Aerobic Girlfriends

When I was a new pastor’s wife, loneliness was my constant companion.  Moving away from the Midwest where I found it much easier to make friends, I was at a loss as to how to approach women in the inland northwest.  Independence is a “god” here.  After a couple of years of fruitless effort, I did something desperate.  I asked the Lord to give me a trustworthy girlfriend, someone who I could talk to about anything and who wouldn’t carry tales.

Trust is HUGE in the kind of friendship I need.  Being the “go to” person for a pastor’s wife means that the friend hears things of the heart – things that an untrustworthy person could use to malign the character of the pastor’s wife and possibly the pastor.  Too often people get freaked out when they discover the pastor’s wife is as human as they are.  Go figure.

Well, the Lord heard my desperate prayer, and He gave me friends . . . not just one friend but a few friends.  My cadre.  My girls.  My tough warrior princesses.  My snort, giggle and hiccup pals.  Oh, Dear Lord, how I love these women!

One of them read an article to me (sorry, I can’t remember where it is so I can’t give credit where credit is due) about investing time and care into girlfriend relationships because those relationships equal as much health as doing aerobics every day.  Can you believe that?  I can.

We laugh.  We cry.  We pray.  We talk deeply about difficult things.  We kick each other’s butts.  We hug.  We wipe away tears.  We hold up mirrors to each other.  We go to war with and on behalf of each other.  We share grief and victories.  We know where the bodies are buried and how deep we buried them.

I love my husband deeply.  He and I share all kinds of things – many of the same things that I share with my girlfriends.  But there is a difference.  Girlfriends share a unique kind of relating face-to-face that men are not wired for.  No slight to men intended.  Men relate shoulder-to-shoulder and use a few words only when necessary to solve world problems.  Women relate face-to-face and talk, cry and laugh in the process of solving every day challenges.

If you are a woman reading this, take time to cherish and build up your inner circle of friends.  If you’re a man reading this, urge the women in your life to invest time and effort into their female relationships.  When a woman has a trustworthy girlfriend, she and all the other people in her life benefit.

Aerobic friendship.  It’s good for the heart.

The Price of Free Will

As I pondered the first sentence in Genesis the other morning, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,” I took off on a rabbit trail. The Bible is clear that God was there in the beginning and nothing else was until He started creating. Knowing the Lord and His Word, I know that He was perfectly happy with Himself and lacked nothing. So why did He decide to create the heavens and the earth and then add to that angels and humans and animals and all the rest of creation? So I asked Him.

He explained. While He is perfect and needs nothing, He had such overwhelming love to share with others that He created others as an expression of this overflowing joy.

I asked Him what happened to mess everything up.

Free will.

He gave us free will, and we messed it up. Angels rebelled first, then humans. But He still offered free will because He wanted us to freely love Him as He loves us. It is possible to express free will perfectly, and He showed that when Jesus set aside the at-will practice of His divine attributes yet still managed to live sinlessly here as a human man.

His heart is delighted by those of us who repent of our rebellion and exercise our free will to love Him again. He said that the price was high for this, the price Jesus paid to make this possible, but that the cost was worth it.

Free will isn’t free. It cost Someone His life. Makes me want to practice free will wisely.

I Am Cat Furniture

This morning I sat at my desk answering a few emails.  Maggie, our calico princess, long ago decided that wherever I am that’s where she must be.  I’m so accustomed to her presence it took awhile to register that she was performing her morning ablutions while perched on the back of my neck.  Only when my husband came in to tell me he was going to town did I realize I was looking at him from an odd angle — hunched over my keyboard in order to accommodate the cat’s precarious yet comfortable (for her) position.

Lounge, sofa, easy chair, scratching post, perch.  Doesn’t matter.  I am cat furniture.

 

 

 

Drawn Versus Dragged

How would your attitude change each day if you considered that everything that happens to you, no matter if it seems good or bad, is used by the Lord to draw you closer to Him?

Once we realize – and accept — that the Lord is willing to do whatever it takes to bring us closer to Him in a deeply loving, eternal relationship, does that make it easier or harder to turn to Him in the midst of pain, discomfort, injustice or boredom?

What if you found out that He cares less about our comfort now than He does about our peace and joy in eternity? Would you be willing to choose His way even if it means suffering for awhile?

He draws us to Himself in each moment whether we realize it or not.

Here is the choice as I see it:

1) Either I can trust that He knows the whole picture, that He knows what is best for me and therefore I choose His way, or

2) I can do it my way, not face the pain of looking straight at my disabling sinfulness and therefore He must drag me toward Him.

Drawn versus dragged?

Something to think about.

Chet

My friend Chet died last Thursday. 

I detest seeing that line written in black and white.  So final and stark.  Hopelessness in neat print.  Sterile.  Not representative at all of the tears that run down my face and drip onto my shirt.  No inkling of the lump in my throat and the pain in my jaw as I clamp down on the grief.  Typed words oblivious to the tight, sobbing hugs Peggy and I share as she grieves her husband’s death and I grieve my friend’s grief and deep pain.

These words don’t at all represent the life lived by Chester Wood.  They in no way hint to the intelligence, the sense of humor, the fierce protectiveness showered on the woman he loved.  The words don’t capture the glint in his eye, the intensity of his stare when someone crossed the line and hurt his woman. 

Chet was a fighter pilot, a warrior in the sky.  Fiercely independent, he lived life on his own terms.  He drew the line in the sand and defended that line.  You knew where Chet stood.  I admired that a lot.  I never had to guess what Chet was thinking or how far I could push him.  That made him a safe man to be a friend to.  We seemed to understand each other.  Since Chet claimed to be from Andromeda, we figured I probably was too.  It made for some great inside jokes.

Peggy prayed for Chet for years.  She never gave up.  I prayed for him for the past five years.  Chet’s independence had taught him the lie that he didn’t need a savior, that he could do anything on his own power.  He’d come to the church potlucks and hear the Word.  He’d bring Peggy to the funerals and hear the Good News and he’d listen, yet remain stoic, keeping his thoughts to himself.  Seeds were planted but we had no idea if any of them had taken root.

Until cancer got his attention.

He got the diagnosis on a Monday evening.  The next Monday he asked to see Ted and me.  He was ready.  All those years of prayers, all the seed planting and watering, all the time the Lord had His hand on Chet and refused to let go.  Now was harvest time.

I asked Chet some questions.  He knew the answers and he was ready to “finalize” his decision to make his belief in Christ as his Savior public.  Peggy, Ted and I held onto Chet as the devil had one last go at keeping him from declaring his faith in Christ. 

The devil lost.  

Chet’s heartfelt “Thank You” to the Lord followed by his big sigh and, “I feel better” jolted all of us into quiet celebration that Chet wasn’t only husband and friend, now he is our brother in Christ.

On Thursday he went Home to Jesus. 

Dear God, that was quick.  Hard to take.  But because we know we’ll see him again, there is no hopelessness, no despair.

Grief, yes.  Intense and long lasting.

The reality is that Christ keeps His promises, and we will be gathered together again in Heaven.

Until that time, instead of looking toward Andromeda, now I look toward Heaven and say, “Hey, Chet, I can see your house from here.”

 

Rest

Last month I set off on a journey.  I called this journey “My Personal Prayer Retreat” and thought about all the great things the Lord was bound to accomplish in me because I was setting aside this time to be with Him and no one else.  I took my Bible, a journal, pens and other sundries and sequestered myself in a lovely place all alone.  Just me, the Lord . . .

. . . and dozens of thoughts about my to do lists, my ministry obligations, home duties and a host of other things that kept my mind very busy.  For the first three days I slept, ten hours at night and then about 3:00 each afternoon I’d find myself tipping over on the sofa and sleeping deeply for two or three hours more. It took three days to get past the need for so much sleep.

Each morning I diligently ate my breakfast and gathered together my Bible, journal and pens and would sit at the kitchen table overlooking a breathtaking view, sipping my coffee and waiting for the Lord to download on me all the things He wanted to talk to me about . . . because I had set aside this time to listen to Him, to be a good Christian woman who was obediently seeking Him . . .

. . . and then boredom would set in, I’d become depressingly lonely, and my legs would jump in frustrated restlessness. I’d write maybe a paragraph of my own thoughts, but I’d hear nothing from the Lord. 

On the fourth day, I woke up early, rested and feeling alive again.  I dutifully ate my breakfast, grabbed my cup of coffee and slid the still waiting Bible, journal and pen over to me, opened them up and proclaimed, “I’m ready Lord.  Speak to me today.”

The Still Small Voice said to me, “Close your Bible and your journal, and put down your pen.”  I did.  Then He changed my life.

He said, “I gave you the gift of this time in this place because I want to spend it with you, not answering a bunch of questions or giving a list of instructions.  I simply want to sit with you quietly so we can enjoy each other.”

For the first time I sat with the Lord, just the two of us, quietly, peacefully watching birds, listening to the waves rock the dock and lap at the beach.  I heard breeze in the trees and felt the sunshine on my face.  I was aware of the Lord sitting with me drinking all of it in.  I found myself concentrating on spending time with my friend, Jesus, who loves me enough to tell me He loves me and that He had longed for this time of togetherness and intimacy that I’m always too busy to recognize.

It was real rest.

He didn’t say much.  I didn’t either.  We sat and enjoyed the day together.  For the first time in . . . I don’t know how long, my mind and my heart were at peace.  My shoulders relaxed to their normal position rather than being stressfully drawn up around my ears.  My heart rate slowed, and I breathed deeply down to my toes. 

The biggest change happened in my core.  I rested. 

Resting with Him isn’t sleeping, although He later pointed out that like Elijah after he defeated the false prophets of Baal and Asherah and then ran from Jezebel (1 Kings 18:20-19:18), sleep and food was required before he could hear the Lord.  I’d been running for a long time.  Sleep and good food first.  Then came the real rest.

Setting aside time to rest with the Lord is essential for me now.  It’s only been a month since I first experienced this deep rest, but now I long for it.  Sometimes it’s only for a half hour in the middle of the day.  Sometimes it’s a couple of hours at the beginning of the day.  Occasionally He’ll wake me up in the night to spend time with Him.  No agenda.  No laundry list of prayers.  No guilt.  No shame. 

Simply this: quiet time with my friend.  Like anticipating seeing Ted when we were courting and we’d not seen each other for a month.  That kind of anticipation and longing.  Words aren’t needed.  Just spending time side by side in each other’s presence makes all the difference.

I found out this about my relationship with the Lord:  Yes, He does love me.  But He also likes me.  And that I find surprising. 

Can’t wait to spend more time with Him to discover more and more about Him.

With my whole heart, I invite you to take time to rest with the Lord.  He is worth every second of your time.

 

Fire Walking With Friends

Dedicated to Sky Painter~

One of the hardest things I do as a pastor’s wife and as a friend is to walk alongside those who are hurting without trying to fix what hurts them.

Fixing what hurts someone else doesn’t help them. It cripples them. Fixing dooms the one you fix to living with open wounds that never heal.

Walking with your friend as she figures out what hurts and what needs to be done about it and then supporting her as she does her own hard work to grow through the pain and into the healing . . . that’s some tough stuff. But when your friend emerges from the refining fire, she’s healthier, stronger and able to stand on her own two feet.

It is hard to watch someone you love go through the anguish of facing life’s hard stuff. Sometimes a word of wisdom interjected will give her enough flotation in the fierce waters of life to keep her head above the surface. Sometimes all I can offer is a silent hug as tears dribble off both of our chins.

Jesus never promised us that life lived for Him would be easy. In fact, He told us plainly, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

Having gone through plenty of sorrows of my own, I cling to the certainly of Jesus walking with me as I blunder, fall and get back up again. I trust Him to guide me and comfort me. He always comes through. My response to His compassionate giving is love and worship of Him and outpouring of the excess that He has poured into me.

From that outpouring comes my desire to walk with my hurting friend, to be Jesus’ hands, feet and hugs for her. He pours out His abundant love on her too.

You see, He’s called His people to walk in His ways with the promise that we too will be persecuted, ridiculed, betrayed by friends, hated by enemies, abandoned by family . . . but only for awhile.

This life is not easy. But this life is short. Eternity lived with Him is forever and free of the sorrows of our daily living here.

So walk with your friend through the fire if you dare. I dare because I know that what I do now with my friend, helping her become more of who Yahweh created her to be, will have unimaginable benefits as we’re immersed in joy and love beyond measure in eternity.

Free Miracle Cure

Who are the hardest, most unlovely people to show God’s love to?  Is it the smelly homeless guy on the street corner?  Is it the murderer on death row?  Is it your gossipy next door neighbor who creates problems with her loose tongue?  Those may be troubling and hard to deal with, but you want to know the person who trumps all that on the “difficult to love” scale?

The person living in your house with you.  They are called husbands, wives, children, and parents.

Why?  Each day we interact with these people.  We see their foibles, their mistakes, their character flaws.  Every day those perceived flaws are paraded in front of us,  displayed in words, actions, and thoughts.  We cannot escape these selfish, messed up people.  Our lives are made more difficult because of them.

I know you agree with me because I’m absolutely correct about this.  Right?

Yeah.  I knew it. 

So do you want to know how to deal with these people without losing your sanity?  Do you want to discover what will make those people you live with miraculously turn into real people with value?  Do you want those things that were impossible for you to deal with previously to become easier and less troubling?

Here’s the secret:

First, you go into your bathroom.  Make sure to turn on the light over the mirror.

Stand in front of the mirror, bending slightly forward from the waist so that your face is really close but you can still see yourself.

Now repeat these words:  “Lord Jesus, please forgive me for being selfish and self-centered, thinking that I’m the only right one in this household.  Please work in my heart so that I am more patient, kind, loving, compassionate and humble.  Please help me to see these poor people who have to live with me in the light of Your truth.  Help me to be more like You.”

The medicine may be hard to swallow and it may take a little while to work, but the result is life changing.

 

Permission To Fail

One of the toughest things I’ve learned is that there is no real success in anything until I’ve given myself or someone else permission to fail.  Without the real opportunity to stretch your wings in life, sports, art or ministry, you’ll never know what you can achieve if you’re too worried about not getting it right the first time.

So breathe.

And then make a deal with yourself that you’ll try whatever it takes even if it means you fail the first time . . . or the fifth time . . . or the twentieth time.

Learn from the mistakes.

Own the failure.

Then try again until you reach your goal.

Oh, one more thing.

If you do fail and you hurt others in the process, own that too.  Apologize and ask for forgiveness.  Then learn from that and move another step in the right direction.

There is freedom to succeed when you grant yourself and others permission to fail.

 

A Scored Life

Now for something completely ridiculous.

My friend, Cindy, and I were working on our “to do” lists today.  As she pointed out, this kind of work required music.  Since I was writing and dealing with paperwork, vocal music was distracting. Scrounging in my cabinet, I found a soundtrack from Italian westerns, those great movies of yesteryear.  Everyone has one of those in their collection, right?

We found ourselves laughing as we felt impelled to sneak around corners with our six shooters drawn.  Sometimes we’d wait as the musical clock built tension in the room until something . . . must . . . happen!

The wailing Spanish trumpets compelled Cindy to scrub the stove top with flourish and intensity.  I found myself typing in rhythm to the melancholy guitar strums.

All in all, it turned our dreary tasks into drama, romance, tension and laughter.

So it makes me wonder, if our lives were set to music, what would it sound like?

You’ve got music playing in your head right now, don’t you?

Ha!  I knew it!