Leave Them Better…

Henry Van Dyke once said, “There is a loftier ambition than merely to stand high in the world. It is to stoop down & lift man up a little higher.” How easy it is to get caught up in the enticing busyness of everyday living. Though we may not set out to “stand high in the world,” in the end, the effort to “keep up” can be self-consuming. 

And yet, need is always in the world around us. If we take time to look into the faces around us, to truly see people, we find a world muddling through various desperate circumstances. Empathy, compassion, and generosity are there in many individually, but relatively speaking, they are still in short supply. Ian Maclaren once said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” Though the struggle is different for each one of us and varies in different seasons of our lives, it is there for all of us nonetheless.

A colleague reminded me recently that although I’m a perfectionist, it’s okay to let go sometimes. In this crazy COVID world we’re all currently experiencing, to slow down and be present with kids is one of the best gifts we can give them. The same is true for adult needs as well.

In her book, WHEN THINGS FALL APART, Pema Chödrön suggests that one way to relieve our own suffering is to face it, recognizing it for what it is instead of running away from it and allowing it to rule us. In our willingness to face this pain, we can begin to focus on others in the world who might face the same difficulty and emotions. As we awaken to the suffering of others and wish for improvement and relief for all, we can begin to spread contagious compassion and empathy. 

Mother Teresa once said, “Let no one come to you without leaving him better.” What a great reminder, a wonderful intention to set. It’s another way of saying I must learn to keep judgement from my heart and  love my neighbor as myself. Today, I choose to open my eyes, remove them from myself, and focus on others. Albert Schweitzer said, “Until he extends his circle of compassion to include all living things, man will not himself find peace.” I will need to choose this attitude over and over again. Each time that I practice, it will become easier to leave others better after our encounters. I can be a small part of making peace on earth with my own two hands.

Chain Breaking Words…

I keep a large journal in which I paste cut-out words and phrases that have meaning for me. They’re usually those I find in a magazine, many times coupled with a captivating image that grabs my attention or resonates in a particular way. 

The idea first came from something I read about working with teens. Adolescents often find it difficult to put words to what they’re feeling and experiencing, so it can be helpful to take out an old stack of newspapers and magazines and encourage them to cut out whatever feels true and inspires them right now, then paste it into a collage. It can be helpful to sit alongside them and do the same. My niece and I did the activity once at a time when she was closed off from meaningful conversation. When she stopped the activity after just a few words, staring at a mostly blank page, I was there to pass a few words on to her, reminding her she is amazing, beautiful, loved, and strong. It was a powerful experience, providing us windows into her soul and mine. 

Don’t we all struggle at times, in this busy world we live in, to listen to the whispers within? For this reason, this word search collage is a practice I’ve continued. Words have the power of life and death, and for many of us, there are words and lies we have believed about ourselves that have wrapped us in chains. This is one practice I use to break those chains. When I’m feeling the most hurried, disquieted, discouraged, or disconnected from myself, a pair of scissors, an old magazine, and my collage journal (preferably accompanied by Norah Jones or Hillsong), are welcome friends. Leafing through what I’ve pasted in my journal has the power to whisper back to me what my heart and soul are crying out for, what my core values and priorities are, and to remind me of who I truly am.

For example, on so many pages are images of smiling women in hammocks or on stand-up paddleboards, or sitting in comfy armchairs or front porches. The image of a woman at rest, enjoying life obviously calls to me, as do the words, “Rest; rejuvenate; sleep, reclaiming a place; simple ways to refresh; wholesome loving care from this day forward.” Words about being present sound out like a clarion call. “Revel in the great outdoors; watch the extraordinary moments unfold; discover the moment; life’s better when you’re in it; be there; mind every moment; make the most of your day.”

Other phrases remind me of what’s important to me, “Live with all your heart; create a lasting legacy; giving is good; unconditional love, getting closer; collect experiences, not things; always seek your inner light; look deep into nature.” Many remind me of my calling and encourage me to go after my dreams, “Find the perfect stories; stories are important and deserve to be told.”

There are those that say, “Live happily ever after,” or “The best is yet to come,” that encourage my heart to hope when it feels a bit low. Some, like, “Choose happiness,” which I combined with, “It’s time, right now,” that inspire me in my attitudes and choices. And others, “Take it outside; Dress like a box of crayons; Life is eating, laughing, and loving,” just remind me to have FUN. 
Sometimes I look through my book and am amazed to see the person buried deep inside me. At others, I’m just glad to see her again. My book helps me to hear Emily Dickinson’s voice nudging, “The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience…. Dwell in possibility.” Most often, the words whisper the voice of God, telling me His truth that supersedes any other voice, reminding me of His love that is immense and unconditional, speaking His words that break every chain.

“Just As I Am…”

 

Mistakes and failure seem to be a part of venturing bravely and wholeheartedly into this great big world, or just staying at home. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it. Over and over again, I come to the feet of God, the plea of Charlotte Elliott’s old hymn on my lips:

 

“Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me.

And that Thou bidst me come to Thee.

O Lamb of God, I come. I come.”

 

As many times as I think I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to make a million mistakes in this human adventure, the ugliness of failure hits me anew each time like running into a brick wall. Like author Anne Lamott, I must tape Hillel’s line on my wall, “I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.”

 

Nelson Mandela said, “The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing…but in rising every time we fall.” And I have this blessed hope. As I pick myself up and dust myself off, my loving Father greets me with His arms wide open. He looks at me tenderly, telling me without words that all is well, and all manner of things shall be well. He whispers that He has loved me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 33:3) and I am completely right with Him through the blood of His Son (II Corinthians 5:21).

 

I walked yesterday, a few things troubling my spirit, the weather windy as a storm rolled in. As I rounded the corner to my house, a warm sunset greeted me. Pastel purples, pinks, and yellows stretched thin across the western sky. Just then, a small wren landed on top of my wind chimes and sat there bouncing joyfully in the wind. As he began his song, accompanied by both the stormy breeze and the chimes, silhouetted by the mellow evening sky, part of a favorite song came to me: “I sing because I’m happy, and I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

 

That night I read a portion of Bill Holm’s poem Ann Lamott quoted in her book BIRD BY BIRD called “August in Waterton, Alberta,” and it connected these musings on failure and songs in storm:

 

“Above me, wind does its best

To blow leaves off

The aspen tree a month too soon.

No use wind. All you succeed

In doing is making music, the noise

Of failure growing beautiful.”

 

Though perhaps my time for success in certain realms has not yet come, if it ever shall, and the wind may blow all the while, my roots grow deep and my colors turn bright and beautiful. “Meanwhile, I keep dancing” (Hillel).

“Invincible Summer in the Midst of Winter…”

Okay, so it’s late April and  officially spring, but in southwestern Colorado, it can be hard to tell in the month of April. Admittedly, we’re officially spoiled here–our state sees the sun shine an average of 360 days per year. This month, a couple hours a day is often all we get. The wind, cold, icy rain, and occasional snow give it the unmistakable feel of ongoing winter. With a global pandemic and the isolation of sheltering in place, it’s easy to let the doldrums of the season overcome. 

And yet, the red-winged blackbirds who arrived over a month ago sing their spring song and balance on the thinnest of branches regardless of the storms. They remind me of the thoughts of great thinkers of long ago. Albert Camus wrote, “In the midst of winter, I finally discovered that deep within me lies an invincible summer.” Transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau encouraged, “Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of each.” What lovely reminders that wherever we’re at, there are pleasures and beauty to be found and enjoyed, moment by moment. Summer can always be cultivated within us.

In my own winter mentality moments, I continue to grieve for the loss of a career I loved due to poor health. Although it’s been a couple of years since I quit teaching full-time, I struggle to find my place in the professional world. For the second year in a row, I applied for a job I hoped might be the solution and didn’t get it. As I lamented to a friend the difficulty of no longer being valued or known in this professional realm, she reminded me of the TRUTH. I am absolutely valued and known, seen and heard. My God has not forgotten me and will walk with me through this season. Psalm 18:19 assures me He brings me out into a place of abundance because He delights in me.

 
In Lamentations, the prophet Jeremiah, writing in a time of great personal and societal suffering, said, “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness (Lam. 3:22-23, NIV). Brother Lawrence, a saint of old, saw all men like trees in winter, stripped of color, leaf, and anything of value–yet loved unconditionally. Though I am a humble tree in winter, struggling toward warmth and light, I will “…live this season as it passes…” knowing “…within me lies an invincible summer.”

“Welcome It All…”

Uncertainty clouds these present days…times unprecedented for many generations. Few of us could have foreseen our entire nation on high alert due to a dangerous new pandemic virus. The citizens of many states have orders to shelter in place, everything from schools to salons to government offices are shut down, and the majority of those who still have employment work from home. It’s easy to see that if nothing else, the economic ripples will be far-reaching. In all likelihood, far more will be affected.

It’s no wonder why the natural response of many is to panic. Reactions range from everything like hoarding toilet paper and Tylenol to becoming agoraphobic. Though I’m feeling increased anxiety these days, I’m also continually reminded, more than anything else, to breathe. Author Brené Brown says that according to her research, the majority of those who live wholeheartedly are “obnoxious breathers.” Though stated comically, I believe it’s true. Regulating our nervous systems often takes so much intentionality that it can come across that way. But the more we can keep ourselves from reacting emotionally, even naturally, in difficult situations by stopping to take a few deep breaths, the better chance we have of responding with equanimity.

 

In the first episode of her new podcast, “Unlocking Us,” Brené also discusses that when transitioning into difficult new seasons, experienced adults know that as hard as it is, the only way to get to the other side is to push through. As we do this, however, it’s crucial we take the time to name the difficulty of what we’re doing. Only then can we get to the place where we can embrace where we’re at without burying resentment and frustration.

 

For example, while sheltering in place and working from home, screens seem to await me at every turn. Work requires being on my computer eight hours a day, something my spine finds very difficult. Everything from church to medical visit to most shopping now come online. Connecting socially most often means texting, phoning, or Facebooking. Although I initially felt grateful to have these opportunities, I must admit, I’m finding tele-connecting difficult and far from authentic. 

 

But on a cool windy day this week, it dawned on me that spring arrived with the equinox earlier this week. The birds arrived weeks ago, baby calves play on a neighboring field, and neither seems to realize we’re in the midst of a pandemic. On a whim, I grabbed my gardening gloves, a spad, a bag of potting soil, and a few plants that needed repotting. We all went out into the sun embracing it along with the bitter wind. I closed my eyes and decided, as Father Thomas Keating once wrote, I would, “Welcome It All:”

“Welcome, welcome, welcome [it all]…I welcome everything that comes my way today because I know it’s for my healing….I let go of my desire to change any situation, condition, person, or myself. I open to the love and presence of God and God’s action within it.”

 

For an hour or so, I immersed my hands in earthy soil and attempted to give the beautiful living plants I’ve been given more space to stretch their roots and GROW. ITs was a wonderful reminder of BEAUTY and LIFE, a gentle nudge to get off all the screens as much as I can and nurture the things that provide me with sustenance and rest. I love Eugene Peterson’s translation of Matthew 11:28-30 in The Message: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

 

Jill also sings this invitation in her song, “I AM:” 

 

“The tide can change so fast, but I will stay the same through past, the same in future, the same today

I am constant, I am near, I am peace that shatters all your secret fears…

Oh weary, tired, and worn, let out your sighs, and drop that heavy load you hold, ’cause mine is light.”

“Your Love Awakens Me…”

I’ve noticed that when I can’t be still, when my OCD tendencies kick in and I’m operating on overdrive when I’m spinning in circles in a wild attempt to fix everything, that I need to stop and pay attention. Something is going on under the surface. Instead of numbing through activity and efforts to keep things under the illusion of control, I must be willing to sit with the discomfort. And this…this is hard.

 

As author, researcher, and speaker Brené Brown says, we all have ways of numbing. For some, they come in the more blatant form of substance addiction. For most of us, it’s subtler. We escape the pain of conflict, life, or difficult seasons or relationships with Facebook, food, television, or shopping…even cleaning. Not that any of these things are bad. They are all necessary and good in moderation. But the question is…are they bringing us pleasure and rest, or are they deadening our senses so that we feel we can cope?

 

Although I often retreat to unhealthy spots, God continually calls me out of these places, reminding me, “Come out of hiding, you’re safe here with me…You’ve been on lockdown and I hold the key…..(Steffany Gretzinger & Amanda Cook, Bethel Worship)” He is perpetually opening my eyes to the world around me, helping me learn that it’s connection, not escape, which helps me survive. Brené Brown also states that letting go of numbing and powerlessness is one of the ways we cultivate a resilient spirit and embrace wholehearted living.

 

This reminds me of what the great poet Rumi said, “Your task is not to seek for love, but to see and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” It also brings to mind a recent worship song, by Phil Wickham, but also sung by McKenna Sabin, “Your Love Awakens Me,” which states:

 

“There were walls between us,

By the cross you came and broke them down…

You called me out of the grave. You called me into the light.

You called my name and then my heart came alive.

Your love is greater. Your love is stronger.

Your love awakens, awakens, awakens me.”

 

It’s a continual process, but I ask that this day, moment by moment, I can allow His love to lead me out of the darkness and into the light, to break every chain, to awaken me. As poet e.e. cummings once wrote,

 

“I who have died am alive again today…

now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened.”

“Emmanuel: God With Us…”

I have a few friends who have nailed the art of being present. When I’m with them, they look at me, listen without interruption or distraction, nod their heads as they actively participate in the conversation, and then offer their hearts and lives in exchange. Because they’re so focused, they have this way of showing others they matter. It’s a gift to receive that kind of love, to have others who are there, ready to celebrate or cry or just sit beside me, willing to offer their strength or joy or compassion. 

 

God’s like this. He gives Himself fully to each one of us, with the infinite capacity to be present in all of us in life’s ups and downs, in just the ways we need. He pursues us and fills us to overflowing with His individual ministrations and unconditional love. How telling it is that two of His names are “I AM” and “Emmanuel/God With Us.” During the Christmas season, we remember that the Eternal God sent His beloved Son as the long-awaited Saviour. He would dwell as man with us and give His life as an atonement for our sins. 

 

I love that on his Christmas album, accompanied by Yo Yo Ma, James Taylor sings the Beatles’ song, “Here Comes the Sun.”The Son has come, and His arrival changes everything: “Little Darlin’, it’s been a long and lonely winter…but here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say, well, it’s alright.” 

 

Taylor also sings one of my favorite Christmas songs, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” an old English carol based on a Nineteenth-Century poem by Christina Rosetti:

 

“In the bleak midwinter/A stable sufficed;

The Lord God Almighty—Jesus Christ…

What can I give Him/Poor as I am?

If I were a Shepherd/I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man/I would do my part,—

Yet what I can I give Him—Give my heart.”

 

O Come, Emmanuel, be present with us this winter, in each day, as you have in ages past. Thank you for providing us with access to the ultimate gift—the feast of your presence.

“Just Another Ordinary Miracle Today”

For the second time this year, my husband has undergone major surgery. The last time, it was an emergency situation that caught us both by surprise, almost took his life, and required a month of living in the hospital. This time, we planned for the follow-up reversal surgery. Though I feared our lives would spin out of control again the moment we stepped into the hospital, things went far better than expected. They found few symptoms of his auto-immune disease, he required no time in ICU, and we left after a stay of three short days, with the doctors and nurses amazed at his rapid healing.

 

I wish I could say it hadn’t come as a surprise to me. It’s true–I’ve prayed and believed for his healing many times over the past several months. Apparently, however, there were places of disbelief I held back. The moments I allowed my fear to be bigger than my faith are greater than I would like them to be. This experience, as well as others, provides a lesson in POSITIVITY. An unknown quote posted on my wall encourages me to become a “possibilitarian.” Eventually, gradually, purposefully…I hope and will work for conversion.

 

To ground myself, I remember the cadence of gratitude that came after a month in the hospital last spring: 

  1. Sleeping and waking up in our own bed, not to mention getting to sleep in the same bed.
  2. Cooking and eating our own food…mmmm…though I’m sure my husband will occasionally miss those mystery meat patties from the hospital.
  3. Looking out at the mountains instead of concrete and highway traffic.
  4. Sitting in the sun instead of a hospital bed as the sound of windchimes replaces hospital alarms. 
  5. Being outside and breathing fresh air with our dogs, enough to bring us both to tears! 
  6. Being able to sit on our couch without constant interruptions from the IV monitor or those we affectionately called the “cuddle police” at the hospital.
  7. Hot showers.
  8. Better sleep. No more daily or 4:30 am IV draws or middle of the night interruptions. 
  9. No more 6:30 am visits from the team of doctors, though we are thankful for the care they provided.
  10. Returning to life, not as we knew it, but some semblance thereof. 

 

Sarah McLachlan’s beautiful song, “Ordinary Miracle” reminds us that each day is full of these possibilities:

It’s not that unusual

When everything is beautiful.

It’s just another ordinary miracle today.”

“Feeding on Mystery: The Table Before Me…”

We all know it to be true…our lives can change in an instant, in a single breath. Some years crawl and plod on with seeming monotony, yet each day holds wonders untold. Then there are the days where something shifts. For better or worse, the unexpected comes. At times, among those surprises are the things we’ve long hoped and prayed for, revealing the unbelief that resided in our hearts all along. At others, unspoken fears are realized or loss we never imagined possible occurs. We must find ways to accept life’s ambiguity and mystery in order to find happiness and peace.

 

In her stunning book 1,000 Gifts, Ann Voskamp provides an eloquent exposition of the Hebrew word manna, meaning, “What is it?” As the Israelites exited their time of slavery in Egypt and began their desert journey to the Promised Land, God rained down manna bread from heaven to nourish them each day. Though plentiful, they couldn’t store it up—each family could gather only what it could eat in a day and must trust God’s provision would be there again the next day. Though delicious, this was to be their sustenance for forty years—meal after meal, day after day. Amazed at first by the miracle God faithfully performed on their behalf, the Israelites cried out in wonder, “What is it?” But as the days and years of wandering in a barren place wore on, their amazement soon turned to grumbling.

 

This is so true in my own life. At first, when God provides for me in the dry places, I’m inclined to see His hand and marvel at His goodness and might. As time goes by, however, my eyes are blinded to the countless ways He works on my behalf. Contentment soon changes to dissatisfaction. I grow tired of feeding on mystery and desire to simply understand the purpose of it all.

 

In Psalm 23:5, David writes, “He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” There’s never a shortage of enemies in life, though they come in many forms. The promise, however, is that there is always a table prepared for ME in His presence. I don’t expect or desire it to be filled with mystery, with provisions that are difficult to identify. But so it is. God asks me to take the bread He has given, that He has been broken in order to break with me, and to call it grace. And so I will.

 

The following verse of Psalm 23 states, “Surely goodness & mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Though unknown, though highly unpredictable…surely good things are in store. As Albert Einstein said, “There are two ways in which you can live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle, or you can live as if everything is a miracle.” 

***Photo Credits: lovedoes.org

“Thoughts of God…”-

Solomon tells us in Proverbs 23:7 that, “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.” The apostle Paul encourages us in Philippians 4:8 to think on whatever things are true and just and lovely and honorable. With hundreds, even thousands, of thoughts entering our minds each and every hour, these verses are among the greatest challenges offered to us, yet also numbered in the most vital to our well-being.

 

How easy it is to allow our thinking to become negative or fixated on difficult circumstances–how natural to let unforgiveness or bitterness creep in! If our minds focus on such things, however, our hearts and speech overflow. As the modern saying goes, “What we focus on, grows.” I have been guilty of focusing on my own circumstances and pain recently–perhaps always, and I have seen the poor fruit resulting.

 

Words from an old friend call to me, “Genuine faith does not look at itself–it looks at God. When I feel in pain, the enemy is trying to get me to look at myself and look away from my Healer. When I feel insecure, then the enemy is trying to get me to look at myself and will remind me of my failings. So instead of trying to have more faith, I will try to look to Christ–remembering all His perfection, faithfulness, and goodness…. And I am in Him.”

 

Right thinking is one of the only sure foundations for living but it seems a monumental task. So how do I get there? As my friend encourages, I must focus on my Healer instead of the challenges at my doorstep or the ache in my heart or the pain in my body. I’m often reminded of King Jehosaphat’s story in II Chronicles 23–even when the circumstances are insurmountable, gratitude, praise, and prayer are always my way out. Author and researcher Brené Brown finds that the simple daily practice of keeping a gratitude journal is one of the biggest factors in cultivating the wholehearted attitude of gratitude. Spending time in God’s Word and in worship daily mold us into the image of Christ. The little things we do every day really do make a huge difference in our overall health and happiness.

 

Yet I know that if it’s up to me, my thinking and attitudes will change by small degrees–I’m dependent on the Holy Spirit for deep heart and life transformation. Missionary Amy Carmichael wrote a beautiful poem entitled “Thoughts of God” that begins, “Think through me thoughts of God/ My Father quiet me/ Till in Thy holy presence hushed, I think Thy thoughts with Thee.” He waits for me to surrender in order to be changed, to turn my eyes continually upon Him, but regardless, one thing can never change…I am in Him.

***Photo credits to lovedoes.org