new beginnings, new grace

“…there in its beak was a freshly plucked olive leaf!” Genesis 8:11

I am attempting to read the Bible through this year using Meet the Bible by Philip Yancey and Brenda Quinn. Today I read a familiar story of the flood and when I got to this verse something washed over me: gratitude and gladness. After devastation, the dove returns with an olive leaf. I have seen this in my own life. 

Noah had labored and built an ark. And if I understand it correctly, he waited with his family and the animals inside for 7 days before it rained. It had never rained. Then the deluge and horror of losing humanity and all the other animals and the places he must have loved. Then the waiting, sending out the raven then the dove. I cannot imagine standing out on the deck of the ark watching the horizon for the dove. What could he have felt seeing something green in its beak?

Have you ever experienced devastation? Has God ever took a wrecking ball to your life? Have you ever been harmed or watched someone you love be harmed? Have you ever looked out over ruins and wondered if God cared or if He was real? 

God painted something in the sky for Noah, a rainbow. And He wrote a poem:

As long as the earth endures,
seedtime and harvest,
cold and heat,
summer and winter,
day and night
will never cease.

The rainbow is the first recorded covenant by God. God chose beauty to remind us of grace.

The representation of the shower of His grace looks like a rainbow. And when I see it, I have to fall to my knees and receive. I open my hands and let the abundance weight them down.

Today I am thankful for new life, new beginnings, new stories, new adventures. And grace. Yes, I am thankful for grace.

more broken bones

Two weeks ago I was skiing down a gorgeous mountain drinking in the beauty and fell on my knee. The femur (big bone in the thigh) crashed into the tibia (shin bone) and cracked it. Also, the meniscus (pad between femur and tibia) tore. I skied down, barely walked to the car and have not walked on it since then. I had surgery Friday to repair the meniscus. The ACL was bruised but not torn. The tibia is healing and did not need pins. 

One day you can be walking down streets of gold and the next it all turns to ash. This is a paraphrased quote from Lady Mary of Downton Abby. One perk in all of this includes an introduction to this PBS series. Most of the world is watching it. I thought my friends had gone mad pronouncing downtown like a Brit. Then I fell in love with the series and learned the place is called Downton. We are just beginning Season 2. 

Of course my real life at present is much like a soap opera. Who would even believe that a couple could have two broken bones from two separate ski accidents? Two surgeries in one week - who could make this up?

I hinted at the idea that there is more to the story than where I left it. Matt dropped me off at the ER at 8:00 a.m. on December 31, 2013, the last day of the year. Julia greeted us at the front door with a wheel chair. She assured Matt they would take good care of me through a genuine smile. The day ended up as I thought - a lot of waiting. The staff took excellent care of me and lived up to Julia's promise. 

That night we settled the boys down early switching around sleeping positions. Matt and I slept on the sofas in the den. The boys all three piled up in the king-sized bed. We dozed off well before midnight. I awoke to Matthew breathlessly reporting that Sam had thrown up all over him and Joshua. 

Sam came in to sleep beside me. Josh and Matthew showered and  fell asleep on the  other couch. Matt spent the next several hours in the laundromat downstairs. At midnight the fireworks pulsed through the blinds of our condo. I hobbled over to the wall to wall widows and watched the brilliant explosions through sheets of snow. I mused out loud what on earth would 2014 hold for us. 

The morning  brought ten inches of snow and the first day I ever saw of 2014 shimmered like a blanket of crystals. Clean. Bright. New. 

Later Sam and I sat in front of the fire still in our pj’s. I called my dad to tell him of my injuries. “Things cannot get worse,” I said. “But I never say that.” About that time Matt beeped in. 

“I’m going down on the ski patrol stretcher,” he said. 

“Right,” I said. 

But a few minutes later he showed up covered from head to toe in snow. Joshua and he told me their tale. He was building up speed to manage a flat spot. In ten inches of powder, skiing is a different game. He planted his entire weight on his shoulder. I took one look at him and said, “You’ve broken your collar bone.”

About five minutes after that as we sat there gawking at the broken bone and brainstorming about what to do, Matthew came through the door. “It’s awful out there!” he said. Both of us charged him, “Are you ok?” “What is wrong?”

“I lost my iPhone and wallet,” he said. 

We just groaned in relief that he wasn’t hurt. Matt went for x-rays. His collar bone lay in two pieces and his pain roared. We tried to no avail to find the iPhone and wallet. It may surface in the spring. If so, LifeCase will have a new advertisement.

The next day we drove to Denver under sunny blue skies. I had two good arms. Matt two good legs. We made a perfect match. 

Next stop security. The wounded get wheelchairs and go to the front of the line. Twenty-two year olds without ID’s get questioned by the TSA. Matthew fielded about 85 questions and finally passed. We fought our way to the front of line at the Southwest gate. 

Our layover in Kansas City turned south when they announced the need for a pilot. “We are looking for a pilot,” the announcer said. Hmmmmm. How does one round up a pilot at 7:00 p.m. on a Thursday. Apparently one does not round up a pilot. We spent the night there, and it was a quick one. Back at the airport by 5:00 a.m. Matthew went in for round 2 of questions. He flew past this one in flying colors.

We landed and went straight to the orthopedist office.   At home the next day, our friends descended upon us and have nursed us back to health since then. Meals, taking down Christmas trees, running errands, dropping off kids, cleaning ceiling fans: nothing is out of reach for this army of lovers through actions. 

I cannot fathom what 2014 could hold that could outdo this but I am not saying “it could not get worse.” No sir, I am not.

Matt had his surgery Wednesday and can do more with one arm that most folks can with two. We are healing up and feeling loved. My mother who just turned 70 is here nursing us both. She can run circles around us. Her good southern cooking is mending all of our broken places - body, mind and spirit. 

broke leg

I sit in front of a wall of windows watching a mountain wake up. On one side is a fire warming me. On the other, I feel the chill of the winter emanating through the glass.
We are in Colorado - the whole of us. Five McMurrays under one roof, and we are drinking up all Colorado has to offer in the form of snow. b ooooonnnnn
nmnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nbbbbbbnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

I typed the above paragraph early on the morning of December 30. Then my "n" key on my iPad keyboard began to stick. You would not believe how many words have “n” in them. 

So I abandoned the post for later. I skied out into a day that would change everything... for a while at least.

This was our fourth day in Colorado. We stayed at the base of Copper Mountain but explored several other venues.  This day we skied Breckenridge. By the end of the day, we confidently made our way to the new peak 6. 

Mentally I took snapshot after snapshot of our boys mastering a sport Matt and I love. Granted, Matthew sported a snowboard. But seeing them enjoy the Rocky Mountains  grew mountains of pleasure in our hearts and souls. Gladness energized my body and kept me going even when fatigue threatened to down me. 

Our boys are spread out at ages 22, 13, and 8. Few activities engage all of us at the depth skiing provides. Matt and I relish the mountains and skiing. Of course we had frustrations, bickering and split ski pants. We had fights over driving directions and what channel to watch. 

And so I began that post writing about how life holds both things: warmth and cold. Although I am remembering it through a haze of hydrocodone and leftover anesthesia; this is the muse on my mind as I skied out into a day that would wreck my knee, end my skiing and disrupt our happy scenes on the mountain. 

I cannot blame conditions or difficulty of the run on my fall. My right ski simply hit something and went wonky. My knee bore the brunt of my fall and I rolled down the mountain in a ball of ice and snow. I deferred a call to ski patrol and foolishly skied down the mountain. 

Matt and the boys finished up with a few more runs while I took stock in a warming hut. Deep down inside I knew I was done and my knee fried. Denial is a hard friend to deny, however; and I held on until the next morning hoping it was only a sprain. 

The night did not bring relief only pain and tears. At daybreak I said to Matt, “You will need to drop me off at the ER. If we leave now, you can make it back by the first run.” I did not want them to miss a minute of skiing. 

I will bring this to a close and continue the story on another day. You will want to hear how Matt broke his collar bone but before that rang in the new year at the laundromat washing linens until 2:00 a.m. 

One thing I am holding on to is this truth: Life has both pain and intense joy. One minute you can be walking on streets of gold, and the next they turn to ash. I have no bow to wrap things up. But I am holding to my faith and God’s promise never to forsake.

dark

If I am to realize that the light of Christ shines within me, I must also see my darkness. 

Yesterday a funk overcame me. Often during this time of year, I can feel the tentacles of darkness wrap around me. They come in the form of the elephant sitting on my chest when I think about getting the shopping done. They call out to me in the voice of hyenas when I sit parked in gridlock on Mallory Lane. They appear to me as blindness when I cannot see the sun for several days during gray Tennessee winters. 

And yesterday they got the best of me. I will spare you the details but suffice it to say that I did not love well. My best moments were when I closed my mouth and did not speak. And I did not recover until this morning. 

Friday mornings are becoming a sanctuary to me. I have a chunk of time to sit and listen to silence, to the Shepherd’s Voice, to the truth about Christmas. The Advent book I read every hear has several meditations from authors who were martyred in WWII. Perspective.

Today I have been challenged to muse JUSTICE. I can tell you that I know nothing of it here on this earth. The only picture I have of it is the baby in the manger.

When Mary sounded off her magnificat, she said that God had bared His arm and showed His strength. She spoke of tyrants being knocked down off their high horses. Victims are pulled out of the mud. The poor, she said, sit down to a banquet while the callous rich are left out in the cold. Luke 1:51-53

And several months later, she gave birth mostly alone on a dark night in a dirty stable to a baby. I cannot miss the contrast in her song and her reality. 

Meditating on the baby who will accomplish all that is written in Mary’s Song has softened my hard edges. 

His light overshadows my darkness. He shows me through weakness, through vulnerability; I find My Strength. 

The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world. John 1:9

do not cling

Lately I have been aware of places in my soul in deep need of grace. I shared some of those places and thoughts with some friends the other night. One precious new friend beseeched me to be gentle and find grace for myself. She said she would pray for me to find that grace. 

It has not even been 24 hours since then and already Jesus is answering. 

This harshness arises from the inner Pharisee (or critic) who stands in judgment of me. Her god is perfection. And when I don’t measure up, she swiftly pounds the gavel. She has relied on performance and approval to get by and to survive. She is hungry for grace but doesn’t know it all that well. 

For some time, in fact for seven years, I have judged our time in Honduras as a failure. Failure is a harsh word. The posture of the critic is even harsher. My eyes are coming unveiled to see what a tragedy it is to view it that way. It arises from an arrogant idea that I know what is best and God does not. I have judged His plan, doubted His care for orphans, and floundered under comparison of our journey with others. 

In reality, I am clinging to an idea of how I wanted things to work. I wanted to stay with those children and see them through graduation from high school. I hoped to never inflict upon them pain and loss. I wanted to keep living the dream of caring for them and fulfilling our calling as I understood it.  

After Jesus had died and was buried, the disciples stood around in the garden for a while. Then they went home. All but Mary. She cried as she stood there, and then went over and peeked in the tomb. She found it empty. She thought she saw the gardener and through teary eyes begged him to tell her where they had put Jesus’ body. When Jesus said her name, “Mary!” her eyes opened and she saw Jesus standing before her. ALIVE! 

He said to her, “Do not cling to me. Go to the brothers and tell them I have ascended to the Father.”

In that moment she transformed from a clingy, fearful, grieving woman to the first apostle to carry the good news on this earth. She let go of the reality she had wanted. Jesus is back. He is alive. Things can go back to the way they were. She grabbed hold of the future as Jesus set forth. “Go!” 

My hands are open. My arms are wide for the Pharisee to come in and receive warmth and grace. My eyes are on the horizon to see the path open wide before me.