I get so caught up in the future sometimes. Do you do that?  I start thinking ahead, making plans, creating mental timelines in my head.  There is always so much to do, and I’m an organizer.  I want to know exactly when things are going to, or should, happen.  I’ve never been big on surprises.  I like to feel fully prepared for what’s ahead.  When I fold clothes, I stack them into piles according to where they are going and in what order I will get to those places – the clothes that go in my dresser on top, towels that belong in the bathroom next, things I will hang in the closet on the bottom.  I put detergent in the dishwasher immediately after I empty it in the morning, even though I will not turn it on again until we go to bed.  I keep extra garbage bags in the bottom of the trash can, so they are right there when I take a full bag out and need to replace it.  This is OCD at work my friends – feel free to borrow these fabulous, time-saving tips, completely free of charge.:)

Of course, I’m not just talking about the little things here.  I fret about the big things coming up as well.  When should we allow our children to get cell phones?  When should they go to sleep away camp, stay home alone, learn about sex?  I think about these things all the time.  My husband has actually requested that, for Lent, I refrain from starting any sentences with the phrase, “I’m worried about . . .”

I would love it if someone would create a calendar for me, and map out my future with an accuracy I couldn’t question.  Tell me when I should sell my house, go back to work, take a mission trip with my family.  Make it crystal clear, so that I am not constantly worrying about the timeline of my life. 

I’m sure my need for clarity comes back to that whole control issue of mine.  Of ours, actually.  No doubt, we ALL want to be in control of something.  Or, in my case, everything. 

In Proverbs 3:5 it says, Trust in the Lord with all your heart . . .    

Dang that’s hard. 

Trust in the Lord?  I want to, I really do.  But I can’t see him.  I can’t hear him.  I can’t invite him over for lasagna and listen to what he has willed for me for the next fifty years or so.   

Jeremiah 29:11 says, For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  

Again, that’s very cool and all, reassuring even, but what I REALLY want, deep down, is a detailed list of those plans you’ve got for me, God, in numbered order.  

The funny thing is, I do feel hope when I think about the future.  I believe God has great things in store for me and my family.  I also know, without a doubt, that we will have struggles.  Tough ones.  Because God promises those too.

John 16:33  “In this world you will have trouble.”

There ya go.  There is no ‘might’ here, people. The word is ‘will’.  This is truth, in all its awfulness, coming right out to warn me, Watch out girl, cuz’ sometimes, life is gonna suck. 

Guess what though?  There’s good news.  Of course, there’s good news!  Bible verses are from the Bible, remember?  And the Bible is all about good news.  You see, Jesus was the one who said that line about having trouble, and Jesus . . . well, He actually IS the good news.  So, the rest of that verse about having trouble goes like this:

“But take heart!  I have overcome the world.”

Smile.

Sigh.

Rejoice!

I don’t have to worry about what’s next.  I don’t need to fret about when this will happen or when I should do that.  I don’t know exactly where life will take me.  I’m on a path – one designed only for me, one never travelled before - and there are curves up ahead I can’t see beyond.  The path won’t always be straight.  It’s much more interesting than that.  It will have all kinds of twists and turns. There will be valleys so deep I might fear never climbing out of them.   There will be vast oceans to cross, days and days when I see nothing but sameness all around.  At any moment, a storm could turn up, swirling me into a darkness that seems to have no end.  But, there will be sunshine along my path as well.  There will be new places, where beauty abounds and love prevails.  There will be mountaintops of glory where I can look back and see how far I’ve come.  And as I make my way to each destination along my journey, I will be met with the One who mapped out my path from the very beginning . . . the One who takes every step with me . . . the One who knows each decision I will make before I make it. 

No, I don't have to worry about what's next.  Instead, I can trust, and hope, and try to enjoy the surprises, because as long as I’m following Jesus . . .  does it really matter where I’m going?      

Sooooooo, after Macie died, I said we would never ever, not on your life, not in a million years, not a chance so don’t even think about asking, never ever EVER going to get another dog.  The whole experience was just too hard.  The puppy part was hard, the illness part was hard, and the dying at only a year and eleven days old was hard.  Sure, the reasons we got a dog in the first place still existed, and yes, having a dog does have quite a few good parts.  Still.  I said we would never ever, not for all the gold in the world, not if my life depended on it, no matter what, never ever EVER going to get another dog.

We got another dog. 

And it’s raining.  A lot.  I thought Berkeley Lake was a mile up the road, but it seems to have relocated to my backyard.  There are muddy paw prints all over my floors and I’m washing dirty towels at laundromat pace and standing in the rain at two-thirty in the morning and my house smells like wet puppy, which, I assure you, is only slightly better than the smell of wet dog.

But this time, I know it will all be worth it.  This time, I really do know she’ll be worth it.   

The one making the muddy paw prints is a nine-week-old mini goldendoodle.  The goldendoodle part means she should be smart, loyal, calm, and, thank goodness for the invention of ridiculously expensive mutts, non-shedding.  The mini part means she should top off at about thirty pounds.  Yep, for us size matters, because standard goldendoodles can weigh anywhere from fifty to a hundred pounds, and what that screams to me is the possibility of paws on a kitchen counter, which is simply unacceptable in the name of sanitary conditions.

We named her Georgia.  She’s the color of Georgia red clay when it’s wet, which is appropriate because it’s been wet for days.  And she flew in from Ohio, so her new home is also her new name.  Yes, you read that right.  She FLEW in from Ohio.  Buying a plane ticket for a puppy and picking up a pet at air cargo ranks right up there with some of the dumber things I’ve ever done, but all the local breeders only had Christmas puppies available, and at Christmas, we weren’t ready for sleepless nights and urine on the hardwoods.  Those things just don’t go well with the beauty and magic of the holiday season.  So we found this wonderful breeder in Ohio who only breeds goldendoodles, and only breeds them a couple times a year.  She has been sending us pictures and videos several times a week since our puppy's litter was born, and you should know that watching five little balls of fur tripping over each other in someone else's kitchen (that part is key) is true entertainment folks. 

Georgia is already a precious addition to our family.  She's sweet and loving, and she sleeps a lot, which keeps me from wanting to give her back.  I have no doubt she will wind herself around our hearts even more with each passing day.  In the meantime, we're working on adjusting to what it means to have a four legged creature in the house again.  We’re working on the potty training.  That’s going just as you might expect.  We’re working on the crate training.  Also going as you might expect.  We’re working on ‘come’ and ‘sit’.  Not going anywhere fast.  And today’s lesson, and also tomorrow’s and every single day of Georgia’s life after that, we will be working on this lesson, which comes from Genesis 1:26 . . .

Then God said, "Let us make people in our image, to be like ourselves. They will be masters over all life -- the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, and all the livestock, wild animals, and small animals."

Thank you, God.  I love you so much.  You thought of everything.:)

"For God so loVed the world

                                                               That He gAve

                                                                      His onLy

                                                                     BegottEn

                                                                            SoN

                                                                                That whosoever

                                                               Believeth In Him

                                                                   Should Not Perish,

                                                               But have Everlasting life."

John 3:16

 

Happy Valentine's Day!  I hope your day is filled with

LOVE!!!

“I see children as kites.  You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground.  You run with them until you’re both breathless.  They crash . . . you add a longer tail.  They hit the rooftop . . . you pluck them out of the spout.  You patch and comfort, adjust and teach.  You watch them lifted by the wind and assure them someday they’ll fly. 

Finally, they are airborne.  But they need more string and you keep letting it out and with each twist of the ball of twine, there is a sadness that goes with the joy because the kite becomes more distant and somehow you know it won’t be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that bound you together and soar as it was meant to soar . . . free and alone. 

Only then do you know that you did your job.”
 (Author unknown)

 

Happy 10th birthday, Charlie.  I see your kite rising higher by the day.  It is both glorious and heartwrenching to watch as it moves into the distance - further away from me with every glance I take.  But it is such a beautiful kite,  and I will watch is as long as I possibly can . . . waiting, hoping, anxiously anticipating exactly where it will go, and praying  that wherever it ends up, I will be near enough to see. 

 

 

I’ve had roots on my mind, and though I desperately need a trip to the salon for some highlights, I’m not talking about hair.

If you spend any time at all reading the red words in your Bible (those are the ones Jesus said, and I only mention that because, sadly, I didn’t know about the red words until I was in my 30’s) . . . so as I was saying, if you spend any time whatsoever reading the Bible, which clearly I didn’t do my first three decades on earth, you will come across quite a few parables.  Jesus likes parables.  Loves the darn things, in fact.  Jesus thinks it’s fabulous to impart massive amounts of wisdom by telling abstract stories that make perfect sense if you’re an interpreter of all things confusing. 

I’m not a fan.  Of parables, I mean.  I’m a fan of Jesus, but I would prefer he just came right out with it.  Give it to me straight, man, because all this stuff about the birds and fields and workers and camels and bags of gold and . . . I know.  Weird, right?  I think life would be a whole lot easier for me if Jesus had just said, “Here’s the deal.  I want you to go to this church and live in that house and have this job and give X amount to this charity every year and X amount to that organization every year and adopt X amount of children and do this for that person and that for this person and wear a shirt every day that tells people how awesome I am.”  I could totally do that stuff, if I knew Jesus was asking me to.  If I were certain of the decisions God wanted me to make, then making those decisions would be easy.

Of course, God isn’t about making my life easy.  God is about making my life mean something, and that’s an entirely different beast.

One of Jesus’ most famous parables is found in Mark 4.  He’s sitting in a boat by a lake, a crowd is gathered on the shore to listen, and Jesus tells a story.  The story is about seeds.  I know.  Weird, right?  Jesus has this huge audience and he talks about a farmer who goes out to sow his seeds.  I’m thinking the story would probably have more worldwide appeal if it was about the farmer going out to sow his wild oats, but Jesus didn’t tell stories like that.  He talks about seeds instead.   So, this farmer Jesus speaks of is scattering his seeds and they fall in various locations, which makes all the difference in the world as to what happens next.

The seeds that fall along the farmer’s path are quickly eaten by birds.  Okay.  Got it.

The seeds that fall on rocky places where there isn’t much soil spring up quickly, but are soon scorched by the sun because they have no roots.  Yep.  Lived in Atlanta my whole life – totally get the whole scorched by the sun thing. 

Still other seeds fall among thorns, which grow up to choke the plants.  Uh oh. 

At the end of the story, the farmer tosses out his last bit of seed, it lands on good soil, and whaddya know . . .  the plants sprout, grow, and VOILA! produce a big ole’ crop.  Nice.

Now, while Jesus is telling this seed story to the crowd along the water’s edge, I imagine those nutty disciples of his are raising their eyebrows and nodding their heads as though they fully comprehend every word Jesus is saying.  Wouldn’t want to alarm the crowd by allowing bewilderment to appear on their faces, would they?  Later, however, the disciples get real, and they ask Jesus what in the name of John Deere tractors he meant when he was talking about the farmer and his seeds.  And – this is my favorite part - Jesus gives it to them straight.

Jesus says the seeds the famer throws along the path are like people who hear God’s word, but allow Satan to quickly come and take it.  Yikes.

The seeds that land on rocky ground, sprout, and become scorched by the sun are like people who hear and receive God’s word, but only for a short time.   Well, the Bible is long, and it can be tough to focus with the zillions of convenient distractions our world offers on a daily basis.

The seeds that land among thorns are like people who hear and accept God’s word, but let worries and wealth choke it.  DING!  DING!  DING!  Gulp.

And finally, the seeds that land on good soil are like people who hear God’s word, live it out in thought and deed, and share it with others to produce a crop.  HOORAY!!!  (Cue applause.)

Oh, how I want to be a seed in good soil.  I want to grow and multiply and make millions for farmer God. 

Sometimes, I do find myself sitting in good soil.  Sometimes, my roots are firmly nestled in the right things – God, family, friends, home, service, love - and I can feel the nourishment the farmer has provided flowing through me, giving me all I need. 

But sometimes . . . maybe even most of the time . . . I find myself surrounded by thorns, struggling to grow and thrive and be what God intended me to be.  My thorns might be different from your thorns – the things that grab hold of my heart and squeeze it until it hurts might not be the ones that leave you gasping for breath when you should be shouting for joy.  But they are thorns nonetheless, and thorns are sharp.  They cause pain.

In the Message Bible, Jesus says, “The seed cast in the weeds represents those who hear the kingdom news, but are overwhelmed with worries about all the things they have to do and all the things they want to get.  The stress strangles what they heard, and nothing comes of it.”

And the bell dings loudly again.

Yes.  That sounds familiar. 

I hear the news.  I study it and answer questions about it and pray about it and, many times, even share it.  Yet, there are things I have to do.  There are things I want to get.  Too many things – things that will never help me grow.  Things that will never help me thrive.  Things that will never allow me to multiply God’s goodness and love in my life.  Still, I allow those things to wind around me, influencing my choices and activities and conversations.  And instead of flourishing, instead of embracing the good news and all it means, I’m choking on things.

Adam and I went to Highlands, North Carolina a couple weeks ago to celebrate his 40^th birthday.  We went on two hikes, and on both, we saw some of the most magnificent trees growing from places you would never expect a tree could grow.  They grew between rocks, their roots pushing deep down between tight crevices and making it through to the rich dirt below, only to spread forth in every direction.  They grew on the very edge of rushing streams, their roots reaching so forcefully out to each side that they actually appeared to be chiseled muscles, lean and strong from holding a tree upright when moving water threatened to consume it.  They grew on steep mountainsides, their roots visibly stretching for yards above the surface of the ground, gripping whatever they could find. 

The trees were all different and so were their roots – some were thin, some thick, some entwined and twisted, some straight.  Yet they had something in common.  All of the roots reached out.  They were firmly planted in good soil, but they didn’t simply go deeper into that soil for more nourishment.  They reached out.  And it was such a clear picture for me of the roots I want to have. 

Yes, I must make sure my roots are in good soil – they must be planted in God’s word, in the kingdom news, in Jesus.  But I can’t just go deeper and deeper into that soil to feed myself.  I must reach out.  In every direction.  Through the rocks and the weeds and the thorns.  Despite my worries and my wealth and the things I want to do and the things I want to get.  I have to reach out to others, and tell them about my roots, and about my soil, and about my farmer.  Only then will I become what that farmer intended me to be.

I'm a football fan, though not necessarily an NFL fan.  But what does one do on Super Bowl Sunday except, you know, watch the Super Bowl?

I was doing my thing when it started.  Well, actually, Super Bowl coverage officially began this morning before noon, because why not spend an entire day watching "experts" make predictions about a game when there is really only one certainty - one team will win, the other will not.  Still, as the pre-game festivities began just minutes before kick-off, I was folding clothes and cleaning counters and taking off blue toenail polish that should have been removed at least a week ago.  My boys were settled in on the couch, the taller one having been instructed to keep the remote in hand at all times because, according to reports, every commercial for the next three hours was likely to include half naked women doing things I have no desire to explain to a nine year old on a Sunday evening (or any evening for that matter). 

I planned to watch Alicia Keys sing the National Anthem, because I like to tear up on a regular basis and I hadn't cried yet today.  But as I bustled around the kitchen with nail polish in my hand and toilet paper between my toes, I overheard someone on the television say something about Newtown, Connecticut, and I had to tune in earlier than planned.  I had to cry earlier than planned too.

"America the Beautiful" sung by the precious children of the Sandy Hook Elementary School Chorus . . .

Oh, how beautiful indeed.

America! America!

God shed his grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood

from sea to shining sea!