he will give strength

The Lord will give strength to His people; The Lord will bless His people with peace. Psalm 29:11

Monday kicked off a four week training marathon for me. I am transitioning from the role as a nurse at the Health Department to a Family Nurse Practitioner. Since January, I have worked two days a week as a nurse. So that training will happen quickly, I am working five days a week for these next few weeks. 

Fear has loomed before me as I entered this season. Can I do this? Will I have the energy? How will my family survive? How will I steward my energy? Will I make the right decisions? So many questions... 

In fact, I had a nightmare involving four pythons at the Cottonwood pool. I’ll spare you the details. Suffice it to say that the fourth python I encountered jumped up on me (he had feet) and licked me on the face. I awakened with adrenaline coursing through my body. No hope of sleep in sight. What, I had to ask, am I afraid of?

A friend of mine and a mighty good aesthetician, Karee Hayes, encouraged me to blog about the chaos of these weeks. She said it really captures her heart when women are honest and vulnerable about the challenges of real life. This exhortation inspired me and it kept bouncing around in my heart.

This morning early, I tiptoed out to the coffee pot. What would God say to me this morning? Where will I find Him today? Where will I spot His fingertips?

Sarah Young (Jesus Calling) reminded me: “The more demanding your day, the more help you can expect from Me. This is a training opportunity, since I designed you for deep dependence on your Shepherd-King. Challenging times wake you up and amplify your awareness of needing My help.” 

Lord, I am aware of my need. Help me. Amen.

I look at the oxen and am reminded that His yoke is easy and His burden is light.

Church at the Soccer Field

Today I had church at the soccer field. Not to be glib, but as I yelled, kicked and jumped around for my son’s team; I met another side of me. The contemptuous soccer mom needs the grace of Jesus. Let me explain...

Our team started the game with a record 1:1 on Sunday at 8:00 a.m. Yes. I said 8:00 a.m. How we are on a team that has a game at 8:00 a.m. on Sunday is yet another post for another day. The tournament began on Saturday with a game at 8:00 a.m. Yes. All this is to say that we were tired. Fried may be another word to describe it. 

Joshua scored the first goal with a slider that buzzed past the goalie. Later Luke booted one in. Number 15 on the other team, Mr. Happy Feet, got around John and let one fly past Jake, our goalie. Not long after that our Blake scored in a break-away. We entered the half 3-1. A mom from the other team took the field and did a few dribbling drills her short blonde hair bouncing like David Bowie’s. In a pair of black yoga pants and a bright pink sports shirt, she led the cheering section in some chants. I’m not kidding. I turned away and walked down to the other end of the field. My chair sat right next to the other team since I parked on the 50 yard line.(What is that called in soccer?) I had noticed the mom when she went down the sideline and gave each mother a high five after they had scored their ONLY goal of the first half. She stopped at my chair. Graciously

Second half: In a series of unfortunate events, the other team scored two goals on our Jake who had the sun directly in his eyes. This factor along with the conspicuous slope of the field toward the goal aided their team to tie us 3:3. We went into double over time. No score. As the parents postured and pontificated on the sidelines, the refs called an end to the game through penalty kicks aka PKs.

With every bit of drama as the World Cup, several (I am still learning the rules of soccer and don’t remember exactly how many) team members stepped up and went one to one with the goalie. One from our team, then one from the other team. It all came down to the final kick by the other team.  He kept the ball low on the ground and whizzed it into the left corner past Gannon, our brave and very able goalie. A bitter end to a bitter battle on the field. 

David Bowie-hair lead the roar from the other sideline. I watched with shock and the alchemy of adrenaline and caffeine with no food churned my stomach. The other team lined up for a high-five parade past Mrs. David Bowie. Our brave warriors deflated slowly left the field not without a few tears. 

Coach Graham came over and said our players fought hard. We all agreed it could have gone either way. Hard way to lose, we murmured the comfort of exhausted, frazzled soccer parents. We gathered up our children and chairs and exited the field with dignity.

As I waited in line for the ladies' bathroom, Mrs. Pink Shirt David Bowie bounces in and assumes the place right behind me. “I just love watching penalty kicks,” she beams. “Our team just played an overtime...” 

“We played you,” I interrupted her unable to endure more of her glee. 

“OH!” she shot back. “You have a great team... that number 1 has an amazing foot.” Thankfully by this time I entered the stall. She was safe from my dagger-eyes. I did not have to interact with her again.

As I reflected on this morning, after we had the long ride home and engaged Joshua on the “what if’s” and the “if only’s” of the game; I realized that I had met a side of myself I did not so much like. A disdainful soccer mom. No hiding it. 

I’m aware that soccer games make me question whether I even LIKE people or not. Yelling parents coaching their kids from the sidelines make me cringe. Yet I turn into some version of that as soon as we fall behind after leading 3:1 at the half. 

So what does this have to do with CHURCH?

At least one paradigm of church could be to worship God and in so doing meet the empty, orphaned parts of ourselves. 

Granted one missing element in this story, so far, is meeting God; yet on the way we beheld the sunrise. We marveled at the fire bouncing off the Batman Building in the downtown skyline. At least part of our souls had turned toward Our Creator - the One who wakes up the Sun. And so when the contemptuous part of me rose up, I knew where to take her. Worship looks like acknowledging the fallen, broken parts of me and depending on my Father to provide the grace.

Sue Monk Kidd writes, “The life of the spirit is never static. We’re born on one level, only to find some new struggle toward wholeness gestating within. That’s the sacred intent of life, of God – to move us continuously toward growth, toward recovering all that is lost and orphaned within us and restoring the divine image imprinted on our soul.”

Meanwhile, back at my REAL CHURCH, Lloyd preached on dying to live and what it looks like to be a disciple. Technology makes it easy for me to hear the message. So later I dialed it up. What does it look like to die in order that I may live, really live? Lloyd said, “In any and every circumstance recognizing: It’s not about me. I don’t have to be right. I don’t have to get my way. When we live that way, the gospel expresses itself.”

This week I am left to ponder the contempt residing in my heart. Confess it. Repent of it. Ask Jesus to blow a fresh wind through this stale heart and wait to see what He does. 

fear: the bright side

As we unravel, God is present. He invites us to let it all unravel and to see Him with new eyes. Meet a man who in his unraveling, stumbled onto new life. The guard in the following story is supposed to be watching over Paul and Silas. The text says he is sleeping. 

Paul and Silas are in jail because Paul in a fit of exasperation had exorcised a demon from a slave girl. The owner is peeved because this slave made him a nice profit by divination. A ruckus ensues and Paul and Silas are beaten and thrown in jail. The hilarity of this story cannot be missed. 

So here they are... in jail... at midnight singing...

Along about midnight, Paul and Silas were at prayer and singing a robust hymn to God. The other prisoners couldn't believe their ears. Then, without warning, a huge earthquake! The jailhouse tottered, every door flew open, all the prisoners were loose. Startled from sleep, the jailer saw all the doors swinging loose on their hinges. Assuming that all the prisoners had escaped, he pulled out his sword and was about to do himself in, figuring he was as good as dead anyway, when Paul stopped him: "Don't do that! We're all still here! Nobody's run away!" The jailer got a torch and ran inside. Badly shaken, he collapsed in front of Paul and Silas. He led them out of the jail and asked, "Sirs, what do I have to do to be saved, to really live?" They said, "Put your entire trust in the Master Jesus. Then you'll live as you were meant to live - and everyone in your house included!"

One second the guard is going to kill himself. The next he runs in amidst the rubble and asks, “What must I do to be saved?” One moment in fear of his superiors, he grabs the sword figuring he is as good as dead. The next, he escorts the prisoners out of the jail, invites them to his home, feeds them and binds their wounds. 

In a split second of explosive grace, his perspective is changed. This is crystal clear: the One Whom He Should Fear. The guard is unraveled and unbound.  

I love the fact that the jailer walked into the rubble with a lantern. Once he found Paul, Silas and the other prisoners still there but loose, he collapsed trembling. His question is beautiful: Sirs, what do I have to do to be saved, to really live? 

In the midst of fear and rubble, isn’t this our question? Can we drop the guises of control and independence and drop to our knees? Can we mutter in the thick of the dust: What must I do to really live?

The response so simple yet so difficult. Put your entire trust in Master Jesus. Then you’ll live as you were meant to live – and everyone in your house included. What would happen if I put my entire trust in Master Jesus? If I gave up my cynicism, self-righteousness, comfort food and rescuing; what would my life look like? I use things (addictions, idols) to mask my fear. What if I ran in breathless to the rubble and ruins and asked the question simple and clear?

One element is conspicuous: the jailer gets a glimpse of the eternal. Paul and Silas introduce him to Jesus. I need to see Jesus to know what to fear. If I fear Him, the other fears shrink like so much burning plastic. 

That’s when the party starts.

They never did get to bed that night. The jailer made them feel at home, dressed their wounds, and then - he couldn't wait till morning! - was baptized, he and everyone in his family. There in his home, he had food set out for a festive meal. It was a night to remember: He and his entire family had put their trust in God; everyone in the house was in on the celebration.

When we unravel, we get a set of new eyes. We can see - really see - what is crucial. And that is worth a celebration! 

just be present

Yesterday I had the privilege of listening to two people from Nashville Cares tell their stories of hearing some of the hardest words ever spoken: I am sorry to inform you but you have tested positive for HIV.

Cheryl and Mr. S relayed their stories of courage and humiliation. Mr. S heard these words publicly as he “kicked it” in the lounge with others in a rehab facility. A nurse announced from the doorway that he had tested positive. As I sat listening to his sad tale in a room full of nurses, I think many of us wanted to crawl under the table. The actions of this nurse betrayed all that we are taught and all that we stand for, frankly. Nevertheless, the event is part of his story. He said, bravely, if it weren’t for HIV, he would be dead. He tried to “smoke” himself to death. That is smoke as in CRACK. Mr. S, a heterosexual male he proclaimed with a smile, contracted HIV as a IV drug-user. As he began to heal and fight to survive the HIV, he dealt with the ghosts that CRACK could not silence. He found the will to live. Now he helps others. “He doesn’t want anyone,” he bellowed as he paced the room, “to go through what he went through.”

Cheryl, at least, heard the words from a kinder nurse. She too described the day as feeling surreal. A nurse gave her a card and ushered her out of the door. Cheryl had contracted HIV through her fiance. He did not tell her he was HIV positive. Needless to say, a sacred trust broke wide open and Cheryl remains single “by choice” today. “Relationships,” she quipped, “are full time jobs!”

Both of these survivors found their way to Nashville Cares. Now they tell their stories and educate other people about HIV/AIDS. And yesterday they stood in front of a roomful of nurses and took us to school. 

How do you respond to someone when you have to give them such news? Mr. S said, “Just be present with them.” Don’t, he raised his voice, give them a card and usher them out the door. I wish you could hear his accent and his deep raspy voice. Don’t tell them it will be ok. How do you know it will be ok? It won’t be ok. At least not for a while, maybe never. 

Just be present. Is there anything harder? 1,000,000 things might be easier than sitting in the room with someone who has just been told they have HIV. We bolt from the present when it is unpalatable to us. We bolt when we have not done the work around our own pain. We bolt when we are afraid. When we think someone will fall to pieces in front of us. When we have no answers and we cannot appear competent and confident and full of power.

To sit with another broken human being requires that we allow ourselves to feel deep sorrow. To feel deep sorrow, we have to look at our own pain. I’ve noticed that when a hurting person brings their pain into the room, most people begin to feel extremely uncomfortable. Afraid. We become “triggered.” We begin to relive our most painful moments and that is not ok so we shut down. We tell a man he has HIV from across the room. We hand a dying woman a card and rush her out the door. 

As Christians, we may tack on a couple of feel-good verses. Take two verses and call me in the morning. We almost cannot bear to live among the ruins of the fall. 

What does it look like to suffer well? To remain present to this fallen, broken world? 

The amazing thing about Jesus’ life is His Presentness. And he called others to be WITH him. He asked Peter, James and John to follow him further in the Garden of Gethsemane on the night he was betrayed by Judas. You know the story, they fell asleep. They could not remain present with him. I am comforted by this and that Jesus knew they were frail humans that bolt when the going gets tough.

I think Jesus wants us to practice remaining present. And each time we do bolt, we can always just come back. We can admit that we are frail; we don’t have answers. We don’t have that much POWER over HIV/AIDS or over other people’s responses. And in those moments, Our God is strong. 

I don’t know how I would find the nerve, the strength to tell someone they have HIV. But I learned a lot from Mr. S and Cheryl. After hearing their stories, I have a better chance of remaining present to someone in that position. I have a better idea of what it looks like to “JUST BE PRESENT WITH THEM.”

Today, I hold these precious stories told by fragile yet spirited human beings. They are gifts - the kind that keep on blossoming. Stories, gifts, that tell a tale of unraveling, disentangling. Clearing up. Freed from complication or difficulty. A distillation to what is important. To be unraveled is to be unbound. 

Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size - abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become. II Corinthians 12:10

grace under water, under pressure, under construction

Susan exemplifies the concept of God at work in the unraveling. She embraces it. If you want a fellow soldier in the bunker with you during an episode of unraveling, Susan’s your girl. She asks probing questions. She draws you to the truth. She envelops you with love and caring. And in a rare gift of humankind, Susan is present to those around her.

Inside at Fellowship Bible Church on Saturday, May 1, Lloyd Shadrach opened the Bible and taught on The Flood. Outside God illustrated. Sixty or so of us weathered the flood to hear about The Flood. On the way home from church, my friend Susan Babcock texted me. “Send Matt over. We are moving furniture upstairs.” I replied, “On way home. Be there in 10 mins.” She sent back, “I don’t have 10 mins.” 

Surreal. Is this really happening in Cottonwood? To a friend of mine? Will the water get in her home? Will it get in mine? Where is the rainbow?

It rained Saturday all day. And Sunday ALL DAY. On Sunday evening, we went to see the water line. While we were there, the National Guard drove up in its Amphibian Vehicle. We called our children back from the murky water. We watched with bug-eyes as canoes brought out downcast souls from their homes. Some people embraced these creatures crawling out of the water. Some said, “I’m sorry.” I wept as my friend, Charlie, waded out of the river with his phone held high over his head. 

The next day, we awoke to dry ground. The water receded! Now what?!?!???????

Matt and I took off to the Babcock’s house. A small crowd was gathering there. People looked around. What do we do? Charlie and Susan vacillated in and out of presence of mind to pinch-me-this-can’t-be-happening. One second, they had a home. Next one, they did not. How do you make that reality?

Phone calls were made. Experts showed up like J. Mac Brown and John Farkas and Rob Marrero and Brad Taylor. People brought food and water and drills and extension cords. Children pushed coolers with popsicles. The experts barked orders and warm bodies went to work. Some of us (I won’t mention names) sneaked next door and looked through the window to see what the paid experts were up to. 

I’ll never forget meeting a man named Matt. He climbed the front steps of the Babcock home with an orange extension cord adorned around his neck and waist like Clint Eastwood’s artillery in A Fistful of Dollars. (I watched it with my Daddy when I was 4.) His drill weighed down his left hand like a Colt 45. I stuck out my right hand to introduce myself. He smiled (no toothpick) and said, “What can I do to help?” 

He got right to work marking the walls, cutting the dry-wall, pulling out insulation. When everyone broke for dinner, he asked what time he should return. I mumbled something about being done for the day. He said, “I’ll be back tomorrow.” And he was. 

That is one story of sacrifice. One snapshot among millions of the way neighbors served neighbors personifying the “Volunteer” in Volunteer State. Words cannot contain the goodwill spilling over from Cottonwood during flood-week and for weeks afterward. 

While the newness has worn off and the mold has grown, many of the flooded are still without homes. Long-suffering, they eek out a life moving from pillar to post. Among these flood-victims are my friends Susan and Charlie Babcock and their beautiful children – Jacob and Anna. 

The Babcock family could have walked out of the pages of a J Crew catalogue.  Blue eyes blaze forth an inner light unveiling their LIVE SPIRITS. In other words, their spirits are even more gorgeous than their forms. Even as they endure the trauma of a natural disaster, they have exhibited grace and love. 

A few weeks ago, I ran into Susan. “Words,” she said, “are so important.”

Really? I told her of my difficulty. Truth is I had hardly blogged since the flood. Who has words for this event? Who can attempt to contain all of it in a blog entry?

“Words,” she said, “are so powerful!” She bore through me with her steel blue eyes. Some wayward path within me corrected on the spot. This is all I had been thinking about words: they are impotent. They cannot contain this. From then on, I plotted to bless her on this blog. 

She exemplifies the concept of God at work in the unraveling. She embraces it. If you want a fellow soldier in the bunker with you during an episode of unraveling, Susan’s your girl. She asks probing questions. She draws you to the truth. She envelops you with love and caring. And in a rare gift of humankind, Susan is present to those around her.

Now, don’t think she is a saint. She would not want that. But she is a daughter of the King. She wakes up each day with a desire to live that identity out well. We’ve talked many times about how the unraveling leads us to freedom. 

Today or tomorrow, Susan, Charlie and a host of neighbors will begin to move in with couches and crayons, portraits and pots, linens and lamps. Keenly aware of the fact that none of these things constitutes a home, we will nonetheless place these things back into the shell of a house that has been virtually demolished and rebuilt. In the construction vernacular, they were “down to the studs.” Susan will tell you it is a metaphor for an inner process. A flood takes your soul down to the studs. The journey spotlights what is in there: some things to keep, some to cull, some to hold you up.

Sue Monk Kidd, author of Secret Life of Bees, once endured a hurricane. She penned these words. They beautifully convey the unraveling. 

It’s as if I am being pared down like a piece of fruit, stripped, peeled, distilled to a simplicity of spirit. The events are exfoliating. They shuck me down to some place that is thick with luminosity and resilience, an enduring inner ground. What comes rising to my lips is the word God, and in the next breath, home. The whole thing is so palpable it carries an actual physical sensation. 

I learned all over again that intensely fraying events in life, like hurricanes, sometimes have a particular effect. They plunge us into a mysterious, inward divestiture, a distillation we could truly call sacred, because for a while we know – in a way that we rarely know – what matters. I mean what really matters. We know it utterly. And this unimpeachable knowing ushers us once again to the authentic ground that resides at the heart of life. We seem to understand – if only partially – this is the Ground of Presence. It’s as if the foreground of life, where we spend the majority of our time, fades away, and we are left in the great background that is God, against which all life exists. 

Sue Monk Kidd, Firstlight