running.

I should realize by now that this chaos is disturbingly familiar.

It’s the sound and fury of me trying to turn on every piece of noise around me to drown out the call. It’s a valiant, vain attempt to plug my ears and yell to make the song of What I’m Supposed to Do just shut up and go away.

It’s not working. It never does.

Sooner or later, the self-induced chaos gives me a soul-ache and I start craving peace and silence, so I, unaware that I am the creator of all this chaos and noise around me, irritating me and giving me a ringing in my ears and a pounding in my head, start turning the things off, one by one. Then I hear that guiding voice again, and I remember. I did this, didn’t I?

I’m running again.

I hate running.

I tried to learn to like it at several points in my life, but never quite succeeded. Now, walking –that I can appreciate. Running? Not quite so much.

So, in the last few weeks, I reached the peak of yet one more self-induced crisis, trying to figure out why I couldn’t hear that guiding voice, and who caused all this noise, anyway? I’ve been through weeks, months of back-and-forth plan-making and strategy, completely forgetting.

When God guided Abraham, it wasn’t with a three-year plan or a strategy.

It was with a vision. A voice. A dream.

A dream. You know, those annoying, inconvenient things that happen when you’re least expecting them –those things that get you all stirred up without being so courteous as to provide themselves a way of making things happen. One day, you wake up, and you know. You know what you were born to do, and have NO idea how to do it.

That’d be me.

I may as well walk to Ur with a caravan of camels and a motley assortment of household members. I’d be just as clueless.

What does it mean to walk in faith? What does it mean to walk, not run, without a map? What would it mean if I could, for once in my life, quit making a cacophony of distractions every time I get tripped up by the past-voices telling me I don’t matter and that I can’t handle one more disappointment? What if I learned this time to walk one step at a time, focusing on the horizon instead of the map?

I think I’d get there.

My path might look to me like that beeline that Billy makes to get home, or it might be a direct path… Either way, I think I’d get there.

Of callings, small steps, and paper tigers

note: I wrote this last Thursday morning, but felt a prompting from the Spirit to not post it –to wait. So, I did. I found out later that day that a dear friend from our Wycliffe days had suddenly died Wednesday night across the world. I remembered that prompting to wait, and am glad I followed it. In a piece of incredible heartbreaking irony, I learned today that our dear friend likely died of a massive heart attack. Friends who are Christ-followers, we know that God writes the number of our days, but we must live our lives carefully. I post this in the hope that we will pause and reflect on the choices we make every day that affect our health, and therefore affect the others we love while walking on this Earth. This is posted humbly as a gentle reminder, without condemnation, full of love and concern. 

-shelbi

 

“Coronary heart disease is nothing more than a toothless paper tiger that need never exist and if it does exist it need never ever progress. Simply put, it is a food borne illness.”

-Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn

Ever had things come together in a series, in such a way that you felt like God was tapping you not-so-gently on the shoulder? I had one of those experiences yesterday. I’ve been part of a Bible study on Lysa TerKeurst’s “Made to Crave” with a few other women in our community. The book, in summary, is a spiritual and scriptural take on our personal battles with food and weight issues as Christ-following women. It’s a good read, and I’ve already put feet on many of the things I’ve been learning.

Last night was our final session. In the video, Lysa gives an illustration of a lesson her husband gave to their son, who was caught cheating on his schoolwork, out of frustration that he couldn’t “move the mountain of knowledge” into his head fast enough.

Her wise husband gave the errant son the task of moving a pickup truckload of large rocks from the truck bed to a spot way over yonder in their yard. So the son worked, and he worked, carrying the heavy rocks, one at a time, to their prescribed spot. And when he was done, his dad pointed out that sometimes, yes, God does choose to move our mountains miraculously, but more often, he gives us the task to move that mountain one rock at a time, giving us the direction and the strength to get the job done little-by-little.

Ponderable stuff, for weight and health issues …and many other things. So, I came home, and my husband informed me that Richard Twiss, a christian leader that has influenced us for the better in our heart for Native peoples, had suffered a massive heart attack that evening and was hospitalized. My heart sank, for him, for his family… but it also sank with the burden of the knowledge I’ve picked up like those big rocks, knowledge of how many of our “Western diseases” are preventable with a change in choices of diet and lifestyle. I don’t cast any judgement on my brother (he looks quite healthy!), but I also know that for every one heart attack that happens “out of the blue,” many more come with ample warning signs.

My heart is burdened for the many people God is using mightily that struggle along with bodies that are crying out for healing. My heart is burdened for people, like myself, that have a hard time saying no to the ice cream and saying yes to going to the gym. I get it. My own BMI is poised right on the line between “obese” and “overweight” and has been for the last few weeks. …And it’s on the way *down* more than up now, but I know in my case, it’s not genetics. It’s potato chips and ice cream and chocolate and the call of the couch. Owning that fact is painful, but I’m starting to see now that there’s a larger sphere of influence to those choices. It’s not just a private thing –it affects my family and my ability to guide my own kids to better choices. In the moment, it’s only a bowl of ice cream, but years down the road (here we are), I can see the results. It’s not comfortable to realize that my bodily state is my own doing.

So, now… I’m plunged into a whole lot more uncomfortable when I realize that that tap on the shoulder is God again, calling me to use those rocks I’ve been carrying to help someone else move their mountains out of the way on the road to health. If it’s uncomfortable for ME to come to the realization that I’ve sabotaged my own health, how is it that I feel God calling me to bring healing to His people by teaching them about His good gifts of pure food and healthy movement, along the way, maybe helping them to this painful realization? Honestly? It feels …like another mountain.

Pass me that rock, will you?

acts of faith

It was right there, on my facebook feed. Someone had put the words together, and it rang loudly, brashly true.

“Leaving our homes has become an act of faith.”

Add to that, more specifically, putting our children on a school bus, letting them open that car door and bound into school. An act of faith. No guarantees. But then I thought, has it ever not been an act of faith?

There’s a worriless innocence in children. They haven’t experienced the avalanche of tragedies that is everyday life in America. They are, for the most part, shielded from the bigger agonies of life in our culture. They might have to handle the death of a beloved dog, a lost or broken toy, deal with disappointments, but what happened in Connecticut is something –well, it doesn’t even register on the list of possibilities for most six year olds, and if it ever did, it would be in the realm of nightmare and the not-true. People simply don’t enter elementary schools and gun down defenseless children barely able to write their own names. It just doesn’t happen.

But then, it does. And what do you do, then?

My oldest, my daughter, was a year and a half old when the September 11 attacks happened. She was young enough that she really didn’t ask questions. She didn’t register the pictures on the TV with anything relevant to her world. I didn’t have to shield her so much, because it was a thing so big that, although it does affect her world now, it didn’t then. She was innocent, and even pictures of a world coming apart in New York City couldn’t shake that.

I’m sitting this morning in an empty house. I performed that act of faith this morning, by putting my own little ones on the school bus. But unlike a lot of other mothers and fathers, perhaps, I’m keenly aware that every day –EVERY day, it’s been an act of faith. I’m a worrier. I have trouble finding faith most days, a place of belief that the images of things that play through my mind, worst-case scenarios (my husband has accused me of ghostwriting that series of books, by the way) –a place of belief that those things won’t happen as I see them in my mind’s eye. But where I haven’t gotten quite yet –that place that trusts to the point that knows that even IF those things, or worse than I could imagine, could happen, this would still be True.

Romans 8:28 -All things work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

So, today, and every day, I make a choice. A choice not just to believe, but to walk in the belief that He writes our stories for good, and not evil. On mornings like this, in the wake of this indescribable horror that happened to too many little children, too many families, it comes to light that living every day involves an infinite amount of acts of faith.

There’s a difference between the faith those little ones had that morning, as they found the coathook with their name printed above it and hung their coats and backpacks up, and took their seat and rummaged through their desk for a pencil; and the faith we as mothers and fathers and grownups have, waking up this morning, getting our little ones dressed and fed and hugged as they leave our homes or our vans for the day. We know. We know so much more about the world we’re releasing them to. And it’s little wonder that on mornings like this one, we take a little longer to let go of that hug, to open the car door and watch them walk into school. The faith of children is one of innocence. Our faith has history and stories. We can tell you how God has carried us through the many tragedies of our lives, and I have little doubt that as the days go by, there will be stories of His faithfulness, even in the face of this, because at the end of the day, we know

This is my Father’s world.

O let me ne’er forget

that though the wrong seems oft so strong,

God is the ruler yet.

This is my Father’s world:

why should my heart be sad?

The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!

God reigns; let the earth be glad!

Hope boldly.

 

Who built THAT?

“Then the Lord spoke to Job out of the storm:

“Brace yourself like a man;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me.

“Would you discredit my justice?
Would you condemn me to justify yourself?

Do you have an arm like God’s,
and can your voice thunder like his?
Then adorn yourself with glory and splendor,
and clothe yourself in honor and majesty.
Unleash the fury of your wrath,
look at all who are proud and bring them low,
look at all who are proud and humble them,
crush the wicked where they stand.
Bury them all in the dust together;
shroud their faces in the grave.
Then I myself will admit to you
that your own right hand can save you.

“Look at Behemoth,
which I made along with you
and which feeds on grass like an ox.
What strength it has in its loins,
what power in the muscles of its belly!
Its tail sways like a cedar;
the sinews of its thighs are close-knit.
Its bones are tubes of bronze,
its limbs like rods of iron.
It ranks first among the works of God,
yet its Maker can approach it with his sword.
The hills bring it their produce,
and all the wild animals play nearby.
Under the lotus plants it lies,
hidden among the reeds in the marsh.
The lotuses conceal it in their shadow;
the poplars by the stream surround it.
A raging river does not alarm it;
it is secure, though the Jordan should surge against its mouth.
Can anyone capture it by the eyes,
or trap it and pierce its nose?”

Job 40:6-24

…and following on to chapter 41 to describe more things to Job are beyond his comprehension.

Or, in David’s psalms,

“When I consider your heavens,

the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
⁴ what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?

⁵ You have made them a little lower than the angels
and crowned them with glory and honor.”

Psalm 8:3-5

So, I’m following politics like a good Christian citizen, and watching the speeches.

And I’m disturbed. One party says, “You didn’t build that.” The other insists indignantly that, yes, indeed, “We built that.”

Neither party seems to recognize fully two things: 1) interdependence. We –WE– as a society built that. You didn’t build it by yourself. It took contractors, customers, architects, computer programmers -the list goes on. We depend on each other. I think that may have been what the President was meaning. No man is an island, even in small business.

Second, neither party is exhibiting any form of humility, at least that I’ve seen. Humility doesn’t win elections, apparently. Who knew?

We are quick to claim credit, quick to assign blame to someone else. I suppose that’s just human nature.

I’ve finally come up with a basic economic philosophy for myself — I think I can go out on a limb and say for my family as well. But I don’t see this idea anywhere in the “real world” much. Here it is:

First, from Ephesians 4:28:

Anyone who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with their own hands,that they may have something to share with those in need.

So, then, we work not to gather wealth, but to share. We avoid poverty and dishonest gain not to avoid suffering, but so as to not be a burden or a curse to our neighbor. The end here is common good, not personal wealth. If we are blessed, it is in order to pass that blessing on to our neighbor.

Colossians 3:23-24

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for theLord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from theLordas a reward. It is theLord Christ you are serving.

We work hard, then, not for our own personal gain or reputation, but for the Lord, serving Him and not ourselves.

And from Philippians 4:11-13

“…for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”

There are times when hard work results in material blessing, and times when it results in subsistence. There may also be times when it results in poverty. But we work anyway, in contentment that if we are following His path, what we are given is what we need, and whatever we are faced with, it is not more than we can bear through His strength.

So now comes the difficult part. Where on earth does that weird kind of economic thinking fit politically? Nowhere I’ve found yet this side of heaven. But to me, it makes perfect sense. Guess I’m strange that way.

catalyst.

…according to Noah Webster’s distant descendant, dictionary.com,

“something that causes activity between two or more persons or forces without itself being affected.”

“a person or thing that precipitates an event or change:”

 

Ever get the catalyst confused for the action of change God’s doing in your life?

You do?

Yeah. Me too.

Sometimes repeatedly.

So, today, I’m re-reminding myself again that the tool is not the thing being fixed. The thing I’m getting myself distracted by isn’t at all what it’s all about.

It’s about Him.

So, where are we going today, Lord?

 

IRL

A strange thing happens sometimes when people are communicating with the outside world, separated by their own domiciles and a computer keyboard. It’s the same sort of bizarre Incredible-Hulk-like transformation that happens when some of those same people are propelled down the highway, wrapped in several tons of steel and plastic and someone cuts them off on the highway.

Road rage.

Only, I think we need a better term for what I’m thinking of this morning. “Political Rage” just doesn’t seem quite right, because I’ve seen plenty of virtual and “IRL” (“In Real Life”) people thrown under the bus (so to speak) on the pages of the internet over things other than politics. Something about being at the helm of a computer gives us this same sort of Wizard of Oz power that makes us feel we have the entitlement to not only reveal and display others’ weaknesses, but do so in a manner that forgets that other people are… well… people. Made in the image of God, some of us claim. People. With  a soul and a heart, and feelings. But we forget that when we feel we have this mysterious power given us when we’re shielded from the world by a few tons of metal or …a few ounces of computer keyboard. Sometimes it’s rage, sometimes it’s just plain old thoughtlessness. We say things on facebook or online that we wouldn’t dare say to them in person.

I have a policy (it should be stricter) about not posting anything political on Facebook. Every single time I’ve done it, I’ve regretted it. My “friends list” is about perfectly divided down party ranks. The only thing that reveals where I stand politically is my declaration of being a “bleeding heart libertarian” on my main page. That’s as deep as I’m going to get on social media, until I either grow more courage or more wisdom on how to broach topics that bring out that sort of keyboard rage in people. I’d much rather use facebook for seeing cute pictures of my high school friends’ children and far away friends’ daily life than as a soapbox for shouting out my political beliefs and/or finding people that agree with me.

Why? Because for me, it doesn’t work. I find I can’t adequately explain myself, and the medium quickly gets out of control. My policy, for example, was formed after I watched my peace-loving former pastor get painfully “smacked down” on a friend’s comment thread, by someone who didn’t even know him, and by someone he didn’t even know. He was gracious in his response, but I couldn’t help but feel gobsmacked that the medium had that kind of potential for vitriolic interchange. So, since then, I’ve tried to avoid anything that has a high potential for debate on facebook. It’s just not worth it.

Others of my friends, however, have a better gift for communication than I do, and one, yesterday, posted this amongst the varying commentary that littered my newsfeed on the new healthcare mandate that the Supreme Court of the US deemed constitutional recently. I’ve reposted it here with his blessing.

I’ve tried to not post all that much political stuff on here over the last year or so, but there’s a photo of what’s supposed to look like a newspaper article going around Facebook that has pushed me over the edge.

It reads: “The Food Stamp Program, administered by the US Dept of Agriculture, is proud to be distributing the greatest amount of free meals and food stamps ever. Meanwhile, the National Park Service, administered by the US Dept of the Interior, asks us to, “Please Do Not Feed the Animals.” Their stated reason for the policy is because the animals will grow dependent on handouts and will not learn to take care of themselves. This ends today’s lesson.”

If you agree with this sentiment, that this analogy totally works, that food stamp recipients are essentially the same as a batch of squirrels at Yellowstone looking for scraps, I’d appreciate it if you’d just defriend me. Not just on here, in real life.

However, first, I’d like it if you sent me a note, either on my wall or as a message letting me know that you think I’m a bad person. That I failed America and God and my family and everyone by taking WIC coupons when Tara and I were really struggling, when all I could find was intermittent, unreliable freelance work. Let me know that you think we were just like animals that needed to be trained. That the author of this damn quote is right. Feel free to have complex rational thoughts about food stamps or public assistance, but if you want to make stupid, insensitive comparisons, thoughtlessly without regard for the real people who see this crap (and I’m aware liberals do the same thing sometimes, thanks), I’d appreciate if you showed enough courage to tell me you feel this way. Maybe you were judging us the whole time. We were pretty open about our struggles, but I don’t really remember anyone saying anything then. Maybe it was cooler or more socially acceptable to go through shitty times then.

Otherwise, it’s been a pleasure knowing you. I hope you feel the same way.

So, …that about says what I’d been thinking (although without the defriending part), when I saw that same post on my news feed, months ago. Probably a couple times. Oh, and the one about welfare recipients who all ought to be subjected to drug testing. We’ve never been on straight-up welfare, but if my kids were starving, and even McDonald’s weren’t hiring, I wouldn’t think twice about a drug test to feed or house my kids, because 1) I know it’d come up clean, and 2) I’d understand why there sadly might be a need for that. After all, I’ve had jobs where I’ve had to do drug testing and didn’t think twice about it. But… the thing is, I’m willing to place a bet that not ONE of my friends that posted that status either 1) personally knew someone on welfare, or 2) knew someone that fit that stereotype. I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am. And I deeply resent the assumption that my friends that I know who were or are on welfare are there because they chose a life of substance addiction over supporting themselves and their families.

So, maybe you don’t agree with “Obamacare” or the way our country’s government supports people in need. I’m not sure I do entirely, either. But until things finally get figured out, can we just agree that people are people? With real lives and real tough decisions and real feelings, with real families? If we stopped oversimplifying problems and rooting for our political views like we do our favorite sports teams, I think this world would benefit profoundly. Jesus never ran for office. His disciples seemed to want him to get political and take over the government. But He didn’t. He preferred healing people personally, changing lives one at at time in most cases. I think that action of His speaks volumes.

Doing the Next Thing and the futility of five-year plans. Yes, again.

…Because I still need some practice at this, I guess.

The long, slow slide into summer stability was slower than anticipated this year. I’m just now feeling like I’ve got my “sea legs” so to speak with having the kids home, and June is nearly over. The grey fog that I now recognize as the cyclical depression I get from time to time set in around the time school was over, for me. I’ve felt very much like I’ve been wandering around aimlessly, without a purpose, when it started looking like my one semester of continued higher education was all that was wise to attempt at this point, mainly for financial reasons. I refuse to go into debt to fund an education for myself. Yes, that makes me weird, but it also makes me less broke and with more options than I would if I were carrying a B.A. degree and 5,000 dollars of debt two or three years from now.

So, now what? I’ve learned from experience that three things are my tools at hand when I start to feel that grey fog rolling in. First, daily, intentional prayer and focused devotional time (something that I think most Christ-followers occasionally struggle with. It’s like going to a party where you don’t know many people –you don’t want to go at first, but once you get there, it’s always worth going). Number two is a detailed to-do list. When I feel that fog rolling in, it’s usually about the time I lose interest in doing anything productive, and my home and responsibilities suffer in short order if I don’t just do what I know I need to do, whether I want to or not. The little thrill of being able to cross something off a to-do list is just the upper I need some days. Just do the next thing. Number three? Coffee. Don’t laugh –it’s scientifically proven (and a lot cheaper and probably easier on the system than SSRI’s*).

So, that’s how I’m coping these days, until I sort out what might be the Next Thing I’m supposed to be doing, speaking in kingdom terms. Not that the little things don’t matter, but I sometimes get a little lost-feeling when I hit a turn on the map that I wasn’t expecting. For now, I suppose I should be using more of my “free time” to blog. Excuse me while I cross that off my list for today, will you?

Where I got the “do the next thing” concept: http://www.backtothebible.org/index.php/Gateway-to-Joy/Do-the-Next-Thing.html  –credit where credit is due and all that… . If you’re a mom of littles, or once were, this might resonate some.

*I’m not a doctor, and have some first-hand experience with depression meds. Listen to your doctor on that one, before you listen to little old me. For me, a little caffeine provides the jump-start I need. Your needs may vary, of course.