. And that was a good thing.

In her latter years, one of the things Mama was famous for was her emails. Of course, as an older person just becoming savvy to the ways of technology, she forwarded every single remotely meaningful thing that someone else forwarded to her. I think perhaps there’s some sort of geriatric rite of passage involved in this. What she was most known for, however, were the emails she wrote herself. Have mercy, that woman was deep! I would grin every time her name appeared in my Inbox. I knew great wisdom was coming my way, but that I would have little or no idea what it really meant. This tiny, sassy yet meek woman understood things about God that few people ever will. She could take the most mediocre-seeming event or visual image and mine it for rich, impossibly deep truths about the heart of the Father and His great love for us. Nuggets, she called them. The words made sense, but the concepts were always juuuuuuuuust beyond my grasp.

When my mom passed away, almost two years ago now, my siblings and I each kept a few of her things that were most meaningful to us. I got her Bible, the one I remember from my childhood days, full of her notes and underlinings and personal reflections. Held together by love and duct tape, it remains the roadmap of a 50-year journey with her Savior and Best Friend. Just opening it up and catching a whiff of that soothing old leather smell brings a flood of happy memories. Seeing her familiar handwriting on the page is a bittersweet reminder of what a gift it was to have her as my mother. Reading her words never ceases to amaze me. There was more, so much more, to this brilliant, unassuming woman I thought I knew so well.

The other thing I kept was her box of journals. I’ve stored them in a closet for the past couple years, not quite ready to break open the seal and investigate the treasure inside. I knew that her deepest thoughts and a great deal of wisdom were residing inside a simple cardboard box. I haven’t felt strong enough to face it. There are so many things I wish I could talk to her about, so many things that just don’t make sense right now that I could really use her advice on, so many situations in which I wish I had the comfort of knowing my Mama was praying with me and for me. Yeah. I really miss her, ya know? So today I dug that box out of the closet and opened it up – not because I was strong enough to see what was in there, but oddly enough, because I wasn’t.

My heart was beating a little faster than normal as I lifted the lid. And I laughed. On the top was a huge binder – one of those five-inch monsters – full of pages that she had typed, and of course they were organized by date. Once I got past that, I laughed again. Underneath were probably 20 different books – legal pads, writing journals, steno pads, loose sheets of paper held together by clothespins – all filled with her comforting script. One of the legal pads had notes from a sermon on one page, tax information for her embroidery business on the next, followed by her Christmas shopping list for that year. My two favorites were some personal reflections scribbled on the back of a voter registration form, and notes on a passage of scripture that filled the front and back of a bank deposit slip. One thing that my brother, sister, and I determined after sorting through her important papers after my mother’s passing is that there most definitely was an intricate organizational system in place – we just had no idea what it might be. The same is true of this box. It is a most delightful hodgepodge if ever there was one.

I am still not quite ready to dive in and read all of her words just yet. That day will come, but this is not it. My spirits were lifted simply by sifting through the contents of her box. Today that was more than enough.

 

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This picture by Egyptian artist Kerolos Safwat, entitled “First Day in Heaven”, immediately made me think of my Mom. This is how I envision the moment when she finally met Jesus.

Photo credit goo.gl/images/JUmrQT

An Aspiring Writer on Writing – Part Two

by Coddiwompling, posted in Dream Big, faith, Lessons Learned, Moving Forward, No Excuses, Perspective, Uncategorized, Writing

Yesterday I called myself out for what can best be described as fiddle farting around with writing. Mostly what I’ve been doing is shuffling around stacks of hastily scribbled notes and occasionally looking busy without actually accomplishing a whole lot. Today I have drawn my own line in the sand and put myself on a writing schedule. Some days the fruits of that labor will show up on this blog; some days it will never again see the light of day. Both are okay. The important thing is that I’ve given myself a tangible goal to achieve each week. It’s one thing to set a goal and not quite make it, and quite another to not really try. I am determined to avoid the latter, since one undeniable truth I’ve learned over the last few months is that words don’t write themselves. They’re kind of stubborn like that.

Today I’m going to take a look at the pros and cons of being a writer. I strongly suspect that the principles here can be applicable to any artistic or practical endeavor that involves stepping outside of the norm, whether that means painting, composing a symphony, getting your carcass to the gym, or launching your own retail business.

One of my biggest issues, without a doubt, is procrastination. Things that I find absolutely no joy in – like cleaning the bathroom, or sweeping the living room, or possibly cutting the grass with a pair of fingernail clippers – take on an immediate appeal when it’s time to sit down and write. Why on earth is that?? I love to write. I find joy and freedom in this form of expression. But man, let me just get these dishes done first, whoops, forgot all about posting that picture on Facebook. Next thing I know, an hour has passed and it’s time to start dinner. Well, maybe tomorrow….

Finding the rhythm to my day, choosing the best time of day to put words onto the page has been harder than I expected. I volunteer in several different capacities, so my schedule is different from one day to the next. However, having a specific goal – whether to produce a certain number of pages or to write for a specified length of time – does lend itself to my OCD nature. I thrive on being productive. Not to say that I have been lately, but it makes me feel better when I am. One of my least favorite questions is, “How’s the book coming along?” because well, honestly, it hasn’t been. I say something like, “I’ve got the outline figured out now,” which is really writer-ese for “I’ve been lazy and distracted and haven’t written a doggone thing.”

Another related factor is distraction. One thing that I have started being more intentional about is unplugging from all electronics throughout the day. I don’t know what it is about that little red notification that is SO very compelling. If I see it, I can’t not check the message. So I try to put my phone down periodically and not even look. John Eldredge calls this “creating soul space,” and rightly so. Even five minutes of stillness and silence can make a huge difference. This continues to be a work-in-progress for me, but each day I increasingly see its value. I can think more clearly and focus on things that matter. My soul is more at peace without these electronic Chihuahuas continually nipping at my heels, demanding my attention.

There’s a certain vulnerability that comes with writing. Publishing, or even sharing with a friend, what you have written is very much like standing on the stage of a very large theater wearing nothing but a very small bathing suit. In that moment it is extremely challenging to feel cool and confident. Exposed is a better description. And that’s kind of the two-edged sword of writing. There are words inside me that are clamoring to get out. A writer simply must write, even if on occasion he is the only person who reads the words. At the same time, each shared piece opens him up to trial by the Court of Public Opinion. Truth be told, I get a queasy feeling in the pit of my gut each time I hit the Publish button on my blog: “Oh no! What have I done? Will anyone like this? Anyone at all? Is it meaningful? Does it make any sense? What was I thinking???”

Having read this far, you may be thinking, “Why doesn’t this lady just get a job selling moderately priced home furnishings at Target and be done with it?” That’s simple: because I love writing! Actually, I love words – the subtleties and nuances and shades of meaning within the English language are fascinating. (Yes, I have known and willingly acknowledged for years that I am a word nerd. There is a certain coolness in being so very uncool.) There are feelings and thoughts and understandings of the world around us that I need to express. Though no writing is ever 100% completely “done”, it brings a degree of satisfaction, to know that a particular piece – whether a chapter or page or paragraph – is as good as I can make it at this moment in time.

I’m not sure that I will ever at any time in my life write something so deeply meaningful that will inspire the masses, but there are times when I learn important truths from the ordinary, the mundane, the easy-to-miss. I figure that if this was a lesson I needed, perhaps someone else does as well.

So, I will be true to myself and write more words. I hope that you enjoy them and find value in them.

If not, no worries. Just be thankful that the cover photo features a cute little kid.

 

 

Photo credit: goo.gl/images/TwJaLq

But God…

by Coddiwompling, posted in Bible Study, faith, Lessons Learned, Moving Forward, Perspective, Prayer, Tough Times, Uncategorized

One universal truth is that at some time or another in this life, we all face storms. In fact, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once said, “Into each life some rain must fall.” This can come in a myriad of forms – cancelled plans, sick children, wayward spouses, failing businesses, you name it. These can appear to us as anything from the proverbial raining on your parade, all the way up to the complete and utter devastation of a category five hurricane. The one thing we can be sure of is that at some point a storm will come along and we do well to be prepared up front, then to handle it as best we can during its onslaught.

I have read – from both grammatical and psychological perspectives – that the word “BUT” negates all that goes before it. For example, if someone tells you 99 great things about yourself, then adds, “but you leave wet towels on the bathroom floor,” this last comment is the one you remember.

Another case in point. Say you ask a friend to go with you to the mall. Consider his responses:

  1. I’d love to go with you to the mall, but I am so tired.                         (Interpretation = Your bud is bailing.)
  2. I’m so tired, but I’d love to go with you to the mall.                           (Interpretation = He’s riding shotgun.)

In nerd-like wonder, it occurs to me that it is not just the words we say, but the order in which we say them that is important. (See what I just did there?)

When storms come, I try to make it a habit to practice the goodness of God: to recall Who He is, His attributes, and His promises to His children, of which I am one. Lately, well actually for the last two years, I’ve been in a doozie of a season. It’s been sunshine and tornadoes and everything in between. My efforts to beat down the storms with this goodness of God have gone something like this:

  • God is faithful, but man, I am weary in this fight.
  • God is truth. His Word endures forever, but my heart is broken.
  • Jesus love me, but I just want to scream.
  • The Holy Spirit gives wisdom to anyone who asks, but I feel so incompetent.

Then recently, in one of those lightbulb moments while on an outdoor run, my mind connected these dots. By putting a “but” after a promise or statement about God, I (in my mind, and therefore eventually in my practice) negate His strength and His truth in comparison to the difficult circumstances of life. In doing so, I am essentially saying that the power of God is not really a match for my particular storm, that this is the one thing in the history of all time that He simply cannot handle.

Wait. What???

Doing this is agreement with the enemy who does all that he can to undermine our understanding of Who God is and His heart towards us. With that in mind, let’s rearrange those statements.

  • I am weary in this fight, but God is faithful.
  • My heart may be broken, but God is true. His Word endures forever.
  • Sometimes I just want to scream, but Jesus loves me. He holds me in His arms. He rejoices over me with singing and quiets me with His love.
  • I feel so incompetent right now, but Holy Spirit gives wisdom to anyone who asks.

Now the promises of my Father are negating the struggles. And that’s good, so very good!

This is new territory for me, so I’m sure it will take some time to make this the automatic response to the challenges life throws my way. I trust that in two weeks, two years, two decades my perspective will change as I learn, little by little, to see past the problems and fix my gaze firmly on my Father. He is, after all, the ultimate Authority here.

 

Photo Credit: https://goo.gl/images/C3NnvV

What IF….

by Coddiwompling, posted in Adventure, Bible Study, Dream Big, faith, Legacy of Love, Lessons Learned, No Excuses, Uncategorized, What If...

At some time or another, I’m sure we’ve all heard some pretty amazing God stories. You know the ones: someone goes on mission trip or participates in a special event in the inner city. Ordinary people find themselves involved in extraordinary encounters which can only be explained by the power of a loving, Almighty God. We are stunned and a bit in awe. It’s easy to listen to these stories with a bit of envy and think, “Well, that’s great for them, but nothing amazing like that ever happens to me.”

But what if it could?

Recently at my church we heard some fantastic God stories from Honduras. What did Jessica do that was so utterly amazing? She said Yes to God’s invitation. Inexplicably prepared by a lifetime of difficult situations, she simply showed up with a willing heart, and then God pretty much took it from there. People’s physical, emotional, and eternal healths were waiting to be transformed, just on the other side of one little Yes.

It’s easy to let fear and circumstances keep us from going deeper in our walk with God:

  • What if it’s dangerous?
  • What if I don’t know what to do?
  • What if I say the wrong thing?

But what if instead of asking those questions, we asked different ones:

  • What if God has been preparing me my whole life for this moment?
  • What if I am exactly the right person for this specific situation?
  • What if God has bigger things in store for me than I ever dreamed?

When I was a very chubby girl, I used to look at lean, healthy people with envy, feeling that somehow something good like that would never, ever happen to me.

Only one day it did. The transformation began when I dared to believe it was possible, then took the necessary steps to change. It took a Yes.

So I ask you, What If?

  • What if you embraced the thought that there are God stories inside you, eager to be written?
  • What if you dared to believe that God has perfectly equipped you for the mission at hand?
  • What if all those God stories are right there, waiting, just on the other side of one little Yes?

What If Jesus said, “Come, follow Me”…and you simply said YES???

 

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Photo credit – https://georgecouros.ca/blog/archives/4228

For This Snowman I Prayed

by Coddiwompling, posted in faith, Prayer, Snowman, Uncategorized

For the past decade I have been praying for snow. This is not an exaggeration. I literally have. Perhaps to you, especially if you have ever lived in a northern climate, that may sound silly, even childish. That may very well be so. And I’m okay with that. The simple truth is that I am one of those people who really, REALLY loves snow. And living in South Georgia, it is a rare and noteworthy event around here when snow finally comes our way.

I can count on one hand my lifetime snow experiences. I do have pictures of my mom, my aunt, and me in front of a snowman when I was a toddler. I have no memory of this event, so it barely counts. In 1989, we had a terrific snow – on Christmas Day, nonetheless. The only thing was, I happened to have been extremely pregnant and no one would let me do anything fun. My primary role was videotaping my friends having spectacular adventures “sledding” down the road on a boat seat being towed behind an ancient Dodge truck. In 2010, we had a freak storm that blanketed our area in fluffy white. I, however, was at the beach with my husband at a marriage conference. There not one flake fell. By the time we got home the next day, there were maybe three or four handfuls left in the shadows of our pine trees. Gone, just that fast. Then this past year, my husband and I took an Alaskan cruise, where we gazed upon glaciers in the distance and witnessed a brief bit of snowfall during lunch at the top of a mountain. It was a wonderful experience, but that was me visiting someone else’s snow. It was not my snow.

And that was sort of the thing: Not that I would go find snow, but that snow would find me.

In recent years, friends who live farther north and who are aware of my snow obsession would send pictures and videos when their winter storms would dump down anywhere from a couple inches to several feet of snow. I lived vicariously through them. I must confess that I did indeed covet their lovely whiteness. And still, year after year, I prayed for some snow of my very own. Last year the winter in Georgia was more than warm; it was downright hot. I began to despair of EVER seeing real snow. Sometimes it felt like chewing the same flavorless stick of gum, but I never stopped praying.

When I first saw the weather forecast predicting the required combination of moisture and cold temperatures, I took notice but didn’t get my hopes up. We’ve been there many times before. Then the percentages for snow kept increasing. The news reported snow “in view” in our area. I could hardly contain myself when the first fluffy flakes began falling!

My To-Do list for the day was officially trashed – for the rest of the week. I had the luxury of being at home on this day, and was therefore able to savor each moment. I ran from window to window, taking quick videos of the progression as my yard became blanketed in stunning white. I spent several hours with my nose eagerly pressed to the glass, awaiting that just-right moment when the accumulation was at its peak. Then, and only then, would I go outside and truly experience it all. After taking about a thousand pictures (well, almost…), I set about crafting my long-long-awaited snowman. Not from someone else’s borrowed snow, but in my very own back yard.

One thing I learned right away is that making a snowman is not nearly as easy as it seems. Those Hollywood three stacked balls are quite difficult to get rounded properly then attached to each other without them falling apart. Building my snowman took the better part of an hour, with very careful attention to detail. After numerous failed attempts, we found that the best method was to begin with a fat snowball then keep adding, one handful at a time, carefully patting and shaping each one. Perhaps others with more advanced snowman-making skills could have done it faster and easier, but for me this was an experience ten years – TEN YEARS – in the making. There was no need to rush. This was a time to enjoy the journey. Slowly, each inch of his stature was lovingly sculpted by my hand. Flu or no flu, this was the moment I’d been waiting for. And it was so worth it! When done, he was about three feet tall, with a carrot nose, button eyes, and a red scarf. A snowman so eagerly anticipated dare not disappear in anonymity; he must be granted a name. I donned his straw hat and christened him Jasper, a true Southern snowman!

IMG_0538Throughout the course of the day – one of my favorite days ever – I thought about some lessons I might glean from a slightly lumpy, lopsided snowman.

1. God is Faithful

He hears the prayers of His children, even ones asking for snow. Now I will not under any circumstances pretend that snow is essential to life itself. I could have lived out the remainder of my days very well without it. The snow was a gift and I enjoyed it as such. As we delight in giving good gifts to our children simply because we love them and want to see them smile, so it is with our Heavenly Father. This snow fell onto a season of my life that needed some encouragement and a splash of frivolous joy, and it happened on a day when I was perfectly poised to both receive and fully appreciate it.

  1. Be patient – it is worth the wait

Waiting is hard, and as a general rule, I tend not to like doing it. But when something is worked towards or cherished over an extended period of time, it becomes highly valuable to us. I would be hard pressed to explain to you why snow matters to me so very much. All I can say is that somehow it represents something magical, something rare and precious. Had it started snowing three minutes after the very first time I prayed for snow, that would have been pretty doggone terrific. But it didn’t. Time after time after time, it didn’t. But then one day it did. All those days in between made the flakes more valuable to me. The waiting made something “nice” into something “exceptional.”

  1. Power of community

Each individual snowflake is unique, one-of-a-kind. That’s pretty cool (HA!). On its own, however, one Georgia snowflake probably is not going to last very long before it melts away into nothing. It takes the combined effort of all those tiny individuals to make a snowdrift, a snowball, a snowman. Much like us, they last longer and can create more when in community with others. A lot of little flakes working together can make something truly amazing.

  1. Even the ordinary looks beautiful when there’s snow

Right now my front yard is a symphony of dried grass. It’s not the most stunning view on earth. Then came that special combination of water, temperature, and wind. As the lawn was coated with millions of frozen flakes, that dead grass was transformed into a thing of beauty. I wandered all over the yard snapping pictures of things I never would have bothered to notice before – sticks and leaves and fallen trees. By adding a dusting of fluffy white powder, even the fence posts and ant hills became part of a wintery fairytale.

  1. Abundance

One of the things that really struck me was the abundance of God’s gift. This wasn’t simply a couple flakes that melted upon impact. We had three- to five-inch layers on everything – the cars, the roof, the patio, you name it. This was not some chintzy half-answer to a decade-long request. We still had large patches of snow five days afterwards, which is unheard of in these parts. This was a lavish reply. There was one moment when I was standing alone outside in the stillness and the silence, in awe as I reflected on the perfection of this day. I dare say He was even showing off a little. My heart could scarcely take in such beauty. On this treasured occasion, as my childlike dream was fulfilled, I could feel His pleasure. And I LOVE that about God! He goes all-out to shower His love upon us.

  1. Squeeze all the good out of it

Certainly in life there are more ordinary days than spectacular ones, so when the really super-dyna-whopping experiences come along, we need to make much of them. Savor them. Memorize the moments. File them away to refresh our spirits during the lean seasons which will inevitably come our way. One of the ways I did this was to keep a running update on Facebook about how Jasper was doing. I had waited most of my adult life to build this snowman so I wanted to enjoy him for as long as humanly possible. It was silly and fun, and I happen to be blessed with some amazing friends who came along side me during this slightly ridiculous exercise. While pointless from all practical purposes, it helped me prolong the joy. No regrets.

  1. Endings and Beginnings

Almost a week later, I came home from running errands and noticed that the large patches of snow had finally melted and that Jasper was leaning dangerously low. Thirty minutes later, I looked again and he had toppled over. Of course I knew this was coming, but it still made me a bit sad. As I wistfully gazed on my melting creation, a fluttering caught my eye. A pair of bluebirds lighted in the inexplicably green honeysuckle vine on the trellis over Jasper’s head. As the birds gathered twigs for their nest, Jasper melted away, surrendering himself to the water cycle. I couldn’t help but smile as one form of beauty gave way to the next.

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Further Thoughts on “Who’s the Genius?”

by Coddiwompling, posted in faith, Family, Lessons Learned, Moving Forward, No Excuses, Prayer, Uncategorized, Whoops!

Inspired by a comment from my friend Alice, here are some spiritual insights based on last night’s stuck in the mud experience. If you missed the original post, I will copy its text at the bottom, or you can click on the link for the Who’s The Genius post.

Spiritual Insights (in no particular order)

Follow Me –

  • Jesus said quite simply, “Follow Me.”
  • The implication in that statement is for Now, not when we get around to it
  • Good followers trust their leader

He’s Got a Plan –

  • No evaluation on our part is necessary
  • Very often the things Jesus calls me to do make precious little sense at the time, but when He speaks and I listen, I find that what seemed so ridiculous to me in the beginning was actually quite the perfect thing to do. (The caveat here is that I must be listening carefully to the voice of Jesus, not just making up stuff in my own head.)
  • Going my own way was a complete disaster
  • He is ready to take action to get us back on track
  • The mud extraction plan wasn’t obvious to me, but all of the necessary elements were already there

Mud Pits Await –

  • Challenges and hard times are going to come our way
  • We need to navigate carefully through life
  • Sometimes we will get stuck
  • I never saw the mud pit coming, but it was there all the time, had I simply looked around more carefully
  • We need help from others

Scars and Mud Remain –

  • Even when the problem is solved, consequences remain, some more costly than others
  • Scars are not fun to receive, but the mark left on our bodies – and our hearts – can remind us of lessons we’ve learned
  • Challenges can be beneficial if we learn from them

Ever Forward –

  • Falling into a mud pit is one thing; choosing to stay there is another issue entirely
  • Someone may need to help pull (or even snatch) you out of the mud, but then it is up to you to keep moving forward
  • Accept help when you need it, but don’t become entirely dependent on others to do everything for you
  • Solid ground is just ahead
  • You may have to work to get there

Daylight –

  • A deep breath and a step back from the chaos can do wonders for our perspective
  • It all looks a little better in the daylight
  • Psalm 30:5b NKJV says, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” 

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Here’s the original “Who’s the Genius?” post:

Tonight the Haywood’s played a little game called “Who’s the Genius?”

When our paths finally converged this afternoon, Jeff and I met at a building where he needed to do an electrical job after the business closed. When he was finished, we planned to do some Christmas shopping for three little girls who have wrapped themselves firmly around our hearts.

As we walked out to leave, Jeff said, “Follow me.” Sure. That sounded simple enough. The parking area behind the building was like a dirt bowling alley – long and very skinny. We had to drive all the way to the far end, turn around, then head back out the way that we had come in. I didn’t quite understand the logic of that, but Jeff said to follow. So I followed. When he reached the back of the lot and made his turn, it occurred to me that my car needs considerably less space to corner than his truck. I went ahead and made my left turn – right into a giant mud pit. I never saw the gaping expanse until the moment I sank into it. I quickly noticed that I was indeed not the first to slide into its soggy depths. This was no consolation. The hole was about a foot deep, black mud was up to my bumper, and I just so happened to be wearing the single most expensive pair of shoes I own. Face palm. Actually several face palms.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh.

Completely unfazed, Jeff went straight to work. He removed a tiny circle from my front bumper (which I never even knew was there), attached a short bar from the jack, then stretched out the chain that he ever so conveniently had in his truck. With a brilliant rooster tail of black mud, he pulled me right out. Christmas (shopping) was saved!

Some observations:

  1. My husband is an amazing man in both attitude and abilities.
  2. The car extraction plan my brain feverishly conjured up would surely have ripped the bumper right off the car. And I’d probably still be stuck.
  3. I am convinced that southern men with pickup trucks secretly long for the day when they can pull out a big ole chain or a set of jumper cables and rescue people like me who accidentally do stupid things at inopportune times.
  4. Sometimes when you are given directions it is sufficient to follow the general spirit of the instructions. Other times it is imperative to observe the full letter of the law.

 

When The Going Gets Tough

by Coddiwompling, posted in Adventure, Bible Study, faith, Getting Healthy, Moving Forward, No Excuses, Physical Fitness, Prayer, Running, Self-improvement, Tough Times, Uncategorized

When the going gets tough, the tough go tromping through mud and wet grass for a three-mile run. It was a great plan. I’ve been in such a purple funk lately, fighting my way back to solid ground after letting the circumstances of life toss me about. Over the last few years, running has been both my physical fitness activity of choice and my emotional release from the stresses of life. It was the obvious choice.

I had determined that this summer would be the time I got my running game back on track. Or at least on treadmill. And wouldn’t ya know it, we have experienced one of the rainiest summers in recent memory. On any given day, once I got finished with work or whatever else needed doing that day, the monsoon had begun. I do own a treadmill. It is totally accessible. I just hate using it. So, most days, I don’t.

This particular day was surprisingly sunny, though not surprisingly, humid. I suited up in a cute runner girl ensemble and headed out the front door for a run around our property. To say that I went for a run is, I must admit, a liberal use of the term, but I was running at some points, so you will have to give me the benefit of the doubt here. Truth be told, our land has never been pane-of-glass smooth, but after a visit from Hurricane Matthew last year, it was even less so. Running in the grassy sections would be unwise because there could be a hole there and I would never know it until I found air instead of solid ground beneath my feet. So mostly I was doing some brisk power walking through two sides of the rectangular area and running when I hit the road and my driveway. It was a great plan. Until it wasn’t.

In my closet there are any number of running shoes, various types for various purposes. I wore my old favorites because they are comfortable, and I wasn’t too worried about getting them all muddy. It seemed like a logical choice at the time. I was about halfway through my distance goal of three miles. There were about five running strides left before I shifted back to power walking. Without warning, I did a face plant. I’m not even sure what I managed to trip over, but in a movie-like slow-motion sequence, I watched the muddy ground get closer as my left ankle twist painfully and awkwardly to one side. The ridiculous thought that raced through my mind at the moment I bounced off the terra firma was, “Woman! You have trail shoes in your closet!”

In one slightly less than fluid motion, I picked myself up and scraped the worst of the mud off my legs. The ankle was none too happy but could support weight, so I took a step, then another, and decided to press on with the run. After one slow and steady lap, I felt confident that there was no damage and returned to the running segments. While I was chugging along, I remembered a time when I’d had a much more serious fall while running down a street in near-total darkness. With the help of my friends, I hopped up, ignored the blood, and kept on running. Recalling that incident gave me the courage to not wimp out this time. If I bounced back from a tough run once, I could surely do it again.

That made me think about King David. Long before he assumed the title of king, David was the runt-of-the-litter little brother who was left behind to take care of the sheep while his older brothers, by all accounts burly and impressive young men, who were off having exciting exploits as members of Israel’s army. Only things weren’t going so well for them. David showed up and offered his assistance. When the brawny brothers pointed out that David was indeed a runt, he remembered times in the past when he’d faced tough situations and how the God of Israel had strengthened him. He said, “The Lord who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine.” (2 Sam 17:37). You might say that David had a giant problem. This is quite literally true because David was about to face off with a giant, not in a figurative sense, but in the original, honest-to-goodness, for real and for true giant named Goliath who was nine feet tall and not at all a nice person.

In that moment, David recalled the way he had faced challenging situations before and triumphed. He knew that his God provided the strength necessary. He didn’t cower in fear and run for cover. He didn’t complain about how he’d been in much better shape when he faced the lion, or that the conditions had been better on that day. But what he did do was remember a success from the past, which in turn gave him the courage to face the giant on this day.

Now I don’t claim to be a David, and getting up after a small stumble may not be that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. But perhaps there are some lessons we can learn here.

  • Remembering the trials we have overcome in the past can give us courage to face different, but equally challenging, difficulties in our present.
  • We often need to think of our circumstances differently. In a crisis situation, it is easy for molehills to become mountains in our minds. Taking a step back and calming down can do wonders for our perspective. When we are calm we simply make better decisions.
  • Sometimes we just have to develop the best plan we can and go for it. I’m sure David’s sling and rock attack didn’t look like an especially wise military maneuver to anyone else. But he trusted his God and slung that rock. The results speak for themselves.
  • My Faith not in my Strength – that comes and goes – but my Strength is in my Faith. More specifically, my Strength is in the One who is the source of my Faith.

Psalm 121:1-2, written by David, this same shepherd boy turned mighty warrior, says, “I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” (NIV)

When the going gets tough, the tough call on Jesus.

I Didn’t Read My Bible Today

by Coddiwompling, posted in Bible Study, faith, Family, Legacy of Love, Moving Forward, Prayer, Tough Times, Uncategorized

I’m sort of an OCD kind of person. Actually, I am a really OCD kind of person. Structure and organization give me a sense of calm, and nothing makes me happier than having a good plan and seeing it through to completion. That’s just how my brain operates. The same principles that held true when I was an English/Social Studies teacher are relevant in my personal life. I like for things to be in their “proper place” – in the refrigerator and in life.

When it comes to my personal quiet time/devotion, I also like normalcy and order for the most part. One of the first things I do each morning is to read my Bible, usually working my way slowly through a specific book or topic; read a daily devotion from Oswald Chambers; and record key quotes or personal reflections in my journal. Then I pray about whatever God has brought to mind or any specific issues I’m facing, before beginning the day-to-day part of my day.

This is a pretty doggone good system. I love communing with God before I have to face the rest of the world. Keeping a journal is also a great way on those tough days to look back and see the last thing God said to me.  This helps to anchor me when life seems crazy. Seeing His fingerprints from days gone by remind me that He is still very much in control today.

One day recently, though, I did not do that.

I gathered my materials, a meeting of ancient and modern, with both an iPad and a soft, leather-bound journal, and just sat there. I simply could not bring myself to read the Bible. I couldn’t. On this particular day, I was more than just bothered by something; I was distraught. My mind was locked up almost. I could not think straight. Reading was out of the question. I tried to pray, I really did. Nothing was coming out right. My sentences were a tangled jumble that made absolutely no sense, and I’m sure they even contradicted each other as I attempted to bring my petitions before the Father. Then the tears started – not polite little drips, but monsoon-caliber torrents accompanied by much wailing and a fair amount of snot. It was not a pretty scene.

In that moment a couple of things happened. All that Scripture I had hidden in my heart from the time I was a young child came rushing back to me. I wasn’t worried about chapter and verse, but the words from the greatest love letter that has ever been written flooded my heart and my mind and my jumbled up prayers. A line from this verse, a line from another, swirled together, all pointing to the faithfulness of my heavenly Father Who is at work behind the scenes in ways I cannot even begin to imagine.

I also understood a passage I’d always heard, and have probably referred to on more than one occasion, in a totally new way. Romans 8:26 says, “ Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.” (NKJV) This is one of those really great verses to pull out when times are tough. I expect I had done that before. But on this day, I totally got it. I was so wiped out, emotionally, spiritually, and physically; I had nothing left. The only word I could utter that made any sense at all was, “Help!” I reached the end of me, and allowed Holy Spirit to take over, which He had probably been patiently waiting for me to do. Somehow, I knew, whatever the outcome might be, God was very much in control of the entire situation. I could rest in that truth and quit trying to resolve this on my own.

So, is a carefully planned devotion time or simply winging it the better option? To this question, I would have to say, Yes. There is a time and place for both. There is a danger, of course, in being toooooo orderly all the time when spending time alone with God. It can quickly become more of an itemized checklist than ever-deepening relationship. Years of diligence in study, reflection, journaling, and memorization combined to lay a foundation upon which I could depend when I needed it most. Sometimes though, you just have to chuck the plan and go with the moment. When I had no words of my own to offer up, Hope – stored away in a lifetime of memorized Scripture, along with the promised presence of the Holy Spirit – filled in my blanks.

Cutting & Rolling: Lessons From a Paintbrush 

by Coddiwompling, posted in Adventure, faith, Family, Legacy of Love, Love your neighbor, Moving Forward, Uncategorized

Truth be told, I really hate painting. Not the fancy kind that people display in art museums and dentist offices. The kind where your living room looks dingy or dated and the obvious cure is a fresh coat of paint. That’s the one I’m not so fond of.  

I think it all started when we were building our house. My husband told me that as soon as we were done painting, we could move in. I thought, “YES!!! We will be in by the weekend!” HA! Or not. We painted for a month. One long, hot, thought-it-would-never-ever-end month. We both worked full-time jobs, came home, consumed some manner of edible substance, grabbed our brushes, and picked up wherever we’d left off at midnight the night before. It was not my favorite aspect of the house-building process. 

My first job was putty-er. Jeff would nail the trim down with an air hammer, then I would come along and putty each and every individual hole with caulk. I used a caulk gun, popsicle sticks, my bare fingers, damp cloths, anything to make the job go easier and faster. Then I had to sand the trim to a smooth texture. By the time this was completed, my fingertips were raw and swollen, my back ached all the time, and my attitude was slightly south of chipper. Then…and only then…was I given a paintbrush. Finally, we’ll make some progress, I thought. Or not.  

While Jeff and some friends who were kind enough to come bail us out on occasion were wielding paint rollers and even this awesome electric air sprayer for the cathedral ceilings, I had a brush. A stinking, hand-operated brush. I may have contemplated bopping them in the head with their fancy equipment. Maybe. One thing is for sure, I was exhausted, and I was grumpy. It’s a wonder that people who were around during this season of life still spoke to me without an armed guard and a pound of chocolate present. 

I’ve matured a little bit in the last twenty years. Painting is still my least favorite construction activity and I will do just about anything to avoid it. While on mission trips with my church, this has led to me developing other skills, like operating a skill saw, running a weed eater, and even using a bit of feng shui to build a pretty amazing rock-lined ditch.  

Recently my friend asked me to help paint the stage at church. I still hate painting, but I love both my friend and my church. Of course, I said yes. As is so often the case when there is painting to be done, I found myself in command of a hand-operated brush. I got a little pan of paint and set to work. Rather than being resentful of this particular duty as I have in the past, I found myself waxing philosophical as I began tracing around the edges of the trim. 

When it comes to painting a wall, there are two primary roles: roller and cutter. Rolling creates the more noticeable end product. Great masses of wall can be covered in a very short time. The results are obvious, and the room looks better almost instantly. Rolling is showy. Rolling is glam.  

Cutting-in, by contrast, is slow. It is tedious. It takes time and precision, and often brings tired knees and aching backs from sitting in the floor to carefully trace over electrical outlets and along baseboards, window casings and door jambs. Cutting-in requires a steady hand; rushing can be disastrous.  There is little to show for your work. Certainly it lacks the “ooooh” factor of rolling an entire wall in five minutes.  

But is one better than the other? Absolutely not. If the wall were to be painted using only a roller, the outer perimeter would look sloppy and highly distracting, in a word, awful. Of course walls can be painted using only a regular brush, but the time and effort involved would most likely outweigh the benefits. Your list of available friends would diminish quickly if that were the proposed painting plan.Each method of painting has its strengths and weaknesses. Rolling gets the job done quickly and thoroughly, and and cutting-in provides the pop, the attention to detail, that sets the room off properly. Cutting makes rolling “work”. 

So that’s all well and good if you happen to be standing there with a gallon of semi-gloss and a natural bristle brush in your hand. But what does this have to do with real life, you may well ask. Quite simply, everything. We all have our own fair share of both strengths and weaknesses. There are things that we do well and things that we wish we were better at. In the Bible, Paul speaks to this very issue in 1 Corinthians 12. Using the analogy of the human body and its many parts, he says that while some are more prominent than others, the contributions of all are essential to the proper functioning of the whole body. Ever broken a finger or had a toothache? It impacts the efficiency of the entire body. This is true of our physical bodies, our churches, our businesses, our families, and of our society as a whole.  

We each have different roles to play. Some are more flashy, more noticeable. Some are more subtle and occur quietly, behind the scenes. Each has great value. Every individual part matters to the proper functioning of the whole. So we all need to figure out what we are wired to do. What is your passion? What are you doing when you feel most alive? Writing news stories? Cooking? Building houses? Balancing budgets? Organizing gala events? Designing spacecraft? Teaching a toddler to use a spoon? All of these things matter. Learn your role and do it with excellence. Even if you are one of those wacky, amazing people who just so happens to love painting. Whether you are the roller or the cutter or the kid who stirs the paint, give it all you’ve got. Our businesses and families and nation and world need you to get out there and be you! 

You are the only one who can. 

(On a side note, in the Bible, 1 Corinthians 12 is followed by Chapter 13. I’m pretty clever, huh? This famous passage is known as “The Love Chapter”. I don’t think this progression is an accident. Once you figure out your passion, consider how you might use it to love the people around you, and maybe even those on the other side of the globe. Goodness knows, genuine love and compassion can be hard to find these days. But we can be the generation that turns that around. You hold in your hands an incredible amount of power. You possess the ability to impact the world …..beginning by being nice to the people you come into contact with. Think about that.) 

Finding a New Normal

by Coddiwompling, posted in faith, Getting Healthy, Moving Forward, No Excuses, Physical Fitness, Running, Self-improvement

I ran today. Well, perhaps that is an overly ambitious use of the verb. I completed three miles today, perhaps a third of which might be considered running. After bringing home a doozy of an upper respiratory infection from Poland, this was my first exercise in almost a month. I honestly did not Want to go running today, but I felt like I Ought to.There was a raging debate when I first woke up. The smart thing to do would have been to put on my shoes and go, but I paused for a split second. This was ample time for the voice of laziness and complacency inside my head to make a fairly solid case for the extreme comfort of my cozy covers. Still, somehow sound reasoning determined not only that I Should get up and go, but that I Would. 

The last couple years have brought a great many changes in my life, some of which I intentionally chose, others, not so much. Some heartbreaking and some truly amazing things have occurred. Through it all though, I’ve felt myself struggling, flailing through life. My two essential foundations – Jesus and Jeff – remained rock solid, but nothing else seemed to quite make any sense. And, I’ve gotta tell ya, Type A people don’t like it when things don’t make sense.  

My new boss is a genuinely fantastic woman with an uncanny ability to “read” people. She suggested I check out the book “Who Moved My Cheese.” If you have not already done so, invest about an hour of your life with this tiny, incredible book. It’s an analogy for business, and for life, told as a modern parable about four mice in a maze searching for cheese. It is neither fancy nor complicated, but it helped so many things suddenly make sense. 

I’ve known all along that I needed to find my new Normal. But try as I might, I simply have not been able to. This has been the source of MUCH frustration, which my family has endured like champs because they love me and know that sometimes I just have to wrestle my way through things. Reading this little story helped me t see that I’ve been trying to make completely new circumstances fit into my old way of doing things, to make the new Normal fit into the same mold as the older one. This is a sure-fire recipe for failure and frustration, and man alive, that’s where I’ve been. 

I used to run almost every single day, raced at least once a month, and consistently placed at the top of my age group. I used to be a pretty doggone good teacher, confident and poised, and ready to bring out the best in my students. Those were great times, enjoyable seasons of life. Today things are different, therefore my approach must also be different. New circumstances require a new ways of thinking.  

So today I went rambling around the pond. It was later in the day, and quite warm, but what a beautiful backdrop! The sun was shining, the squirrels and ducks were each amusing in their own way, and there were other families out enjoying the day. My mind contemplated these things while Daughtery and Def Leppard fueled my feet. I ran and walked and breathed. Then, without warning, I felt my stride shift from awkward shuffle to the smoother glide of former days. Was I as fast as I used to be? Not even close. But, who cares? I don’t need a finisher’s medal to prove that I gave my best. I walked away slimy, completely spent, but absolutely satisfied. 

Seasons of life come and they go. Things change, and that’s more than okay; it’s actually quite exciting. My Should will eventually catch up with my Want To. It’s counterproductive – and impossible – to try to squeeze today into yesterday’s mold. There are too many wonderful things ahead to dwell in the past. Sure. It may still take some time for all the elements of my new Normal to ease into place. But they will.