Letting Go

One of my favorite TV ads from years ago is the Nestea Iced Tea Plunge commercial. In case you are one of the few people on the planet who has not seen it, it takes place in the backyard of Everybody's Neighbor on a hot day. The way I remember it is like this: a cool glass of iced tea is offered to the protagonist, who, upon taking a sip, looks likes she's just been transported to another world. She is so refreshed and euphoric that she falls backwards into a swimming pool directly behind her. She has taken 'The Plunge'.

I can't be sure if that's exactly how the ad went because when I tried to check it on the Internet, I discovered that all the videos have been removed. It is sometimes referred to now as the "Infamous Nestea Ad." I can only assume that someone tried it in his own backyard, got hurt, and sued the company.

Letting go is risky and sometimes dangerous. One piece of advice my husband gave our kids when they were looking for new jobs involved the 'law of the jungle": not letting go of one vine until you have hold of another. A trapeze artist, on the other hand, lets go at the last possible moment, hurls herself through the air, and grabs her partner's hands midair, seemingly to defy gravity, as well as all sense of reason, wisdom, and sanity. She has to trust those hands are going to be there when she lets go.

This is precisely what God asks us to do-- to let go and trust Him completely. It's hard to fathom why or how the original followers of Jesus were able to do this. Jesus walked by, called to them, one by one, and asked each one to follow Him. They dropped what they were doing, left everything behind--jobs, family, homes-- and followed Him . . . 'at once'. It was incredibly risky and possibly dangerous, like falling backwards into the unknown. It defied all reason, wisdom, and sanity. Why on earth did they 'take the plunge'?

I don't know. I can only tell you why I did. I didn't have hold of a vine, so I couldn't grab the next one. I was adrift and alone and so desperate that I began to cling to the only Vine that made sense--the God who sailed across time and space, called me by name, grabbed my hands and held onto me.

I can't say my life has been like a 30- second commercial or a 30- minute sitcom that neatly resolves all problems by the time the director yells "Cut!" But I will say that I've never regretted a single day since the day I took 'The Plunge' and set off following Him.

It's a jungle out there. But I'm clinging to my Vine and He's clinging to me. And even if I can't hang on anymore, I know one thing:

He's not letting go.

"As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. 'Come, follow me,' Jesus said. . . At once they left their nets and followed him." Matthew 4:18-20

The Light

You gotta love Florida in the winter. After our sweltering, humid summers that stretch well into October and November, the balmy winter nights are welcome relief. But the first year our family celebrated Christmas here in the tropics, it just didn't seem like Christmas. 


Braving blizzards, wearing snowboots and mufflers, sipping steaming hot chocolate after ice skating, seeing my breath on a crisp-cold morning, scraping ice off my windshield-- these are only memories now for this transplanted Chicagoan. And yet they were the backdrop for every Christmas of my life until I moved away from home. 


But no matter what region of the country we've lived in, or what the weather channel said the temperature was outside, some Christmas traditions have been delightfully similar everywhere.  One of my favorites is the way the world lights up at night during December. As the nights get shorter and colder, one by one, houses and stores and neighborhoods light their entryways and yards and doorways. I especially love the way the stately royal palms are dramatically outlined against the inky-black night skies here in Florida.


I understand why the tradition of the lights came about--as the darkness creeps in earlier and earlier in December, it gets a little depressing. Cold AND dark in the North is hard to take. The twinkling lights, on the other hand, are cheery and uplifting, and warm you to the soul. I miss the lights as they are extinguished, one by one, in January.


At Christmas, the lights remind me that Light has come into the world and has pierced the darkness. It guides Wise Men toward it. It is uplifting and welcome relief in a cold, dark world. But most important and glorious of all, this living, loving Light will never be extinguished.


And that warms my soul, right down to my flip-flops.


"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."   John 1:5


 "You, LORD, are my lamp; the LORD turns my darkness into light."           2 Samuel 22:29

The Cactus

Florida is known for its lush, green, tropical landscapes, trees and flowers of every sort: royal palms, blazing hibiscus, sublime orchids, Honeybell oranges, and water lilies, to name a few. But a cactus in Florida just seems out of place. Cacti conjure up parched deserts and arid wilderness, not luxuriant tropical vegetation. But this one down the street seems to be thriving.

I don't know much about cacti, except they hurt like the dickens if you get too close and get yourself pricked. I kept my distance from this one. Cacti are succulents and retain water for long periods of time, thereby ensuring their survival in desolate landscapes. Their thorns are actually leaves, but by the time the thorns reach maturity, all the cells in them are dead, even when the spine is still growing. The only living cells in a thorn is at its base.

Now that has me intrigued. At maturity, you can actually look alive, but remain dead inside. Sometimes my spiritual life feels like that.

I ran head-first into the living God when I was in my early 20's. At that time, I did not know one verse in the Bible--I could not tell you if Noah or David or Goliath lived before or after the time of Christ. About all I knew about Jesus was that He was born in a manger and that three Wise Men went to visit Him....But I think I sort of got Jesus mixed up with Santa Claus.

Since that time, I have studied the Bible, listened to countless sermons, memorized Scripture, taught Sunday School and women's Bible studies, and even written a children's book on the attributes of God. I have gone on retreats, journaled, prayed, and now blogged about my faith journey...all in the pursuit of deepening my faith with that living God who heard my cry years ago.

I must be a mature faith-walker by now. . .right? But sometimes I feel dead inside. I may look the same on the outside, but I'm going through the motions on the inside. And I'm not thriving at all.

A fresh encounter with God is not something you can conjure up any time you want one. At least that's not the way it is for me. The most tangible times I've had with God are when I'm caught by surprise, or when I'm not trying so hard to do the right thing, or when I am devastated by my own shortcomings.... God has met me where I'm at in the quiet moments when the TV is turned off or just after I close my eyes at night and try to turn off the noise in my head. That's when I hear God speaking to me, soul-to-soul.

It's Christmas, and for me, it's easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle and miss the real message--that Christ came into our world to speak to us, soul-to-soul. This Christmas, I don't want to keep my distance from the Christ-child. I want to crawl up close to the manger and hear Him speak. Just to me. I want Him to breathe new life into my soul and make my heart beat..for Him. I want Him to enter the desolate landscape of my life and make me bloom and thrive and grow.

The most wonderful news is that He delights in doing all that, for anyone who seeks Him, just like those Wise Men...and I bet that means Santa Claus, too.

"The seed that fell among thorns stands for those who hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by life’s worries, riches and pleasures, and they do not mature." Luke 8:13-15

The Poinsettia

Poinsettias just shout "Christmas!" to me. They are everywhere at Christmas, including this one in my neighborhood. I can't resist buying at least one or two during the season, but the day after Christmas I haul them out to the trash, as they lose their luster and are not so showy the rest of the year. But at Christmas, they shine.

How they came to be a part of our Christmas traditions is steeped in legend and history. There are many versions to the legend, which by most sources, start with two poor Mexican children who were on their way to the town's nativity play. They had nothing to bring to the Christ child, also a tradition (wait, do we have this backward?? Gifts for Jesus...?... I may have to come back to that thought), so they grabbed some weeds by the side of the road and placed them by His manger. At some point, the 'weeds' miraculously became a fiery red color, dramatically highlighting the focal point, baby Jesus.

You can believe that or not, but history does record the fact that Joel Poinsett, a physician, botanist, and statesman from South Carolina, first introduced them to the United States in 1825. Under President James Monroe, he became the first U.S. Minister to Mexico, where the plants are indigenous. In Mexico the plant is called: "La Flor de Noche Buena", "The Flower of Christmas Eve." And the rest is history...

The idea that even the hills and the plants worship God in their own way is a thought I had not pondered very deeply. When I want to worship God, I put on my best clothes, drive to a church, and sing and pray with the rest of the congregants. In the plant world, I suppose you gussy yourself up with blossoms and aromas and fiery red flowers. A hill or a meadow would cover itself in wildflowers and shimmer with dew at dawn. And rocks?? I have no idea. Maybe they speak a language we don't understand, but God does.

God longs for us to worship Him this season in any way we want to communicate with Him. And the funny thing is, He delights in gifts we bring to the altar--for others. A clink of a coin in a Salvation Army bucket. A toy for a child whose parent is in prison. A homemade cake for the elderly neighbor in a nursing home. A smile. A hug. Even a kiss under the mistletoe.

He speaks the language of love. And that can be translated into any language, is understood in every culture, and never loses its luster.

"The grasslands of the wilderness overflow; the hills are clothed with gladness. The meadows are covered with flocks and the valleys are mantled with grain; they shout for joy and sing." Psalm 65:12-13

The Gift

Once, years ago, when we were living in California, our home was burglarized. It was bad enough to come home to the shock of knowing someone had been inside your house and that the electronics and jewelry were gone, but the worst was-- all the presents under the Christmas tree were stolen!! My children were traumatized for months afterwards. Truth be told, one or two of them still haven't quite gotten over it.

This photo is of a gift I received from one of my students last year. It was the one-and-only gift I received from a student that semester, but it was enough. Even one small gesture of appreciation lifted my spirits and made me feel like I had perhaps made a difference in at least one person's life.

I've received many gifts in my life so far, hundreds probably: diamond bracelets, gold earrings, new cars (ok, back off--my dad was a car dealer), Caribbean vacations, not to mention cold, hard cash. But nothing says "I love you" like a wet, sloppy kiss from a chubby-cheeked toddler or a fistful of half-crushed daisies picked from your own garden offered by a smiling mud-encased 10-year-old boy.

Those burglars who made off with our Christmas gifts ended up with some gifts they could not use and had no meaning at all to them--the small handprints of a preschooler pressed carefully into clay, crayoned artwork of stick-legged mommies and daddies, and boxes of See's chocolates meant for my kids' classroom teachers.

I love Christmas, who doesn't? The season brings out the best--but also the worst, and sometimes the pressure of gift-giving gets to me. In the midst of our well-meaning, frenzied, often over-the-top buying sprees, there is a reason why we started it all in the first place, and here it is:

God Himself gave the greatest gift of all time to the human race: His one-and-only, Jesus Christ. "Christ-mas". It makes sense.

This week I'm in the middle of the fray and will put the finishing touches on the gifts I'm giving to my most treasured 'possessions': my precious family and dear friends. But in the back of my mind I will try to remember that the most meaningful gifts are ones that have no earthly price tag and cannot be stolen away.

And that spells I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.

"Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!" 2 Corinthians 9:15

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal." Matthew 6:19-20

The Statue

This guy seriously creeps me out. He is only one of a large column of statues that are propping up a hotel on Brickell Avenue in downtown Miami. They form an army of silent sentinels that stare out at passersby. I have passed them often by car, but I usually look the other way. This time, however, I was on foot, and curiosity got the better of me. I took a closer look.

Standing right under their noses, I touched their metal skins and peered into their unseeing eyes, confirming to myself that they were inanimate and harmless. But as I walked among the rows of mute sculptures, I couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness. The whole atmosphere was dark and gloomy-- creepy. Just beyond the darkened driveway, the Florida sun was shining, beckoning me to come out from the gloom and do what people are meant to do in Miami--Drink in the sunshine! Frolic on the beaches!

The artist who created these may not have had the term 'idols' in mind when he sculpted them, but that is what they reminded me of. The fact that people all over the world worship idols, unseeing and inanimate, saddens me. Can something a human being has created with his own hands see into a human heart, know her thoughts, feel her pain, heal her wounds--love her, understand her, comfort her?

One day when I was in my 20's, God stopped me, literally, in my tracks. He revealed to me in one abrupt moment that He was real and alive--a Being who knew my thoughts and saw my heart. If I had really understood then exactly who I was dealing with, it might have been a terrifying moment, but it wasn't. I felt oddly comforted and loved. Later on, He revealed some of His many names, (Lord of Lords, King of Kings, Redeemer, Counselor); His nature, (compassionate, forgiving); His heart, (loving, eternal). Nothing about Him is creepy or gloomy. Mysterious, yes. Creepy, no.

God longs for us to walk out from the gloom and bask in the warmth of His presence. But He is not willing to share us with idols that we have created with our own hands or hearts, whatever shape they may take. He is Light and Hope and Life--the Creator of all things in this world and in the world we cannot see. What created thing can possibly trump that?

I thank God that He reached down that night and pulled me out of the gloom and walked me into the light--where I am still basking in His love and frolicking in His tenderness.

So long, creepy statues. I won't be visiting you again.

"This is what the LORD says—
Israel’s King and Redeemer, the LORD Almighty:
I am the first and I am the last;
apart from me there is no God." Isaiah 44:6

The Promise

When I was a kid I had a 'blood sister'. Not the one I lived with, but one who became my 'sister' after a special ceremony. You know the drill: You get a needle from your mom's sewing kit, prick each other's fingers, press them together, and promise to be BFFs (Best Friends Forever). Forever.

That promise has remained unbroken to this day. She is still my best friend--when we pick up the phone to chat, we don't have to start over. We just start wherever we left off two days ago or two months ago. She knows all the 'dirt', good and bad. And she still loves me. Imagine that. But it makes sense--she's family. She has my blood running through her veins.

There are many promises that we make that don't last that long. Even as the words are tumbling out of our mouths, we have no intention of keeping them... "This won't hurt."-- "I'll be right back."-- "I'll do it later.", or my favorite: "We promise to feed the new puppy, walk him, clean up after him..." (haha, they got me with that one).

But blood promises? When I first began my faithwalk with God, the blood thing really baffled me. The Israelites were instructed by God to offer animal sacrifices in the wilderness. The wine at the Last Supper, according to Jesus, represented His blood that was shed on the cross, a human/divine sacrifice.

From a human perspective, losing blood means losing life. But with God, paradoxes are the norm. Surrender means freedom. The last become first. The meek shall inherit. And sacrificing blood means gaining life.

When we allow God to 'prick our finger' and mingle His blood with ours, we become family. His blood runs through our veins and gives us new life. He becomes our BFF-- "a friend who sticks closer than a brother" (Proverbs 18:24). Or sister, I would add. He knows all the 'dirt' and loves me anyway. Just imagine.

Even years down the road, there is still so much I don't understand about God, but this much I do know: When God makes a promise, He seals it with His blood and keeps it forever.

"Do not be afraid or terrified . . . for the LORD your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.” Deuteronomy 31:6

And that's a promise I'm going to claim as my own.

The Birth

It's not easy giving birth. Actually it's downright terrifying the first time around. Thankfully, I was born in the 20th century, and even in the developing country where I gave birth to my first child, modern medicine was available and an epidural was an option. I availed myself of all options.

To be fair, it's not easy for the one being born either. My firstborn had a hard time. He was posterior, facing the wrong way, and got stuck. Poor thing. I could have felt sorry for him, if I wasn't concentrating so hard myself.

(Disclaimer: Shut your eyes if you're the squeamish type.) The nurses actually had to climb up on the table, grab my stomach, and turn him over. I'm sure that technique hasn't been practiced in U.S. hospitals for a while, but it worked. He had a few dents and bumps and a cute little conehead for a few weeks, but none the worse for wear. It's amazing how resilient babies are.

Yet it was almost as if he didn't want to be born. He might have been thinking, "Why can't you just leave me alone?? I'm FINE in here! It's warm and cozy, I have all I need--a place to call my own, food-- I'm fine, really!" When I put myself in his shoes, so to speak, I get it. He couldn't possibly have imagined that there were people on the other side, literally a few inches away, who loved him and couldn't wait to meet him and take him out of that hospital to his real home where his life would really begin.

But he couldn't fathom anything outside the womb...which would have become a tomb if he hadn't gotten out of there! He had to leave that world to experience all that this world had to offer. His first breath was a scream because it was terrifying to step out into the unknown.

When I think of what it will be like to die, I think of what it's like to be born. Scary. . . terrifying really. . . Unless you know that there is Someone waiting for you, only inches away, Who has loved you from the beginning of time and can't wait to welcome you home--so you can start living.

And that's not a scary thought at all.

“Do not let your heart be troubled. You have put your trust in God, put your trust in Me also. There are many rooms in My Father’s house. If it were not so, I would have told you. I am going away to make a place for you. After I go and make a place for you, I will come back and take you with Me. Then you may be where I am." John 14: 1-3

The Dandelion

Time travel has always fascinated me. I think it all started when I read Half Magic by Edward Eager when I was a kid. Since then, H.G. Wells, Ray Bradbury, C.S. Lewis and more recently, Diana Gabaldon and Audrey Niffenegger, are authors that have kept me mesmerized with the tantalizing notion of bending the dimension of time and walking (or falling) into a different century, culture, and country.

When we were little, my sister and I used to pick almost-dead dandelions--to us they were delicate little clouds that begged to be blown apart. We would close our eyes, make a wish, take a breath, and blow. My wish usually involved flying away with the seeds, floating high above the trees. Much of my life has, in fact, been filled with traveling and experiencing other 'worlds'--cultures and languages and people.

Just idea of time travel, alternative universes (and 'The Matrix') grab my attention and make me wonder: Is what we see all there is? Physicists have long suspected that there are more than four space-time dimensions. Some believe there are at least ten dimensions. Others say eleven, even twelve are possible. When you start talking about 'string theory' and 'supergravity', it gets way over my head.

But there is something deep in the heart of man that says there is more to life than what we are able to experience from our five senses. Why else would we crave to know about what we cannot see? Why would we peer into the outer realms of the universe to try to understand it, know it, even manipulate it?

Wait. It's almost as if Someone out there is trying to contact us, not the other way around. Could it be that Someone outside of time (and all the other 11 or 12+ dimensions) desires to contact the human race? In order to do that, would He would have to travel to our world, learn our customs, speak our language, dress like us, and generally not scare us to death with what He knows that we don't know?

Or would He come to earth as a baby, small and helpless, as fragile and innocuous as a dandelion? Would He grow up to heal the sick, preach the good news to the poor, cast out demons, speak the truth in love--even die for us, in order to get our attention?

Would He? Is it possible that the Alternate Universe has bent space and time and has already been here?

Close your eyes, take a breath, and imagine that.

"LORD, what are human beings that you care for them, mere mortals that you think of them? They are like a breath; their days are like a fleeting shadow." Psalm 144: 3-4

"Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know." Jeremiah 33:3

The Obvious

Obvious: easily perceived or understood.

Apparently, a stroller is not self-explanatory. One might suppose that the part in the front with the holes for little legs and the seatbelt might be the most logical place for a child, but according to the posted sign at the back of the stroller, (DO NOT PUT CHILD IN BAG), this is not obvious. Hence, the sign. Obviously.

I was chuckling to myself as I passed this scene at the mall, yet I wonder how often God looks down on His creation (say, like. . . me) and just shakes His head and thinks, "It's so obvious! How can I possibly make it any more easily understandable?"

We study the origins of the universe and declare that somehow a 'cosmic soup' formed, and according to the TV program, Nova, "after cooking for billions of years, the cosmic soup is rich enough and concentrated enough to form planets and people." Really.

People? I'm not a scientist, but just the anatomy of one organ, the eye, boggles my mind. How could it have evolved over billions of years, if every nerve, cell, and blood vessel had to have been to be in place at the same nano-second in order for it to 'see'? And what about the intricate balance of the animal and plant kingdom--so delicate that if we kill off even one species of pesky insect, the whole system is off-kilter? How does 'interdependency' fit into a 'survival of the fittest' evolutionary model? It's not so obvious to me.

No one would believe that the bits and pieces of a watch that had been lying on a table for hundreds or even thousands of years could arrange themselves in such a way as to just start ticking on their own and become a Rolex. It would take an intelligent being that had a plan and design in mind and knew about watchmaking in order to make it tick. Obviously.

But when it comes to believing that an intelligent Being created an orderly (and therefore, able-to-be-studied) universe, it's not so obvious. We look everywhere else, try anything else, believe anything else rather than see the obvious:

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." Genesis 1:1

Isn't it obvious?

The Feast

One of these turkeys is gonna get cooked. As Thanksgiving morning dawns, the stuffing is ready to stuff, the table is set, the guests are on their way, and the feast is about to begin.

Our family has a tradition of putting a bean (instead of a kernel of corn--our nod to the Latin side of the family) in a small basket that is passed around as we express our thankfulness for something, anything...one thing.

This year will be a little harder. The table keeps shrinking as we have lost those dearest to us. This year we lost my daddy, and it is hard to be thankful when there is a big gaping hole at the head of our table.

But if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can think of a thousand things to be thankful for as it relates to my dad: his calm presence in my life, his unconditional love and support for me throughout the years, his wit and humor, even to the very last day of his life, his faithfulness to his sweetheart of 64 years, my mom... I could go on. I am incredibly thankful.

And according to the latest research, it's good to be thankful! In one study, even writing down one or two things in a journal once a week produced positive results: the participants felt happier, slept better, weren't bothered by criticism, and were more optimistic overall.

So I choose to be thankful. And I look forward to the day when I will see my loved ones again, at an even bigger and better feast, the feast of the Lamb. And what a feast that will be!

(I hope He serves turkey.)

"People will come from east and west and north and south, and will take their places at the feast in the kingdom of God." Luke 13:29

Trust

The trouble with kids is, they trust everybody. Unfortunately, in this day and age, you have to teach them not to trust anyone. And I mean anyone.

That works counter to our basic instinct. Trust is built into the human framework. Our parents, of course, are the first people we learn to trust; then our extended family, one by one; our neighbors; as we move off to school, our teachers; and the circle rapidly expands to pets, pediatricians, policemen, postmen, pastors....

But there are a few other "p" words that come to mind that are not so friendly, like 'peeper', 'predator' and 'pedophile'. Sadly, we need to teach our children not to talk to strangers, what 'good touch' and 'bad touch' is, and even to be aware of how close coaches, teachers, scout or youth leaders, even other family members come. We see the shattered lives of these young victims in the news every day.

One of our neighbors came from a home like that. She was a young mom who had been sexually abused as a child by her father. Her FATHER. At the time I knew her, she was trying to be a good mom and wife, but she had no basis for what a 'normal' family should look like. At around the age of 30, it all started unraveling. It broke my heart to see how pervasive and far-reaching the effects of her abusive childhood were in her life.

Who CAN you trust these days? Well, maybe from God's perspective, even such despicable evil can be redeemed. It's almost as if He's saying: "When everyone else disappoints you, trust Me. . ."

. . ."Trust Me with your hopes, your dreams, your hurts, your failings,. Trust me with your future, your past, the next step in your relationship. Trust me with your addictions, your gifts, your deep longings. Trust me to take your brokenness and make it into a new creation. Trust Me. Trust Me."

If you can't trust your father or your coach or your teacher, who can you trust? Only the Everlasting Father, the Creator of the Universe, the Good Shepherd, the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. He never fails. He never disappoints. He is trustworthy.

And that's Trust with a capital T.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me." John 14:1

"In you, LORD my God, I put my trust." Psalm 25:1

Dawn

I wish I could take credit for this photo, but I can't. My brother took it when we were in Tuscany this fall. I wasn't even up yet.

But as I was sleeping, God was not. Every morning He paints the sky with His incredible handiwork. And every morning I miss it. But when I look at this photo, it reminds of all that a day may hold--a new beginning, a fresh start, a great adventure.

Of course, we were on a happy adventure, but more often than not, a new day dawns on less-than-perfect circumstances--the car won't start, the baby is sick, the alarm never went off, you fight with your spouse over some triviality (and instantly regret it), or any of a hundred other things that put you in a bad mood or test your patience or completely devastate you. The beautiful dawn, if by some miracle you (and by that, I mean 'I') even saw it, is the last thing on your mind.

How often we lose our perspective on the really important things of life. When our kids were little, we used to make the long road trips back to Illinois and Iowa for summer vacations with their cousins. Once, on a beautiful summer afternoon in Iowa City, my sister, Karen, was on the floor playing with the three little girls and their Barbie dolls. Tiny shoes, miniature ballgowns, and dozens of Barbies were sprawled all over the living room floor. I was bustling around the house, trying to get them all to clean up so we could go outside and go to the park. I have this frozen snapshot in my mind of my sister looking up at me and saying, "But why? It will all be here when we get back."

It was my 'aha!' moment. How I wish I could wake up in a time warp and have it all back: not only children slamming doors, yelling for popsicles, and scraping knees--but also my sister. She was a person who truly lived in the moment and savored each one of them, and taught me more about myself than I cared to admit at the time. I miss her every day.

I know that I cannot turn back time, but I also know that if I choose to look out the window and really savor the moment, I will see not only a breathtaking dawn, but also a different perspective: a new beginning, a fresh start, a great adventure.

Dawn reminds me in the midst of my not-so-perfect circumstances that God still reigns. And that is a moment I want to savor.

"Your love, O Lord, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies." Psalm 36:5

The Race

My daughter ran the New York City ING Marathon a few weeks ago. And finished.

When I think of what it took to do that, I am awed. It seems like a overwhelmingly colossal undertaking--almost impossible. It takes an enormous amount of training and hard work just to get yourself ready to run a race like that, mentally and physically; but then the day comes, and you're prepared. You've got the shoes, the outfit, your number on the bib--hey, you may even feel like it might be a teeny-weeny bit easier than you had expected!

And then in the middle of the race, you hit your 'wall'--when your body has basically burned up its available stores of carbohydrates, and you go into super-fatigue. According to my daughter, just about everyone hits their wall, some a little sooner, some a little later.

She hit her wall, but she still finished the race. It's as much mental as it is physical, and everyone has their own way of breaking through that wall to make it to the finish line.

Forget a marathon. For me, sometimes it's just hard to get out of bed in the morning. I would rather snuggle down farther into the covers and delay facing all that needs to be done...especially with the holidays coming up. I know that it is sacrilegious to even admit, but I move into holiday season with a little bit of dread mixed in with the jolly ho-ho-ho's. It seems so overwhelmingly impossible to get it all done in a few short weeks. I have hit my wall early this year.

Breaking through the walls of life demands more than we can possibly give. It's at that point, when we are super-fatigued and running on empty, that God steps in and does it for us. When we are not able to take one more step, God carries us to the finish line.

I may not be able to run a marathon like my daughter (or, who knows? maybe I can!), but I know I can depend on a God who loves me enough to carry me to Himself, if I allow Him to refresh me and remind me that I'm not in this race alone.

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing." 2 Timothy 4:7-8

Gastropods

My only real serious contact with a gastropod has been in a restaurant. My parents used to dress us up occasionally and take us to a gourmet supper club in Chicago called "The Whitehall". Mental snapshots come to mind of crisp linen tablecloths, waiters with white towels draped over their forearms, and me, a 10-year-old, confidently ordering Escargots a la Bourguignonne. Outside of snails floating in butter and garlic, I never have given them much thought.

In fact, before I read The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, by Elisabeth Tova Bailey, I might have stepped on this little slug, making its way s-l-o-w-l-y down my driveway on a carpet of slime. But after devouring this little book about the lowly gastropod, I was thoroughly enchanted.

Some little-known facts:

• They have 2,640 teeth, 80 rows of 33 teeth per row, which regenerate every 6-8 weeks!
• Their tentacles are equipped with eyes that retract. (so sci-fi!)
• They live in silence. They have no ears. They 'hear' with their eyes.
• Their slime is their 'soul' and the medium for all things gastropod--locomotion, courting, mating, protection.

And, it goes without saying, they are s...l...o...w... In fact, the reason the author became such an expert on snails is that her own life slowed down almost to a complete halt when she was diagnosed in her early 30's with a rare disease that left her bedridden for years. Her main source of distraction was observing a small snail that one of her visitors had planted on some violets that she brought for her.

When I think what I was doing in my 20's and 30's, the mental snapshots come back a little blurry. My pace was the speed of light--rushing from one thing to the next, priding myself on multitasking-to-the-max. The thought of being bedridden, content with watching snails slime their way up a leaf just doesn't compute.

Slowness is so contrary to my nature--if anything is worth doing, it's worth doing FAST. And yet, from God's point of view, slowness is not a negative attribute. In fact, we 'hear' God best when we slow ourselves down and listen for that almost undetectable sound of Him moving through our thoughts, our memories, and our dreams.

I regard snails, even slugs, with a little more respect now. (But that falls short of promising never to eat Escargots a la Bourguignonne again.)

"The Lord is not slow in keeping His promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance." 2 Peter 3:7

Morning Mist

Tuscany, Italy. If you have ever had the good fortune to visit it, you probably fell in love with it, like I did. The miles and miles of rolling hills, covered with vineyards, olive groves, and iconic Italian cypress trees are punctuated with ancient walled cities that poke out of the rolling landscape.

Colors burst from every nook and cranny, and I tried to document and freeze each dazzling moment. The morning mist that hung over the mountains softened and hushed the vistas, captivating me with its beauty. The sunlight on the pastures and buildings and flowers spoke to me in ways that didn't attract my attention when I backpacked through Europe in my early 20's.

There's been a lot of water under the bridge since then. It seems a lifetime ago, almost like my trip to Tuscany, which was only a few days ago. It's over, and all I have to prove I was there are my memories and my photos. As I ponder crossing the 'midline' of my life, I try to fast forward myself and imagine what I will feel like when it is ALL behind me--no more possibilities for travel or adventure or love looming in the distance.

Life at times moves so swiftly you barely have time to take a breath. Life at times moves so slowly you cry out in anguish for someone to put you out of your misery. God, however, lives outside of time and memory. From His perspective, all is now: the present, the past and the future. And that includes my present. my past. my future.

Thankfully, only God knows what the future holds for me and leads me into it step by step. But more than that, He doesn't hold the sins of my past against me. Those memories have a paralyzing effect on me and prevent me from enjoying all that God has for me today. God, however, in His grace and mercy, promises to sweep them away like the morning mist and leave the dazzling sunshine in its wake.

And that's a place I can't wait to visit.

"I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you." Isaiah 44:22

The Fortress

Walt Disney really got around. According to the local tour guides, after Disney visited Segovia, Spain, he was inspired by the Alcazar and rushed home to build Cinderella's castle in Disney World. Wikepedia concurs, so it must be so.

Nowadays, with nuclear war looming at every turn, it seems almost quaint to think that a fortress was the first line of defense against an enemy. Could the whole town's population really fit inside its walls? When I took the tour of this palace, it sure didn't seem as though that would be the case. (Maybe people were smaller back then.)

But let's assume they could. What a wonderful feeling that would have been, to know that you were safe within the walls of the castle and that someone, preferably many, well-armed and well-trained soldiers would defend you against marauders and murderers and approaching armies.

I've always wanted to think of my home as my sanctuary, a place where I can kick off my shoes, change into something cozy and get comfortable when I walk inside the door. . . a place where I'm safe from the outside world, where I'm accepted as I am, and where I don't have to work at being accepted or understood. In an ideal world, that would really happen.

But the real world sometimes slips under the doorjamb and invades my vision of what my 'house of refuge' is supposed to be protecting me against. Doors slam, voices raise, or even worse, an uncomfortable silence permeates every nook and cranny.

When that happens, it's good to know that there is a Mighty Fortress who I can run to. I will always fit within His walls, I will never be shut out, and He's always home. I can run 'home' any time I want.

Cinderella's Castle may have been a figment of one man's prolific imagination, but my God, thankfully, is not.

"The LORD is my Rock, my Fortress and my Deliverer; my God is my Rock, in whom I take refuge, my Shield and the Horn of my salvation, my Stronghold."

Psalm 18:2

Blue Nudes

So many of the people in my life are artists--Phyllis Jean paints sublime blue nudes on Chinese silk. Maggie is an emerging sculptor. Donna writes poems. Susan creates jewelry. Bob carries his trumpet in his back pocket and plays anywhere there is a stage and an audience. Peter plays the harmonica like Bob Dylan. My sister, Karen, was an actress, a seamstress, a chef. Sandy, my niece, writes screenplays. Kristi sings like an angel, and my daughter dances like an angel. There are many others...all so creative that I envy their talents.

However, not one of these people earn (or earned) their living solely using their artistic talent. I'm reading a book right now about Claude Monet. Just about everyone today recognizes that name as the founder of the Impressionism art movement and appreciates his genius. But for much of his life, he lived in abject poverty and struggled to make ends meet, unable to sell his work for many years. For so many gifted artists, it is the same.

Where does the passion and drive to create such beauty, even in the face of hardship and obstacles, come from? Why don't they just get up, brush their teeth, go to work, go home, eat dinner, watch TV and go to bed (like the rest of us)? What inspires them?

I'm not an artist, so I can't begin to imagine how each of them sees the world and how they strive to interpret it using their particular gift. How does a sculptor 'see' the David in a block of marble? How does a white canvas become a blue nude or a pond of water lilies? How do musicians 'jam'? How does a dancer see the steps in the music? I haven't a clue. Truly, these are gifts from God.

God has created in each of us something that not only understands beauty, but craves it. Unlike any other created being, we are able to appreciate it when we see it, hear it, touch it, taste it. Amazingly, there is even something in us that compels us to create beauty.

God made us 'in His image', that is, a little like Himself. He is the One who streaks the sunset across the sky, sparkles a full moon over the ocean, sprinkles the glistening morning dew on blades of grass, and whistles the winter wind through naked tree branches.

We are a little like the Artist and Creator of the universe...now there's a thought that inspires me.

"So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him. . God saw all that He had made, and it was very good." Genesis 1: 27, 31

Guapote

This fish is about as ugly as they come. When I first arrived in Nicaragua, a naïve young 20-something year old, I think my husband-to-be enjoyed testing me to see my reaction to some of the peculiar foods he put in front of me: tripe soup, stewed tongue, live black oysters, deep-fried pork skins, and my favorite, a fried fresh-water whole bass smothered in tomatoes and onions, called 'guapote'.

'Guapote' live in Lake Nicaragua, one of the only places in the world where fresh water sharks are found. These bass are caught the same day you eat them and served whole, usually with the eyes staring right at you. All I could think of when it was set before me for the very first time was, "My mom couldn't eat this."

Actually, this dish turned out to be my all-time favorite, one that I would travel miles for. I wouldn't think of a trip to Nicaragua without a trip to Granada for a 'super-sized' guapote and all the fixin's.

There really isn't a region or country that I have visited that I haven't enjoyed the local cuisine. I'll try pretty much anything. Some of it has been gourmet, some of it downright unusual. Once in Taiwan I discovered, after several minutes of being 'lost in translation', that I had eaten stir-fried bumblebees. (Was that tour guide just testing me??)

When God breathed life into man and woman, as recounted in the book of Genesis, He also provided everything we needed to survive and to live an abundant life. He meant for us to be 'fully satisfied' so that we would turn to Him in thankfulness.

Unfortunately, that's not exactly how the story ends...but I will start by being thankful for an ugly fresh-water bass from the waters of Lake Nicaragua.

It's going to take a little more time to be thankful for stir-fried bumblebees.

"I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise You." Psalm 63:5

The Volcano

Santiago, one of Nicaragua's numerous active volcanoes, is one of the few volcanoes in the world where you can drive to the rim and peer into the crater to see the hot, molten lava--without being consumed by it, or I wouldn't be here to tell the story.

The day this photo was taken, years ago, my sister and I felt compelled to crawl, not walk, to the edge on our hands and knees. I remember thinking how wild and untamed the area was. There were no guardrails to keep people from falling off or throwing themselves off. No one did that day, but I wouldn't have been surprised to hear that it had happened. There was kind of an eerie 'pull' that threatened to drag you downward.

On the other hand, here in the States I have always felt that nature was tamed and safe and predictable. National parks have park rangers, well-marked paths, picnic tables, trash cans, and maps with little arrows that say, "You are here". Of course, people do wander off the beaten track and sometimes get lost or fall over a waterfall, as happened this summer in Yosemite Park. But you have to ignore a lot of warnings and safety rails in order to do so.

I think sometimes we tend to put guardrails around our perception of God and think we can tame Him somehow and compartmentalize Him. We don't quite realize how majestic and holy and completely untamable He truly is.

Putting a guardrail around the crater may lull us into thinking that we are safe and that the lava is harmless and manageable. How silly. Only God can tame the potential fury of the molten lava and keep it from erupting.

Or not.

"Ascribe to the LORD the glory due His name; bring an offering and come before Him. Worship the LORD in the splendor of His holiness. Tremble before Him, all the earth! . . .Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let them say among the nations, "The LORD reigns!"

I Chronicles 16: 28-31

Mudpies

This may be a weed to you, but to me it spells 'm-u-d-p-i-e-s'. In the Midwest we call it 'Queen Anne's Lace', and it was the key ingredient in the luscious concoctions my sister and I made when we ran out the back door to play in the forest behind our house on summer afternoons.

We grew up in an innocent era when our moms shooed us outside to play, and we'd spend the entire day roaming the neighborhood. The only restriction in our family was we had to be back by 5:00. Or else.

But man, those mudpie afternoons. . .when I think about how simple and carefree life was in those days, it seems like another person might have lived them. Not only has my life changed dramatically over the years, but it seems the whole world has changed. It's a lot scarier for kids and parents alike. If I was a young mom today, I don't know if I'd let my kids ride their bikes to school or play in a park unsupervised. Heck, I don't know if I'd let them walk down a hallway alone!

Sure, we fought far-away wars overseas, but no one worried about neighbors kidnapping children out of their own bedrooms or snatching them from the school bustop. How could you ever have even conceived of a plane flying into a building on purpose?

If I had known a little botany back in those days, I might have had a healthy respect for the lowly, lacey weed called Queen Anne's Lace. Turns out, it is not only a type of wild carrot, but it's also a dead ringer for poison hemlock! Gulp. What if I had actually EATEN those mudpies??

But if I give in to the terror of unknown evils lurking behind every corner, I become a prisoner of fear. God desires us to face our world with grace and courage, not with fear and trembling. He alone can give us that calm assurance that we can face each day with confidence, knowing we are infinitely loved and that we matter eternally.

"The LORD is the stronghold of my life--of whom shall I be afraid?" Psalm 27:1

The Wedding

There is nothing quite like seeing your child get married. This spring I was privileged to take part in my son's wedding. It couldn't have been more beautiful--on Miami Beach, in the botanical gardens, under the stars...the romantic quotient was way high that night.

So much planning goes into a wedding. Anyone who has gone through it knows: a year is not too far ahead to begin. But really, I have been praying for my kids' (potential) future spouses since the time they were little.

It was strange to pray that prayer while they were still playing in the Little League, or riding bicycles, or roller skating, or sleeping in choo-choo-train jammies... and then to think about some other little boy or girl growing up somewhere else who would one day be part of our family...but I believed then, as I do now, that God has a plan for each of their lives, and if that plan included a spouse, then He has had that person in His mind since the beginning of time.

In the romantic glow of the wedding vows, all things seem possible. But anyone who has been married more than a few days also knows that the most satisfying and the most difficult thing you ever do in life is making that relationship work every single day.

What a mystery marriage is--and what a picture of God's tender love for His crowning creation, human beings. Man and woman, each created uniquely different, but complementary to each other, are joined together as one flesh to share all aspects of their lives--their hopes, their dreams, and their sorrows.

God draws near to us and desires to be in relationship with us. He paints pictures of Himself in the world we live in--in marriages, in children, in sunsets and romantic starry nights. As we share our hopes and dreams and sorrows with Him, He rejoices in our victories, comforts us in our sorrows, and gives us hope for a better day tomorrow.

The prayer I prayed so long ago was finally answered in my beautiful daughter-in-law. (So cool, God!) I think I can get rid of those choo-choo-train pajamas now.

"For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh." Genesis 2:24

The Vine

Once you've lived in California like we did for four years, you understand why people love it there. If you can live with the thought that an earthquake can happen at any time (which it did while we were there, in 1989), it's fabulous! Within four hours of San Francisco, you can be in the mountains, on the beach, in the redwood forest, or in wine country.

This August I discovered another wine-producing area, that is to say, not Napa or Sonoma, in southern California: Temecula, where my nephew and niece were married. My daughters and I visited the vineyards and did some wine-tasting--we loved it all so much we joined one of the vineyards. We'll be tasting the 'fruit of the vine' for months to come.

To see the grapes dripping off the vines was thrilling. The vineyards are not lush, which surprised me. The soil is dry and dusty and stands in stark contrast to the green foliage of the vines. When you get up close, you see the grapes huddled behind the leaves, protected from the scorching sun. How they coax those plants into producing such a bounty (not to mention the wine!) is astonishing.

So much of my life has been striving to accomplish things--getting a degree, teaching, moving, raising kids, paying the bills. There has been so much rushing around, (I've counted 18 moves in my life so far), that having the time, at this stage of my life, to be 'still' has been a luxury.

God longs for us to 'be still and know that I am God' (Psalm 46:10)--in fact, when we do, and we allow ourselves to get connected to the true Vine, an amazing thing happens: we bear fruit. And we don't even have to move a muscle.

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing." John 15: 5