Passion Required

For  years now, quite possibly since the day I abandoned my pre-college dreams of a successful career in communications, I have felt like the part of me that yearns to communicate was operating exactly like a person going through life, attempting to function in everyday tasks such as showering, making coffee, driving, etc. with a blanket over their head and shoulders. It's weird.

Oddly enough, I was the one who wanted to stay home with my kids. Where my feet could never find stable purchase was the gray area between all and nothing (no career and workaholic). I could not master this. I would never go back and not be here with them. I would make that choice again and again and again. I have enjoyed their milestones and loved being there for them in every season. I have feasted on that. Still do.

What happens, though, when you yearn and yearn and yearn to express to the world who YOU are as an individual, but yet find no outlet for this expression? What do you turn to? In my case, a world of addictions to food, hobbies and internet research. I glutted myself on all of the above. I made myself really sick of them. I'm getting old for this kind of reflection. And yet, here I am, reflecting.

I don't think a crazily successful career would have stilled the longing to express. I think it would have felt like an empty soda can. I would have been pulling at the straw, sucking air, in the first year I bet. Choking on the competition, which would have killed a soul like mine, a soul that likes to connect with others rather than alienate them.

I'm a complicated person. Those who know me best are still confounded by me. That's okay. I'm still becoming who I hope to be. Sometimes I feel the best parts of me are still tucked under that blanket, still blindly doing what everyone else does while eagerly longing to do something of more consequence while at the same time really enjoying the mundane mundaneness (my word) of domestic life, of its predictability and its sureness of bringing me into constant contact with my husband and children, who I adore. This post may be rife with grammatical horrors, owing to my propensity to eschew works of higher reasoning and hug a feel-good novel. Or two. Or thirty.

Hey, what would happen if I wrote a book? A story that someone out there connected with on some level? I've begun one before. Someone gave me a lukewarm review and I abandoned the pursuit the way a runner abandons a race once an ankle gives way. I've exhorted my readers (waves to my handful of close friends and family) to find a passion. Mine has always been words! They are my clay. Time to pull them out of their dusty drawers and toss them around. When they are sucked into the wheel of my imagination, who know what will emerge. Might be garbage. Might be magic.Who knows?

Postcards from Heaven on a Rainy Day

As I sat on my couch yesterday morning, I had the distinct impression God wanted to give me something. A postcard from heaven, perhaps. I thought He might be telling me it was in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I literally threw on my shoes, grabbed some tennis shoes in case I decided to hike down to a waterfall in Cades Cove, and vanished from my home.

As I entered the park, the beauty of the fall leaves forming a canopy over the road astonished me. I could not believe how amazing they were. The yellows and oranges left me breathless. The forest is secretive, magical and healing in any season. Yesterday, in the height of their autumnal glory, the trees that populate it were literally glittering with joy. There was no sun to wash them, highlight them. Only a steady drizzle that, in some places along the way to Cades Cove, turned into rain.

I kept thinking about how fall color like this isn't supposed to have such a "wow" factor on a rainy day! In such weather, the leaves are usually muted and nearly sad. Reds and oranges become muddy-brown and rust, almost. Not yesterday. I drew an analogy to the life of Christ in me, to the potential He birthed in me forty-seven years ago, and, most importantly, to the beauty of walking side-by-side with Him.

When trees are at the peak of their fall color, a sunny day makes them look as if a light has been switched on inside every leaf. They shout at us, they are transformed under the power of the brilliant light of the sun. The potential for this beauty is hidden in each leaf, drawn to its full potential by the rays of the orb God formed by the word of his mouth. Without the light, their potential remains hidden. Same with  us. Unless we allow the light of God's truth to obfuscate the lies of the devil, we will never shine as the whole, unique, gifted people God created us to be. We won't shine for his glory and enjoyment. We won't know the fulfillment of being all we were made to be. Similarly, we have been offered full, enduring, moment-by-moment fellowship with Jesus, the sweetest, most attentive lover our soul could ever know. If we are not open to His constant communication, a relationship that should make us glow with joy, peace, love and contentment will be cloaked in secrecy and the hide-and-seek games we play due to cherished sins, and will result in a life that does not shine for Christ, doesn't make others want Him.

As I drove the scenic loop through Cades Cove, taking dozens of pictures of mountains shrouded by mist, of trees in scarlet robes, of fields stretching into mountainous horizons cloaked in mystery and the blue haze these hills are known for, I kept an eye out for that postcard that I knew was coming. I thought it would probably be a mama bear and cubs. It was. As I rounded a bend in a slow-moving train of cars, there she was, not far from the road I would be passing her on. She never looked up as I creeped by in my car, snap, snap, snapping her photo. I tucked the image of mama and babies into my heart, folded them into my soul for later. A bit further on I tried to tell myself that seeing a bear was not so rare (for me), and that this was coincidence. A still small voice beckoned me not to dismiss God's sweet love note to me in the form of that little family under the tree by the scenic loop. I chose not to.

One final lesson awaited me as I sat in bed googling, of all things "battery-operated candles that don't glow orange." I have two wall sconces on which rest two wonderful, battery-operated candles that I simply detest. They glow orange. They make my dining room look like a Halloween display. Can't stand them. I want lights that glow cream, or white. Gentle, but peaceful and pure. My google request gave the search engine a migraine, apparently. It took Chrome a few seconds to come up with some stuff. Apparently other people are okay with an orange glow. I don't want my life to glow orange. That's tawdry and tacky. That's cheap and easy-to-get. I want the pure glow of the Holy Spirit to illumine every passage in the halls of my heart.

The Eyes of the Lord Have Sought You Out!

I distinctly remember a time that was carved out, planned, paid heavily for and executed for the purposes of family bonding. A trip to Yosemite National Park in California. One of my sons refused to pose with me in front of a waterfall. This individual was not a baby, but rather a teenager. I remember his lack of participation in the trip at large felt exactly like an amputation. Horrible. I didn't handle it so well. I burst into tears in a classic manipulation scene geared to make him feel as guilty as possible. Not nearly as productive as it was just plain stupid.

In the ensuing years, many things transpired to make me feel as if everything I had invested my life in was either a lie or an abject failure. I kept tripping over me. I never did "let go and let God." Not once that I recall! I never said to myself "Well, you did what you did and this is what it is." No. I tried to drag my dead dreams by the scruff of the neck into the land called "Fruition." When I got the corpse across the finish line I realized the victory was quite hollow.

I'm just not sure any family has the white picket fence. I've simply talked to too many candid mothers. LOL!

The point of this blog post is this: If you are currently in the valley of dead dreams and heartbreaking loss, pull up a chair and let me pour you a cup of virtual tea. Then I want you to look around at the sea of people who are joining us. There are millions of us here, sipping, sharing, and learning to readjust our sails.

What does it mean to readjust our sails after loss? What is does NOT mean is that we consider everything we've been blessed with as "less than." Your life story matters. It is leading to something (a lot of somethings). You have the children you have because God loved you enough to lend them to you! They are all precious, no matter how different the script for their lives reads from the edited version you kept handing back to them! Even the relationships that have ended have some happy memories interwoven through them. You have golden apples amid the rotten ones! You have lessons learned, people loved, times you shared when you did not have enough for yourself. God saw it all. He is listening now.

It is a lie of Satan (the ENEMY of our souls) that our histories are empty, useless, meaningless, because life did not turn out exactly as we planned. My first weapon of defense against this lie is the rebuttal that I am going to live for eternity because I belong to Jesus Christ. My second weapon of defense is the idea that I am not dead yet. As long as there is life, there is hope for God to use me. At one particularly dark point in my life in terms of circumstances, I remember thinking if all God wants me to do is be still, I'll do that! I am fully His!!! That is a full, joyful and meaningful place to be. It's also a safe place, because no human being can touch you there, in the palm of His hand. His love is enough, his approval washes over you and fills every hurting space in your heart.

"For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth, seeking to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him." 1 Chron. 16:9

Set Your Dreams Afloat on the Master's Stream!

A few years ago, I made the conscious decision that my blog would be a true offering to Christ. That I would write what was on my heart, and float each entry into the stream of God's purposes. If the entry eddied and swirled around a boulder, never finding purchase in the stream of His intents, so be it. If it washed over another soul who needed the balm of the Master's touch, how wonderful! Never would I ever claim it, tout it, or use it for my own mantle of self-righteousness, self-promotion, or self-worth.

I am sticking to this resolve. I wonder how many of us, should we truly give our God-given gifts back to the Almighty, with no reserve, would find some deep-seated well of contentment that we never knew existed? We were created with specific purposes! We have jobs! What a fun and comforting thought!!! When we find those niches, what a joy to set about with hammer and nails (or computer and a fistful of fun words) to build a life in Christ!

I challenge each of you today, as I did in my last post, to find that thing you are truly passionate about, and pursue it with abandon. God will give you the freedom to be who He made you to be. Will you let me know what you discovered?

It's pretty easy to discover a calling.  What do others notice that you are good at? What would  you do with your life if money were no object? Find a way to do that thing part-time! Find a way to express those abilities and passions on a regular basis. Most importantly, offer all of these efforts as a sacrifice to God, who loves you and gave you deep-seated desires, creative ideas and unique talents. Don't let them become dormant. Don't jealously protect them in the inner sanctum of your heart out of a fear of disappointment or failure. Dream big, and be prepared to fail gloriously at first. As my friend Emmanuel would say "You cannot stub your toe standing still." He's right!

The Beaver Who Launched a Thousand Words (Or More)!

I have identified as a writer since my mom made such a big "to-do" over a poem I wrote in third grade. It was about, of all things, a stuffed beaver Dad had bought for me while in an airport somewhere on a business trip. I loved that thing! It was a big deal, for some reason. Not very big, not very impressive. Why my dad brought home a beaver is anybody's guess, but he was precious to me! I still have him somewhere. I saw him during one of our moves.

I went on to get degrees in English and journalism, and to work as a freelancer. I have never veered from my first love. It's lain dormant at times, but the seeds of love for the well-turned phrase, the glitteringly perfect description of life's intangibles have never left my heart.

Isn't it glorious to have a calling, a passion, something that thrills you to practice? What's yours? Don't know? Think long and hard about what work you do that does not feel like work on any level. One night recently on a sunset motorcycle ride, Gary and I passed a man with his garage door up. He was hunched over a table with some pieces of wood on it. His garage was filled with wood. Easy to see what his passion was, even from the back of a speeding (lawfully, and within the speed limit - LOL) motorcycle. When I see something like that, it makes me want to say a prayer of thanks for people who pursue their passions. They enrich all of our lives with their services and creations. Their joy is contagious, too. I love to talk to people about what they do. It's fun to watch their eyes light up and to hear them find fulfillment in all of the details. It's about doing what you were made to do.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again. If your job does not fulfill you, find a hobby that combines all of your deepest passions. In time, this hobby may become your work. If not, CONTINUE TO PRACTICE IT! Sometimes just being who we are to the "nth" degree is God-glorifying! I remember watching my oldest son play with his blocks when he was very small. He made cities out of them, then called me in to appraise his efforts. Just watching him enjoy the endeavor brought a thrill to my heart. I believe God feels that way too. BE WHO HE MADE  YOU TO BE!

Love to you all!

Expectation

Day dawned beautifully here in East Tennessee. I can't see them from my back porch, but I'm sure the Great Smoky Mountains are sitting on the horizon, their stately forms overlapping each other in serene blue layers. They are as sure as the love of God that surrounds me here as I look into my backyard, listening to the birds sing and wondering how God will work out all of the challenges that loom large in my heart and mind.

Thing is, I know that HE WILL. He has upheld me in the worst of storms. Patiently cared for me as I ran to and fro in a panic. I am sure I looked to him, emotionally, like I looked to my neighbors the other night when I held a large, flapping, flimsy, faux-bamboo beach mat over my head in a rainstorm as I sallied out to rescue my rabbit Hershey from his outdoor play yard. Don't know that Hershey even needed rescue. He uses a corner of his play yard as a rain shelter. The massive evergreens overhead form a thick enough canopy for him there that, unless the rain is being driven sideways, he can stay pretty dry. I wonder if he was sorry that I snatched him up. I know that when I was caught in a rainstorm on the way to Laurel Falls, I rather enjoyed getting wet. The cool rain felt like a balm.

One exciting thing about serving the Lord is that we can wait, as my friend Emmanuel Chekwa would say "in joyful expectation" for God to act. We know that help is on the way, and it will be fun to see how wonderfully and perfectly He intervenes, what blessings he has in store for us.

I would encourage all of my readers today to believe that, no matter what you are facing, God is in control. He has a beautiful plan for your life. Trust Him fully in the storms and you'll enjoy the sunshine of His presence every single day. You'll find beauty in each step of the journey. You'll have joy when you least expect it.

Getting Old, Getting Bold

It's strange to be nearly 47 years old. Really strange. How so? Well, for starters, used to when I would start yet another diet and exercise regime, each day I would look in the mirror, hoping for improvement. I have finally rounded a corner and realized, to my everlasting chagrin, that things are not getting better in the looks department. In fact, no matter how skinny (or fat) I get, I'm just getting older. Need to stop hoping for things to improve in the mirror. Not happenin'!

There are other things. I realized that most of my closest friends don't live anywhere near me. Makes me sad. There's Amanda in Headland, Alabama. There are Sherry and Lori in Chattanooga. There's Heidi in Nebraska (who has not eyeballed me in the flesh in over twenty years, which could be the reason she still loves me) and Terri in Birmingham. There's Melissa in Mobile, a college friend who loved me in spite of my crazy, impatient and temperamental nature. She was always having to forgive me!

There's wonderful Nan in Franklin. She cried with me when I was at the end of my rope there, and sat with me while I hugged myself in grief and fear.

But, after a year in this city that I have grown to love, I don't have anyone except my Stephen minister, who is very, very faithful to me. She has loved me with the love of the Lord through so many ups and downs in recent months. She's not paid a dime for the hours of godly counsel she gives me.

I have always felt like I was on a desert island. I truly love people, and by all standards am very much a people-person. For whatever reason, however, it's tough for me to make close friends. I have lots of acquaintances because, quite frankly, I would talk to the proverbial telephone pole. But acquaintances don't really care when you are sitting at home on a Saturday night, listening to the cicadas, when you would rather be at a party. They aren't aware when you wake to face another day in a silent house with only your pets to keep you company. They shouldn't care! You haven't invested in them. They don't owe ya a thing. 

I have a unique habit that may (or may not) be hampering my social calendar. When I suspect that someone is about to reject me on any level at all, I flee the scene. Right quick. As in faster than a coon with a bag of chicken in his mouth. Warp speed. I have no tolerance for rejection, real or imagined. I have tried to work past this, with disastrous results. I don't like this stupid island I am on, but I don't know how to get off of it. So I decorate it with loner hobbies (like blogging), reading, cross stitch and latch hook (not knocking those pursuits, heaven knows I need them). I have tried to infuse my little island with a sense of normalcy, but the white picket fence I tried to install kept coming up out of the sand. I finally tossed it into the ocean and declared myself a loner who hates being alone.

Pastor preached a sermon today on being a "spring" rather than a "container." Just pouring ourselves out for others with no regard as to whether or not they load us up with their compliments, time, invitations. I agree with the call to selfless living and staying engaged with others. I agree with it wholeheartedly. Plan to ask God to help me to do it. Not having any local close friends does NOT mean sitting at the house anymore. Not going to do it. Can't do it anymore. Just chilling here tonight and getting some thoughts out. Get to be an old lady like me and you start to feel like it's okay to be you and to let people see who you really are.

Some things may never change. Or they might. Who knows. I gotta be alright either way.