I recently came across a sort of time capsule that perfectly exemplified where I was at during that point in my spiritual life. Rarely does a time capsule perfectly fulfill what it's supposed to do - make the recipient into a time traveler - but this one put me squarely in my thought process of 2009 Jessica.
The item was a treatment for an animation I was proposing at that time for my friend, Kristen. Based off the Parable of the Seeds and the Sower, it represented the weeds as deliverers of luxury that blinded the sprout to the route to true growth, eventually suffocating the sprout due to its anemic condition. I contrasted that with another sprout that refused the allure of the easy life and - with focus, determination, and speed - grew strong and tall.
As I reread the story, I could hear my present self talking to this self from seven years ago (a la Verses 3 to 5): "Yes, this is all true, but..."
I sat down for a rewrite and found myself stripping it to its skeleton. And then I did something that is Me Now but not Me Then: I asked for help.
My mom and I sat together and discussed how to portray the weeds in light of revelations I've had over the course of these years. See, it isn't just comfort, convenience, and security that distract us from growth - so do busyness, pride, self-pity, fear, sneaky forms of idolatry, and pain.
While we talked, I could feel gratitude simmering within my heart that my loving Daddy has been so gracious to open my eyes to things I was unable to see then. Slowly, methodically, in a pace that has allowed me to learn, retain, and apply these lessons, He has been teaching my heart volumes about Him and my life in Him.
And that imperceptible progress, and this conversation with my mom, and my own mistakes along the entire way caused friction with the way I had written the journey of the two sprouts. Instead of the second sprout purposing to powerfully push forward like a lone wolf with a map and a jet pack, I realized that it could not go it alone. The sprout was going to be tempted - even Jesus was, according to Luke 4:2 - and it was going to need to move unhurriedly, intentionally so it could have the space to make tough decisions. Lastly, and one of the biggest realizations of all for me, it needed to grow alongside others.
If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.
Ecclesiastes 4:10 (NLT)
The story took on new life after that, and I can't wait to see what the Sower has in mind for it now. Plus, the resulting ending scene is like an Ebenezer to God's help in my own life, how He has shifted my paradigms of what it means to grow and be alive in Him.
Of course, I recognize that in another seven years, I may reread this entry and think, "Yes, this is all true, but..." And it reminds me of what one of my friends used to say when people asked him why he only quoted great thinkers who were dead: "They can't change their minds."
Today, I'm grateful Daddy has allowed me to change my mind.
3.09.2016
2.06.2016
Waiting for the Taxi
It's taken me a long time to learn forgiveness is not contingent on the other's apology. To refuse to forgive until the other says sorry is like refusing to go to work until someone sends a taxi for me, even though I have my own car.
1.16.2016
On Spiritual Gluttony
In Dark Night of the Soul, St. John of the Cross exposes a host of attitudes and behaviors we may not realize are sins, as they are borne out of spiritual practices. The one that grabbed my attention today was “spiritual gluttony”. This is where we crave and pursue the sweetness of spiritual mountain-top experiences more than we do our Savior.
It was hitting so close to home that I thought maybe I was misreading it - putting my own thoughts into the 16-century monk’s head. So I looked up how others had received this writing, and they got the same thing out of it.
In summary, when we get close to God or go through a really intense time with Him - where our hearts beat as His, where we approach the world as He does, where we are totally in sync with all we know our faith can be - we feel empty after it’s over. So we go after more of that, pursuing the experience as we would a fine red velvet cupcake. We sign up for another mission trip, buy a ticket to a worship concert, do a 40-day fast, all in hopes we’ll feel something awesome in exchange.
Some of us try harder at our practices and go to extremes with confession and “penances”, while others of us determine exactly what must be done when it comes to obedience and discipline so we can achieve our desired results. It becomes all about me and fulfilling my own desires, even if it looks like I’m dedicating myself and my actions to Christ.
What makes something good or bad? As I’ve come to learn in my years post-elementary school, it usually comes down to motive.
As 1 Samuel 16:7 (ESV) says, “For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
This topic of spiritual gluttony naturally led me to think about my fast, which just hit a full week today. I am fasting from an assortment of things, including sweets. Consequently, I am learning to appreciate the background players of my diet: Toast sans jelly, plain yogurt, naked decaf coffee. My dessert is fruit without enhancement, and I snack on carrots and nuts. Truth be told, it’s really good! These foods may not have the zing of blackberry pie or the soothing aroma of chocolate chip cookies, but they are good for me and ought to make up the bulk of my menu so I can appreciate those other treats when they make cameos.
I love sweetness, but St. John of the Cross reminds me that I must practice moderation in all things, including, somewhat counterintuitively, that which is related to my faith.
My daughter repeatedly showcases the danger of making desserts a regular part of life. Her “nap”setting was not installed in utero, so we have had to gradually shape her behavior into having daily sleep intervals. Part of this is giving her a “treat” after naptime when she has successfully gone to bed without protest or an extended playtime following tuck-in, and awakened without throwing a tantrum.
As she gains practice and gets older, this becomes more the rule than the exception, and she almost always gets her reward. However, she expects a treat every afternoon like those she got in those early days of exasperation when we were prepared to buy her Willy Wonka’s entire Chocolate Factory. So when I offer her half an orange or two stickers, she laughs - laughs! - and reminds me of the definition of a treat. (Mind you, it’s her own definition, but I understand how she pieced it together.)
She is unable to appreciate these other gifts I want to give her because she has made sugary “goodness” her baseline.
Now, this is my own issue to work through, and I’m not going to go into the tangent that it requires for a thorough analysis and resolution. Suffice it to say, I’m recognizing that I need more oranges and stickers - or sometimes need to forego rewards altogether - so I can stay sensitized to the wide variety of goodnesses in life.
It was hitting so close to home that I thought maybe I was misreading it - putting my own thoughts into the 16-century monk’s head. So I looked up how others had received this writing, and they got the same thing out of it.
In summary, when we get close to God or go through a really intense time with Him - where our hearts beat as His, where we approach the world as He does, where we are totally in sync with all we know our faith can be - we feel empty after it’s over. So we go after more of that, pursuing the experience as we would a fine red velvet cupcake. We sign up for another mission trip, buy a ticket to a worship concert, do a 40-day fast, all in hopes we’ll feel something awesome in exchange.
Some of us try harder at our practices and go to extremes with confession and “penances”, while others of us determine exactly what must be done when it comes to obedience and discipline so we can achieve our desired results. It becomes all about me and fulfilling my own desires, even if it looks like I’m dedicating myself and my actions to Christ.
What makes something good or bad? As I’ve come to learn in my years post-elementary school, it usually comes down to motive.
As 1 Samuel 16:7 (ESV) says, “For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
This topic of spiritual gluttony naturally led me to think about my fast, which just hit a full week today. I am fasting from an assortment of things, including sweets. Consequently, I am learning to appreciate the background players of my diet: Toast sans jelly, plain yogurt, naked decaf coffee. My dessert is fruit without enhancement, and I snack on carrots and nuts. Truth be told, it’s really good! These foods may not have the zing of blackberry pie or the soothing aroma of chocolate chip cookies, but they are good for me and ought to make up the bulk of my menu so I can appreciate those other treats when they make cameos.
I love sweetness, but St. John of the Cross reminds me that I must practice moderation in all things, including, somewhat counterintuitively, that which is related to my faith.
My daughter repeatedly showcases the danger of making desserts a regular part of life. Her “nap”setting was not installed in utero, so we have had to gradually shape her behavior into having daily sleep intervals. Part of this is giving her a “treat” after naptime when she has successfully gone to bed without protest or an extended playtime following tuck-in, and awakened without throwing a tantrum.
As she gains practice and gets older, this becomes more the rule than the exception, and she almost always gets her reward. However, she expects a treat every afternoon like those she got in those early days of exasperation when we were prepared to buy her Willy Wonka’s entire Chocolate Factory. So when I offer her half an orange or two stickers, she laughs - laughs! - and reminds me of the definition of a treat. (Mind you, it’s her own definition, but I understand how she pieced it together.)
She is unable to appreciate these other gifts I want to give her because she has made sugary “goodness” her baseline.
Now, this is my own issue to work through, and I’m not going to go into the tangent that it requires for a thorough analysis and resolution. Suffice it to say, I’m recognizing that I need more oranges and stickers - or sometimes need to forego rewards altogether - so I can stay sensitized to the wide variety of goodnesses in life.
1.07.2016
The Countdown
In less than 48 hours, I will be entering a modified Daniel Fast. There is nothing magical about this type of fast; I think it’s just more accessible for many of us. Because I’m still breastfeeding twin boys several times a day, I’m not going to complicate my life by changing this family’s entire diet for 10 days. That would inevitably turn the fast itself into an idol, as I’d scurry about the kitchen picking my brain and the mass brain of the internet for recipes and nutritional considerations.
To me, it matters less what I’m fasting from and more if I’m holding my commitment as sacred, meeting with Christ in the midst of the self-denial. He knows my heart, and He’s the One who, in Isaiah 58, detailed a preferred fast as one of taking care of others, not being the best at saying no to the offer of a free soy no water chai tea latte at Starbucks.
Matthew 21:28-32 tells the story of two sons, one who promised to do work but did not, and one who said he would not do work but eventually did. I never want to fall into the trap of the first, overcommitting and under-delivering. Earlier in that gospel, in Matthew 5:37, Jesus says to just let your yes or your no stand alone, and I am stingy with my yeses for this reason!
So I’m getting myself into the mindset of fasting, removing things from my kitchen that could entice me: canisters of caffeinated coffee, bottles of cabernet sauvignon, plates of cherry pie. I’m altering my schedule so I need to be more intentional in my activities, so I don’t mindlessly fall into the routine of checking my friends’ status updates on Facebook after I put the kids to bed.
I’m also breathing deeply, asking my loving Daddy to prepare in me a desire to stay the course with my sisters who have also dedicated themselves to this 10-day spiritual excursion. To me, this is one of the most exciting parts of the next week-and-a-half: We’re doing this together. It’s all online, but we’re praying for and encouraging each other as a community. There are few better ways to seal a friendship than through suffering together. This is why my neighbor goes to the VFW every day to drink beer and swap stories with his fellow veterans; this is why the early church was described so romantically in the book of Acts, even though it had a lot of kinks to work out.
But cohesiveness is only one outcome I’m anticipating. I have done various fasts - nothing big, so don’t consider me anything more than a curious novice on this topic. What I can attest to is the indelible and tremendous impact fasting has on one’s spiritual life. Through weekly fasting, I’ve witnessed the restoration of my marriage, an incredible deepening of my relationship with my Creator and Lover of my soul, and a renewed sense of purpose. I’ve had insight into tough decisions, peace in tumultuous life-monsoons, and an unshakeable sense of God’s goodness.
As with tithing, when I’ve emptied myself, the Spirit has filled me up every time, and with more than I’d given up.
I was not raised in a church that practiced fasting. This is not a statement against that church; it was simply not part of its faith tradition. However, my dad and mom decided a few Januarys ago to join me in the Daniel Fast through the church Bob and I were attending. He told me afterward that, once the fast had concluded, he had a significant meeting regarding the missions work they were doing and a stomach-churning, prolonged impasse that had been reached. At the meeting, the Holy Spirit was present and the impasse was not. It was nowhere to be seen. No trace of it.
Stormie Omartian talks about how combining prayer and fasting allows the Spirit access to tear down strongholds in our lives that wouldn’t take place with just prayer. It’s like the demon that couldn’t be cast out by the disciples; Jesus said in Mark 9:29 (at least, in numerous translations) that its eviction required prayer and fasting. And this is what Dad experienced in that meeting. And this is what I’ve experienced through my own times of sacrifice.
Since I wasn’t raised with this discipline, it’s still somewhat daunting every time I step toward it. But I am blessed each time, and I am strengthened in my inner self through this intense flow of energy between leaf and Vine.
I am praying that this time of fasting will empty me of my own plans for 2016 so I can grasp those of the Author. There has been considerable stirring my heart, and I need to relinquish any control I’ve fooled myself into thinking I have. My goal at the end of 10 days? To be less me and more Him. That sounds so churchy, so Christianese, so holier-than-thou, but it’s what I desperately need and crave as I enter into the next phase of ministry to and with others.
In 48 hours, I will be offering my life up to be transformed. I’ll be doing it with others. And I’m solidly, uncontainably geeked.
To me, it matters less what I’m fasting from and more if I’m holding my commitment as sacred, meeting with Christ in the midst of the self-denial. He knows my heart, and He’s the One who, in Isaiah 58, detailed a preferred fast as one of taking care of others, not being the best at saying no to the offer of a free soy no water chai tea latte at Starbucks.
Matthew 21:28-32 tells the story of two sons, one who promised to do work but did not, and one who said he would not do work but eventually did. I never want to fall into the trap of the first, overcommitting and under-delivering. Earlier in that gospel, in Matthew 5:37, Jesus says to just let your yes or your no stand alone, and I am stingy with my yeses for this reason!
So I’m getting myself into the mindset of fasting, removing things from my kitchen that could entice me: canisters of caffeinated coffee, bottles of cabernet sauvignon, plates of cherry pie. I’m altering my schedule so I need to be more intentional in my activities, so I don’t mindlessly fall into the routine of checking my friends’ status updates on Facebook after I put the kids to bed.
I’m also breathing deeply, asking my loving Daddy to prepare in me a desire to stay the course with my sisters who have also dedicated themselves to this 10-day spiritual excursion. To me, this is one of the most exciting parts of the next week-and-a-half: We’re doing this together. It’s all online, but we’re praying for and encouraging each other as a community. There are few better ways to seal a friendship than through suffering together. This is why my neighbor goes to the VFW every day to drink beer and swap stories with his fellow veterans; this is why the early church was described so romantically in the book of Acts, even though it had a lot of kinks to work out.
But cohesiveness is only one outcome I’m anticipating. I have done various fasts - nothing big, so don’t consider me anything more than a curious novice on this topic. What I can attest to is the indelible and tremendous impact fasting has on one’s spiritual life. Through weekly fasting, I’ve witnessed the restoration of my marriage, an incredible deepening of my relationship with my Creator and Lover of my soul, and a renewed sense of purpose. I’ve had insight into tough decisions, peace in tumultuous life-monsoons, and an unshakeable sense of God’s goodness.
As with tithing, when I’ve emptied myself, the Spirit has filled me up every time, and with more than I’d given up.
I was not raised in a church that practiced fasting. This is not a statement against that church; it was simply not part of its faith tradition. However, my dad and mom decided a few Januarys ago to join me in the Daniel Fast through the church Bob and I were attending. He told me afterward that, once the fast had concluded, he had a significant meeting regarding the missions work they were doing and a stomach-churning, prolonged impasse that had been reached. At the meeting, the Holy Spirit was present and the impasse was not. It was nowhere to be seen. No trace of it.
Stormie Omartian talks about how combining prayer and fasting allows the Spirit access to tear down strongholds in our lives that wouldn’t take place with just prayer. It’s like the demon that couldn’t be cast out by the disciples; Jesus said in Mark 9:29 (at least, in numerous translations) that its eviction required prayer and fasting. And this is what Dad experienced in that meeting. And this is what I’ve experienced through my own times of sacrifice.
Since I wasn’t raised with this discipline, it’s still somewhat daunting every time I step toward it. But I am blessed each time, and I am strengthened in my inner self through this intense flow of energy between leaf and Vine.
I am praying that this time of fasting will empty me of my own plans for 2016 so I can grasp those of the Author. There has been considerable stirring my heart, and I need to relinquish any control I’ve fooled myself into thinking I have. My goal at the end of 10 days? To be less me and more Him. That sounds so churchy, so Christianese, so holier-than-thou, but it’s what I desperately need and crave as I enter into the next phase of ministry to and with others.
In 48 hours, I will be offering my life up to be transformed. I’ll be doing it with others. And I’m solidly, uncontainably geeked.
12.11.2015
From the other side of the chrysalis
I've had a few weeks to process the dissolution of our weekly Milkweed Momdays. This past Monday was the first without the Bible study written on my calendar. (To be more accurate, it was written on the calendar, but I crossed it off.)
Through reflections both in solitude and in the safe exploration afforded by the presence of gentle and wise friends, my perspective is widening beyond the sacrifice of my "baby" on that mountain. I'm still grieving the loss of the group, but I've begun to see it more as a change, an apotheosis as opposed to a death.
Here's what I've realized. The Shepherd had been leading me and the members of Milkweed along still waters, instructing us to rest and receive in the cool, plush grass. Many of us were in need of healing, a regrouping in loving, Christ-centered community. One mama told me that she came because, in her words, "I had to." Others agreed with that sentiment, driving incredible distances because they too felt compelled to plunge into the Word and open their souls to one another so as to root down deep into good soil. And we grew up fortified, as Milkweed should be, and we nourished one another and were nourished by our Source.
But that place of respite was not where the Shepherd wanted to leave us. He, who is also the Gardener, wanted to prune us so we could mature and spread.
Had our loving Daddy not nudged me to surrender the group to Him on that pre-Thanksgiving day, it may have stayed as a place of receiving. But Milkweed has always been His project, and He wanted it - wanted us - to stop taking in and start giving out. Now we had the foundation of relationships, accountability, prayer, and study of His Word, which is what disciple-makers need to follow the Great Commission in Matthew 28:18-20. The Spirit kept bringing this passage back to my mind:
~No prolonged infancies among us, please. We’ll not tolerate babes in the woods, small children who are an easy mark for impostors. God wants us to grow up, to know the whole truth and tell it in love—like Christ in everything. We take our lead from Christ, who is the source of everything we do. He keeps us in step with each other. His very breath and blood flow through us, nourishing us so that we will grow up healthy in God, robust in love.~
Ephesians 4:14-16 (MSG)
Here's what is so exciting to me: Since we ended the weekly in-person meeting times, many members have reported they have had opportunities to start meeting with other women, sharing their faith, discipling them, encouraging them in their walks with Jesus. The Shepherd is leading us onward, into the dark valleys, to bring Jesus' light out of the 2-year-olds' room at First Christian Church and into the hearts of the lost and the hurting. YAY GOD!
My dear friends, if you know people who have wandered off from God’s truth, don’t write them off. Go after them. Get them back and you will have rescued precious lives from destruction and prevented an epidemic of wandering away from God.
James 5:19-20 (MSG)
I still don't understand all of this, but I am in awe of what Daddy has revealed thus far. And I am riddled with delicious anxiety for what He is going to do next.
Thank you all for being part of this adventure! The best is yet to come...
~This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?” God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what’s coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance! We go through exactly what Christ goes through. If we go through the hard times with him, then we’re certainly going to go through the good times with him!~
Romans 8:15-17 (MSG)
Through reflections both in solitude and in the safe exploration afforded by the presence of gentle and wise friends, my perspective is widening beyond the sacrifice of my "baby" on that mountain. I'm still grieving the loss of the group, but I've begun to see it more as a change, an apotheosis as opposed to a death.
Here's what I've realized. The Shepherd had been leading me and the members of Milkweed along still waters, instructing us to rest and receive in the cool, plush grass. Many of us were in need of healing, a regrouping in loving, Christ-centered community. One mama told me that she came because, in her words, "I had to." Others agreed with that sentiment, driving incredible distances because they too felt compelled to plunge into the Word and open their souls to one another so as to root down deep into good soil. And we grew up fortified, as Milkweed should be, and we nourished one another and were nourished by our Source.
But that place of respite was not where the Shepherd wanted to leave us. He, who is also the Gardener, wanted to prune us so we could mature and spread.
Had our loving Daddy not nudged me to surrender the group to Him on that pre-Thanksgiving day, it may have stayed as a place of receiving. But Milkweed has always been His project, and He wanted it - wanted us - to stop taking in and start giving out. Now we had the foundation of relationships, accountability, prayer, and study of His Word, which is what disciple-makers need to follow the Great Commission in Matthew 28:18-20. The Spirit kept bringing this passage back to my mind:
~No prolonged infancies among us, please. We’ll not tolerate babes in the woods, small children who are an easy mark for impostors. God wants us to grow up, to know the whole truth and tell it in love—like Christ in everything. We take our lead from Christ, who is the source of everything we do. He keeps us in step with each other. His very breath and blood flow through us, nourishing us so that we will grow up healthy in God, robust in love.~
Ephesians 4:14-16 (MSG)
Here's what is so exciting to me: Since we ended the weekly in-person meeting times, many members have reported they have had opportunities to start meeting with other women, sharing their faith, discipling them, encouraging them in their walks with Jesus. The Shepherd is leading us onward, into the dark valleys, to bring Jesus' light out of the 2-year-olds' room at First Christian Church and into the hearts of the lost and the hurting. YAY GOD!
My dear friends, if you know people who have wandered off from God’s truth, don’t write them off. Go after them. Get them back and you will have rescued precious lives from destruction and prevented an epidemic of wandering away from God.
James 5:19-20 (MSG)
I still don't understand all of this, but I am in awe of what Daddy has revealed thus far. And I am riddled with delicious anxiety for what He is going to do next.
Thank you all for being part of this adventure! The best is yet to come...
~This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?” God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what’s coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance! We go through exactly what Christ goes through. If we go through the hard times with him, then we’re certainly going to go through the good times with him!~
Romans 8:15-17 (MSG)
12.03.2015
Unsent
Dear Shawn,
It has been exactly 10 years since we met. If you hadn't left this earth that day in July, I wouldn't have realized this. I also wouldn't find myself tearing up at thoughts of eating toast at a family restaurant, or searching intensely through my CD collection for that scratched-up disc with "Trudy" scrawled on it which we found in a parking lot, deciding I absolutely must keep it.
You had been burned by a coworker; I had been burned by a workplace. We were partners on the job and cautious to engage personally. I discovered you had advocated for me to get the position, even though you hadn't known me. Screw the boundaries - that endeared you to me forever.
Advocating is what you did, who you were. You were a social worker in every cell of your body.
We worked with kids, but neither of us had any; neither of us wanted any. You succeeded in that goal. I'm deliriously happy with my failure there.
I'm going to miss you, even though we haven't seen each other in over five years. I had invited you to my birthday party when my parents still lived in Michigan; you couldn't make it because you were studying for your social work exam. Always so dedicated. I was proud of you, regardless of the outcome of that standardized test.
We talked on the phone, through the Internet and, our shared favorite, by written correspondence. I came across one in a pile the other day - a card you had written me after I had become a mother. In your characteristic fashion, you ran out of room and took your expansive, blooming printed letters onto a small stack of notes piled within it. That handwriting encapsulated my mental depiction of you: welcoming, flowing, not concerned about limits or minutiae.
You once handed me a CD by the band Keane. You'd bought it thinking it was Kanye (West) and were disappointed by the purchase. You weren't embarrassed by the mistake; you moved forward with transparency and laughter, then gave the album to someone you thought might appreciate the music.
You gave. Without thought or pretense, you just handed things to me to keep. Many became treasures. (Keane did not.) I admired how pragmatic you were, all the while housing a sensitive heart that could tap into others' needs and address them.
I have the ornate clock you gave for our wedding. Not on our registry, nothing I would have thought to seek out, but it's one of my favorite presents because it was gilded with careful thoughtfulness. It hasn't had batteries in it in years, but it has always held a place of prominence in our home, a beautiful reminder of the joy of unexpected gifts.
I'm endlessly grateful God brought us together for our season. You helped me recognize my caffeine dependency, I gave you a copy of 'Jesus Calling'. I'll never forget your allegation that the author, Sarah Young, was stalking you based on how timely her insights were per devotion.
We talked about life beyond small talk and clichéd philosophies. We talked experience, perception, theory, hope, and you regularly challenged me without a verbal confrontation. You were not made squeamish by the underbelly of humanity, didn't shy away from the darkness of living; it was all part of the story. All part of the richness of the discussion.
You told me about the illness while we were walking on treadmills. It was our only shared workout, but had I not moved out of state I'm certain we would have had many more. Your dad had been diagnosed, and it appeared your sister would be, too. It was troubling, but you could cope because that's what you knew how to do.
A few years later, you told me you were diagnosed. I didn't know what that meant until your communications became more disorganized, your planning less long-range. We talked on the phone, and you were approaching the final stages of grief - I had missed the first three, although you probably continued to bounce in and out of them.
It became harder to know how you were. We didn't share a friend group, so when you wouldn't return messages I didn't know what to think. I'd just pray and wait.
You were going through so much loss in your life, and I kept a distance so as not to add the stress of updating your absent friend. You chided me for that. I saved that voicemail. As long as my iPhone allows it, I'll keep it.
Your mom was the one who took over communique after you could no longer text. She was gracious and kind, despite grieving the loss of her partner and the impending loss of a daughter, both to the same black hole. She reminded me of the ladybug outfit you two picked out for my daughter when she was a newborn. It resides in a "keep-me" box, its color faded from frequent wearings.
I cried when she said you were in a coma. My kids didn't know what to make of my tears. The boys were still infants, but I sat my daughter down with the 24-piece puzzle you'd given her and explained who you were and that you would be seeing Jesus soon.
You went home to Him later that week. My daughter put the puzzle together for the first time after the news came from your mom. It was the best tribute I could imagine.
It's the holidays, when we think of those we love, and even more so those we have lost. I am approaching my birthday again, remembering the one you had to miss. I'm not sure why I'm sitting in this memory in particular, but it is an honor to have it to wrap around me because it reminds me that I wanted you there and you wanted to be there and we existed in one another's hearts. And, in the end, isn't that what true friendship is?
Thank you, Shawn, for journeying with me, sharing with me, and coaxing me out to play. Thank you for being consistently you.
By His grace & in His time,
--j
It has been exactly 10 years since we met. If you hadn't left this earth that day in July, I wouldn't have realized this. I also wouldn't find myself tearing up at thoughts of eating toast at a family restaurant, or searching intensely through my CD collection for that scratched-up disc with "Trudy" scrawled on it which we found in a parking lot, deciding I absolutely must keep it.
You had been burned by a coworker; I had been burned by a workplace. We were partners on the job and cautious to engage personally. I discovered you had advocated for me to get the position, even though you hadn't known me. Screw the boundaries - that endeared you to me forever.
Advocating is what you did, who you were. You were a social worker in every cell of your body.
We worked with kids, but neither of us had any; neither of us wanted any. You succeeded in that goal. I'm deliriously happy with my failure there.
I'm going to miss you, even though we haven't seen each other in over five years. I had invited you to my birthday party when my parents still lived in Michigan; you couldn't make it because you were studying for your social work exam. Always so dedicated. I was proud of you, regardless of the outcome of that standardized test.
We talked on the phone, through the Internet and, our shared favorite, by written correspondence. I came across one in a pile the other day - a card you had written me after I had become a mother. In your characteristic fashion, you ran out of room and took your expansive, blooming printed letters onto a small stack of notes piled within it. That handwriting encapsulated my mental depiction of you: welcoming, flowing, not concerned about limits or minutiae.
You once handed me a CD by the band Keane. You'd bought it thinking it was Kanye (West) and were disappointed by the purchase. You weren't embarrassed by the mistake; you moved forward with transparency and laughter, then gave the album to someone you thought might appreciate the music.
You gave. Without thought or pretense, you just handed things to me to keep. Many became treasures. (Keane did not.) I admired how pragmatic you were, all the while housing a sensitive heart that could tap into others' needs and address them.
I have the ornate clock you gave for our wedding. Not on our registry, nothing I would have thought to seek out, but it's one of my favorite presents because it was gilded with careful thoughtfulness. It hasn't had batteries in it in years, but it has always held a place of prominence in our home, a beautiful reminder of the joy of unexpected gifts.
I'm endlessly grateful God brought us together for our season. You helped me recognize my caffeine dependency, I gave you a copy of 'Jesus Calling'. I'll never forget your allegation that the author, Sarah Young, was stalking you based on how timely her insights were per devotion.
We talked about life beyond small talk and clichéd philosophies. We talked experience, perception, theory, hope, and you regularly challenged me without a verbal confrontation. You were not made squeamish by the underbelly of humanity, didn't shy away from the darkness of living; it was all part of the story. All part of the richness of the discussion.
You told me about the illness while we were walking on treadmills. It was our only shared workout, but had I not moved out of state I'm certain we would have had many more. Your dad had been diagnosed, and it appeared your sister would be, too. It was troubling, but you could cope because that's what you knew how to do.
A few years later, you told me you were diagnosed. I didn't know what that meant until your communications became more disorganized, your planning less long-range. We talked on the phone, and you were approaching the final stages of grief - I had missed the first three, although you probably continued to bounce in and out of them.
It became harder to know how you were. We didn't share a friend group, so when you wouldn't return messages I didn't know what to think. I'd just pray and wait.
You were going through so much loss in your life, and I kept a distance so as not to add the stress of updating your absent friend. You chided me for that. I saved that voicemail. As long as my iPhone allows it, I'll keep it.
Your mom was the one who took over communique after you could no longer text. She was gracious and kind, despite grieving the loss of her partner and the impending loss of a daughter, both to the same black hole. She reminded me of the ladybug outfit you two picked out for my daughter when she was a newborn. It resides in a "keep-me" box, its color faded from frequent wearings.
I cried when she said you were in a coma. My kids didn't know what to make of my tears. The boys were still infants, but I sat my daughter down with the 24-piece puzzle you'd given her and explained who you were and that you would be seeing Jesus soon.
You went home to Him later that week. My daughter put the puzzle together for the first time after the news came from your mom. It was the best tribute I could imagine.
It's the holidays, when we think of those we love, and even more so those we have lost. I am approaching my birthday again, remembering the one you had to miss. I'm not sure why I'm sitting in this memory in particular, but it is an honor to have it to wrap around me because it reminds me that I wanted you there and you wanted to be there and we existed in one another's hearts. And, in the end, isn't that what true friendship is?
Thank you, Shawn, for journeying with me, sharing with me, and coaxing me out to play. Thank you for being consistently you.
By His grace & in His time,
--j
11.22.2015
Cocoons
On November 1 of this year, I wrote in my journal, "I feel like something is about to turn."
The next day, we met for our weekly Milkweed Momday and launched one of our own monarch butterflies, a mama named Jamie, out of our milkweed and into her new adventure.
"How exciting," I mused to my Shepherd. "Now, what's next?"
I felt Him inviting me up a mountain. It looked like a beautiful hike. "Make sure you bring your baby," He told me.
And as I climbed, I realized the baby was none of my three biological kiddos. No, it was the Milkweed group. I was praying over the members, checking in with them, prepping for our time together each Momday, posting to them in our online forum in between groups - what had been His creation had certainly become one of my precious children.
It was then that I realized He was getting ready to do a dramatic reenactment of Abraham and Isaac in Genesis 22, asking me to sacrifice that which I loved so dearly. No worries, I thought, there will certainly be a ram caught in the bushes up ahead.
I invited my prayer pals into the journey, sisters in Christ who have stood with me, holding up my arms and carrying hope through dark seasons, and who have also leapt with me during joyful celebrations. They listened, prayed, counseled, and encouraged me, and I was again reminded of the beauty of authentic, mutual community.
This past weekend, I arrived at the altar. I got ready to surrender Milkweed to Him, then looked around for the ram. There was none. The Shepherd just stood there, arms open, asking if He could have the group. And, with tears in my eyes, I handed it over.
I don't know what is next. What I do know is the peace that I have accomplished what He called me to do in the Bible study/prayer group/play group so many of us have enjoyed. We ladies have entered in pain, confusion, crisis, loneliness; we have abided, cocooned, and most have flown off with their beautiful wings fashioned by the Creator.
And it has been wonderful.
I have peace I can confidently say with Paul:
~I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.~
2 Timothy 4:7
The online Milkweed group will continue, and we'll see what our loving Daddy has in store as we continue to do community virtually!
I'm going to end this difficult goodbye to our Milkweed Momdays with one of my favorite quotes from Pastor Erwin McManus of Mosaic:
~I don't know if you know this about butterflies, but there's a transitional period when they're still in the cocoon, and they don't know they're a butterfly. They think they're a caterpillar. And in that moment it must be incredibly disturbing to realize that you no longer fit in your home. See, a cocoon is a perfect home for a caterpillar, but it's not the right kind of home for a butterfly. And there has to be a moment when that butterfly realizes that it has new appendages that are called wings, and it begins to break out of its cocoon, destroying what once gave it safety and security, that place called "home", so that it could fly and experience life in a way it had never known and would never know as a caterpillar.~
See you on the other side of the cocoon, my friends.
The next day, we met for our weekly Milkweed Momday and launched one of our own monarch butterflies, a mama named Jamie, out of our milkweed and into her new adventure.
"How exciting," I mused to my Shepherd. "Now, what's next?"
I felt Him inviting me up a mountain. It looked like a beautiful hike. "Make sure you bring your baby," He told me.
And as I climbed, I realized the baby was none of my three biological kiddos. No, it was the Milkweed group. I was praying over the members, checking in with them, prepping for our time together each Momday, posting to them in our online forum in between groups - what had been His creation had certainly become one of my precious children.
It was then that I realized He was getting ready to do a dramatic reenactment of Abraham and Isaac in Genesis 22, asking me to sacrifice that which I loved so dearly. No worries, I thought, there will certainly be a ram caught in the bushes up ahead.
I invited my prayer pals into the journey, sisters in Christ who have stood with me, holding up my arms and carrying hope through dark seasons, and who have also leapt with me during joyful celebrations. They listened, prayed, counseled, and encouraged me, and I was again reminded of the beauty of authentic, mutual community.
This past weekend, I arrived at the altar. I got ready to surrender Milkweed to Him, then looked around for the ram. There was none. The Shepherd just stood there, arms open, asking if He could have the group. And, with tears in my eyes, I handed it over.
I don't know what is next. What I do know is the peace that I have accomplished what He called me to do in the Bible study/prayer group/play group so many of us have enjoyed. We ladies have entered in pain, confusion, crisis, loneliness; we have abided, cocooned, and most have flown off with their beautiful wings fashioned by the Creator.
And it has been wonderful.
I have peace I can confidently say with Paul:
~I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.~
2 Timothy 4:7
The online Milkweed group will continue, and we'll see what our loving Daddy has in store as we continue to do community virtually!
I'm going to end this difficult goodbye to our Milkweed Momdays with one of my favorite quotes from Pastor Erwin McManus of Mosaic:
~I don't know if you know this about butterflies, but there's a transitional period when they're still in the cocoon, and they don't know they're a butterfly. They think they're a caterpillar. And in that moment it must be incredibly disturbing to realize that you no longer fit in your home. See, a cocoon is a perfect home for a caterpillar, but it's not the right kind of home for a butterfly. And there has to be a moment when that butterfly realizes that it has new appendages that are called wings, and it begins to break out of its cocoon, destroying what once gave it safety and security, that place called "home", so that it could fly and experience life in a way it had never known and would never know as a caterpillar.~
See you on the other side of the cocoon, my friends.
11.08.2015
Holes in Wood
There is a popular anecdote about a kid with anger issues. Here's a version of it:
Often, the point drawn from this story is that words hurt. But I want to focus on something else: The power of the wood left behind. Let me explain.
One of my friends in high school was a cutter. I was fascinated by his scars - not because I was macabre (although I was), but because he had stopped self-injuring and become a Christian. Those scars were now part of his redemption story. He was embarrassed by them, hid them with long sleeves, but to me they were beautiful banners of God's transformation and healing.
I love those visual reminders of our journeys.
I love that we have proof that we haven't always been where we are today.
I love that these "holes in wood" keep us humble, keep us permanent students.
My daughter became a permanent student at 9 months of age. She has a scar on her forehead from being too headstrong in a porcelain bathtub. Hilarious symbolism aside, it will be a great opportunity for us to teach her as she gets older that she's already reaped lifelong consequences of disregarding wise counsel.
And learning continues in our home. I have a scar on my arm from hurrying too much while cooking, receiving a long kiss one evening from the oven rack. You better believe that I've slowed down considerably in the kitchen!
See, we all have holes in wood from bad habits, signature sins, our pasts. Some of us hide them, denying them and, consequently, their power from our testimony. But wouldn't it be great if we embraced them as our loving Daddy has, weaving them into our connected stories so others can learn from them, be encouraged by them, praise God for how he has brought us to our current place of being? Maybe a little something like the letters found at Verses 3 to 5...
I hope the dad in the story decided to keep the fence as it was. That way, the son will always be reminded of his temper, but also grace and redemption.
"'There once
was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of
nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a
nail into the back of the fence.
The first day the boy had driven 37
nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control
his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down.
He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails
into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his
temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that
the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his
temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his
father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand
and led him to the fence He said, 'You have done well, my son, but look
at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you
say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a
knife in a man and draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say
I'm sorry, the wound is still there.'
The little boy then understood how powerful his words were. He looked up
at his father and said 'I hope you can forgive me father for the holes I
put in you.'
'Of course I can,' said the father."
Often, the point drawn from this story is that words hurt. But I want to focus on something else: The power of the wood left behind. Let me explain.
One of my friends in high school was a cutter. I was fascinated by his scars - not because I was macabre (although I was), but because he had stopped self-injuring and become a Christian. Those scars were now part of his redemption story. He was embarrassed by them, hid them with long sleeves, but to me they were beautiful banners of God's transformation and healing.
I love those visual reminders of our journeys.
I love that we have proof that we haven't always been where we are today.
I love that these "holes in wood" keep us humble, keep us permanent students.
My daughter became a permanent student at 9 months of age. She has a scar on her forehead from being too headstrong in a porcelain bathtub. Hilarious symbolism aside, it will be a great opportunity for us to teach her as she gets older that she's already reaped lifelong consequences of disregarding wise counsel.
And learning continues in our home. I have a scar on my arm from hurrying too much while cooking, receiving a long kiss one evening from the oven rack. You better believe that I've slowed down considerably in the kitchen!
See, we all have holes in wood from bad habits, signature sins, our pasts. Some of us hide them, denying them and, consequently, their power from our testimony. But wouldn't it be great if we embraced them as our loving Daddy has, weaving them into our connected stories so others can learn from them, be encouraged by them, praise God for how he has brought us to our current place of being? Maybe a little something like the letters found at Verses 3 to 5...
I hope the dad in the story decided to keep the fence as it was. That way, the son will always be reminded of his temper, but also grace and redemption.
11.05.2015
Trajectory
The videos I store in my head seem to be cataloged into three categories:
1. Life-changing moments
2. Non-life-changing moments that still made an impact for some reason
3. Things that pop up from time to time which I've forgotten about until God has some reason to remind me of them
On my anniversary, I'm playing the memory of standing on that playground in October 2007, shivering with friends and family from the damp coolness as my fiance slides a ring onto my finger.
As I'm hanging ornaments, I'm remembering that weird commercial for a Santa hotline my brothers and I laughed at during our preteen years, singing the jingle ad nauseum for our parents and creating obscure parodies for our own enjoyment.
Today, I had a Category 3 visit. Every time this memory leaps onto my mental landscape, I'm amazed it hasn't taken up permanent residence in Category 1. But I'm grateful it hasn't because it's maintained its potency each time the Spirit has brought it back. Here's the story.
When I was dating a guy I probably shouldn't have ever dated, I was invited to be in a wedding. I had never been in a wedding, and I didn't know what I was getting into, and I'm going to skip that story because I think it has passed its point of being useful for any kind of edification. The end of it was that I was no longer going to the wedding, and I suddenly had my Memorial Day weekend free.
That Sunday, I was at church, responding to a gentle but persistent nudging at my heart. "I surrender," I told God. "Take my life, and do what You want with it."
The next day, I was en route with my paramour and some friends to an amusement park. We had to take a few expressways to get there, and, not being the driver, I had brought along a book to read in the backseat for the two-hour trip.
I looked up just as the driver jerked the car to the right, causing us to fly off the road and into the downhill embankment. We careened through wet ditches and weeds, until the SUV came to a full stop with its nose pointing upward toward the highway and its rear wheels locked in mud.
"What happened?" we all exclaimed in unison. The driver pointed back at the road, at a car parked in the right lane of traffic. No one was in it, but as we scanned toward the waist-high weeds we had just blown past, we saw a figure emerging and tugging at his pants zipper.
Yes. This individual had parked his car in the road to pee. And we should have all been dead.
By God's grace and that alone, our driver had made a knee-jerk maneuver as soon as the car in front of him swiped to the left because of the parked car. Had our driver gone left, we would have been in an accident. Instead, we went right, and the area where we landed was safe enough to "drive" on. We were in a 4x4 vehicle that had not flipped over despite its trajectory, and no one was injured.
A few days later, my beau and I broke up. It wasn't until quite some time after that I put it together that my cry to God on Sunday had brought on this about-face, making us all reevaluate the trajectory of our own lives. I had not been injured in the accident or the relationship, but my loving Daddy had something bigger and better for me, and He needed me to let go of what was holding me back.
Definitely a Category 1 memory.
And after I'm done praising Him for this, I'll go back to forgetting it until He wants to remind me again of His power, His plans, and His faithfulness.
1. Life-changing moments
2. Non-life-changing moments that still made an impact for some reason
3. Things that pop up from time to time which I've forgotten about until God has some reason to remind me of them
On my anniversary, I'm playing the memory of standing on that playground in October 2007, shivering with friends and family from the damp coolness as my fiance slides a ring onto my finger.
As I'm hanging ornaments, I'm remembering that weird commercial for a Santa hotline my brothers and I laughed at during our preteen years, singing the jingle ad nauseum for our parents and creating obscure parodies for our own enjoyment.
Today, I had a Category 3 visit. Every time this memory leaps onto my mental landscape, I'm amazed it hasn't taken up permanent residence in Category 1. But I'm grateful it hasn't because it's maintained its potency each time the Spirit has brought it back. Here's the story.
When I was dating a guy I probably shouldn't have ever dated, I was invited to be in a wedding. I had never been in a wedding, and I didn't know what I was getting into, and I'm going to skip that story because I think it has passed its point of being useful for any kind of edification. The end of it was that I was no longer going to the wedding, and I suddenly had my Memorial Day weekend free.
That Sunday, I was at church, responding to a gentle but persistent nudging at my heart. "I surrender," I told God. "Take my life, and do what You want with it."
The next day, I was en route with my paramour and some friends to an amusement park. We had to take a few expressways to get there, and, not being the driver, I had brought along a book to read in the backseat for the two-hour trip.
I looked up just as the driver jerked the car to the right, causing us to fly off the road and into the downhill embankment. We careened through wet ditches and weeds, until the SUV came to a full stop with its nose pointing upward toward the highway and its rear wheels locked in mud.
"What happened?" we all exclaimed in unison. The driver pointed back at the road, at a car parked in the right lane of traffic. No one was in it, but as we scanned toward the waist-high weeds we had just blown past, we saw a figure emerging and tugging at his pants zipper.
Yes. This individual had parked his car in the road to pee. And we should have all been dead.
By God's grace and that alone, our driver had made a knee-jerk maneuver as soon as the car in front of him swiped to the left because of the parked car. Had our driver gone left, we would have been in an accident. Instead, we went right, and the area where we landed was safe enough to "drive" on. We were in a 4x4 vehicle that had not flipped over despite its trajectory, and no one was injured.
A few days later, my beau and I broke up. It wasn't until quite some time after that I put it together that my cry to God on Sunday had brought on this about-face, making us all reevaluate the trajectory of our own lives. I had not been injured in the accident or the relationship, but my loving Daddy had something bigger and better for me, and He needed me to let go of what was holding me back.
Definitely a Category 1 memory.
And after I'm done praising Him for this, I'll go back to forgetting it until He wants to remind me again of His power, His plans, and His faithfulness.
11.01.2015
Toeing the line
I don't know many people who are great at hearing the word, "No."
In fact, as I typed that statement, I attempted to tally up everyone in my mental Rolodex who could graciously accept a negative response, and no one popped up. There has to be at least one person I know who is gifted in that area; I just don't have them on speed-dial for it.
And as I typed that last paragraph, I realized there is a large portion of the population who would not know what I was talking about when I referenced "Rolodex" and "speed-dial". But now I'm just growing tangential.
So "no" is not a welcome word for most of us. Lately, my 3-year-old daughter has been exemplifying for me what I do when I hear it.
Moxie: Can I stand on this chair?
Me: No. Climb down from it.
Moxie: Can I sit on it?
Me: Yes, you can sit on it.
Moxie: Can I kneel on it?
Me: Yes, you can kneel on it.
Moxie: Can I squat on it?
Me: Yes- Wait! Now you're standing on it again!
She hears the no, but then wants to know how close she can get to the line without crossing it. Actually, in her case, she doesn't care if she crosses it; in fact, she believes I may not notice her crossing it and all will be well.
And then I think about all the times I've done that with God.
He says, "Tithe," and I ask if it's okay if I hold back when it doesn't look like I can buy all our groceries that week.
He says, "Don't lie," and I ask if omitting information is okay.
He says, "Don't have any gods before me," and I ask if I can just have this one habit that He doesn't get to have say over. Just one. And it will be little. He'll hardly even notice it's there.
And that line, no matter what it is, is always so tempting. And once we have it in our mind as something to stay away from, it is now ironically luring us toward it.
~...but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.~
James 1:14-15 (NIV)
One of my friends did a sermon in high school - our youth group took over the church once a year and pretended we were the pastors for a Sunday - and he hit the nail on the head for a solution. I can't recall the context of this point, so pardon me as I just barge in with the gist of it:
Instead of asking how close can we get to the line, how about we look at what else we can be doing? How about we simply strive to stay away from the line?
For high-schoolers, of course this was referring to sex and all that leads up to it. And that's a discussion for a different day (Synopsis: We need to stop telling teens that premarital sex ruins their lives, and instead help them make good, informed decisions out of a personal passionate love for Jesus).
But even today I find myself asking those questions. When I'm tempted to worry, and I'm thinking, "Well, I could always just make a few plans, get some ducks in a row to help God out..." I need to take a breath and turn away from that delicious, gorgeous, magnetic line.
The Holy Spirit is helping me become more sensitive to my tendency to toe the line, praise God, and I'm usually catching myself before I get totally dragged away.
It also helps that I have a live-in little girl who reminds me how silly I look.
In fact, as I typed that statement, I attempted to tally up everyone in my mental Rolodex who could graciously accept a negative response, and no one popped up. There has to be at least one person I know who is gifted in that area; I just don't have them on speed-dial for it.
And as I typed that last paragraph, I realized there is a large portion of the population who would not know what I was talking about when I referenced "Rolodex" and "speed-dial". But now I'm just growing tangential.
So "no" is not a welcome word for most of us. Lately, my 3-year-old daughter has been exemplifying for me what I do when I hear it.
Moxie: Can I stand on this chair?
Me: No. Climb down from it.
Moxie: Can I sit on it?
Me: Yes, you can sit on it.
Moxie: Can I kneel on it?
Me: Yes, you can kneel on it.
Moxie: Can I squat on it?
Me: Yes- Wait! Now you're standing on it again!
She hears the no, but then wants to know how close she can get to the line without crossing it. Actually, in her case, she doesn't care if she crosses it; in fact, she believes I may not notice her crossing it and all will be well.
And then I think about all the times I've done that with God.
He says, "Tithe," and I ask if it's okay if I hold back when it doesn't look like I can buy all our groceries that week.
He says, "Don't lie," and I ask if omitting information is okay.
He says, "Don't have any gods before me," and I ask if I can just have this one habit that He doesn't get to have say over. Just one. And it will be little. He'll hardly even notice it's there.
And that line, no matter what it is, is always so tempting. And once we have it in our mind as something to stay away from, it is now ironically luring us toward it.
~...but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.~
James 1:14-15 (NIV)
One of my friends did a sermon in high school - our youth group took over the church once a year and pretended we were the pastors for a Sunday - and he hit the nail on the head for a solution. I can't recall the context of this point, so pardon me as I just barge in with the gist of it:
Instead of asking how close can we get to the line, how about we look at what else we can be doing? How about we simply strive to stay away from the line?
For high-schoolers, of course this was referring to sex and all that leads up to it. And that's a discussion for a different day (Synopsis: We need to stop telling teens that premarital sex ruins their lives, and instead help them make good, informed decisions out of a personal passionate love for Jesus).
But even today I find myself asking those questions. When I'm tempted to worry, and I'm thinking, "Well, I could always just make a few plans, get some ducks in a row to help God out..." I need to take a breath and turn away from that delicious, gorgeous, magnetic line.
The Holy Spirit is helping me become more sensitive to my tendency to toe the line, praise God, and I'm usually catching myself before I get totally dragged away.
It also helps that I have a live-in little girl who reminds me how silly I look.
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