The Hereditary Need for Commutes

I'm lousy at praying. If I try to pray to myself, I get distracted and never get passed "thank you for this day." Even when I pray out loud, I still get distracted. There seems to be only one solution: I need a commute.

My Dad drove 30 minutes a day, to and from work, for 30 years. My Mom did the same for several years. In fact, I can remember riding to work with her when I was younger. When she wasn't listening to James Dobson or Chuck Swindoll or Marlin Maddox, she'd say, "Joy, I'm going to pray on the way to Rockford today." And then she'd either pray to herself or out loud.

I had a pretty decent prayer life when we lived in Colorado. My commute to Colorado Springs was 37 miles one way. It's amazing how wonderfully serene it is to drive that far at 4:30 in the morning (except, of course, when it's snowing - then there's a different sort of praying going on).

So, now that we're at this crossroads, deciding where in the world we'd like to live next, I think I'd like a commute again. I know it's not great on mileage and gas and all, but I think it's pretty great for the heart. Besides, it's in my blood.

Hope Deferred and Patches the Cat

My Dad has never been a fan of cats. The first cat in his house came with my Mom when he married her. There was really no choice in the matter. When Tuppins died, several years would pass before another crossed the doorstep. Through some miracle, I was able to bring home Sprite when I was in late elementary school. When Sprite swallowed a doorstop and had to be put to sleep, that was the end of housecats.

It was years later, when we built the barn, that Dobson was brought home to help with mice and play with my Mom and me. Turns out, he hasn't been the best at killing mice, but he excels at loving people. My Dad jokes that he's a good for nothing cat.

But then there was Patches, a stray that wandered into the barn at their old house and somehow found a place in my Dad's heart. I never met her, but I heard that she was scared to death of people. For a long time, you couldn't even look her in the eye. My Dad kept working with her and was finally able to pet her sometimes while she was eating. It was his goal to tame her enough that she would allow him to catch her and take her to the barn at the new house where they now live.

And he still had some time to gain her trust because the old house hasn't sold in over a year's time. Patches had lived in the barn with a few of the horses that were also left behind to make it look like there was still life around the abandoned place.

Yesterday, Mom called and told me that Dad had found Patches dead on the road earlier this week.

It made me sick to hear the news. I asked her how Dad was doing.

"It just seems like nothing's going right."

Yes, because not only has the sale of their house fallen through, but as a result of that, some animals were left behind and if they could have been moved, Patches would still be alive and she wouldn't live close to a busy road anymore. Loss of heart and loss of life would have been avoided.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

At Christmas time, it was all hope at our house. Mom and Dad's house would sell. Mic would find a new job and we would begin the adventure of moving to a new place. The house hasn't sold. Mic hasn't found a new job. My replacement is now three weeks into her position, leaving me in this strange place of going to a job that isn't there anymore, but that I "have for as long as I need it." Not to mention that she is so far horrible at it and I have to sit there and still let her do what should rightfully be mine. Mic worked four hours yesterday for a total of $10 in tips. Our lease is up in 60 days and we don't have anyplace to go, yet we don't want to stay.

We are sick at heart. There are still good times, but even in the laughter our hearts ache. Our hopes have been put off indefinitely. Uncertainly.

And I have to wonder when God is going to remember us. You know, the way He remembered Noah and Rachel? Like, "Oh yeah, I remember...she was praying for a baby and I haven't given it to her yet...or, that's right...I've left this guy and his family cooped up in a big boat with a bunch of stinking animals for forty days and forty nights. How could I have forgotten?"

I am waiting for God to remember, to express concern for us, to act with loving care towards us.

Before the deferring of hope dries up the wellspring of life in us and before we find anymore dreams laid to rest at the side of the road.

Listening for Crickets

When Ray Charles was seven, he went blind. Can you imagine? After running through fields and playing hide and seek, after experiencing sunsets and stars, it all went away.

We watched Ray Saturday night and there was this great scene in the movie. A newly-blind Ray came walking into the house and tripped on the leg of a chair, sending him tumbling to the floor. His mom was standing in the kitchen just a few feet away and her first instinct was to run over and help him up, but she caught herself on the way and stepped back, silent. Ray called out again and again for his mom to come and help him, to save him from such a painful darkness. Tears streamed down her face as she watched him cry with unseeing eyes, but she knew she couldn't go to his side.

And suddenly, he stopped crying and sat very still. He slowly stood up and there was this turning point - a revelation. He could hear the water boiling on the stove. He could hear the fire burning. He heard a horse and wagon pass outside. And then something caught his senses across the room - a cricket traveling under a chair. He moved beside it on the floor and scooped it up into his hands, listening to it fluttering by his ear.

His mom rushed to his side as he exclaimed, "I can hear it, Mama! I can hear it and I can hear you there!"

He had lost his surroundings until he found them in a new way.

I have lost my surroundings too. I have been crying on the floor for two and a half months, wondering why my God isn't crossing the room in two large steps to sweep me up and rescue me. Does He not see my hurt and tears? What I can't see is that He is watching and that He's crying with me, His heart breaking in tune with mine.

If I would only stop long enough to listen...

Maybe some moment soon, I'll be able to hear the cricket. And in the process, discover a new way of seeing that He knows I'll need for the next step.

To Speak or Write from Another

The story of the Incarnation is the story of a descent and resurrection...one has the picture of a diver, stripping off garment after garment, making himself naked, then flashing for a moment in the air, and then down through the green, and warm, and sunlit water into the pitch black, cold, freezing water, down into the mud and slime, then up again, his lungs almost bursting, back again to the green and warm and sunlit water, and then at last out into the sunshine, holding in his hand the dripping thing he went down to get. This thing is human nature.

The Grand Miracle, C.S. Lewis

Antarctica and the Arctic Circle

I believe I have become Bipolar. There's no real Equator in my life right now. One day I'm fine and the next I'm a freak. One day I'm happy and the next I'm miserable. One day I seem to have pulled myself together and the next I'm in a million pieces.

I've never been to Antarctica or the Arctic Circle. I have been to the Equator and that was fun - doing the whole one foot in the South and the other in the North thing. Maybe that's where I am - on the Equator. That would make a lot more sense, jumping from one side to the other, rather than traveling from one pole to the other - much more feasible, if you will.

But when you say your emotions are on the Equator, the person you're talking with may get the idea that you're saying you are balanced. And I really can't say I'm balanced right now. No, I really think Bipolar paints a better picture.

See? Just in the last few paragraphs, I have bounced from one pole to the other because I can't decide between the two. Is it up or is it down or is it somewhere in the middle?

I guess all I know right now is, I can't wait to leave Latitude 33.397365 and Longitude -84.769023 (Newnan, GA). Maybe the opposite of here would be good - as different as possible. But, Latitude -33.397365 and Longitude 84.769023 puts you somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean between Africa and Australia, so that wouldn't really work.

Gosh, isn't it cool that you can look up stuff like this on MapQuest? It's perfect fun for someone who has nothing better to do... Yikes. My life has become incredibly scary.

Valentine's Resolution

I ran into a church person at Target the other day - go figure, huh? These people are EVERYWHERE!! I have to admit, I was planning on running into at least one of them while I got groceries and did errands - at least I ran into some good ones.

In the midst of the conversation, the woman mentioned her daughter who's away at college. I told her I had been keeping up a little on how school was going by reading her daughter's blog. She told me that her daughter had told her to read the blog, but she hadn't gotten around to it yet. (Gosh it's hard to write a paragraph without using names. Ah, the price of anonymity.)

Sounds pretty familiar. I told my mom about my blog not too long after I started keeping one. She was planning on printing out the different entries so she could read them and keep up. I don't think she's read past about day three.

Now, I know she's got a super slow computer with only dial-up internet, so I understand it could be hard to read my blog everyday. In fact, I was thinking that I would just print them off and mail them to her to make it easier. But then again, she's pretty busy right now and probably wouldn't have a lot of time to read them.

It's kind of a bummer because I'm pouring out my guts on this thing and I'd really like her to understand where I'm at right now. I want her to know my heart.

Yesterday it dawned on me that God probably feels the same way about me. He's got this really thick love letter that he's dying for me to read so I can understand his heart and yet I can think of a million reasons why I can't read it consistently. If only it were written like a book - and out came the Message. If only it weren't in those columns - and out came the TNIV with full-fledged paragraphs just like a regular novel. If only I could listen to it... You get the idea.

So, I missed the whole New Year's resolution thing this year. Maybe my Valentine's Day resolution will be to better understand the heart of God.

Ceiling Secrets and Favorite Parts of Prayers

We love chicken here in Newnan, Georgia. There's a chicken joint on almost every corner and it's all fried. Mic and I were frequenting one the other day and I made a friend. At Zaxby's, there's this sunroom area with a glass ceiling (as is custom with sunrooms) like the ones you find in a lot of Wendy's. The difference is, they've put an awning over the glass on the outside to block the sun. The effect is, when you sit in the sunroom, you can look up and see your reflection in the glass. And if you want to be nosy, you can watch people at other tables in the reflection and they never even know it...unless they've taken the time to look up and discover the secret.

We don't go out much anymore, so Mic and I spent some time just sitting and talking after we'd finished eating and that's when I met my friend. She was probably about three years old and, being imaginative, had looked up and discovered the ceiling secret. She was having a great time looking at herself and I was just sitting there, waiting for her to discover that she could see me too. It didn't take long and then it became this game as she'd cross the restaurant, we'd wave and smile and play peek-a-boo in the glass and then she'd go back to her family's table. She did it a few times and her parents caught on...or at least they thought so. When she'd come over, she'd point up in the reflection and say, "come see the girl, come see the girl!" They'd smile at her silly game and come retrieve her, telling her that she could see her reflection at their table, too. She'd come running back, pointing up, "come see the girl, come see the girl!" They'd come over, look up at her reflection, say they saw her (their daughter) and take her back again to show her the other reflection over their own table.

They didn't get it. They underestimated her. They couldn't look past the blatant reality to see that there was much more to the game. She wasn't "the girl" - I was. And because they wouldn't take the time to really understand and listen to her because afterall, she's just a silly little girl playing a game, they never figured it out.

I wonder how often we do that to kids. We watch their imaginations at work, smile at it condescendingly, and then belittle it and dismiss it as silliness. We do it so much that, by the time they're adults, they think it's silly to be creative and imaginative and to live from the heart themselves.

I'm reading Waking the Dead by John Eldredge right now and it's one of those books that I want to read just one sentence at a time so that I can remember what he's saying and meditate on it. I just read one of those cool paragraphs and it made me think of these two stories of little girls.

Go fall in love then. Do something heroic; save someone's life. Spend a month in some breathtaking spot, doing nothing productive at all. Take up painting. Have yourself a good laugh - the kind that sends tears down your face and makes you grip your side for the ache of it. Listen to a beautiful piece of music. Live with courage. Tuck your child into bed; listen to her prayers; kiss her cheek. Find God.

Then you will remember again that the heart is central. Not the mind, not the will. The heart.

Listen to her prayers...the other little girl lives in Indiana.

We had gone to some friends' house for dinner while we were home over Christmas. Their youngest daughter is four and full of imagination. As we sat down to eat, she announced that she wanted to pray for the food. And then she entered into this great conversation with God, right in front of us. There was nothing flowery or formal about it. It was just talking with a friend. There was an extra chair at the table and we had joked at one point that it was for Jesus. Well, in the prayer, she told Jesus that we had put a seat there for him to join us and that she hoped he had a good time. It was awesome!

But the best was after she had said amen and we all opened our eyes. She smiled and said, "what was your favorite part?" It was as if she was saying, "you were just witness to someone pure of heart talking with their Creator. I let you in on it - which part of the imagination and innocence moved your heart the most?" We each took our turns, going around the table, letting her know.

I hope I can live like that. Looking up into the glass and seeing things that others dismiss too easily. And talking one on one with Someone I can't see but who is as real as the guy sitting next to me in the empty chair.

Don't forget to find God.

Looking a Gift Horse in the Mouth

Now here's one of those statements that you hear and you know what the person is saying, but you have no clue as to what it means. I just did a google search and found goenglish.com, which explains pocket english idioms. Here is their answer to "looking a gift horse in the mouth":

You are looking a gift horse in the mouth when you receive a gift and then you question the value of that gift. You are like a person who has been given a horse as a gift and you are looking into the horse's mouth to see if it is in good health.

I think we as Christians spend a lot of time looking for horse cavities. A friend of mine and I were talking the other night while we were waiting for a movie and she was saying how she's ready for Jesus to come back. Maybe it's just me, but do you remember being younger and thinking, "I don't want Jesus to come back until I've gotten married?" Or, "I want to have kids and then Jesus can come back."

Is it just me? Maybe I'm a horrible Christian to want to delay the whole heaven thing, but I'm really enjoying the gift of life. That's what it is, isn't it? A gift? Why are there so many songs and seemingly endless Christian concerts (by Mercy Me - please excuse the parenthesis) that droan on and on about earth not being our home and having to suffer here and not fit in until it's time for us to go to heaven? It wears me out.

I told my friend that even now, when things seemingly can't go much worse, I still don't want to have Jesus come back and instantly rescue me to heaven. I love the gift of life! And even though heaven is going to be awesome, this is our one chance at this single experience called being human.

So I'm going to grab the horse and ride for now. Maybe it'll take me straight to that pasture in the sky, but I feel like I've got a few more miles to go first. And I'm going to appreciate every moment of the gift.

11876

That's my parents' old address. The house stands empty right now. A kitchen that doesn't cook. A chair that doesn't rock. Curtains that don't open.

You see, they had put it up for sale in the hopes of selling quickly. They even took a leap of faith and began building their new house before the old one had sold. It looked really hopeful there for a while. A couple was interested and had even given a deposit showing intention to buy, but then the sale of their house fell through and they backed out. It was relisted and that contract has come and gone with nothing transpiring. Now, it seems the same couple is still interested, but they still haven't been able to sell their own home. So my parents have taken another leap of faith and decided not to list for now, but to wait for this other couple. In the meantime, they've moved into their new home and there the old house sits, day in and day out, waiting for its next family.

In many ways, I feel like 11876. A desire to worship and no place to go. A yearning for stability and nothing to stand on. A love of a job that is now a skeleton of what it once was. I want to go home and I don't know where to find it. And it seems so irresponsible for God to move our hearts and yet leave us here stranded and empty.

Pass me not, O gentle Savior-
Hear my humble cry!
While on others Thou art calling,
Do not pass me by.

Let me at a throne of mercy
Find a sweet relief;
Kneeling there in deep contrition,
Help my unbelief.

Trusting only in Thy merit.
Would I seek Thy face;
Heal my wounded, broken spirit,
Save me by Thy grace.

Thou the spring of all my comfort,
More than life to me!
Whom have I on earth beside Thee?
Whom in heav'n but Thee?

Savior, Savior,
Hear my humble cry!
While on others Thou art calling,

Please do not pass me by...

Diet Pop

Mic was looking at some new itunes releases today and somehow came across a few new songs by Ginny Owens. He hit the first sample and as soon as I heard it, I knew that Ginny had discovered that she is Christian music's answer to Norah Jones. A couple of clicks on the other two songs produced more Norah Jones sound-alikes.

I've decided that, in many ways, Christian music is like drinking diet pop. It's supposed to taste as good as regular without the guilt, but instead you end up with a sickeningly sweet taste with an even worse aftertaste and no sugar high.

What's so wrong with being a new flavor that's actually good enough to be one of the top competitors? Wasn't it C.S. Lewis who said that the world doesn't need more Christians that are artists, but rather excellent artists that happen to be Christians? It's something all of us can apply, in whatever field we find ourselves.

Maybe Christian music should be like caffeine-free pop where you get high without the drugs.

Or maybe a clear cola without the darkness.

Would anyone like a cracker to go with the cheese?