A slice of life

Life comes to us in slices. Often, the slices are welcomed and anticipated like the wispy layers of a warm flakey biscuit. Conversely, slices may come in the form of a cold look, a slamming door, or a stark pronouncement. There was no parking space available and my friend had to get into the Emergency Room. Her husband, her sweetheart had come by ambulance and the prognosis at least from an earthly mindset looked rather bleak. The chill of the cold rain seemed to race with the sadness that pelted away at my heart. There was no choice. Reluctantly, she stepped out of my car and headed toward the automatic door that seldom had an opportunity to fully close. It seemed like everyone was operating in slow motion and the drive across the parking lot was a tedious journey. Knowing that my friend needed me seemed to add to the suspended movement of the parking area. There was plenty of time to rehearse what had just taken place. In a matter of minutes (slices) several lives were drastically altered. Although, we did not have an official pronouncement—it was apparent that as surely as we had been on either side of her dear husband pleading with him to stay with us—the angels completed their mission and ushered him into the presence of God.

My jog across the parking lot took me past a discharge area where a hospital staff person in a happy colored smock cuddled a tiny baby while his parents maneuvered a plethora of flowers and stuffed animals into the back of their already overloaded vehicle; an elderly gentlemen balanced his lanky frame against the rough surface of the drive through column; a young man trapped in a contorted body gave a knowing smile and nodded his head as both answered my half hearted greeting. Neither man seemed to notice the traffic; the endless flow of people in need or the steady stream of emergency vehicles that ushered those in more dire situations.

My friend’s world is undergoing a heart wrenching alteration, a judge somewhere drops his gavel and changes the course of someone’s forever, a young couple says, “I do”; there are drug deals and car sales, uncontrolled laughter, inconsolable sobbing; while one young mother learns that her child has a disabling disease, another tries to convince her baby to allow her to pull a dangling tooth. Life flashes past in slices.

Life is simultaneously impenetrable and fragile. It is strong, ample, full of potential and as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. The same Monarch Butterfly that is capable of making a lengthy transatlantic flight can be permanently grounded by the chubby fingers of a curious three year old. Life is fleeting and precious. Life is exhausting and exhilarating; graciously, meted out by One that has our best interest in mind.

beach

Thanks to the generosity of friends, we are able to spend a few quiet days enjoying the unique beauty of Choctawhatchee Bay in northern Florida. We look forward to our time at the bay. This place is so much more than a vacation destination. The memories of laughter, fierce competition of during crab hunts and Frisbee football, failed attempts at meeting the sunrise or dealing with splinters offer an open armed welcome to the presenting moments. Life is savored at the bay house, anticipated—enjoyed. Time, as it is sure to do, raced past us without apology and this was our first visit back to the bay since Hurricane Katrina made her devastating swath. The shoreline had endured a radical change; yet it was just at beautiful if not more so than before.

Interestingly, the occupants that held their own during the storm were not the majestic pines that strikingly created a postcard picture upon approach to the beach house or the weathered palms that created a tropical atmosphere for anxious beachgoers. The amazing sentinels that held ground as Katrina’s surge waters pelted this part of the Gulf Coast were the wiry saw grasses, the sea oats and various other non descript forms of vegetation. They were unheralded guards captured in photographs because they happened to flank the front of the beach house. The grasses stood, unnoticed by a grand majority of the people walking on or past them everyday. Yet, if this faded, worn, faithful, tough old grass had not stood the storms life had thrown at them, I wouldn’t be enjoying this lovely gray morning from my seat here in the beach house.

What a picture of parenting. There’s a great possibility that most retreating to this wonderful place will never be grateful for the weathered vegetation posted between the water’s edge and the condo. It is highly unlikely that the visitors making the trek to the bay will be grateful for the tough tendrils that have to be navigated through or cut back to get to the water’s edge. However, it’s these unsung heroes that the Creator uses to hold the ground tightly during the storm. These bland, spindly, weathered watchmen are part of the grand scheme of divine intervention that keeps the bay house on solid ground.

Many times as a parent I feel like a faded, discarded nuisance, much like the grass around the bay house. Lord, thank you for this amazing illustration. Thank you for the opportunity to touch generations I will not know. Remind me to faithfully keep my place, fulfilling your call, perhaps buffering those who rarely (if ever) acknowledge my worth from certain ruin. Thank you for holding life in the palm of your hand—without fanfare and (unfortunately) much of the time without acknowledgment. Thank you for the salt air and a renewed sense of purpose and resolve.

laughter

It was one of those rare evenings. The “Kodak moment” kind of evening that you wish could last forever. Too bad there is not a way to suspend time and just stay in those moments. Gratefully, life's brevity has taught us that these moments are precious, few and are to be held close to our hearts so that they may be soundly imprinted for recall another day.

Without discussion, Linnie and I both recorded every split second. Our youngest son had taken a seat across the room and as if on cue had started to tell stories from his high school days (His rationale was that the statute of limitations were long gone and he could not be prosecuted). Laughter resonated throughout the house as he embellished past memories as if they had happened a century ago. Neither his dad nor I changed our expression when he silenced his cell phone. Any change may break the magic and we were not about to take a chance. When a twenty year old silences his phone it is a serious matter.

Lord, you must laugh a lot; laughter is music to earth. Universally, it is good and the way of expressing the overflow of humor's effect. No two people laugh the same; like a fingerprint or a snowflake; our laughter is unique to us and a pleasure to the ears of our Creator. Heaven's heartbeat simplified into a human expression. Bless you, Abba. Laughter is an amazing phenomenon. It has been proven to aid in healing, lower blood pressure and raise brain chemicals that ward off depression. The Bible says, “a merry heart doeth good like a medicine” Proverbs 17:22.

Sidelight: The next morning, an entire hour of programming on our Christian Radio Station, WLBF was dedicated to....Laughter. It would seem that Heaven was making a point.

Alicia

The words were so clear they woke me from a sound sleep, “Thank you, Lord for this another day of life” and I recognized the voice. It was my Pappaw Campbell’s voice, strong and gentle. That was the way he began every meal time prayer. It was not a ritual, it was a heartfelt sentiment that he had found words to express and he humbly reminded the Lord of his gratitude at every opportunity.

The clock on the bedside table mocked 2:35am and something told me that fluffing and flipping the pillow would not be enough to coerce my exhausted body back to la-la land. I could read that would mean turning on the light and possibly waking my sleeping daughter, who had decided to join me since Daddy was out of town. I could write but that would mean getting out from under the warm blankets and that did not seem too appealing. There’s just something about lying awake in a quiet house that gives way to soul searching.

Where was this deep sadness coming from? There is so much to be happy about, so much to be grateful for and yet, it seemed the tide of desperation was coming in rapidly. The feeling of being alone, far from home, from my calling, from the joy that used to reign in my life; wounded from the rejection of family members and the calloused criticism of acquaintances was pouring over me like wet concrete. It has been said and rightly so that time waits for no one and proven again, the alarm clock slipped its unforgiving crow bar into my domain and was demanding a response.

Up, floor is cold; down, bed is warm…I can’t believe I did not sleep last night, up with smile on face, Oh Lord help me just get through this one and by the way who is this person in my mirror? Maybe, if I sneak to the coffee pot—I will be able to have a moment of solitude. Nope, those snap tops for freshness that appear so amazing in TV ads make a monstrous noise when the kitchen is as silent as a morgue. As if rehearsed, feet begin to hit the floor from every corner of my humble abode. The day is here darling—deal with it.

Fast forward….needed to attend a funeral, had car trouble, husband out of town so decided to make a furniture delivery, instead. The lady had been calling for a couple of weeks so anxious to have her table and chairs. Since, the funeral was out. There was plenty to be done to take care of the living. First on the agenda was delivering a dining room table and chairs. For me, it was just a matter of coordinating help for the loading and the unloading. It quickly became apparent that this trip was about so much more than furniture. The lady of the house was reviewing an insurance policy with her agent but, she left him sitting. Through tears, she told me that she was facing major surgery to have her eye removed. Her other eye, severely damaged by a stroke, would not be much good and she was just not sure what she was going to do. Oh God, thank you for the car trouble that sent me on this errand. This dear soul needed a shoulder to cry on, someone to listen and help her sort out all that was before her and she was still able to see the table; a few more days and that may not have been the case. Your timing is perfect. Your agenda is superior and your purpose for us is far greater than we see. I was checking a job off a list. You were loving the unloved. I was delivering a bit of furniture. You were bringing light to a rapidly darkening world.

Carpool, counseling, cooking, calls…full day, good day, homework. Fifteen folks for dinner, thankfully they came in shifts and gratefully everyone was in a jovial frame of mind. Ringing phone…probably a telemarketer—they usually call at dinner time. Not a telemarketer but a social worker from a local agency in need of a favor. A mutual client had called in need of diapers. Her water had been cut off. She had gone to her grandmother’s for help. The grandmother had no money. I took the diapers and met her in a safer part of town because by this time it was dark.

This young mother had all seven children in her van with no gas…followed her to the station, pumped the gas and filled her dry radiator (van overheating). Her children were sitting in the van like little soldiers, quiet. The eldest daughter reminded me of the baby’s name as I played the name game with them while their mother checked the oil. They loved the fact that I could remember their names. I not only loved it, I was totally amazed because there are times when I have difficulty remembering my own name.

“It’s my birthday, Mrs. Debbie” said the sickly, timid little seven year old. A birthday and no celebration only a bumper car ride from a home with no water to a Granny’s that had more problems than could be numbered in one sitting. No cake, no candles. I could run into the convenience store, borrow a match and stick it in a purchased Twinkie. We could have a cake and a song. That was not to be. I had just put my last dime into the van so that this mom could get these children back to Granny’s and off the street.

It was easy to make judgments. Unfortunately, dozens of them came to mind as I made the journey across town. My heart broke as I thought of a little boy with no fanfare on his birthday and the lady (from the furniture run) weeping over the loss of her eyesight. Tonight, I returned home knowing that neither family is in a perfect situation. I have been working in heartbreak long enough to know that there are not easy solutions or pat answers. It is easy to complain about people’s choices and reactions without considering all the variables. It is also easy to talk about a quick fix without thinking of all the repercussions.

The one thing I do know is this: we were able to make the immediate circumstance palatable by giving a hand and not a judgment. There will be a time to work on the blaring problems but for now, it’s enough to breathe a sigh of gratitude as we hang the “closed” sign up on this 24 hour gift. No doubt, it should sound something like this, “Thank you, Lord for this another day of life”.

war

What could cause a mild mannered thirteen year old to turn into a ball of fury—screaming threats, slamming doors and continually disrupting the harmony of her typical suburban church going (three times a week) Christian family? What would turn an up and coming executive into a mass murderer? How could a mommy become her child’s murderer? What is this dark epidemic that seems to be taking our nation systematically one situation at a time?

There does not seem to be a safe place. When our sons and daughters learn about phone sex and homosexuality through acquaintances in their youth groups and parents do not allow their daughters to go to football games, unchaperoned because they are being stalked by other girls. Does this smack of Sodom and Gomorrah…or worse?

What do we do? Complain, keep our children at home or confront the culprit? If we choose to confront, which situation should it be? Where do we begin? We may physically inhibit unacceptable activity (at least around our child) but the problem; like an anxious, active volcano, continually erupts. Its contents spew up from the “sewer” of our society and its vomit of degradation is oozing its way across our pristine landscape.

Not one of us is immune. Even the creamy complexioned, brace-faced, purposely polished teen fortunate enough to be homeschooled and sequestered from the plague that continually bombards the average teenager cannot be kept from the germ of sin. Yesterday, monitoring friends and media consumption was a pretty sound method of protecting the minds and hearts of our Treasures. Today, powerful corporations use sex to sell everything from cars to candy. Familiar cartoons that used to be entertaining and innocent promote many amoral conditions. If a specific lewd behavior is not promoted outright — then wrong is portrayed in such a light as to be entertaining and those who oppose the “wrong” are pictured as out of touch, narrow minded morons. Observe.

How did this happen in our clean, crisp, conscientious country? Those of us who were supposed to hold the standard have been unfaithful. Our post has been overrun. The Church (not the building) has been referred to as a sleeping giant. Unfortunately, that is not true; we are wide awake and apathetic. We see the problems; we have fought them for years. What began as a slow, low, under the radar crawl of the enemy Satan, has mushroomed, exploded and is raining it’s hideous debris into our lives while we that lodge under the name of Christ, wring our hands, talk about the problems and go on with business as usual. We act as though our children will grow out of this stage and morph into responsible adults, take on responsible roles and become “good” church goers and community leaders.

Hey—we weren’t perfect little saints and we turned out pretty good, right? No, we did not. We have swallowed what our parents would not tolerate. We embrace the things that would have given our grandparents nightmares. We have fallen much farther than our parents into the abyss. We have tolerated the “gray” so long that the dismal pitch of darkness doesn’t alarm us.

It is easy to be saddened yet, basically unaffected when I learn that a friend’s daughter has been exposed to a new level of filth through a casual friendship; but I’m left speechless when my adult son casually announces that he plays pool at a local restaurant/bar that gained its reputation by using buxom females as wait staff. Now, I am not naïve enough to think that this is the worst that he has been exposed to while living here in the first notch of the Bible belt. However, the stinging reality for me was that my child did not flinch when we discussed the reputation of the establishment. “What is wrong with going to ------ to play pool?” he shot. “The only other places are bars.” What does he think this restaurant is, Sesame Street? My son - loved, protected, brought up with morals, values and as much as our flawed frames could muster, was taught a Christian World View. If he thinks meeting his buddies for a game of pool and three dozen glances at scantily clad female bodies is not an issue, then I have missed a step somewhere and I honestly believe I know where.

All “good” parents pray for their children, right? Let’s say that we have read a lot of books on prayer, have attended seminars on prayer, have gone to Bible Studies on the “how to” and the “whys” of prayer. After all, we should talk to God shouldn’t we? God is the focus of our faith and our means of communicating with Him is prayer. Then why are those prayers so few, so sporadic and so impotent?

We are quick to toss a “God is great…” onto the list of things that are most important to teach our toddler. Yet, we give equal value to “Green Eggs and Ham” or “Goodnight Moon”. We (may) bow together before bedtime and rush through—“now I lay me down to sleep” but the evening news is priority. There are things that must be done before our racing minds attempt to rest.

Our world is in chaos, we wield the TV remote coasting from one disaster to the next. We watch stunned as the dominoes of financial misconduct, political confusion and feigned integrity tumble leaving circumstances too great for man to correct. We cast some words heavenward but they ricochet back like a shot from a BB gun set off in a steel room. We wrestle not against flesh and blood and we cannot “fight” as though we do. (Ephesians 6)

Is the problem in my mirror? Psalm 66:18 says, “If I regard (cherish, hold on to) iniquity (lawlessness, sin, unrighteous thought or behavior) in my heart, the Lord will not hear me”. When we face difficulties, we (may) race to God. We know that He has the answers but we are not familiar with talking to Him and we certainly feel uncomfortable listening to Him. We have access to the Creator of the Universe yet, we throw Him off like a cartoon character because we do not really believe.

My prayer today is that the troubles of the world, the apathy of our sons and daughters and the tragedies that we see will crush us to the heart of God. Only His intervention can redeem the past, repair the present and the rescue the future. He, alone is God. It would be foolish to miss an opportunity to know him intimately. One day, we will stand before him.

Let’s fight from a kneeling position. Satan despises a bowed heart. Our enemy loves for us to learn about prayer. He doesn’t care if we “talk” about prayer, attend dozens of prayer conferences and are familiar with all the conventional thought on the subject of prayer BUT, The gates of Hell quake when the simplest among us begins to earnestly seek the attention of Heaven.

Let’s commune (continually) with the One who can renovate us or our circumstances.

Let us pray.

breathe....

Many years ago, it became apparent that there was no reason to make New Year’s Resolutions because I always drop them somewhere along the way—especially those having to do with self-care: weight loss, relaxation time and general self-improvement. Touting wise time management prowess, it just made sense to gain knowledge from serious exercise gurus while reclining and eating my favorite chocolate dessert thus covering all three areas in a single bound. That single bound usually found me in a guilty fat heap covering my head and vowing that there would not be a next time—until the next time.

Resolutions made in the dead of winter were doomed anyway. However, spring was another story. So, I recruited a friend with a ton of knowledge, a head full of expertise and years of combat experience in the battle of the bulge. Knowing me well, my wise friend gave me small reachable goals. I have read a few hundred times that those (small, reachable goals) work. The first week we reduced caffeine intake and stopped eating after seven o’clock. (After midnight snacks do not count—you go by the day. It is not necessary to be so technical). My water intake was good. It figures, the one thing in the weight loss regime that I have under my belt (no pun intended), water consumption has been scientifically proven not to make a difference. I say “hogwash” to that discouraging propaganda. Water consumption has long been standing alone in my positive column and by George, it ain’t moving. Anyway, I clicked the list off with great resolve, caffeine reduction….check. Not eating after seven (technically) ….check.

A week into my new lifestyle and I was feeling pretty pumped, still very plump but pretty pumped. Anyway, I should have known that the torture would soon ensue. My kind-hearted friend smiled as she came toward me with a book of “how-to” exercise pictures and a box of bands. I am not kidding; my friend carried a box of giant-sized rubber bands. She handed me a section and started coaching. I watched my mild mannered friend turn into an insurgent on a mission and I was the target. Tiny muscles that I did not know existed sprang to attention—screaming mild obscenities and begging for mercy. Larger muscles woke from their extended hibernation rubbing their eyes in disbelief and horror. In unison my revolting body sang out, “What on earth do you think you are doing?” My valiant attempt at reassuring the choir in my head that all was well and that this was very good for us—was interrupted by my friend, turned drill sergeant ordering, “Breathe, you have to breathe.” My brain, oxygen deprived or not, had an “aha” moment.

That was the glitch. I had been racing through life on auto pilot; meeting needs, fielding demands, and making deadlines. Even vacation plans were attached to a list, systematically hacked away and completed without even realizing that the vacation had come and gone. Breathe. I did not know how to breathe. Obviously, the mechanics masterfully locked in by creative genius had operated correctly for quite some time. However, I did not know how to really breathe….to enjoy a sunrise without racing the clock; to hold my child tightly and enjoy the scent of a freshly showered mop of hair without rushing him away to an undone chore; I did not know how to breathe. No wonder “me” resolutions were impossible. They were just one more weight tied to an already worn out neck, one more thing to do.

Today, I can’t say that the scales register a result that thrills my heart or takes the stress off my zipper. I am a work in progress. I will probably have an “under construction” sign around my neck when I step into Heaven. Nevertheless, that spring afternoon that my muscles refer to as their “near death experience” taught me a great deal about savoring life and really breathing.

time management

Overload, stress, deadlines, quotas …what are we doing? Balancing on the cutting edge could be cutting our lives short, interfering with the quality of our lives and will certainly cost the next generation. Most of us have felt the insidious sting of pressure. Some have felt the vise grip of demands for so long that we believe it to be a typical way to live. We have forgotten, if we ever knew, what solitude feels like.

Our children have never lived in a society where there was cool down time between the treadmill and spinning class. We flurry from dance to soccer to birthday parties. Everyone will be there and God forbid little Chandler miss this party. Who cares if he’s sound asleep in his car seat, could care less where he is going and will probably scream his head off for the 45 minutes after his arrival to the blessed event? This looks like an innocent birthday party but it is actually a war room where already stressed parents strategize away their family’s free time. “Busy” is the catch phrase. Life is tenuously pulled through tennis lessons, aerobics and a dozen (count them) community organizations and sporting events.

We have distorted time management. Instead of investing time wisely, we operate in a time spending frenzy that leaves us exhausted and frazzled. We arrive, strapped in the latest trend but the time it took to get this look was costly. Think this is an exaggeration? Watch people in line at the bank drive-thru. Do they sit leisurely smiling at their children or are they jockeying for position wiping out any concrete barrier or over fed shrub in their path? Do not get in their way. They are ripping through a to-do list with ultimate precision.

Observe people on their lunch hours. Typically, they will ingest a trendy salad while in the company of at least two techno-savvy business partners. For interest sake, add electronic devices and a human clone also on the fast track with his e-associates. The humor of the predictability is rapidly pushed away by the somber obvious.

The humans racing to their destinations have an untapped advantage. They have the ability to verbally communicate, express feelings and have intimate relationships. Unfortunately these archaic methods take practice which requires time that unfortunately, has been “managed” into oblivion. Note to self: This is not working.