"Does God occasionally speak to your heart about something He wants you to do?
Does His calling ever seem to require far more talent than you possess?
At times we may struggle with this unexpected call. Perhaps we really wonder if it's really a call from the Lord- or if it's just our imagination. The very idea might be downright scary!.....The thought of other people being more talented may cause our self-esteem to take a serious plunge. But when God calls and we answer, His Holy Spirit provides the skills we need for the task. He sees the value in us we may not recognize....Even though our abilities seem small God is big. If other people disregard what He wants us to do, we need to keep our focus on Him...If you hear the Lord speaking to you about a task for Him, don't question your ability,. He is aware of your talents, and if you are willing to be used for Him, He will open the doors for you in the way He wants you to step through them, with His timing. He only requires your willingness, acceptance, and trust in Him." (March 5 from Glimpses of God's Grace by Anita Corrine Donihue)
Oh my goodness! Needed this right now. Finally finishing my book. Waiting to go meet with agents in 3 weeks about being a voice over artist. Honing my skills. Always learning something new.
Gives me time to doubt...and consternate....and lose my nerve.
I've done the training, become an AMTC grad (see www.amtcworld.com), had an unbelievable time at the SHINE convention in Orlando, and have been waiting to see what God's gonna do with His fool. Been waiting for this all my life. Ready to make good BOLD.
To finally feel like I'm fulfilling my calling.
When you go to work everyday, go through the motions of life, and never feel deep satisfaction in anything you do, it's stressful.
And I've been asking myself, "Why is waiting on God so stressful?" Shouldn't there be peace while you wait? Joy if you know who's in charge? Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Ever hear about the different breeds of shepherding dogs? Like the Australian Kettle dogs or Border Collies. I remember seeing a show called "Working Dogs" on Animal Planet, where they talked about how important it is for these breeds to have a job to do. If they don't get one, they'll make one up. They'll shepherd your kids, other animals you may have, or become destructive.
I feel like I'm waiting to get my assignment. I'm on the launching pad. My engines have been ignited, but I've not been cleared for lift-off.
And so. I would say. It's not stressful because I don't know where I'm going, what I'm doing, or why. Rather, it's the anticipation that has me chewing my fingernails. Like waiting for a baby you're dying to meet, or the visitor you've been expecting for a while. It's fun! And I'm really looking forward to it happening. But waiting can take it's toll.
I'm thankful to be reminded by this writer in this devotional today.
Hope it blesses you like it has this fool.
Sigh...
God's Own Fool
Monday, March 3, 2014
Friday, December 6, 2013
Speed Bumps
I‘ve often shared stories about what makes me such a
goof, and my beautiful daughter is my number one source…for the experience I’ve
gained by being her Momma, and for the heartbreak that comes along with being
anyone’s Momma. She was born in the
middle of the night, in San Diego, California, where my husband was serving in
the United States Marine Corps. She was
born so quickly that I have often said I was sure she was using her feet
against my insides to push herself out. One
very large tear and twenty-four stitches later, she was here. And that’s the way it’s been since the
beginning.
Even then she has been unwilling to let others do their
job to get things done. She’s either
helped things along in her own way, or ignored the system altogether! The more I’ve tried to help her, the faster
she runs the other direction. And you
know what? Even as frustrating as that
has been, I have to admire her moxie.
It’s been horribly difficult to watch her run into walls, and if any of
you, dear readers, have had a strong-willed child, then you know how many tears
are shed while watching them struggle, and fighting the urge to rescue them
after every face-plant. But she gets up
and does it again and again, until she gets her way.
Over the years I’ve learned that every time I push my
wishes on her, I become merely a speed bump instead of a yellow line along the
road. The most difficult thing for us as
humans to learn, but most important for sure, is how little control over anything we have. Lots of New Age theology teaches doctrine on
living to our highest potential by listening to the wisdom within ourselves,
and that we alone have the power to control our destiny. I say, “Hah!!!” It’s the same lie Satan sold
Eve in the Garden of Eden.
The
truth is, that it denies our God’s sovereignty and His ability to show us how
small we really are. Anyone who has watched a loved one die, or come upon the
scene of a horrific car accident, or fire, or…. the list goes on, knows that
there are many things beyond our control.
They alone can testify to that feeling of complete helplessness to
change the situation.
My point, dear ones, is that those of us who call Jesus
“Lord” are fortunate enough to have a leader who is more of a
“people-whisperer” than a trainer that “breaks” us. We can thankfully say that He does not force
us to do anything we don’t want to, but waits for us to get the message that we
can trust Him. He knows we’ll come when we are ready, because submission is so
much sweeter than gloating over our crushed carcasses.
Who or what have been your speed bumps? They may be the difficult people in your
life, the time in the desert you thought you’d never survive, or in my case,
the physical infirmities that slow me down long enough to stop and look up.
‘Cause I know what kind of person I am.
If I didn’t have these speed bumps in my life, I would bust through
life, going a hundred miles an hour, doing everything myself. Instead, I have to rest when I am tired, fill
up on His word, ask for His strength, and ask for His help to get things done….so
I can keep on being a speed bump for my kid!
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Cheech and Chong
The last few blogs have been kind of heavy, so I’m gonna
tell you about a time when I had my prejudicial, stereotypical mindset turned
on its head. I was living in the
fabulous Southwest at the time, Phoenix, to be specific. Our new family of three had been just “sectioned-out”
of the Marine Corps, away from the privileges (like cheap groceries) we had at the
base PX in Southern California. I still
had base privileges up to a year after my husband was discharged, but I had to
find the nearest base to our residence in order to use them, and that meant I’d
be driving forty-five minutes to get food. We were both students now, living on
what we made waiting tables in between classes, so the savings I’d get at the
PX was worth the gas. Since Mike was
working more than me, I was the only one who had the time to traverse the
desert for food staples, with our new baby in tow.
Most trips were uneventful, and this trip seemed to be no
exception, until I heard a loud bang! I
thought I’d become the victim of a shooter, hiding behind giant Saguaros, and
shooting at tires of unsuspecting motorists as they flew down the freeway. I immediately felt a fierce pulling on the
right side of my car and a horrible thumping, necessitating some quick
thinking, in order to keep my car under control. After all, the speed limit on that particular
stretch of highway is 75 mph., and I had an eighteen-wheeler right behind me! I remember my dad telling me to keep the
wheel straight no matter what the car was doing. I later learned that following Dad’s advice
saved my life that day.
Thankfully, I was able to get the car to the side of the
freeway safely. I had not fallen prey to a prankster. I had a flat tire. All the while, my sleeping daughter didn’t
stir from her nap. I’ve never had to
change a flat tire before, but I sucked in a deep breath anyway, stepped out
into the 118 degree heat, and proceeded to lay out the spare and all the
necessary tools on the ground. Just as I
started to make sense of the directions printed on the spare tire hatch, an old
green Chevy truck rolled off the highway, right toward me - and my sleeping
baby.
I confess, I panicked.
What I saw rolling toward me was a vintage Chevy truck, with
two Latino drivers, in a decorated cab, replete with hanging ball fringe and
striped blanket covering the dash. Oh Lord, it’s Cheech and Chong! I have lived in lots of places where there is
a large population of Mexicans, Central American Indians, South American
Indians, and not many of my encounters with them has been positive. Our brains are hardwired to take in little
bits of information and make quick assessments, for safety’s sake, so that we
can make quicker decisions in the future.
In this case, I had become used to the shenanigans of fellow Latino employees
in the places I had worked, so seeing these two men instantly foreshadowed
danger to me.
When they got out of the truck and walked toward me, my
first instinct was to run, but I stayed in my spot, rooted. They smiled at me and I froze. They continued to approach, and the next
minute I know they are using hand motions and a blur of Spanish directed toward
my car. One man quickly jumped back in
the truck. Please God, don’t let them kidnap me and leave
my baby behind! He brought the truck
closer, and I spied the lift mounted in the truck bed. Finally I started to breathe.
They’re going to fix my car!
In very broken English, one man told me they were going to
take my back tire off to put up front, and then they would put my spare on the
back. That way, he assured me, it would
be safer to drive my front wheel drive home. They used the lift to pull my car
up and exchange flat for back tire, and back for spare. They were like a professional pit crew. I begged them to let me give them something
for their trouble. They said, “No
way. We missed our exit and saw you as
were coming toward the next exit, so we must have been needed here. If it were my wife or daughter, I would want
someone to stop and help. We’re glad to
do it.”
And with that, the two literally headed into the sunset, in
search of an exit so they could turn around.
I was ashamed of myself for having first thought they would hurt me,
just because of their ethnicity. I’m so
glad they missed their exit, and I’m glad they did what they did, because they
not only changed my tire; they changed me.
I will never look at anyone the same way, nor will I forget the kindness
of these gentle strangers, and lest I be tempted to stereotype again, I will
remember my Cheech and Chong encounter and smile, because I know that angels
come in every color.
Hey, if I hit a nerve, a funny bone, or wanna tell us a story of your own misguided prejudice, leave some feedback! I'd love to hear what you've got to say!
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Finding Peace
During a
recent visit one of my favorite aunties asked if I written anything new for
this blog, and I admitted that I hadn’t…mainly due to my scattered
attentions. I’m still substitute
teaching, working on my book, and taking care of my family (including the two
very needy dogs!), but I have also jumped headlong into the process of being
“polished” as AMTC likes to call it. It
is the process by which raw talent, and the possessor of it is trained,
discipled, encouraged, and empowered to present ourselves to a gathering of
some of the country’s most esteemed V.I.P’s.
These V.I.P.’s represent some of the biggest names in music,
modeling, and entertainment, so working toward becoming the kind of talent they
would like to employ is no small feat.
At the same
time I have been doing an incredible amount of internal work; work requiring a
ton of introspection, prayer, and talking.
Even AT&T has done its share by facilitating conference calls
between my sister, brother, and me.
Coming to terms with the death of a parent is one of the most
life-altering changes one can endure.
Coming to terms with the death of an abusive parents is a different kind
of matter altogether. And. It is very
hard work.
The three
of us have said, each at separate moments, that if you had asked us two years
ago if our childhood had been traumatic, we all would have said no. Ask us if our parents were abusive and we
would have said no way! But there is something about death that not only lifts
the veil of mystery, but jolts the sleepy awake as well. Once awake, those who were once sleepy, and now
left behind, are suddenly thrust forward into life much like the newborn babe
rudely delivered into a room colder than the womb it has just left, assaulted
by the glare of brutal lights and touched only by gloved hands. No skin to skin touch until the babe has been
poked, fiercely rubbed, weighed and assessed. Yeah, kinda like that.
It’s abrupt
and uncompassionate. When cancer took
our mom from our lives, it left a huge hole in our futures, and it left us to
deal with a past we were content to leave in the shadows. The three of us would tell you that it is a
horrible conflict to deal with, to suddenly see our mom as she had been during
the formative years of our lives, and still love her so fiercely. To say that she had been my mentor, my best
friend, and my biggest fan was easy. To
admit that she had been abusive was only something I was able to admit in
therapy. I think we all knew she was one
of the most talented, intelligent, yet conflicted people on the planet. She wrestled with herself constantly. I saw it, and couldn’t do anything to help
her, except to keep irritations to a minimum.
So, therein
lies a paradox. How can we say we love
one who has caused us pain? I mean, I’m
not the only one who’s had someone hurt them in some way, right? I’ve heard other stories of mistreatment by
parents, siblings, and others we trust with hearts, and the injured party still
loves the inflict-er of that pain.
Doesn’t make any sense! But maybe
it’s as easy as a wise friend in my character group said, “You’re not stupid.
You love because of Jesus”…despite the injury caused.
It’s not any
easier to admit my childhood wasn’t a fairytale, that there’s damage needing
healing, and that I’m gonna be at this for a while, but I can say with tons of fervor
that I loved my mama beyond description. Not in my own ability, but by Christ’s
gift of forgiveness.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Head Down Not Face Down
I heard a story once about some children who had been watching a butterfly trying to emerge from its cocoon, and it seemed to be taking it forever. Not only that, it looked as if the poor thing was working so hard to free itself that the children took pity on the creature and clipped the cocoon open. Once freed, however, they found that it could not fly...for they were unaware that the butterfly needs the struggle to build much-needed strength for flying.
I too have been on an excruciating journey
from the time I made the decision to write a book and actually doing it. I made a million excuses as to why
I’m not qualified, and eventually conceded that at the very
least, it would be cathartic. At the most; enlightening. Instead I have
gone to places I never expected (and didn’t want) to be.
I also thought if I just
keep my nose to the grindstone, I could have this project licked in a year.
It’s been nearly two.
Writing has caused me to do a lot of digging; a lot of soul searching and introspection. The deeper I
dig, the more I’d like to cover up. Facing truth is never easy, nor is pretending all is well. If any of you have gone through
therapy, you learn that in order to get well, you must go “through” not
“around” the tough stuff. It isn't fun, but necessary. Unlike the
butterfly, which can only achieve flight one way, the human heart explores a myriad of vehicles toward freedom.
We can educate ourselves, go on trips, and
risk building new relationships. We can become newly wed, new
parents, empty nesters, and newly grieving, which are some of the weightiest
predicaments for the heart to endure. Some of our most significant growth comes
through these times, and like the butterfly, if we take short cuts to being
released from the temporary “fix” we’re in, we don’t gain the strength we need
to fly.
Besides short cuts, we can also use a
variety of coping strategies…some healthy.
Some, not so much. (Ask me about my chocolate addiction!)
I knew that
much, but I didn’t know that I am a huge practitioner of avoidance and
denial. I didn’t even know I needed
therapy until my doctor recommended it during a yearly physical. She thought it seemed kind of odd that I
hadn’t done so before, but figured there must be some missing element to my
healing since I have been under doctors' care (I have a team) for almost ten years for a nervous breakdown. That IS a long time I agreed. I tend to run each day
full out, and trying to get my body to go as fast as my mind wants to go is
sometimes frustrating. So, I agreed to do whatever they thought best.
After lots of talking (not just to my
therapist), reading some very relevant books, and a huge amount of soul
searching I’ve learned that I have an issue with seeing what’s really
there. I tend to find the positive side to everything (my twin calls this wearing my rose-colored glasses), minimizing the amount of pain it caused others or has caused me. My "go
to" reaction to the tough stuff is to just keep my head down; bent into the wind. I’ve prided myself in being bulletproof.
But.
I’m not bulletproof.
I have a physical body, which stores experiences
through sensory-laden memories that can affect the body in negative and
positive ways. Like the times my Grandpa
would offer me an orange slice. You
know, the gummy candy with crystals of sugar all over the outside. Yum!
Just thinking about it makes my mouth water and my heart smile. It’s a place I like to go, so I don’t stop my
mind from wandering there...
Other memories of my childhood, though, are
another story. I’m still in the process
of making it all make sense, so no details yet, but in talking to my sister and
brother, comparing notes of what we each remember is interesting. Some things I can vividly recall, while one
of my siblings may have completely blocked it.
Like I said, we all have different strategies for “dealing.”
The Word says we are to “draw near to the throne of grace with confidence that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." (Heb. 4:16.)
But I don’t.
I have trusted the phrases drilled into my conscious
and unconscious thoughts.
“God
helps those who help themselves,” and
“Pull yourself up by your bootstraps!”
Or
as my Grandfather often said as he would push away would-be helpers,"I'm skinnin' this cat, and you ain't holding its tail!"
All are illustrations of us doing things on our own.
Barbara Johnson wrote about how we often approach the Throne, ready to lay our troubles down, tell our Father
everything that’s weighing down our heart, and then pick those burdens up again like luggage.
Guilty as charged.
I forget that the same God who formed me in secret, made a difference between day and night, and sent my Savior to pay the price of sin for me...doesn't want me to put my head down, into the wind. He wants me to learn how to get on my face, and ask for help instead.
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