tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55495511316094716012024-03-13T01:46:40.830-04:00truth in weaknessSalve of Truth for the wounded, weary, and imperfect soul . . .
This is your invitation to be human. To make mistakes. And to know that it’s okay. Journey with me as I share my struggles, my soul aches, my insecurities. Not for your sympathy, but as a gentle reminder that you don't have to have it all together, either. Because this is the place where hurting and imperfect hearts call home.truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-24696817042912689592020-01-23T22:57:00.004-05:002022-09-13T18:37:47.470-04:00A Little-Known Burden (That's Rather Large)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjGzOHYmS6pjAdhthlYYfsYDuNj6IosKhcxbflNYJqRseNg2QP5BczcKcdu29wzdlm5p3r1ARrA3_mfkoT4pN286vkYKtMyDNILdEql1WrJMP5Q6-57dYJqT_Ey7eKj5gEiBXAjUn7_1EZDZvBxM4iV9AQyXQ1zRtilqnHYJqy--XYZ7HRpuqWGO8/s2304/100_5543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="2304" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjGzOHYmS6pjAdhthlYYfsYDuNj6IosKhcxbflNYJqRseNg2QP5BczcKcdu29wzdlm5p3r1ARrA3_mfkoT4pN286vkYKtMyDNILdEql1WrJMP5Q6-57dYJqT_Ey7eKj5gEiBXAjUn7_1EZDZvBxM4iV9AQyXQ1zRtilqnHYJqy--XYZ7HRpuqWGO8/w564-h422/100_5543.jpg" width="564" /></a></div><br /></div>
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<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">As I read about
Timothy and Epaphroditus yesterday morning, there was a verse that stood out to
me, but it was quite different from most verses that speak to me. Usually, the
verses I'm drawn to are verses that challenge me. But this one caught my
attention for a different reason.</span><br />
<b><span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><br /></span></b>
<b><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">"For he
longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill."</span></b><span face=""arial" , sans-serif"></span><br />
<br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Philippians
2:26. I'm guessing you've never heard a message on that verse, have you?
Exactly, neither have I. It's not at all surprising that it jumped out at me,
though. Because how normalizing to read that Epaphroditus was distressed
because the Philippians heard he was ill.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">I know that
distress.</span><br />
<i><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">I know it
well.</span></i><span face=""arial" , sans-serif"></span><br />
<br />
<i><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">This is a
really atypical text observation, God. And it makes sense that it would catch
my attention, though I’m not really sure how to practically apply it to my
life. Maybe You simply want me to receive Your permission to accept that
reality?</span></i><span face=""arial" , sans-serif"></span><br />
<br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">The night before I came to that verse, my husband made a minor shift in his schedule to accommodate having dinner with me while our son was at a basketball game. Something he knew I wanted
because I'd mentioned it earlier. A normal response to a kind gesture like that
would have been a warm and fuzzy one, not the adverse reaction I threw back at him. When he told me about the shift he was making, he said that I always accommodate him and his schedule, and he wanted to accommodate mine this time. Super loving, right? Well, I sorta lashed back
by reminding him that he’s been accommodating me and my sickness for 10 years.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">That really bothers
me. It weighs on me.</span><br />
<i><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Frankly, I
hate it, Lord.</span></i><span face=""arial" , sans-serif"></span><br />
<br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">(Besides, it's
so much more comfortable to be the giver than the receiver. Receiving can be
such a vulnerable experience.)</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">You see, when
we think of our friends who are trudging through chronic illness, it's right on
point to follow what the Bible says about bearing one another's burdens. In addition, you need to know about a burden your sick friend is bearing. It's t</span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">he burden of your concern for her. She's bearing <i>your</i> burden for her -- in addition to all the burdens of her illness.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><b>"For he
longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill."</b></span><br />
<br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Epaphroditus
was the sick one, and HE was distressed -- <i>because</i> of his community's
concern, because of <i>their</i> distress.</span> <span face=""arial" , sans-serif">The
emotional burden that a sick person bears on behalf of others, in light of
others’ concern for them, i</span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">s real.</span><br />
<i><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">And it's
heavy.</span></i><br />
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Might I offer a little sidebar suggestion? The next time you visit or talk to your sick friend, please be aware that she knows you're
concerned about her. And she knows you have some of the same questions she does
about her circumstances. There's nothing you can do to alleviate that burden,
but you <i>can</i> avoid adding to it. Here's how: <i>Don't compound your friend's burden
by sharing how concerned you are about her</i>.<span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><br /></span></blockquote>
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<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
This concept is
covered exceptionally well in this article about the Ring Theory: <a href="https://www.latimes.com/opinion/op-ed/la-xpm-2013-apr-07-la-oe-0407-silk-ring-theory-20130407-story.html" target="_blank">How to Not Say the Wrong Thing</a>. It’s an
article on grieving, not chronic illness, but suffering with chronic illness always comes
with a grief journey, so the principles certainly apply.</blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Here's what
that article doesn't mention, though. There's a certain amount of "dumping
in" that happens with absolutely no interaction. Why? Because I know my family
and close friends care about me. When I'm not doing well, I don't have to hear
about my parents' concern to know they're concerned. And I don't have to hear
my husband say how difficult it is to be at the mercy of both me and his
business when I'm bedridden. I can see the weight of it all when he's
single-handedly juggling care giving with work while functioning somewhat as a
single parent during those times.</blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So to borrow
the phraseology from that article, “Comfort in. Dump out.” There's
enough implicit burden in the situation. No need to compound it. <span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></blockquote>
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<span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><b>"For he longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill."</b></span><br />
<br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>So what do I do with this verse, Lord? . . . </i></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>You beckon me to come to You, all who are weary and
heavy laden. You beckon me to bring You the burden I bear on my husband's behalf. I’m not sure I always
even know how to hand a burden over to You, God. It seems so abstract. </i></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Yet here I am, desiring to take it off my shoulders and place it on Yours.</i></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i>Amen.</i></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><i><br /></i></span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">After a bit more internal kicking and screaming from my pain, my husband and I had dinner together, by the way. All was not lost.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><span style="color: #660000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“Let
the past rest, but let it rest in the sweet embrace of Christ.”</i></span></span></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><span style="font-size: x-small;">~ Oswald Chambers (My Utmost for His Highest, 12/31)</span></span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-41268586025559561292020-01-09T23:04:00.003-05:002020-01-16T17:45:00.878-05:00My Love Gift<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xiVye2V9zvUH-AfzyP3joBmQG0RHeOJ0XZb6ylX9fhDjWaW1kyEDqFUMKnWgRcaifFb5xdv80zqFxrQjQJcM0l-_rXICbAUCXtNl39xty93C6Dsu_Vv_1uL5fBCEXueXUeRzzsCunEo/s1600/Bday+Pic+w+Rob+cropped+%2526+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1111" data-original-width="1600" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xiVye2V9zvUH-AfzyP3joBmQG0RHeOJ0XZb6ylX9fhDjWaW1kyEDqFUMKnWgRcaifFb5xdv80zqFxrQjQJcM0l-_rXICbAUCXtNl39xty93C6Dsu_Vv_1uL5fBCEXueXUeRzzsCunEo/s400/Bday+Pic+w+Rob+cropped+%2526+edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>"Whenever you get a blessing from God, give it back to Him as a love-gift."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That exhortation that I read <a href="https://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2020/01/trust-falls.html" target="_blank">the other day</a> challenged me so much that I decided to incorporate it into my morning time with God. And when I came to it this morning, God immediately nudged me yet again. The blessing that came to mind was my husband.<br /><i>Um, but how do I do that, God? How, exactly, do I surrender my husband to You? </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i></i><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>"If you hoard it for yourself, it will turn into spiritual dry rot, as the manna did when it was hoarded." </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ah, I see now. Quite clearly. In offering my husband to You, You protect me from a spirit of entitlement. Whew, I've definitely created my share of dry rot there, at times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>"Take time to meditate before God and offer the blessing back to Him in a deliberate act of worship." </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I thought about Abraham as he laid his only son on the altar. And also what I read about his sacrifice just yesterday, and God's call to be a <i>living</i> sacrifice: </span><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">God never tells us to give up things just for the sake of giving them up, but He tells us to give them up for the sake of the only thing worth having, namely, life with Himself."</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><i>He wants my marriage to be a living sacrifice.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Another note I'd jotted down for my morning routine, right along with the love-gift, were Jesus' words, <b>"Bring Me what you have."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />My eyes welled up, and stayed fixed on those words for quite a bit. You would think I would have given myself a personal punch in my own gut to offer my husband to the Lord at any point last year given that in 2019, I grieved with a close family member who lost her husband. And with a friend who also lost her husband. And with another friend who also lost her husband. Three women whose worlds were turned entirely upside down at the loss of their beloveds. But I've been bearing their burdens so heavily that apparently my soul hasn't totally come up for air to consider what God may be calling me to consider about my own beloved in the midst of all that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Bring Me what you have, He says.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><i>I still have my husband</i>. . .</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(hence the tears)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"></span><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Oh Lord . . .<br />Forgive me for taking my husband's mere presence for granted. Each day that I get to be in his presence is a gift. For at any given moment, he could be gone from this world. Please replace my default posture of taking him for granted with a spirit of cherishing, gratitude, and joy.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>He is Your servant. Do with him according to Your will.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i></i><span style="color: #660000;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>"God will never allow you to keep a spiritual blessing completely for yourself. It must be given back to Him so that He can make it a blessing to others." </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>And may our marriage be a living sacrifice so that you may make it a blessing to others. Amen</i>.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">(All quotes aside from Jesus' are from Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest January 6th entry, except the living-sacrifice quote, which is from the January 8th entry.)</span></i></div>
truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-4680951719335484562020-01-08T12:00:00.000-05:002020-01-09T10:01:33.091-05:00Trust Falls<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxW3Exd85K6BCogiRlqvhvx-FR-K6OIy54h-AvLvahB8w5F9EeysL6iwUTJ25rxobbjMIxHBzrnqYcvEa7tnChVLIuDo4pWDMEB96gdBM9eennf0ETAJ-xjX09FHay-J1rOSGOAqNuaEc/s1600/Rapelling+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="838" data-original-width="1146" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxW3Exd85K6BCogiRlqvhvx-FR-K6OIy54h-AvLvahB8w5F9EeysL6iwUTJ25rxobbjMIxHBzrnqYcvEa7tnChVLIuDo4pWDMEB96gdBM9eennf0ETAJ-xjX09FHay-J1rOSGOAqNuaEc/s400/Rapelling+cropped.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, that's 17-year-old me.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">During the summer before my senior year of high school, I had the opportunity to go rappelling. And I loved it. Except for that moment when I was standing right on the edge of a cliff with my back entirely to its steep height. At that point, you're supposed to bend your legs at a certain angle and lean way back while holding onto the rope (before moving your feet down any). I'm pretty sure I didn't do either technique right because, well, because I was just a tad freaked out by it all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">During my senior year of college, I had the opportunity to be a Resident Assistant (RA) in Willets Hall. As a kick off to the year, all the RAs went on a team-building outing where we did all types of cooperative activities, including a trust fall. Not terribly different from my high school rappelling, the trust fall required me to stand on the edge of a raised podium with my back to all the crossed arms that were going to catch me. With this activity, you're supposed to keep your legs totally straight. I didn't. My legs buckled as I fell back with much trepidation. (Mind you, this was nowhere <i>near</i> the height I was at when repelling!) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fast forward several years to my career in IBM's Worldwide Marketing Department. I had about 6-7 different marketing jobs during my time with IBM, and my favorite by far was when I was our division's corporate event planner. And unlike my high school rappelling and college trust fall, I was good at it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because I was largely in control. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Certainly not entirely, but there was a lot that rested in my hands, and less in each plan that relied on others. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I liked it that way. Very much. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Any control freak would. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fast forward one more time to the start of 2020 when I dusted off My Utmost for His Highest, one of my favorite devotionals. If you're not familiar with it, I highly recommend it. And the other day, the morning's reading was titled, Worship, which Chambers defined as giving God the best that He has given you. He said, "<span style="color: #990000;">whenever you get a blessing from God, give it back to Him as a love-gift</span>." I felt a nudge, kept on reading, but had to come back to it. And when I did, the blessing that immediately came to mind was my functionality, my current ability to function. (For those of you without chronic illness, I imagine that sounds pretty odd, huh?) Yet the thought of giving that back to God frankly left me afraid and unwilling. So I brought all that honesty to Him, telling Him what He already knew about the chasm between where my heart was on the matter and where I knew I needed to be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The last time I can clearly recall purposefully contemplating a general life offering was ten years ago when our son was about to start Kindergarten. I'd been consistently seeking the Lord in prayer, asking Him how He wanted me to spend all the time I thought I was about to have with our son in school. Never would I have never expected that His answer would include having me on our living room couch for months on end, largely incapacitated, followed by a decade of navigating life with chronic illness. Yet that's precisely what happened. Exactly one week after my 21st rebirthday with the Lord, I was ushered into the beginning of my spiritual adulthood journey through a <a href="https://www.cedarville.edu/News/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx" target="_blank">health crisis</a> that continues to leave its mark on my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Since that September day etched deeply in my soul, I've had several set backs that usually last an entire year. Like just in <a href="https://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-stuff-gold-medals-are-made-of.html" target="_blank">2018</a> when I was once again bed bound for a while, back in a wheelchair at points, and unable to drive until around Thanksgiving. So 2019 pretty much didn't have any direction to go but up, and I'm thankful that it did. It was a pretty solid year for my health with some noticeable little victories. And so to contemplate this idea of giving back to God as a love-gift my cherished blessing, my current ability to function, given what His answer involved last time I sought Him like that, and during a time when I feel like I'm <i>finally</i> getting back on my feet -- once again. It's not just enough to make a girl pause before offering such all-out surrender. It's downright terrifying. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Chambers went on to say, however, that "<span style="color: #990000;">If you hoard it for yourself, it will turn into spiritual dry rot, as the manna did when it was hoarded</span>." Um, ouch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I continued to wrestle with the Lord, and He brought to mind the principle where He calls us to "bring Me what you have" when He feeds the 5,000. (I almost didn't catch that both that principle and Chambers' manna reference involved food provision.) It's a powerful account of the big God can do when we give Him our little. That principle wasn't entirely resonating with me in this situation, though, given that the fish and loves is a context of seeming inadequacy. Whereas my current context that I'm afraid to bring Him is a bit the opposite. I'm afraid to give Him what feels like abundance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>In my context of chronic illness, being able to accomplish simple things like driving or even taking a shower, those "accomplishments" that most take for granted, very much qualify as abundance for me. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>But maybe He wants me to bring Him my little abundance so I can see what greater things He can do, right?</b> That may very well be. Yet I'm also keenly aware that He doesn't always work the way we think He will work, and oftentimes uses suffering as a crucible for (His definition of) abundance, which is all about His glory, not my comfort. And that reality admittedly leaves my heart wanting to take a step back rather than lean into the great unknown as I stand at the edge of this soul cliff not facing my future with clarity, but with my back to it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">God lovingly took my mind to Luke 1:38, a verse that really struck me at the start of the Christmas season. In essence, Mary says, "<b>I am Your servant. Do with me according to Your will.</b>"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ever forget you're God's servant? That your life is not your own? I know I sure do. Pretty much daily.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I let those words play on repeat in my heart and mind for a while to help them sink in: <i>I am Your servant. Do with me according to Your will. I am Your servant. Do with me according to Your will. . . </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It can take a while for my heart to catch up to my head, for my will to bend its knee in surrender. And even as my soul began to take on a posture of willing surrender, I was keenly aware that I am so prone to wander, Lord, I feel it. I know the propensity of my heart to "give and take" in this life call to surrender. I struggle to trust because I'm afraid to lose my "life," my ability to function well enough to live somewhat normally.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"He who loses his life for My sake will find it." ~ Jesus</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Okay, God. I don't want to love even my fundamental ability to function more than I love Christ, Lord. So here I am, giving my current level of functioning back to You as a love-gift. My legs sure aren't in perfect form as I lean back, slowly, in the trust fall. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">Yet I am Your servant. Do with me according to Your will</span></i><span style="color: #990000;">.</span></span></div>
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truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-63363695706743945112018-02-24T18:21:00.001-05:002018-04-23T11:03:20.012-04:00The Stuff Gold Medals are Made Of<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result" height="225" src="https://cdn.cnn.com/cnnnext/dam/assets/171101143746-pyeongchang-2018-winter-olympics-torch-super-169.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image courtesy of <a href="https://edition.cnn.com/2017/11/01/sport/gallery/pyeongchang-2018-winter-olympics-torch/index.html">CNN</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"We dream of using extravagant wealth to do extravagant good . . . </span><br />
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>[because] it feels like those extravagant deeds count for more.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So many of our good deeds are so small.<br /><i>They seem paltry.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Instead of handing over the keys to a brand new car,<br />we hand over a slightly over-cooked casserole.<br /><br />Instead of funding an extreme makeover for that person's home,<br />we show up on Saturday morning to help apply a new coat of paint.<br /><br />Instead of giving them a check to pay off their mortgage,<br />we give them a few hours of our time to listen and counsel.<br /><br />Instead of funding a wonderful vacation,<br />we take their children for a couple of hours so they can escape for a date.<br /><br />It is hardly the stuff dreams are made of. . . "</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Challies' <a href="https://www.challies.com/christian-living/an-extraordinary-skill-for-ordinary-christians/?utm_content=buffer5f06d&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer">whole piece</a> left me nostalgic as I thought about friend after friend who sacrificed their time, energy, and time spent with their family to come meet our family's desperate needs amidst <a href="https://www.cedarville.edu/News/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx">our crisis</a> more than seven years ago.<br /><br /><i><b>Their great sacrifices were seen by no other eyes but ours. </b></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">There was no big stage, no grand audience, not even any applause.<br />And it was far from glamorous.<br />All I could offer was a genuine thank you from the bottom of the heart of a desperate girl with an ash grey countenance whose body tied her to the couch.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">The piece came to me in a timing that was a bit poetic as I was in a minor set back that left me limited and unable to drive. So once again, my husband and dad were filling in my road gaps.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><i><b>Little did I know that within 24 hours of that grateful reminiscing about God's countless provisions during those arduous days that our family would find ourselves right back in them. </b></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Because alas, last Sunday morning, my system once again went into hyper drive, I was physically fading, and needing to ask friends to come at the drop of a hat because my husband was out of town. My husband flew across the country on Monday to get home as soon as he could, and pushed me in a wheelchair into my doctor's office on Tuesday.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">And so here we are in crisis mode.<br /><i><b>Round 2.</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />We'd been watching the winter Olympics since it began. Our son's been really geared up for it, so we've DVRed every broadcast and watched it over dinner. We don't usually do a lot of TV in our house, but these are the Olympics. <br /><i><b>Athletes demonstrating tremendous virtues worth aspiring to -- hard work, dedication, sacrifice, winning, losing.</b></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">After being bed ridden for six days now, I was finally able to manage going to the couch to watch the Olympics together as a family again for a bit. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our son has been wide eyed through this whole thing. And for good cause. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Extraordinary athlete after extraordinary athlete
performing feats of skill far beyond what our eyes are used to seeing.</b></i> Like Simen Hegstad Krueger from Norway</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. What a </span><a href="http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/miracle-snow-relive-kruegers-epic-gold-performance" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">story</a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I find it quite fitting that I am down for the count right in the middle of the Olympics. Because the other night, our son was starting to go down the path of figuring out how to get from point A in the present to point B, the Olympics.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>And I shared with him that we have been watching sisters in Christ get gold medals right before our eyes all week. </b></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Like Thori,</b> who came at the drop of a hat to help me when I was fading. And came again late that night after work to spend the night at our house, getting a crummy 5 hours of sleep -- interrupted at that. </i></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>And like Buffy,</b> who also came at the drop of a hat to make herself at home in our kitchen and do things I couldn't do. And then take me to my doctor's for an IV the following day, coordinating rides for me, her kids, and my kid in the process. </i></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>And April</b> -- the woman just had a baby three weeks ago! Yet she came to my aid with basically no notice, let me hand her a recipe, and went to town in my kitchen. </i></span><i style="color: #20124d; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">And then stayed with me late into the night until the next shift came.</i></blockquote>
<i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>And him, too! </b>I wouldn't be able to count the amount of laps my son walked around our house on Sunday, in particular. My needs were constant, and so was his love and compassion.</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All four of them literally waited on me hand and foot those 48 hours (and then some since!) until my husband returned back to the east coast -- walking me to the restroom, getting me my food and water, doing all those seemingly ordinary things we all take for granted every day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>But they weren't ordinary to me.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is the stuff gold medals are made of, folks. This is precisely what Challies' <a href="https://www.challies.com/christian-living/an-extraordinary-skill-for-ordinary-christians/?utm_content=buffer5f06d&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer">article</a> is saying and I can't amen loudly enough. "The ministry of burden-bearing," he calls it, "will earn you very few accolades. It will gain you very few awards. . . But every bit of it will matter . . . and bring glory to God.<br /><i><b>So look for those who are burdened. Develop the habit and the skill of spotting those burdens, and determine that you will meet them, one casserole or one hug or one visit or one prayer at a time.</b>"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Challies says that "the majority of what you do will be unnoticed by other and forgotten even by those who benefit most." And I agree with him on the first part, but I gotta tell ya -- <br /><i><b>seven and a half years later, there is a long, LONG list of faces and names and the sacrificial gifts of time and service they gave our family that I still remember clear as day. </b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />And I know that's not what matters most. <i><span style="color: #990000;">But I share that to tell you just how deeply those simple acts of service land in the hearts of a family experiencing suffering.</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So to all those who helped our family seven and a half years ago, and to my faithful few who have lent a gigantic hand and then some this time around (which you better believe includes my amazing husband and son!), <br /><b><i>thank you for your gold medal giving</i>. </b><br /><br />For demonstrating those tremendous virtues worth aspiring to -- right here in our humble home.<br /><i>May the blessing return to you and your families a hundred fold.</i></span><br />
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truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-22335388026117359712017-07-11T23:25:00.001-04:002017-07-17T00:05:05.839-04:00A Story of Hard Trust<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">7 months. That’s how much time I had to decide,
to see which way my body would take me, for better or for worse. 7 months to see what God might do.
Because that was the only way it was gonna happen. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What would have historically been a no brainer
for me was an incredibly weighty decision in present circumstances. My niece
was getting married, and to be there for the wedding, I’d have to travel. Which
is where the weight came in.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Travel used to be a hobby, a joy. A
delight-filled experience my husband and I enjoyed with each other and with
close friends. But since the onset of my health problems, it has become an
obstacle – either inhibiting me from partaking by staying home, or inhibiting
me from functioning when I’ve gone. The prospect of travel used to be filled
with fun and excitement. But lately, it’s become a bitter choice of choosing
one hard loss over another.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We received the exciting news from my niece in
October, just a week before my husband and I went away for our anniversary. He
and I just went down the road for our get away, and even though I crawled in bed at my usual time, I couldn’t fall asleep until 5am . . . <br />5am!</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My mind wasn’t
racing. There wasn’t any caffeine or sugar to blame. And I didn’t feel
stressed. And that’s how it’s always gone the past 7 years when I travel. For some unknown
reason, my cortisol goes into high emergency mode the first night away (without
offering me any notice except the memory of history repeating itself in
previous travels). </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And it takes a long time for my cortisol to return
to normal. So naturally, those sleepless nights combined with the long process
of recovery take a significant toll on my ability to function for a while. When
we went away as a family last May, I paid for it the entire summer.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With my niece’s wedding a May occasion, I felt like I
was looking at the same prospect all over again. Do I go to the wedding and
risk being somewhat out of commission as a mom all summer like last year? Or do I play it safe
and miss being a part of one of the most monumental days in my niece’s life?</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As the wedding approached, my body hadn't given me any help in the decision. No clues for better or for worse, and certainly no writing in the sky. My son helped me get over the hump when he
reminded me that “she only gets married once . . . ” So I decided to trust,
come what may. At least in my head. But whew, was it ever a big one to trust
Him with. A really big one.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We hit the road, and my trust muscle was feeling <b>awfully </b>stiff. Minutes
later, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_xi1qvwTMs">Hold me Jesus</a> came on the radio, and the floodgates of tears let loose.
Tears of hard trust, tears of wanting to let go and surrender to His loving
care come what may. Essentially, the lyrics rising up to Heaven as a prayer
through the tears that were flowing down:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">". . . when the mountains look so big </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">and my faith just seems so small. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So hold me Jesus, </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">'cause I'm shakin' like a leaf. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You have been king of my glory, </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">won't you be my Prince of peace"</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">And He most certainly was . . .</span> </span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeCCZiQA0awgctNzyfNSmlU6ruUNfrEFam7l80qnJ6HkQBRq6QK8_KZ7RIKwBxJkqYe4Gcw7xffFuHdAqmcU3Ue_2v_DnDWIVkTB_GLF7qs9V3CAyiQWFV7DLNc6jdJ6OqcL0kNmgbwE/s1600/Rainbow+retouched.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeCCZiQA0awgctNzyfNSmlU6ruUNfrEFam7l80qnJ6HkQBRq6QK8_KZ7RIKwBxJkqYe4Gcw7xffFuHdAqmcU3Ue_2v_DnDWIVkTB_GLF7qs9V3CAyiQWFV7DLNc6jdJ6OqcL0kNmgbwE/s400/Rainbow+retouched.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">My writing in the sky during our drive north: God always keeps His promises.</span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">
I had a very difficult night that first night, but it was NOT sleepless! (BIG
difference when it comes to functioning and recovery.) I had a ton of people praying
for me, and I am over-the-moon grateful that God said yes! That was by far the
best trip I’ve had since the onset of my health problems. <b>It genuinely felt too good to be
true. </b><br /><br />Rather than spend all day in bed our first day there (like usual), I got
to spend time with my sister and part of her family whom I haven't seen in 5
1/2 YEARS! Such a milestone, such a high.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipyhRwIoDALYM4rpo5quIKxY4aP-nmGsIwL_kgewsqeDZxgVS4WiHQD1DdVHj8rB1cfCDSH1hhlIB7B7M0JXSoEAyv7RU4QUm_XFn1nUuyzokMcZ1rbgLnkM1GhqosYqHtmXIgWvLY5P8/s1600/Friday+w+Geoghans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipyhRwIoDALYM4rpo5quIKxY4aP-nmGsIwL_kgewsqeDZxgVS4WiHQD1DdVHj8rB1cfCDSH1hhlIB7B7M0JXSoEAyv7RU4QUm_XFn1nUuyzokMcZ1rbgLnkM1GhqosYqHtmXIgWvLY5P8/s400/Friday+w+Geoghans.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br />And rather than receive <a href="https://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2016/05/want-to-help-your-sick-friend-but-dont.html">pictures from my husband</a> from this grand occasion, I was PRESENT!</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8mxkjkJqJQ-6TrR2xoNmbP2WwAB_iCSlaJ5PbDn5QReMASc2Fvh-Hps9KW614mLdf7pcF1LGJ2HUkuQ8cOOVvUzWrf5-mg6g5HxdfS7C1MSv66MVFW84irnivRz26V8uFRfhiV29kxrY/s1600/DSC01126+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1415" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8mxkjkJqJQ-6TrR2xoNmbP2WwAB_iCSlaJ5PbDn5QReMASc2Fvh-Hps9KW614mLdf7pcF1LGJ2HUkuQ8cOOVvUzWrf5-mg6g5HxdfS7C1MSv66MVFW84irnivRz26V8uFRfhiV29kxrY/s320/DSC01126+-+Copy.JPG" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My view! In person!!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Here I raise my Ebenezer,<br />
Here there by Thy great help I've come . . .</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNfjySEbSD-FP_Z03oFWwgvShZ0FMfY51qz8OTfcN1Gx2JmHLvUDv4uyUfYq3c3B19hRDvIdGOKw2TMswROzUOBZi_Hl4IbrVRP_aKs7H3HN0KPe7bB0Ns-BPQr3QMgMmWChLjO0o63U/s1600/Me+%2526+My+Flower+Girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNfjySEbSD-FP_Z03oFWwgvShZ0FMfY51qz8OTfcN1Gx2JmHLvUDv4uyUfYq3c3B19hRDvIdGOKw2TMswROzUOBZi_Hl4IbrVRP_aKs7H3HN0KPe7bB0Ns-BPQr3QMgMmWChLjO0o63U/s400/Me+%2526+My+Flower+Girl.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My adorable flower girl turned beautiful bride</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">I know there are many of you out there who have been praying for change in one way, shape, or form or another. And I know it can be scary to hope. It's easier to slide into protecting our hearts from yet another disappointment. Yet this trip reminded me in a very tangible and very personal way that God still moves mountains. And so even when it is to-the-core hard to trust Him with your desires, <b>trust Him anyway</b>, friend. Trust Him anyway.</span></span></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]-->truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-11447820210256872242016-05-11T20:04:00.000-04:002016-05-11T20:04:20.288-04:00Want to Help Your Sick Friend but Don’t Know How? DO THIS!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiReEaQLK7_EwtKwG9sXoyb5-tW16F_QLILht5ZWBao4zN4-NMce9PwgdojVVa2uFrE-GKbU7QMdzSQnKQFo3zWY46M249jkVtQ_lgLCkNovEB48mPFSX9EOYYeuAw2Kr7GLoRapmy_7NM/s1600/On+the+Way+to+Ryan%2527s+Graduation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiReEaQLK7_EwtKwG9sXoyb5-tW16F_QLILht5ZWBao4zN4-NMce9PwgdojVVa2uFrE-GKbU7QMdzSQnKQFo3zWY46M249jkVtQ_lgLCkNovEB48mPFSX9EOYYeuAw2Kr7GLoRapmy_7NM/s400/On+the+Way+to+Ryan%2527s+Graduation.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And THAT, my friend, is what it looks like to love on a friend or relative (or wife!) with chronic illness. That picture right there. I know it’s hard to get past the adorableness of it to have your attention for any type of explanation, and I’m totally distracted WITH you. But let me try to steal your eyes away for just a minute (meanwhile mine admittedly remain fixated on the ones in the front right). <br /><i>We’ll be joyfully distracted together.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You see, this picture (providentially) came when I was incredibly heartbroken. Because I had just discovered that I was going to fully miss out on a monumental event.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yet again.</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;"><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Let me back it up a bit for you to give you a little context.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Since my <a href="http://www.cedarville.edu/Offices/Public-Relations/CampusNews/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx" target="_blank">health crashed</a> six years ago, <a href="https://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/to-one-whos-missing-out.html" target="_blank">missing out</a> has unfortunately become a way of life to somewhat varying degrees. Some years more than others and praise God this year hasn’t been one of the “more” years. But one of the hardest parts about chronic illness is that you can’t do everything you want to do. Sometimes you can’t do ANYthing you want to do. <br /><span style="color: #660000;"><i>And painfully, <a href="https://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html" target="_blank">that includes relationally</a>.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #073763;">When my husband and I were first married, travel was a way of life. </span></i><br />We traveled to see family in NJ, friends in Chicago, friends in Florida and Washington state, family in PA and VA, traveled to friends' weddings in Ohio & Iowa, you name it. There are some incredible people in those places, and it was always a joy for us to go the distance to spend time with them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #073763;">That way of life unfortunately came to a <a href="https://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2014/09/the-legend-of-deer-hollow.html" target="_blank">complete halt</a> six years ago.</span> </i><br />For me entirely, and largely for my husband as well. It felt like one of our greatest joys in life, being with our friends and family, got <a href="https://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/04/stuck.html" target="_blank">swept out from under us</a>. <span style="color: #660000;"><i><br />And that’s been incredibly painful.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #073763;">The loss hasn’t only been felt at great distances. </span></i><br />The same togetherness loss has been felt on the home front<span style="color: #660000;"> even more</span>. When our son started Kindergarten right before I crashed, I assumed I’d be going on all the fun field trips. And be there for all the special programs, competitions, family pumpkin picking. You know, all the usual mom stuff.</span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My assumption was wrong.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve <a href="https://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2014/08/for-when-your-world-feels-painfully.html" target="_blank">missed out on a lot</a> as a mom. <br />And wife. <br />And friend, <br />sister, <br />sister-in-law, <br />daughter, <br />daughter-in-law, <br />aunt,<br /><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">church member</span>. <br /><span style="color: #660000;"><i>I’ve wrestled hard with feeling like a <a href="https://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html" target="_blank">crummy friend and family</a> member.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Last year, for example, our niece was graduating from college in PA. First time for us to have a niece or nephew graduate college. Oh, how I wanted to be there. To join in on the party, hand her our gift in person, give our sweet flower girl a big hug of congratulations. <br /><i>Fortunately, at least there’s technology.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioK7yWWHwgz-DCQp7Gz9l5ebOZfnuT-aUipOrGQst6sMVewa_CoS9SwZqoRs_c8ckKNHbqdULkO6tzTbtOmKBRMjl7Bulc4ygETfQmJ2HSBsT-LFdt7oII_y7bMkgCS1i3OVjLowgOY7s/s1600/Abigail%2527s+Graduation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioK7yWWHwgz-DCQp7Gz9l5ebOZfnuT-aUipOrGQst6sMVewa_CoS9SwZqoRs_c8ckKNHbqdULkO6tzTbtOmKBRMjl7Bulc4ygETfQmJ2HSBsT-LFdt7oII_y7bMkgCS1i3OVjLowgOY7s/s400/Abigail%2527s+Graduation.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Through tears of nostalgia, I hooted and hollered in my family room as I watched across the miles, and even snagged this great shot thanks to my <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">virtual </span>front row <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">view</span>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A similar scene occurred <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">last </span>weekend when our nephew graduated from JMU in VA, which meant both a university ceremony plus individual ceremonies for each of the colleges of study. Fortunately, at least my husband was able to go to this one. I’m so glad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Like with our niece’s graduation, I watched the first ceremony by live stream, heart swelling with pride and nostalgia. <i>(I’m a total sap with a capital S.)</i> The following morning, I rushed to get ready and be in front of the screen by the start of the second ceremony. Yet it wasn’t coming on. After fussing with it for the first five minutes of the ceremony, I discovered that one wasn’t going to be live streamed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My heart sank lower than low.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><i>
<span style="color: #073763;"><b><span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was the ceremony where he would be giving his speech as valedictorian of the entire graduating class<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">!</span> </span></span></b></span></i><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><i><b><span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />This was the one where he would be leading the entire processional carrying the large regal <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">performing art<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">s</span></span> banner. The only banner!</span></span></b></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /><i><span style="color: #660000;">This was a once-in-a-lifetime moment in his life, and I wasn’t going to be a part of it even virtually.</span></i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I hopped over to my e-mail, and had a new message from my husband. <br />This picture is all it said. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKufDJI8RIDlYvftgXsphby8k0QzEaYOXUK4WJJD1_00C6EdDg201WvsXmdKx1kuPgvEf8HmQx3TDWGE0H0E-LLIa_LtuMdTdjY6uFCa6G0v4nepJRCUNAWa3ldIDyVGm5-PmOiBPuoQ/s1600/On+the+Way+to+Ryan%2527s+Graduation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKufDJI8RIDlYvftgXsphby8k0QzEaYOXUK4WJJD1_00C6EdDg201WvsXmdKx1kuPgvEf8HmQx3TDWGE0H0E-LLIa_LtuMdTdjY6uFCa6G0v4nepJRCUNAWa3ldIDyVGm5-PmOiBPuoQ/s400/On+the+Way+to+Ryan%2527s+Graduation.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Exactly what I needed. <br />My sweet family on the way to the ceremony. <br />He even sent me a picture of my sister’s van in view in front of them, the van of honor with my sister, the graduate, and the rest of the family. <br /><span style="color: #660000;"><i>Suddenly, I felt somewhat present again, even in my absence. </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shortly thereafter, I received a text from my sister (in the back seat above). I told her my heart-breaking discovery, and suddenly my little flip phone started beeping with non-stop messages like a relentless alarm clock. <br />Blow by blows of what was happening when. <br />Who was speaking, <br />when our nephew was recognized, <br />dictation from the main speaker, <br />practically notes on when anyone moved or breathed. </span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I LOVED it. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><br />I was desperate to somehow be a part of this experience, <br />and her texts were a lifeline.</span> </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Meanwhile, my husband continued to e-mail me pictures. And I didn’t even care what he captured. Because even his random candids of my bro-in-law setting up his camera and my mom looking at her phone were exactly what I needed to transport me there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDFn_qFD4KAMZt2MHqHwjwudDckznj9jeoZ_eRoSZ2sT_VzwuQ83kRZ0ge1EglhlIpPoF8aWaGUQyPnTmWEQYALzKNylfqnlXTEMZtTx_rUNG8NcQQtc3SrZtuAvZh6AQh14BL_hK6Ms/s1600/Ryan%2527s+Friday+Graduation+Pop-pop+Pictures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDFn_qFD4KAMZt2MHqHwjwudDckznj9jeoZ_eRoSZ2sT_VzwuQ83kRZ0ge1EglhlIpPoF8aWaGUQyPnTmWEQYALzKNylfqnlXTEMZtTx_rUNG8NcQQtc3SrZtuAvZh6AQh14BL_hK6Ms/s320/Ryan%2527s+Friday+Graduation+Pop-pop+Pictures.jpg" width="180" /></a></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So lean in close as I let you in on a little secret. </span></i><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As you think about your friend with chronic illness, or even an elderly relative who’s largely home-bound, want to know <b>the best and easiest way to make a gigantic difference</b> in their life when they’re missing out on a special event? <i>Gigantic? </i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><br />Take them with you.</b><i><br />Real Time! </i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdp3anfQjSNbHSgZ1Q_jsTrqz5wA8Kau-jDiYOTI4fuzmFVacVh5o75S7iv9_xhcv0yYP4FJgESjaw_9jIKNuKL5YAqYhJcT-CWMUP0xEBL-cxeitTNEaHAg4DhOnFyyPJDx61Ltusm4/s1600/Ryan%2527s+Friday+Graduation+Processional.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdp3anfQjSNbHSgZ1Q_jsTrqz5wA8Kau-jDiYOTI4fuzmFVacVh5o75S7iv9_xhcv0yYP4FJgESjaw_9jIKNuKL5YAqYhJcT-CWMUP0xEBL-cxeitTNEaHAg4DhOnFyyPJDx61Ltusm4/s320/Ryan%2527s+Friday+Graduation+Processional.jpg" width="180" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Take them with you! </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj740T1FamvXl4acbVNwjJHL-YkMUVwRfpkW0RD23KfqOZOluyfPyJGsf0qOI2WOzMl_RsfZdZ9bMzKH1NtyMOdkesFobjE_q0i-8tSKtj_JnAx2D2-P7JV6wKXExS0Oc2oceICnfC1VGc/s1600/Before+Ryan%2527s+Friday+Graduation+Mom+Rhonda+Rob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj740T1FamvXl4acbVNwjJHL-YkMUVwRfpkW0RD23KfqOZOluyfPyJGsf0qOI2WOzMl_RsfZdZ9bMzKH1NtyMOdkesFobjE_q0i-8tSKtj_JnAx2D2-P7JV6wKXExS0Oc2oceICnfC1VGc/s400/Before+Ryan%2527s+Friday+Graduation+Mom+Rhonda+Rob.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By camera, by phone, by text.<i> </i>However!<i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Give them an opportunity to taste the sweetness of the occasion <b>real time</b> by including them on the experience. <br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYx7u9XL0W9k2uNOQ2BSchU_AQawdQsC29X3_acgLjVFpXWTl1R4TXXZjkOKxWi8dD-NELH55bbVPVxXZ8dbYaQ5N4Aj3aIoW7AQYKT4ltoAOizesqYgb80W0FTYtXnLNjKoALWq6LZOc/s1600/Candid+Stees+After+Ryan%2527s+Saturday+Graduation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYx7u9XL0W9k2uNOQ2BSchU_AQawdQsC29X3_acgLjVFpXWTl1R4TXXZjkOKxWi8dD-NELH55bbVPVxXZ8dbYaQ5N4Aj3aIoW7AQYKT4ltoAOizesqYgb80W0FTYtXnLNjKoALWq6LZOc/s400/Candid+Stees+After+Ryan%2527s+Saturday+Graduation.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All these and more (much more!) were pictures my husband sent me <b>real time</b> during our nephew's graduation. And these graduations, of course, aren't about me. Yet my family found ways to take me along. And each contact made -- each text, each picture, each call -- was a sacred gift they placed in my heart.<br /><b><i><span style="color: #660000;">Real time. Real easy.</span></i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One final thought. <br />A super fun way to pull it off? </span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Let ‘em eavesdrop! </span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That’s right. <i>Dial them in and put them on mute! </i><br />My<i> </i>always-thoughtful mom did this for my other sister one time. My sister's son was having a concert but my sister’s chronic illness kept her home. So when my folks went to the concert, my mom pulled out her cell phone and dialed my sister so she could listen in. It was second-hand audio, so I'm sure it was low quality. My mom knew that didn't matter. She knew it would be the most beautiful music to my sister’s longing ears. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s really that simple. And I can tell you from the receiving end, <br /><span style="color: #660000;"><i>it is really that profound of a gift.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So please, think about some special occasions coming up. </span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Who might you take along real time? </span></i><br />
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<span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Congratulations again, Abigail and Ryan.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> </i> <br /><i>Love, <br />Your Proud Aunt Tanya</i></span></span><br />
<br />truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-54367740141598997052016-03-31T22:16:00.004-04:002016-04-07T04:44:50.520-04:00I matter.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBrWgF4pwLpckOEqGjd-0AIO11GoWtxY0Ou6msN6SjJgHH5OuhesO3t7pkrSK3fzaxzAbcfpJhK-8vkVqw2bTFLjrmurGzjoSk3a04jlQ7Rr-LARK0uA_666zXAkOmF75421GZW1y6bo/s1600/excited+girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBrWgF4pwLpckOEqGjd-0AIO11GoWtxY0Ou6msN6SjJgHH5OuhesO3t7pkrSK3fzaxzAbcfpJhK-8vkVqw2bTFLjrmurGzjoSk3a04jlQ7Rr-LARK0uA_666zXAkOmF75421GZW1y6bo/s320/excited+girl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>One word. That's all it took. </i><br />All it took to reach a deep and distant need I didn't even know I had. One two-syllable word to sooth a throbbing place in my soul.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If words are ever music to the ears then this was a symphony. A long and pleasing ballad played by an exquisite hundred-piece orchestra in the round. My heart seated right in the center, embracing all the depth and richness of a myriad of notes all infused into two simple syllables. The healing word he spoke?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Simply, my first name.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Tanya.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Called across a crowd.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Called out, despite my back to him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was walking down the row to make my way out of the worship center, so he had to call out to me if he wanted to speak with me. And he did. He could have dismissed it, but apparently it was important enough for him to pursue. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><i><b>I</b> was important enough.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With an about face I was greeted by the warm smile of an old friend. Yep, that old Young Marrieds class strikes again. We'd started that class with good friends many years ago, with hearts anxious to serve, anxious to encourage, and anxious to provide a nourishing place for these couples to call home during their new season of life. <i>13 years later that's exactly what God is offering MY heart through many of them.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He called out to me because he wanted to celebrate with me. Apparently, every time he and his wife see me in church, they are so encouraged with and for us. Six years since my initial <a href="http://www.cedarville.edu/Offices/Public-Relations/CampusNews/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx" target="_blank">health crash</a> and they still recognize that it remains a monumental victory for me to be at church on a Sunday morning. Life moves pretty quickly and people lose track, but somehow they've remained in tune with our ongoing reality.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><i>Which is pretty amazing in and of itself because how DO you stay in tune when you only see somebody sporadically at best, let alone rarely have a conversation opportunity to stay current?</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You guys, it felt like somebody had just drenched refreshing, cool water on my parched and weary soul living in a hot, dry desert. <i>Drenched.</i> You know, like when NFL players pour the drink cooler over the coach in celebration of victory. <i>That</i> drenched.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The part that soaked me most was simply when he initially called out to me from across the aisles. It's been so long since another adult called out my name to get my attention that I can't even recall the last time it happened. I hear my name, Mommy, called out plenty. Sacred music to my ears. <br /><i>But Tanya? No, that's not one I hear.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><i>Amidst a long season of feeling isolated from our church family, and therefore, wrestling with my value in the Body of Christ, this friend's simple choice to reach out to me that Sunday morning was a profound gift from God. </i></span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And God's a generous God, isn't He?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Because after our church's Christmas program days later, I was talking to somebody in the lobby and heard my name <i>again!</i> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A friend</span> actually <span class="null">c<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a</span>me back in specifically to seek me out and hug me</span>. (Me!!) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #660000;">Christmas hadn't even <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">arrived</span>, and my heart was tearin' into the presents like no tomorrow.</span><br /> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A month or two prior, a different friend made her way across the worship center to say hi and catch up. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Y</span>ou guys (yes, I'm from Chicago), that may sound like an incredibly ordinary scene and sentence: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"My friend made her way across the worship center to say hi and catch up." </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">L</span>ikely doesn't sound terribly significant, does it? I understand. So here's a little excerpt from <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/08/accepting-sidelines.html" target="_blank">Accepting the Sidelines</a> to give you some context:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><i>Whenever you haven’t seen somebody for a considerably long time, there’s
an enthusiastic reunion, right? And the typical catch-up questions come
naturally. Then on the opposite side of the spectrum, when you see
somebody frequently, like every Sunday morning, you get to go beyond
those surface questions to dig into the day-to-day grind, and walk
through life with them. <b><br /><br />But my husband and I, we’re in this awkward frequency of the in between.</b> We’re not seeing these folks regularly. But it’s not like it’s been 5-10 years since we’ve seen them, either. </i></span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's awkward for most. Understandably. Yet those friends I just mentioned? <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html" target="_blank"><br />They came</a> anyway. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And THAT's what's significant. <span style="color: #660000;"><i><br />Their genuine interest in our friendship prevented awkward from cultivating,<b> which let love grow instead of distance.</b></i></span><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Remember the <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2016/02/when-healing-hurts.html" target="_blank">women's gathering</a> I told you about recently? Boy was that night ever tangible evidence that joy and sorrow aren't mutually exclusive. Because while it ended on a <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2016/02/when-healing-hurts.html" target="_blank">sobering note</a>, it began with much sweet celebration in my soul.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When I arrived and entered the room, I spotted another old friend from that Young Marrieds class. She was in the middle of a conversation, but her eyes about popped out of her head when she saw me. In other words, <i>she got it.</i> She got that it was a big deal for me to show up.<i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Shortly after bumping into her, another dear friend had the same reaction, only add to it her hands over her mouth in shock. (Truly, I wish I could share the awesome picture of her in my mind. Hands over her mouth and all. The cutie above's the best I could do.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><i>Between the two of them, I felt like a celebrity. I really did.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And it's not about feeling like a celebrity, of course. But let me tell ya, where there is pain and isolation and doubts about your value, there is great need for healing and grace. <i>Lots of it.</i> The Lord blessed me with both that evening. And each of the other times the other friends called out to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was as if the Lord was saying through Bob when he called out to me across the church aisles, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><i>"Tanya, you still matter here."</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As if He were saying through Sandy when she made her way over to me that Sunday morning, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #660000;">"Tanya, you don't have to contribute to be enjoyed." </span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And saying through Shannon over Christmastime, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #660000;">"Tanya, Who I am IN you is ministry. You DO minister."</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And through Kristen's wide eyes, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #660000;">"Don't ever minimize 'simply' showing up, Tanya. It is NOT trivial for your journey. Your presence alone is enough."</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And through Melissa's hand over gaping mouth, I believe He wanted me to hear, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #660000;">"THIS, Child. This is how beyond delighted I am every. single. time. you draw near."</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Each a gift I unwrapped from the Lord, reminding me that I am still consequential,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That I still matter at
church, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That although we have not been involved, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>we also have not been
forgotten. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><br />We are still valued, <br />still loved. <br /><i>And even celebrated!</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Salve.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><b><span style="color: black;">Healing salve for my soul.</span></b></span><i><span style="color: #660000;"> </span></i></span><br />
<br />truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-47414558647297528102016-02-15T20:22:00.000-05:002016-02-15T20:22:16.762-05:00When Healing Hurts<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVUCcokius_SsneGLjCEYc3QCfw9vhpOtYHTlqP6W3vD7TwQ0lWCPLj00FyIS0-OQmxjg5NC8VEy9aXKSRkv0WvaYo6wreCSk-Om09pzz3QIaPMe1TkjOOu8mZbuZ1G1eJbmsSt-1qqwI/s1600/PBC+Relationships+Matter+Evening+Feb+11+2016+Color.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVUCcokius_SsneGLjCEYc3QCfw9vhpOtYHTlqP6W3vD7TwQ0lWCPLj00FyIS0-OQmxjg5NC8VEy9aXKSRkv0WvaYo6wreCSk-Om09pzz3QIaPMe1TkjOOu8mZbuZ1G1eJbmsSt-1qqwI/s400/PBC+Relationships+Matter+Evening+Feb+11+2016+Color.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Her words of kindness, they cut like a knife. </span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pain has a way of taking your heart to
peculiar places like that.</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They’d passed a pad of paper around the table, and when it
came to me, I read the headings at the top of each column I was supposed to
fill in: </span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Name. E-mail address. Small Group.</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sounds like a simple sign in. But that last column, it came as a punch in the
gut. It’s so loaded for me. Because we’re not in a small group, and we <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">long</i></b>
to be a part of one again like we used to be, but we can’t right now. Haven’t
been able to for six years. <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/08/my-tomato-plant-story-surviving-traumas.html" target="_blank">Six <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">years</i></a>
. . . And we feel the loss. We grieve it deeply, as I shared in <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/08/accepting-sidelines.html" target="_blank">Accepting the Sidelines</a>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’ll spare you the details except to say that since <a href="http://www.cedarville.edu/Offices/Public-Relations/CampusNews/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx" target="_blank">my health crash</a>, simple things have become monumental achievements for me, including
<a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/12/finding-christ-in-chaos.html" target="_blank">going to church</a>. In fact, at a dentist appointment last month, I needed the hygienist
to help me simply walk down the hall. My body’s not what it used to be. And
sadly, neither is our church involvement.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Seeing the list of every name with a small group home for
their heart listed, I deliberated as to what to write. Nope, not N/A. And no,
I didn’t want to leave it blank. So I wrote my honest answer just like
everybody else did. Only mine looked quite different<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Can’t wait to <u>be able</u> to be a part
of one again!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We continued to hear the hearts of the women from the panel,
and attempted to make our way around the table to share our own stories. We
listened, we encouraged, we, uh, accidentally started a fire when a piece of
paper got too close to the tea light so our quick-on-her-feet table hostess
quickly put it out while our table disrupted those around us with all our loud snickering
from the corner of the room. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">[Note: Peaceful picture above pre-pyromania]</span></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It’s the stuff memories are made of. I only spent two hours
with these women, but I felt as if we’d been hangin’ out together for a long,
long time. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There was just something about
that table in the corner.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Shortly thereafter, the evening came to a close. And the sweetest
table hostess you’ll ever meet offered me a brochure listing all our church’s small
groups. Assuming she offered it in response to my sign-in comment, she was
likely confused when I declined, but I told her I knew all the info was online,
and that I had an invisible illness that limited me. Not always my favorite
ice-breaker when meeting new peopl<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">e, but <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">my strange reality is that it's not </span>a lack of information that st<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ands</span> between me and a small group.</span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Amidst all the dismissal activity, a sweet new gal two seats
down likely didn’t hear my response because she followed up by sharing which
small group she’s a part of and how much she loves it. (The friend sitting
between the two of us had been in that <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/08/accepting-sidelines.html" target="_blank">young marrieds group</a> we led a while ago,
so she was the only one at the table familiar with our family’s journey.) I
turned to the new gal and replied, </span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“We LOVE small groups.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>But we don’t have one. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Because I have illness instead.”</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I turned to my friend next to me, said how much we’ve missed it, and unexpectedly,
the flood gates of tears opened and opened wide. And let me tell ya, they
weren’t closin’ anytime soon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A thoughtful invitation to be part of community unearthed my
deep pain of not having been able to be a part of one for a long, long time. So
there I sat, a sobbing mess in my friend’s arm while everybody got their coats
on and exchanged pleasant good-byes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This friend, she wasn’t <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html" target="_blank">intimidated by my pain</a>. Her tender
heart spoke words of comfort and words of hope into my hurting soul. The freedom<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: #0070c0;"></span>she offered me to freely<span style="color: #0070c0;">
</span>grieve was a rare gift. Thank You, God. For Your hands and feet through
her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Truth be told, amidst the pain, there was likely a heaping
portion of pride in the mix as well. Because I wrestle constantly with thinking
that my value is in <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-am-older-brother.html" target="_blank">what I do</a>, rather than in Who He is in me. And that
includes my part in the body of Christ. So since I’m not able to be involved in
formalized ministry, I constantly battle voices that <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/04/stuck.html" target="_blank">question my worth</a> –
because I’m <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/11/because-pride-cometh-before-fender.html" target="_blank">not contributing</a>. I may be a leg in the body of Christ, but I feel
like a broken one that’s not doing its part. I get loving Jesus mixed up with
<a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-am-older-brother.html" target="_blank">performance</a> so easily and so often. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And small groups that meet on Sunday mornings? Well I’ve
been going to Sunday School since before I was born, so to have somebody “reach
out to me,” well, my pride felt on the wrong end of that conversation. I’m used
to being <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/08/accepting-sidelines.html" target="_blank">the reacher outer</a>, not the one being reached out to. So I felt
misunderstood. Because deep down, I wanted to be thought of more highly. I want
to be perceived as the active, valuable member of the Body, not the uninvolved
one who needs reaching out to. I guess not all that different from wanting to
be one of the cool kids in school, huh?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It’s a humbling journey these nuances of chronic, invisible
illness. Quite an awakening to all that lurks in the heart. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And </span>I wrestled with whether or not to even publicize this pain. Reliving the
pain by getting it on paper made for another difficult day emotionally, and it
left me asking, “What’s the point? Why not just talk about the good stuff? The
joy?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was tempted, yet again, to stuff. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then I went back and read the comments on <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/08/accepting-sidelines.html" target="_blank">Accepting the Sidelines</a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And I rediscovered </span>several comments from folks saying I was describing their
struggle, that they were facing the same pain. I remembered my mission
here<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, a</span>nd realized I needed to write it for them. For Tina, for Lizzy, for the
rest of you who are facing the same painful isolation. This piece is for you – to remind you that
there is somebody out there who truly understands. Who cares. And who feels
your pain with you. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><span style="color: #660000;"><i>You are not alone, my
fellow sojourners. You are not alone. </i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The other reason I struggled with whether or not to
share this was because I’m concerned about the prospect of those sweet new
friends stumbling across this piece and feeling badly when they have nothing to
feel badly about, nothing they did wrong. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What those two precious souls don’t know is that the Lord
has been lovingly leading me along a journey the past couple months as it
relates to my pain on the <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/08/accepting-sidelines.html" target="_blank">sidelines of church</a>. I’ve discovered that during this
long journey, I’ve primarily been stuffing my pain the entire time with the
intent of protecting my beloved church family. Or rather, protecting myself.
Protecting myself from the relational temptations that can accompany pain. In
other words, I love my church family far too much to open a door to a temptation
to be bitter, and so I’ve pretty much closed the door to my feelings in that
arena of life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Not necessarily the best way to manage pain. So God’s giving
me permission. Permission to acknowledge my pain in that context even though it
doesn’t feel pretty or churchy or appropriate. The freedom to grieve our relational
losses because I’m (finally!) learning that it’s healthier even to grieve than
to stuff. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Our pastor reminded us just yesterday morning that Jesus has
the authority to change our identity, and I believe that’s exactly what He’s
doing in my emotional being these days. I believe He’s changing my identity
from that of a stuffer to that of one who lets her heart feel, who lets her
heart beat. Because even in the painful feelings like grief and loss, it’s in
our allowing ourselves to feel that keeps our feelings alive, <i>keeps our souls alive</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There's a strange sense of encouragement hidden in my grieving the other night. Evidence of emotional health and healing. That night, God offered me the opportunity to <a href="http://freeccm.com/2014/01/20/story-behind-the-song-with-phillips-craig-dean-tell-your-heart-to-beat-again/" target="_blank">tell my heart to beat again</a>.<br /> <span style="color: #660000;"><i>With heavy tears, I said yes. </i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image com<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">pl<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">emen<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">t<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">s of </span></span></span></span></span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ProvidenceWomen/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span class="entity _4v1s" data-fulltext="Women of Providence Baptist Church - Raleigh, NC" data-group="all" data-icon="null" data-is-local="false" data-select="group" data-si="true" data-text="Women of Providence Baptist Church - Raleigh, NC" data-type="ent:page" data-uid="495066420543087">Women of Providence Baptist Church</span></span></span></span></span></i></span></a><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-48703956951803030442016-02-08T18:37:00.000-05:002016-02-15T14:44:23.665-05:00Defiant Joy<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>(or "I <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">W</span>asn't <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Planning <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">on Writing</span> A</span>bout </span>my Senior Prom")</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img class="irc_mi" src="http://www.gannett-cdn.com/-mm-/821e4f55ab4eea29310a2608ae3a4da0c4a7e5d2/c=0-59-2175-1694&r=x408&c=540x405/local/-/media/2016/01/31/NJGroup/AsburyPark/635898391810728813-halftime6.jpg" height="393" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="524" /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />It’s how Bono described U2’s half-time performance at the
Super Bowl just months after 9/11. <br /><span style="color: #660000;"><i>
Defiant joy.</i></span><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In other words, </span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the
collision of pain and celebration.<br />
</i></b>In fact, the conscious choice to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">instigate</i>
their collision.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was a more-than-delicate commission. Providing “entertainment”
in one of the most widely-watched TV events of the year after the heart of the
nation had just been ripped <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">apart</span>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />As my husband and I were watching this look back on 50 years
of super bowl halftime shows we happened upon, I was drawn to Bono’s notion of
defiant joy. Of course I had to over-analyze it, too, namely <b>because the good
girl in me feels a bit uncomfortable with the word, defiant.</b> Compliant has
always been the style I’ve worn, although don’t worry. God’s starting to show
me that it doesn’t suit my soul well.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And so the over-analyzing ensued<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">:</span><br /><span style="color: #666666;">W</span></span><span style="color: #666666;">hat's that mean, defiant joy? <br />What's it look like from a heart stand-point? <br />Who or what <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">would I be defiant against amidst pain? <br /><i>And is that okay?? . . .</i></span><i> </i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />I know in my head that joy and sorrow aren’t mutually
exclusive, at least I have since my old pastor <a href="http://www.fbcnj.org/Sermons/choosing_joyful_surrender1" target="_blank">enlightened me</a> several years
ago. (<i>Phenomenal</i> message, by the way. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">L</span>isten to it<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">!</span>) But I don’t do it well, the whole joy-while-grieving thing. I tend to eeyore
my pain, at least internally. Not to mention it feels fake and contrived. <b>Even
dishonest because it’s not an accurate reflection of my feelings.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Many years ago, I had a very distinctive opportunity to make
joy and pain collide – or not. During the spring of my senior year in high
school, just a day or two before my Senior Prom, my Pop-pop passed away. His
funeral? Prom Day. </span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />Ugh. </i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That spring, I had accepted an invitation from my good
friend to go to Prom with him. Yet my grandfather’s death left me feeling so
torn inside. <b>How could I put on my black dress of grieving only to come home,
whip it off, and put on a party dress and dance the night away?</b> In my pain, I was
entirely averse to the prospect. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I carried my pain into the stark high school cafeteria,
found my friend, and told him what had happened. I think I asked if it would be
all right with him if I didn’t go, but honestly, I don’t remember because
sadly, I wasn’t really asking. I was just being polite. (Or so I thought at the
time.) <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And in return for my self-absorption</span>, my friend was incredibly gracious and sympathetic.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And you know, with as much as I still wrestle over this
notion of inserting joy into the mix of sorrow, <b>I wish I would have known one
thing then that at least I DO know now.</b> <br />That is, <span style="color: #660000;"><i>it’s not about me. </i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I wish I would have thought more about my friend when making
that decision, rather than just selfishly thinking about my grieving. Because it’s
not as if thinking beyond myself would have dismissed my grieving. If anything,
it held potential for healing. It always does.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’m embarrassed at how little I thought, at the time, of what
it would be like to be in his shoes. How was my decision going to impact <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">him?</i> I made him miss his Senior Prom,
for pete’s sakes. That’s not a loss he can recover. And I know, I know – it’s
only high school, Tanya. We’re not talkin’ about the big rocks in life. I know
that. Yet I also know that there are some pretty cherished memories I carry to
this day from my high school years, back to my years at Laramie Jr. High, and all
the way back to my elementary school years. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /><span style="color: #660000;">Memories matter.</span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/" target="_blank">Ann</a> describes this turn toward joy amidst life’s
gut-wrenching pain as simply <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2016/02/when-youre-longing-to-thrive-instead-of-barely-survive/" target="_blank">letting yourself be loved</a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">:</span> <br /><span style="color: #660000;">“<b><span style="font-weight: normal;">This
swallowing the richness of living, <br />it comes in letting yourself be blessed. </span></b><i><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /><i><b>Letting yourself be loved.</b></i>”</span></i> </span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Of course
that conveniently appeases <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-am-older-brother.html" target="_blank">the good girl</a> in me because when you put it like
that, it’s not so defiant, after all<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">!</span> Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m not
lookin’ to continue appeasing her because she’s got <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a lot of</span> growing up to do. That
being said, our Father, the Creator and Embodiment of perfect parental love – at times,
<a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-god-who-coddles.html" target="_blank">He accommodates</a>. And even coddles. (Still shocks me.) So apparently, there’s grace
enough for the good girl who still lingers.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;">Interestingly
enough, a cousin of mine and I went to high school together. In fact, we were
in the same grade. Which means, she faced the same choice I did when Pop-pop died<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b></b></span>: to go to Prom, or not go to Prom. My cousin chose
differently and went to our Senior Prom that night. I was supportive of her
decision, but for the life of me, I couldn’t get my 18-year-old brain around
it. I couldn’t figure out how she was pulling that off.</span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;">You know, 20 plus years later, I still don’t have it figured out, but I think she was onto something.
I think at 18 years old, she had a better feel for this Defiant Joy stuff than I
do at 40-something. So I’ll keep scratching my head, I’ll keep asking the
questions, I’ll likely keep over-analyzing, and I’ll hopefully let my hindsight
serve me well along the way.</span></b></span></div>
truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-22915000899244310702016-01-19T13:14:00.001-05:002016-01-21T11:27:42.058-05:00When Trusting God Seems Foolish<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7k9bdtZnMyK2EP0SBgSNPhB2cWUgC5id_eJrERjtA9fIJIHVW3_8gBnKLzeKGDiB7UyNcRJx87U4FbT48F02YfUpmt5hnDbUSZnE_1zRX4bKp0LWlVmVPBCGYV6HAeOv6kNHqpqu1RVU/s1600/Red+Sea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7k9bdtZnMyK2EP0SBgSNPhB2cWUgC5id_eJrERjtA9fIJIHVW3_8gBnKLzeKGDiB7UyNcRJx87U4FbT48F02YfUpmt5hnDbUSZnE_1zRX4bKp0LWlVmVPBCGYV6HAeOv6kNHqpqu1RVU/s400/Red+Sea.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dare I admit that? That although I’ve walked with God for
nearly 30 years and found Him to be consistently faithful, we’re facing
circumstances where the gravity to which we’re having to trust Him has left this
question whispering in my ear: <br /><i>
Are we being completely foolish to trust Him – THIS <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">much</span>?!? . . .</i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>
</i></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My prayers are outrageous. My trust feels
irresponsible.<b> </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And remember, I’m the responsible one. <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-am-older-brother.html" target="_blank">The older brother</a>. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I read somewhere that faith is trusting God so much that if
He didn’t come through, you’d fall flat on your face. Lately, we’ve been in a
circumstantial free fall, and we see the ground merely inches away in time.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We’ve sought to be good stewards by checking all options to
prevent destruction. Because we don’t want to be like the guy sitting on <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">top of a </span>roof in a flooded land watching boats go by and asking God why He didn’t
rescue him. We’ve looked for the boats as we’ve simultaneously trusted Him. And
our view from the rooftop shows we have no other choice but only to trust Him.
(At which point I’ll add a little levity to say that you know you’re a mom of a
5<sup>th</sup> grader when you pray to the Lord with all sincerity of heart yet
a little smirk on your face saying, “Help me, Lord. You’re my only hope.”)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know what’s true. I take God at His word when He says that
He’s able to do immeasurably more than anything I could ever ask, or even
imagine. Yet when the usually-calm Red Sea is suddenly violently splashing at your legs
and you can feel the sweat of the soldiers as their advance breathes down your
neck, trusting God feels foolish.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">If that’s where you are today, I want you to know you’re not alone.<br />
And He can handle our raw honesty, friend. Our humanity. In fact, He welcomes it.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span class="wsj-article-caption-content">(Image above: Scene from ‘Exodus: Gods and Kings’</span>
<span class="wsj-article-credit" itemprop="creator">
<span class="wsj-article-credit-tag">
</span>
20th Century Fox</span>)</span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-32498767184637722622015-02-07T22:55:00.000-05:002015-02-23T12:42:54.756-05:00The God Who Coddles?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6y355CHzBzxp9uAdJ6y8ZkkwST2g0vpuBPpm7_uUOm6-U15Kq-aD_14ytbONCChFq8HhfwkpIO59UfkIbPUsOpw2TBruxzYYDoyXFVvUAAvf2PosfwWuEqD16T2eeFClfyZoEyCNmkIw/s1600/chunky+shoes+w+edge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6y355CHzBzxp9uAdJ6y8ZkkwST2g0vpuBPpm7_uUOm6-U15Kq-aD_14ytbONCChFq8HhfwkpIO59UfkIbPUsOpw2TBruxzYYDoyXFVvUAAvf2PosfwWuEqD16T2eeFClfyZoEyCNmkIw/s1600/chunky+shoes+w+edge.jpg" height="257" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>It all started with a blue shirt on Laurelford Lane.</b> It was just a t-shirt, but I loved that t-shirt. It was that icy light blue color I can’t get enough of yet have such a hard time finding. The one that exudes life and elegance. It had a unique, square neck line, too. SO much more complimentary than the ol’ crew cut or v-neck. (Why, oh why, don’t they make square-neck t-shirts?)<br />
<br />
Well, I couldn’t find my beloved t-shirt, and it was the choice shirt for the occasion. A casual occasion, but an important one, nonetheless. Maybe friends visiting from out of town, I don’t remember. <b>But I know I needed it. And I couldn’t find it. Let the fretting begin. </b><br />
<br />
<b>So I did something that felt a little funny at the time.</b> I prayed about it. I asked God if He would help me find my cherished shirt. But I felt a little silly praying about it. Because it was just a silly t-shirt, after all. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t anything that mattered. It was a big deal to me, but I knew it wasn’t a big deal to God. Just a first-world problem.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">But God said yes. </span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">Yes to my silly t-shirt. </span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">Yes to my first-world problem. </span><br />
<br />
I was pretty taken back because admittedly, I wasn’t expecting Him to say yes. The whole left side of my brain had the case for no all laid out, and I trust the left side of my brain. It’s a good friend to me, you know. But God didn’t follow my logic. <b>In fact, it kinda felt like He broke the rules.</b> You know, the ones we good girls put in place.<br />
<br />
Well, it wasn’t long before it happened again. Another t-shirt (because I’m just a t-shirt and jeans kinda girl). This time a black, kinda sassy, one. Again, the shirt for the occasion. And all my searching was just an exercise in banging my head against the wall.
<br />
<br />
I thought, <br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /><b><i>Do I ask Him again? </i></b></span><br />
<i><span style="color: #073763;">Can I really ask the same thing twice? Especially when He said yes last time? </span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #073763;">Is this just calling upon Him as a genie in a bottle? I mean, it’s just stuff. </span></i><br />
<br />
<b>Despite all my efforts to talk myself out of it, I held my breath and asked again.</b> Pretty sure I added all kinds of disclaimers this time –<br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /><i>It’s okay if not, God. <br />I’ll trust that You’ve got something better in mind if I don’t find it. (Or at least I’ll try to.) <br />Really, Your will be done. </i></span><br />
<br />
A <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/09/how-to-never-get-burned-again.html" target="_blank">self-protecting</a> girl’s gotta protect herself from disappointment after all, right?<br />
<br />
<b><i>Except that I found the black shirt. </i></b><br />
He said yes again.<br />
Again!<br />
I shook my head in wonder.<br />
<br />
That was about eight years ago when I took those risks by asking God to help me find something that clearly had no bearing on eternity. And it was just the beginning.<br />
<br />
<b>For the past eight years, I have regularly asked God to help me find things.</b> I’m talkin’ – multiple times a day. It’s pretty much how He and I hang out. Today it was a pair of shoes and a receipt. The other day, it was important notes I’d jotted down on an envelope during a phone call with a nurse. I’m in a season of life that’s largely characterized by survival, so I can’t find things.
<i>Regularly.</i> And regularly, He has said yes. <br />
<br />
And every time, I think,<br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /><i>Are you kidding me, God? </i></span><br />
<i><span style="color: #073763;">Yes – again? . . . </span></i><br />
<br />
Today, I wanted to wear my chunky-sole shoes because I was going for a walk and wanted good support. Well one quick unsuccessful glance and I didn’t even get the words out of my brain before the shoes were right before my eyes. <b>That immediate, before-I-could-even-spit-the-words-out response from Him felt so excessive, it was uncomfortable.</b> Uncomfortable to receive. <br />
<br />
So with a heart of resistance, I asked Him,<br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /><i>Why do You keep accommodating me? </i></span><br />
<b><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: black;"><br />Because I love you.</span></span> </b><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #073763;">But what about the hard side of love?</span></i><b><i><span style="color: #073763;"> </span></i></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: black;"><br />I know you know the hard side of love.</span></span></b><br />
<br />
I laced up my black semi-platform shoes, still bewildered, if not thrown by the excess.
And as I grabbed my coat, I finished with,<br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /><i><b>What if others found out out?</b> <br />What if others were to find out how accommodating You’ve been? </i></span><br />
<i><span style="color: #073763;">Especially parents!! What would THEY think of You as a Parent? </span></i><br />
<br />
He didn’t respond. I have a pretty good hunch He’s not concerned.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><b>My friends, </b><br />God is not this scary, impersonal being without a heart. He's your tender, compassionate Father who loves you, cares about your needs, and abounds in grace after grace after grace. Don't let yourself forget that today. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: black;"><b><u>Coddle</u>:</b><br />- to treat in an indulgent or overprotective way<br />- to treat (someone) with too much care or kindness </span></span><br />
<br />
I have more discoveries on this whole accommodating experience with God that frankly feels like coddling, but we'll have to come back to that another time.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><b><i>In the meantime, thoughts?</i></b></span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-45283990770967130512014-09-16T21:00:00.001-04:002014-09-16T21:12:21.948-04:00The Legend of Deer Hollow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iivcjXUI5Gx6_u5G7X9XWVp4hpSNWhUQ3jfye0t-8usFv0Pu8pFFmwcY2-hR8VIgWB25xEQysrI__KzN00wLCDg2mX4DxA-ZiaVUXYGPsvynuE8lUDgPpgSPDnfdWrYm2wbS9HsNX9k/s1600/Deer+Hollow+Lg+Title.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iivcjXUI5Gx6_u5G7X9XWVp4hpSNWhUQ3jfye0t-8usFv0Pu8pFFmwcY2-hR8VIgWB25xEQysrI__KzN00wLCDg2mX4DxA-ZiaVUXYGPsvynuE8lUDgPpgSPDnfdWrYm2wbS9HsNX9k/s1600/Deer+Hollow+Lg+Title.jpg" height="290" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>A Tale of Crisis and Community,</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Friendship and Faith</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Once upon a time, there was a family of deer who lived in a cozy nook of an inviting forest. A daddy buck, a mama doe, and a precious little fawn. They made their home in the small hollow, just up the hill from the creek and the crawfish where the evergreens meet the hardwoods and the honeysuckle. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The friendliest creatures encircled them all around.
</b><br /><br />One morning, before the days of little fawn, a couple of friendly butterflies flew into their path, and the deer were immediately drawn to their vibrant beauty. The deer and the butterflies quickly became good friends, and went on little adventures together – through the forest, to the ocean, and up the smoky blue mountain. <b><br />They shared a fondness for the beautiful world around them, wanting always to partake in the daily divine.</b> <br />Together, they sang, they laughed, they dreamed.
<br /><br />Then one day, the Creator beckoned the butterflies to fly to the far side of the land and make their home on the other ocean. The deer were very sad about the butterflies’ departure from the forest, but they knew their Creator’s plans were always good, so they trusted Him as their companions flew away. <b><br />They knew this wouldn’t be the end of their story together.</b>
<br /><br />Many seasons passed while the animal friends were apart, yet there were summers of sweet reunions and across-the-miles winter celebrations when vivid crocuses burst forth with songs of new life. <b>All the while, their friendship remained a bridge between the oceans.</b>
<br /><br />One autumn day as red and yellow fell to the ground, the mama doe felt herself falling as well. She became <a href="http://www.cedarville.edu/Offices/Public-Relations/CampusNews/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx" target="_blank">terribly weak</a>, laying <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/04/stuck.html" target="_blank">day after day</a> on a small bed of brittle leaves as the crisp autumn breeze turned cold winter chill. <br /><br />Forest neighbors gathered round day and night, offering strength, support, and compassion to the family of deer. Other creatures from around the forest and even from afar heard their cries and also came to offer kindness and generous spirits of service.
<br /><i><b>And a symphony of psalm rose to Heaven every time.
</b></i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />Since <a href="http://www.cedarville.edu/Offices/Public-Relations/CampusNews/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx" target="_blank">the fall</a>, the doe had to lean hard on the buck. And though he grew tired and weary, the buck never lost his footing, despite the deep muck that overtook their land from all the rainy days. </span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The deer were broken. <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/04/stuck.html" target="_blank">Their landscape</a> had changed. </span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In time, the doe was able to stand again, and walk, but <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/08/accepting-sidelines.html" target="_blank">her gait</a> was never quite the same. <b>And she <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/01/dear-overwhelmed-and-constantly.html" target="_blank">wrestled constantly</a> between the strength of her heart’s desires and the weakness of her body’s reality.</b> She grieved the impact that autumn day left on her family’s landscape. <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/to-one-whos-missing-out.html" target="_blank">All the loss</a> in its wake. Because she’d always longed to leave the forest a more glorious place. At least their little hollow. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />She longed to be a strong doe <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/to-one-whos-missing-out.html" target="_blank">and do all the things</a> other mama deer do. To run freely with her fawn through the lush green, explore curious with him around every bend, show him all the wonders of the big world beyond their little forest, teach him how to dance freely with the Creator and breathe deeply of His grace. <b><br />Instead, she was working hard just to walk.
<br /><a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html" target="_blank"><i>Just to survive. </i></a></b><i><br /></i>Her world has felt <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2014/08/for-when-your-world-feels-painfully.html" target="_blank">painfully small</a>.
<br /><br />And their family was no longer able to pilgrimage to the far side of the land to visit their old friends. Yet their flighted friends <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html" target="_blank">continued to come</a> to them. Always flying in with life, laughter, love on their wings.</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #20124d;">One spring afternoon, the butterfly brought the doe a gift only the soul could see. The rarest kind. It unearthed a healing flood the doe could not hold back. So she leaned on the butterfly, unwrapped her pain, and laid it bare on the floor. The butterfly felt the full weight of her friend’s pain, and spread her wings wide around her. Holding her tight as the storm raged on.
<br /><b>Tears of hurt. Tears of healing. <br />Holy ground saturated with the sacred.</b></span><b>
</b></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Since that life-altering <a href="http://www.cedarville.edu/Offices/Public-Relations/CampusNews/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx" target="_blank">September 16th day</a> [yes, four years ago to the day], some things have changed for the deer. <b>And a lot hasn’t.
</b><br /><br />Several of the friendly creatures that encircled them in the hollow have made their home in a new part of the forest. And so have they. The little fawn, he’s not so little any more. And the butterflies, they’ve faced some harsh winds of their own.
<br /><br />The strong buck remains with hooves firmly planted in the deep, deep muck. And the doe continues to <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/04/stuck.html" target="_blank">wrestle hard</a> between her desires and her reality. <b><br />The storms rage hard every day.
</b><br /><br />However, one thing also remains.
<br /><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>The sufficiency of His grace.
</b></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #660000;">The grace to take the next step – <i>when the last one was <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html" target="_blank">all I had</a> in me.
</i><br />The<a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/10/troubling-four-letter-word.html" target="_blank"> grace to ask for help</a>. <i>Yet again.</i> Despite fearing that I wore out my needy welcome long, long ago.
<br />The <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/02/love-finds-you.html" target="_blank">grace to trust</a> – <i>when I don’t even know what that looks like anymore.
</i></span><br /><br />So “my flesh and <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/12/relief-in-failure.html" target="_blank">my heart may fail</a>,
<br /><b>but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”</b> ¹
<br /><br />“Therefore we do not lose heart.
<br />[Well. Many days <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/09/marbles-curve-balls-lifes.html" target="_blank">we do</a>. But it’s not the state of heart that characterizes us.
<br />Because] though outwardly we are wasting away,
<br /><b>yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.”</b> ²
<br /><br />For one thousand four hundred and sixty one days,
He has said to me,
<br /><b>“My grace is sufficient for you,
</b><br />for my power is made perfect in weakness.” ³
<br /><br />And one thousand four hundred and sixty one days later, I remain resolved that</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />“Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,
<br /><b>so that Christ's power may rest on me."</b> ³</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">~ ~ ~
<br /><span style="font-size: small;"><i>This piece is dedicated to everyone who has helped our family stand (or walk. or crawl.) over the past four years. Upholding us with your faithful prayers, your steady streams of encouragement, and your selfless acts of service. Through you, we have beheld the glory of God.
</i><br /><span style="color: #660000;"><i><br />It is ESPECIALLY dedicated to the remarkable families of <b>Deer Hollow</b> Court.<br />In Wake <b>Forest</b>.
<br />Your unprecedented legacy will forever live on in our family’s story.
<br />
</i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(Hey before you go, I think you'll also enjoy reading <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/08/my-tomato-plant-story-surviving-traumas.html" target="_blank">My Tomato Plant Story, & Surviving the Traumas of Life</a>.
But first, would you do me the honor of leaving a little comment below
to let me know you stopped by? It makes my day whenever I hear your
voice!) </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1: Ps 73:26
<br />2: 2 Cor. 4:16
<br />3: 2 Corinthians 12:9
</span></span></span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-83982677157036499432014-08-09T20:30:00.000-04:002014-12-03T22:21:17.965-05:00For When Your World Feels Painfully Small<i>
</i>
<br />
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<br />
He’s invited me to several reading parties at bedtime this summer. Usually when my husband’s out of town and it’s just the two of us. The <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/one-thousand-gifts-book/" target="_blank">book</a> I carry into his bedroom is about <b>discovering the wonders of God in the moment</b>, especially the ones masked in the mundane.<br />
<br />
As I’m reading with highlighter in hand, always in hand, I turn sentence into sunshine. <b>No longer blending in</b> with the mosaic of words, but shining right off the page.<br />
<br />
She talks about her aunt, the one who traveled the world, “wandering the streets of the foreign and unusual.”<span style="font-size: small;">*</span> And the time she came and induced a tiny toddler’s squeals of laughter simply by rolling a red plastic ball.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>“I will never forget your daughter’s wild joy in that ball – <b>a happiness like I have never seen in all my travels through all these years. </b><br />And in the simplest of experiences . . .”<span style="font-size: small;">*</span> </i></span><br />
<br />
With my son’s legs sprawled over mine, I continue to read, continue to highlight, as <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/" target="_blank">Ann</a> beckons me to open my eyes to see and <b>unwrap the gift of the moment</b>. The joy of the here and now.<br />
<br />
And that example, that story of the well-traveled aunt, it speaks to me. Because I wrestle over our family’s world – <b>it’s become <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/04/stuck.html" target="_blank">painfully small</a></b>. While others make plans for ocean views and starry summer nights, I hope to feel well enough take him to the library around the corner. I give thanks that he deems it a treasure, yet I ache when – <br />
<i>well, <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/10/disney-or-disability.html" target="_blank">when I compare</a>. </i><br />
<br />
But that aunt in the book just told me that in all her travels around this big world, she’d never seen the wild joy that she’d seen that day.<br />
<b><span style="color: #660000;"><i>In a home. </i></span></b><br />
Doing something incredibly simple.<br />
<br />
I sense a subtle tug to let what I’m reading seep into the moment. Because as I read, I’m in one of those moments. One of his last days he’ll ever live the simplicity of a single digit.<br />
<br />
<b>My awareness begins to wake up, and I capture his closeness.</b> Side by side our legs dangling off the bed and books propped in hand, his little feet begin to nuzzle their way into my sandals. My loose sandals, my ever-present nagging reminders of <a href="http://www.cedarville.edu/Offices/Public-Relations/CampusNews/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx" target="_blank">sickness</a> and <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/05/sober-gratitude.html" target="_blank">weight loss</a>, become divine dwelling. <br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>My proclaimers of loss turn place of prosperity. </i></span><br />
<br />
With noses buried in books, neither one let on, but we both know it’s going to happen.<br />
<i>Clunk. </i><br />
The sandal falls to the floor. <i><br />The joy rises to the moment. </i><br />
<br />
Sweet moments like these usually garner polite smiles from this <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html" target="_blank">weak</a> and weary mom. But no, not this time.<b> This time, I was primed for more. </b>Primed for joy. This time, when he whips his head around with head-back, mouth-open laughter, I join in.<br />
<i><b>This time, I am <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/12/just-one-more-time.html" target="_blank">a part of the moment</a>, not an <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/08/accepting-sidelines.html" target="_blank">outskirt observer</a> of it. </b></i><br />
<br />
In unusual playfulness, I kick off the other sandal.<br />
<br />
<b>And then, I am humbled.</b> Because my son, my tender son . . . <br />
<span style="color: #660000;">He climbs off the bed, </span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">Crouches down low on the floor, </span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">And with gentle little hands, starts to put my sandals back on my feet. </span><br />
Oh, how this boy has seen servanthood at its finest in our little world. It's shaping his soul – <span style="color: #660000;"><i>in ways no trip around the world ever could. </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><br /><b>Maybe our world hasn’t gotten smaller, after all . . .</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>But bigger. </i></b></span><br />
<br />
I graciously tell him I’d rather leave them off.<br />
<i>The better to snuggle with. </i><br />
<br />
Well no doubt about it I was making a fashion statement that day with my hospital-white circulation socks. My elastic crutches that hold me up and help me stand. Picture black capris, white stockings, black sandals. Give me an eye patch and I’m half way to pirate. But a girl does what a girl’s gotta do, you know. At least around the house.<br />
<br />
So before climbing back onto the bed, he examines the circular openings on the soles of my socks, wonders why they’re there, answers his own question – so my feet can breathe. Yes, the soles are indeed designed with a need to breathe. <br />
<b><i>The souls are also designed with a need to breathe.</i></b><br />
<br />
I turn my head to look at the clock. 8:50pm on the dot. The exact time I said we’d be done reading. With a glimmer of glorious rule-breaking rebellion in my eye, I ignore it. Oh yes I sure did.<br />
<br />
Minutes later, he mentions the time, but wants to read Chapter Three and shows me it isn’t very long. This boy, he knows his mama. He knows I don’t throw my yeses wild to the wind.<br />
<b><i>Tonight, I say yes. </i></b><br />
<br />
His voice and arm gesture proclaim a hearty <i><b>YES</b></i> as if I had just handed him the moon. As he gets comfortable on the small of my back, I hear cicadas out the window and highlight:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: lime;"><span style="color: #660000;">“But the irony: <br /><b>Don’t I often desperately want to wriggle free of the confines of a small life?</b> <br />Yet when I stand before immensity that heightens my smallness – I have never felt sadness. Only burgeoning wonder . . . all wonder and worship can only grow out of smallness.”<span style="font-size: small;">*</span></span> </span></blockquote>
With his Chapter Three adventure complete, I point out the chorus of cicadas, tell him they’re singing him a lullaby. He smiles, and pauses to hear their song.<br />
<br />
<b>We close our eyes to pray, and I pray differently tonight.</b><br />
<i><br />I thank Him for the chorus of cicadas, </i><br />
<i>for holes in circulation socks, </i><br />
<i>for sandals falling, </i><br />
<b>For feet! he says. </b><br />
<i>Yes, Lord, for feet. </i><br />
<i><br />For kind ladies at two separate bakeries who each offered my soon-to-be birthday boy a special treat this afternoon, </i><br />
<i>for the breath of life, </i><br />
<i>the miracles that surround us. </i><br />
<i>I pray for friends and family. </i><br />
<i>The sick, the grieving, the ones in harm’s way. </i><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i><br />Open our eyes and open our ears, Lord, <br />to see and hear the <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/09/stepping-over-treasures-to-pray-for.html" target="_blank">miracles</a> that surround us every day. </i></span><br />
<br />
As soon as I amen, he asks what I read. Apparently, he heard a changed prayer, too. With pleasure, I share with him truth and grace, simple and profound.<br />
<br />
<i>“The holy grail of joy is not in some exotic location or some
emotional mountain peak experience. The joy wonder could be here! Here,
in the messy, piercing ache of now, joy might be – unbelievably –
possible! <b><br />The only place we need to see before we die is this place of seeing God, here and now.</b>”* <br />~ Ann Voskamp</i> <br />
<br />
And so, on an ordinary August night, my son's bedroom became holy ground.<br />
A simple summer reading date turned vehicle to the Sacred.<br />
The goodness of God set loose through a pair of ordinary sandals.<br />
Together, our hearts traveled where no footsteps of ours ever could. <br />
<b><i>In the grandeur of the small.</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i><b>"Take off your sandals, <br />for the place where you are standing is holy ground."</b><span class="p"><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> ~ Exodus 3:5</span></span> </i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>* Excerpt from <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/one-thousand-gifts-book/" target="_blank">One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully</a> by Ann Voskamp </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Image courtesy of <a href="http://www.creationswap.com/media/1626" target="_blank">Tim Pirfalt</a> </i></span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-20927539629070891422014-03-23T19:42:00.000-04:002014-03-24T18:58:46.474-04:00Your Desperation, Your Worship<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQVGyZCucMTpx4w6ERh-GrPlCn4RF4AJCMkvkks4MSUD4DS7XUdEediN_1Q4BI4axVQXCEjSNsDFxrTJi1PBkqT0rFVXuanu3Vqv1pspucRlsupHUUaXXMhWowrxAUY5ApesCyXG8Bfw/s1600/Sweet+Hour+of+Prayer_CreationSwap_Aaron+Burden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQVGyZCucMTpx4w6ERh-GrPlCn4RF4AJCMkvkks4MSUD4DS7XUdEediN_1Q4BI4axVQXCEjSNsDFxrTJi1PBkqT0rFVXuanu3Vqv1pspucRlsupHUUaXXMhWowrxAUY5ApesCyXG8Bfw/s1600/Sweet+Hour+of+Prayer_CreationSwap_Aaron+Burden.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Through him then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;">that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name. “ </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">~ Heb. 13:15, ESV</span></div>
<br />
<b>It was a pretty pitiful scene.</b> In one corner of the house, I sat on my bed clutching the pepto-pink trash can, barely enough strength to be upright. In the other corner, my son crying over a hard-won battle that fell into computer abyss. Sweet victory turned sting of defeat. And my husband was out getting groceries, so unavailable to offer comfort to either one of us.<br />
<br />
I sat there weak and helpless on my bed, the sound of my son’s unaddressed disappointment well in ear shot but out of my realistic reach. And I couldn’t help but second-guess a self description I’d penned just a day or two before. <b>I described myself as “one who’s learned how to live in survival mode – and even worship there.”</b><br />
<br />
<i>"Are you kidding me?," I thought. "Have I really learned that?</i><br />
<i><b>What about this trying-to-survive moment right here and now?"</b></i><br />
<br />
In entered His grace with this thought:<br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><b>My dependence is my worship.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">My helplessness reminds me that I need a Savior</span> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]--><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">–</span> for eternity, and for the here and now. Every time I acknowledge that I am not self-sufficient, but instead incapable and desperately <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/search?q=brutal+four+letter+word" target="_blank">needy</a>, I worship. <b> I worship by removing my [perceived] ability off the throne of my life, and bowing down to the only One Who is worthy of that throne.</b> Worthy of my trust. And <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/12/relief-in-failure.html" target="_blank">welcoming </a>of my desperation.<br />
<br />
That desperation has been one of my primary places of worship in this <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/search?q=brutal+four+letter+word" target="_blank">hard season</a>. That choice to bow down and trust Him instead of myself. That choice to surrender. <b>That choice to invite His grace into my need.</b><br />
Again. And again. And again.<br />
<br />
In my desperation, my dependence is my worship.<br />
And can be yours as well. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture compliments of <a href="http://www.creationswap.com/media/13433" target="_blank">Aaron Burden</a></span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-47323513264172007222014-01-08T13:27:00.000-05:002014-01-21T10:05:26.373-05:00Leaving the Principle Behind<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSU-VjxeOJT9ynhEoeo1si1A3IHiKgSIGnieeTakkbXZ-5SUxPzU4IfGjAn-5dpuQ4oGEaVWSrKPUe1_FFXLc_QStr9YTkrlk4edIwJKUiCJ21ku0i_ykeZs41q81xT_O1HuM2A4WzAE/s1600/Worship+at+Yosemite_Creation+Swap_compressed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSU-VjxeOJT9ynhEoeo1si1A3IHiKgSIGnieeTakkbXZ-5SUxPzU4IfGjAn-5dpuQ4oGEaVWSrKPUe1_FFXLc_QStr9YTkrlk4edIwJKUiCJ21ku0i_ykeZs41q81xT_O1HuM2A4WzAE/s1600/Worship+at+Yosemite_Creation+Swap_compressed.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I'd like to think I'm a relatively easy-going kinda gal. But if there’s one scenario that’s always been a guarantee to get my blood boiling, it’s an offense to the principle of the matter. Sometimes individuals have been my offenders, but usually it’s a case of a company not doing the right thing, not making my satisfaction their primary goal.<br />
<b>Because I am consumer, so hear me roar. </b><br />
<br />
Of course, that's too ugly for a Christian to admit. So I've wrapped it tightly in justice, a perfectly justifiable (and responsible!) intellectual alibi.<br />
<br />
One day several years ago, the Lord planted this strange seed of thought in my head. He asked me if the principle is truly what’s most important in a situation.<br />
<b>Is principle really what trumps all? </b><br />
<br />
It was confusing to even consider deprioritizing the principle of a matter<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">, </span>because isn’t it just plain <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">–</span> RIGHT? Why would I <i>not</i> pursue what is right? That would be counter Christian.<br />
<br />
And if the principle of the matter weren't most important, wouldn’t that mean I'd have to resign the respect due me? Even give up innate rights as an individual? There are all kinds of ramifications.<br />
<b>The wrestling ensued.</b><br />
<br />
~ ~ ~<br />
<br />
Ocean waves crashed their majesty just up the road. And the siren sound of seagulls was all around. But me? I was behind a closed bedroom door on the second floor on hold with customer service. They’d double-charged us for our internet service, and she was submitting a request for our account to be credited.<br />
<br />
It was a stressful conversation, the explaining and the advocating. I’m not a fan of those. <i>At all.</i> Most certainly <i>not</i> while on vacation. But the return was worthwhile, so I made the investment of my time and energy. An expensive one, though. It left me wiped out the rest of afternoon.<br />
<br />
A couple months came and went, but only a partial credit was issued. And so I called.<br />
<br />
<i>Month after month. </i><br />
<i>Hold after hold. </i><br />
<i>Operator after operator. </i><br />
<b><i>For six months. </i></b><br />
<br />
Explaining every time the complicated nuances behind the relocating, the residential vs. the business, the double charging.<br />
<br />
Finally, one wonderful fall day, an operator seemed to get to the bottom of the hold up. But. In order to resolve it, he had to send it back to the other department . . .<br />
<br />
<i>Return to sender. </i><br />
<i>Hope they comply. </i><br />
<i>More realistically, hope my remaining credit hasn’t gone back into a black hole. </i><br />
<br />
I took scrupulous notes all the while. I documented names, operator IDs, dates, details of who said what. <b>I had a case, and I managed it well.</b><br />
<br />
The holidays came and went. No remaining credit. And no time to do those dreaded calls.<br />
<br />
So after ringing in the new year, I picked up the phone again yesterday. And I was bounced between departments more than ever before. <b>A tennis match of my time and energy, and I was clearly losing.</b><br />
<br />
The dialogue with the last in the string of operators was particularly unproductive.<br />
It was disheartening (to say the least) when she informed me for the first time of a note in my account saying the request for credit had been denied last summer.<br />
And it was frustrating (to say the very least!) when she had the nerve to ask me why I think I should receive this credit. <br />
<i>AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!</i><br />
<br />
I kept my cool, though. Didn’t even wear the ugly manipulative tone my nature sometimes puts on. I sought to take the higher roads of respectful communication despite her coldness.<br />
<br />
<b>But after a little while of getting nowhere, I got practical and decided I’d be better off hanging up with her and calling back to speak to a different operator.</b> So right in the middle of our somewhat-mutual troubleshooting, I interjected a seemingly random,<br />
“Thank you, operator. I think that will be all.”<br />
Some silence, a few more obligatory formalities exchanged in closing, and no more wasted time for me.<br />
<br />
As I put the phone down and placed my right hand on the mouse to start documenting our conversation, I couldn’t maneuver it because my hand was so shaky. I didn’t feel stressed, but clearly, I was.<br />
<br />
<b>After a few minutes, my hands relaxed, and so did my soul.</b> Because instead of picking the phone back up to get a better operator, I reconsidered.<br />
<br />
That particular moment is the point where my principle-trumps-all nature typically rises up, and my blood start boiling in agitation. Because really, this is all very simple, right?<br />
<br />
<i>We asked them to discontinue a service. </i><br />
<i>They didn’t. </i><br />
<i>Instead, they began to double charge us. </i><br />
<i>Their fault, not ours. </i><br />
<i>Therefore, we deserve to be reimbursed. (Fully! Not partially.) </i><br />
<i>Simple, simple. </i><br />
<br />
As always, I heard my nature’s invitation to pursue the principle of it, but it wasn’t screaming in demand like it used to. It was much quieter.<b> And this time, I also heard a different Invitation. </b><br />
<br />
Despite the reality that they owed us money. And despite the reality that we could certainly use it. <b>I sensed a need to let it all go.</b> <br />
The money, the principle, the stress.
<br />
A readiness to throw away all the papers and close the door to my file of scrupulous notes, and leave it all buried in last year. <br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>Not in resignation. <b>In freedom.</b></i></span><br />
<br />
I could have pushed through, like usual, ‘til
I found the frayed end of my rope. But that's what was
making it sound like wisdom to me, offering me a sense of peace and contentment in the surrender.<br />
<br />
~ ~ ~<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><b>Life is a series of dethroning exercises.</b> Discovering who and what I have on the throne of my life. Going through the painful process of removing my grip on each one. And entering into the liberating experience of having Jesus there instead. </span><br />
<br />
When we think about idols, we typically think about lures like materialism and power. But I've discovered so many more in my soul: <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/03/how-to-strangle-great-marriage.html" target="_blank">People</a>. Ministry. <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/08/accepting-sidelines.html" target="_blank">Fellowship</a>. Even convictions.<br />
<br />
<b>And I’m finding freedom in leaving the principle behind.</b> They are welcome in my life, but not on my throne. Only Jesus is welcome on the throne of my life. <br />
<b><br />HE is what will trump all.</b> <br />
<i>Including my convictions about Him.</i><br />
<br />
Oh and that first operator I originally spoke with last summer? The one at the beginning of this dethroning opportunity?<br />
Her name was Angel.<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><br /><span style="color: #999999;">"Beware of being obsessed with consistency to your own convictions
<br />instead of being devoted to God."</span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />~ Oswald Chambers, <a href="http://utmost.org/discovering-divine-design/" target="_blank">My Utmost for His Highest</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Image above courtesy of <a href="http://www.creationswap.com/media/4573" target="_blank">Travis Silva </a></i></span><a href="http://www.creationswap.com/media/4573"><br /></a>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-71530983690847853672013-12-03T17:34:00.001-05:002013-12-05T11:05:30.921-05:00Celebrate Your Moo!<b><span style="font-size: large;">Lessons from a Stuffed Cow on Self Worth</span></b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJk4PXEMfhM12f0uy_cG2R5-ZMeC_B04FzuKSk6YbrMarADOKPxtKbHa8zjv0UN6ajG2HEegryQWMy7rFB0qGQ_-J-EjkxhondMJSEEBlCGXMsbhCfUij15hhH4ASio39zZ-HnHFEvWXQ/s1600/IMG_2891_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJk4PXEMfhM12f0uy_cG2R5-ZMeC_B04FzuKSk6YbrMarADOKPxtKbHa8zjv0UN6ajG2HEegryQWMy7rFB0qGQ_-J-EjkxhondMJSEEBlCGXMsbhCfUij15hhH4ASio39zZ-HnHFEvWXQ/s400/IMG_2891_edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made”
</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span>~ Psalm 139:14</span></span>
</div>
<br />
<br />
That night after Thanksgiving, I went into my son’s room to tuck him in and there was plastic food nestled in the middle of his blue, dinosaur comforter. I asked him if his stuffed animals were having a picnic, and he said they’d had Thanksgiving breakfast that morning. And they wrote down things they were thankful for. I asked if I could read what they wrote, and his tender hands offered me a miniature 5-sheet pad of paper.
<br />
Just 1x2”.
<br />
With a turkey on the front – of course.
<br />
<br />
Oh, what overflowing treasures in those five tiny pages. At the top of the first page, Crocodile and Alligator with four items below their names. A bulleted list, nonetheless. But it’s the next page that really got me. The page with Spotty, the Dalmatian’s list. And Belty, the belted Cow’s list.
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Because the first thing on Spotty’s list was “my spots.”
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">And the first thing on Belty’s list was “my moo.”
</span><br />
<i>[Because he really does!]</i><br />
<br />
As if the sheer sweetness weren’t enough, here’s what struck me about the spots and the moo. In their tiny little list of thanks, those animals didn’t start with the material. They didn’t even start with the grand external beauty that surrounds them, like the warmth of a summer sunset or the arresting sound of waves crashing up against the shore.
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>They thanked God for the unique way He created them.
<br />
<br />
</i>Their own personal beauty that displays His glory.
<br />
<br /><b><i>It was at the top of their list.
</i></b></span><br />
<br />
I was struck by that because admittedly, I struggle to believe that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, let alone thank God for the way He’s made me. I struggle to believe the very passion of this blog space – that His glory is made known through my weakness, my shortcomings. Especially since <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/09/marbles-curve-balls-lifes.html">invisible illness</a> has made its home in my body.
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">But I want to follow Belty and Spotty’s lead today. I want to celebrate my moo, enjoy the beauty of my spots. And I’m encouraging you to do the same.
</span><br />
<br />
<b><i>So! One way God created you in His image. GO!
<br />
</i></b>(And no, not an attribute that nobody else on the planet has. Spotty’s certainly not the only Dalmatian with beauty spots.)
<br />
<br />
<b>It’s time to celebrate your moo!
</b>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-1313339183533233522013-08-05T21:44:00.000-04:002013-08-05T21:44:32.940-04:00Accepting the Sidelines<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(or "The Night I Got Over Myself. Again.")</b></span>
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWKASvCe3wNySe_sQXSUs8vPDkkOrOsMjuI8VAWJ3DzeYy6HUmTGG7iU74QWx11d1PdFekvP0GGXQM_i-_8KFFSWxIp9sqWmgNFyc8DpDMY_CqitgIivJINcRQDyWXNEDSErn-B-5Xh2Y/s1600/left+out_flickrcreativecommons_charamelody.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWKASvCe3wNySe_sQXSUs8vPDkkOrOsMjuI8VAWJ3DzeYy6HUmTGG7iU74QWx11d1PdFekvP0GGXQM_i-_8KFFSWxIp9sqWmgNFyc8DpDMY_CqitgIivJINcRQDyWXNEDSErn-B-5Xh2Y/s320/left+out_flickrcreativecommons_charamelody.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The close confinement of a pit exhausts us with the endless echo of self-absorption.” </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">~ Beth Moore</span></span></div>
<br />
We’d approached these familiar church doors many a Sunday morning. Almost 16 years ago, we walked through them for the first time as a young married couple from the north looking to make our home in the south. And we did. Because although the doors open wide to a campus that many find intimidating, <b>we soon found an inviting nook in the vast array and called it home.
</b><br />
<br />
We enjoyed those carefree years as young marrieds, actively partaking in all the small group parties, Bible studies, you name it. The only reason we missed anything was because we couldn’t stay put long, regularly hitting the road and the air to visit out-of-state friends and family. <b>Our lifestyle was an active one, and we liked it that way.
</b><br />
<br />
After a year or two of being nestled into the warm space of our small group, our hearts were stirred to plug in even more. And the Lord gave us the opportunity to start a new small group with dear friends at our church for newly married couples. <i>Seriously </i>newly marrieds! We’re talkin’ – folks just back from their honeymoon. What a privilege to be a part of that sacred season in their lives.
<br />
<br />
Fast forward a few years when my husband had the privilege of serving as a deacon, then I had the privilege of helping to lead a women’s summer Bible study. Our list of involvement goes on, but my point is this:
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">We were active.
</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="color: #0c343d;">We were connected.</span>
</span><br />
<b>And that was just the way we liked it.
</b><br />
<br />
<b>But then life took some <a href="http://www.cedarville.edu/Offices/Public-Relations/CampusNews/2011/Truth-in-Weakness.aspx">twists and turns</a>.</b> And as a result, my stride's taken quite a toll since those days of carefree. Because as I approach those same doors, I’ve had Sunday mornings when it’s been physically challenging just to walk through them, let alone be actively plugged in to church life. So it’s been years since I’ve been in organized ministry, or even participated in an organized event. Because I’m doing well if I can muster the stamina to do all that’s required simply <a href="http://www.incourage.me/2012/12/finding-christ-in-the-chaos.html">to show up on a Sunday morning</a>.<br />
<b>Meanwhile, church life continues on all around me.
Without me. </b><br />
<br />
And this <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/09/marbles-curve-balls-lifes.html">health adventure</a> hasn’t just impacted my physical frame. My mental, emotional, and spiritual gaits have also become fragile from the harsh winds of life. My <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html">journey through chronic illness</a> has brought <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/08/my-tomato-plant-story-surviving-traumas.html">intense storms</a> to the deepest recesses of my being, and it’s changed me. <b>And the loss of life as we knew it with our church family has been hard to swallow. </b><br />
<br />
Let me explain a bit further. Whenever you haven’t seen somebody for a considerably long time, there’s an enthusiastic reunion, right? And the typical catch-up questions come naturally. Then on the opposite side of the spectrum, when you see somebody frequently, like every Sunday morning, you get to go beyond those surface questions to dig into the day-to-day grind, and walk through life with them. <b>But my husband and I, we’re in this awkward frequency of the in between.</b> We’re not seeing these folks regularly. But it’s not like it’s been 5-10 years since we’ve seen them, either. In reality, our circumstances have left us doing all the things you’re NOT supposed to do if you want to experience close community:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0c343d;">We show up inconsistently on Sunday mornings. (Sometimes as a couple, but more times one without the other.) </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0c343d;">We go into the worship center. We worship. We go out. </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0c343d;">No small groups. No Bible studies. No outreach events. </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0c343d;">No more relating than cordial Sunday morning smiles. </span></blockquote>
<br />
It’s an unhealthy pattern that leaves longing hearts lonely and unfulfilled. Yet sadly, it’s a pretty common pattern in churches, so we’re not a total anomaly. But in our case, we know better. And we <i>want </i>better. We’re willing to do what it takes to be connected, but our circumstances inhibit us. <b>Our hearts LONG to serve and plug in again. We’re just not physically able to. And that's been <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html">a painful place to live</a>.</b><br />
<br />
That particular evening, I approached those now-awkward church doors yet again. My footsteps carrying the imprints of one who’s spent the last several years wrestling her way through pain and loss, through life. And that dreaded in-between awkwardness started to settle in the closer I got to the doors. But the next step held something different. Because in that step, He whispered to me:<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i><b>“Can you accept it here?” </b></i></span><br />
<br />
Can I accept it here . . .<br />
<br />
On the sidelines.<br />
<br />
In this awkward and isolating in between.<br />
<br />
Can I accept this disconnected place I’m in?<br />
<i><b>And make the most of it. </b></i><br />
<br />
The moments between His question and my entrance were so brief that I didn’t even have time to consciously respond before I was through the doors and swept into the flow of church goers.<br />
<br />
<b>Yet His question alone empowered me.</b> Because this time when I walked through those doors, the awkwardness was replaced with confidence. I was no longer focusing on my disconnectedness; I was focused on embracing the brief moments that I HAD with these people. And wanting to taste the sweetness of being a blessing to them – <b>even from the social sidelines. </b><br />
<br />
My experience that evening at church was entirely different.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Because rather than throw out a fake hi, <br /><i>I reached out and offered an embrace. </i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Rather than avoid eye contact to dodge the awkward shallow, <br /><i>I called out her name. </i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Rather than turn away after the obligatory hellos, <br /><i>I turned back to reengage and encourage. </i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Rather than stay quiet in my seat before the program started, <br /><i>I introduced myself. </i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0c343d;">And rather than keep that restroom tunnel-vision stare straight down at my hand washing for fear of the casual acquaintance standing next to me not remembering me after all these years, </span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><b><i>I looked up. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><b><i>I took a risk. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">I initiated conversation.<i><br />[Turns out she remembered me, too.]</i> </span></blockquote>
<br />
<b>Rather than fixating on being a part of community, I got over myself. </b><i><span style="color: #660000;"><b>And experienced a taste of community when I did. </b></span></i><br />
<br />
A sweet embrace.<br />
The laughter of grace.<br />
The delight of relational reconnections.<br />
The blessing of a new friend.<br />
<br />
<b>All rich treasures I would have missed had my focus remained on community – instead of on Jesus. </b><br />
<br />
That getting over the awkwardness, getting over myself at church, wasn’t anything I pursued. Nothing I’d been praying about. Not a conscious mental shift I made that evening<span style="color: #660000;">. It was simply another miraculous moment when His grace entered my reality to bring about the change my heart and mind desperately needed.</span><br />
<br />
And sure, it was different from the strong pulse of community we’re used to being a part of. But it was okay. <i>I was okay.</i> <b><span style="color: #660000;">I was content with the less than ideal.</span></b> Content to accept the sidelines.<br />
<br />
With an overflow of grace, God brought my self-centric mind back to what church is all about <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<br />
<i>[Psst! Don’t look now, but <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2013/04/stuck.html">this little kite</a> seems to be wrestling a little less, and resting a bit more these days. Well . . . at least THIS day!]</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image courtesy of <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/charamelody/">charamelody</a></span><br />
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</xml><![endif]-->truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-21486675774503848002013-07-22T15:54:00.000-04:002017-07-11T16:18:08.562-04:00A Fortress of Fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9yVrEYeXFijBXnHM3BvfpwRqQHb9QMZof5qA9WS9Snhrw-shPOCvmbCij6dw59PIMa0WV5VEKUQ5oOWXMHXgnHPqEf6x97m9B5P5bSRYdCNA0seoedC9dqob6i-BJxZ-2u5d3psvCSg/s1600/Stone+Wall+CreationSwap_+Ioan+Besoiu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9yVrEYeXFijBXnHM3BvfpwRqQHb9QMZof5qA9WS9Snhrw-shPOCvmbCij6dw59PIMa0WV5VEKUQ5oOWXMHXgnHPqEf6x97m9B5P5bSRYdCNA0seoedC9dqob6i-BJxZ-2u5d3psvCSg/s320/Stone+Wall+CreationSwap_+Ioan+Besoiu.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #666666;">"There is no fear in love. Perfect love casts out fear."</span>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">~ 1 John 4:18a
</span></span></div>
<br />
She had me at the title: <a href="http://www.brownpaperandstrings.com/held-captive-by-fear/">Held Captive by Fear</a>. But the entire time I was reading her piece, there was a nagging question in my head that I couldn’t shake. I’m all about God removing my bricks of fear, but what I couldn’t figure out was how, exactly, He does that. Where in my heart and mind does that process begin? In other words, what needs to happen to get results?<i> [Okay, so I like formulas. And writing in the sky. And perceived control . . . ]
</i><br />
<br />
As I was chewin’ on all this with the Lord, I thought about my constant toggling between love and fear. <b>A frustrating and exhausting tug of war in my life . . .
</b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">(<a href="http://www.jamiesampieriharper.com/whimsitivity/held-captive-by-fear/">Click here</a> to read the rest.)
</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Thanks to my dear blogger friend, <a href="http://www.jamiesampieriharper.com/">Jamie Harper</a>, for the privilege of joining her "Out of the Dark, Into the Light" series as a guest blogger. Come join us, and make sure you leave a comment so we can greet you when you stop by!
</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtF0BBlmzldQXBGKSl4slYQ4nn8QW9nTN39lhQsNG-TazenZW-7NDix8HmwchTHf3C8Aki-fg8bpwJiSHim8If6aAg2Enav_0uVA19hvulLHk7xAgfEWs4zljnZJ8EJ_sS6DTNQi7h2s/s1600/Into-the-Light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtF0BBlmzldQXBGKSl4slYQ4nn8QW9nTN39lhQsNG-TazenZW-7NDix8HmwchTHf3C8Aki-fg8bpwJiSHim8If6aAg2Enav_0uVA19hvulLHk7xAgfEWs4zljnZJ8EJ_sS6DTNQi7h2s/s320/Into-the-Light.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Stone Wall Image Credit: <a href="http://www.creationswap.com/media/3751">Ioan Besoiu</a> </i></span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-18228682550226794192013-04-18T22:56:00.001-04:002013-06-23T14:49:57.569-04:00Stuck<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfrwTXbwem3lmKBqJapGZKVJYn512pwdcj34t47GrEqTFjOsZitfWrEJuPR8nb4CRkLZC0FEPeW49GesCc6tPBNXz-5GBbAhJ7Kohyphenhyphen64My5Aq1_6ECo2oerodxwdeIhZTXac8_NuISWw/s1600/IMG_1854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfrwTXbwem3lmKBqJapGZKVJYn512pwdcj34t47GrEqTFjOsZitfWrEJuPR8nb4CRkLZC0FEPeW49GesCc6tPBNXz-5GBbAhJ7Kohyphenhyphen64My5Aq1_6ECo2oerodxwdeIhZTXac8_NuISWw/s320/IMG_1854.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">“How do you keep going so hard for so long when
you can’t even stop to take a breath?,”</span></b><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">
she asked. I told her this season of life is clearly my [much-needed] boot camp for dying to self, and for
coming to hard-core terms that this world will never satisfy. It’s broken. It’s
hard. It’s not my Home. Those realities are what keep me hanging on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">But several nights later, the
rubber met the road of routine and my soul pounded the pavement in resistance. I just
wanted to stop, let my mind soar freely beyond these four walls, and let my soul
breathe. But I was called yet again to the same place, at the same time, to do
the same thing. And I didn’t want to. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">There
was a temper tantrum raging in my soul, and I wasn’t ready to surrender.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">So I stepped out
the front door and sat down on the top step, beneath the warm blanket of stars.
It was a quiet night. And the only motion in view was the flickering of the street
lamp, wavering back and forth just like my soul. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What</b> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">it needed to do, was
the very thing it was struggling to do.
<br />
</b><i>And so was I.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnl0LnoMFx918tMueztibt1kl3TlU3Wr0Ct4eVde8_OIRcMbG3QhTEUXvlRIu5dQqBfhiU-uNoLIj0ja9svjQaMscYbSPTD2sOzy-ZY13kRxDXVo0CopF0OPcisy3ATWK4Z8bLNUKbng/s1600/IMG_1853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnl0LnoMFx918tMueztibt1kl3TlU3Wr0Ct4eVde8_OIRcMbG3QhTEUXvlRIu5dQqBfhiU-uNoLIj0ja9svjQaMscYbSPTD2sOzy-ZY13kRxDXVo0CopF0OPcisy3ATWK4Z8bLNUKbng/s320/IMG_1853.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">
<br />
And there was that
kite. The one stuck in our walnut tree. My son had pointed it out to me from
the Dining Room window a few days before. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have ever noticed
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">The breeze that
night was enough to border chilly, and enough to entice the kite elsewhere. So I
watched that kite. I watched her fight in the darkness against the branch that held her there. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>
<br />
</i>Constantly
wrestling to be free.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">She’s a kite,
afterall. She’s designed to be in motion, to soar high among the roving clouds and
endless sky. Not to be stuck stagnant at ground level.<b><i> <br />
</i>She was clearly out of place. And in essence, useless.</b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: #990000;">Then I saw what surrounded
the kite.</span><br /><i>
<br />
</i></span></b><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Flower buds.<br /><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"> Quiet whispers of life.
</span><br /><i>
</i></span><i>
</i></span>Steady companions anxious to burst declarations of beauty. Declarations
of their Creator.<br />
<a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/to-one-whos-missing-out.html" target="_blank">Reminders of His presence.</a><br />
All in the same place that months ago, held coldness and death.<br />
<br />
On top of that, the kite was free to behold the majesty of the night sky.<br />
<span style="color: black;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Because she was stuck.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Had she not been
stuck, her nights would have been spent in the sterile darkness of storage. Missing out on the radiance of the moon, and the canvas of constellations.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">As she wrestles against the rough branch, He whispers to her in the wind. So she does something different this time. <i>She leans into the branch.</i> <span style="color: black;">And she begins to see things she's never noticed before.</span> </span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: #666666;">She sees a young Daddy swing his little girl around and land her on his
shoulders. </span> <span style="color: #666666;"><br />
<br />
She breathes the crisp night air, watching the sky expectantly for shooting stars
like a child on Christmas Eve. </span> <span style="color: #666666;"><br /><br />The other day, she watched as a family, 15-year neighbors to the walnut tree, packed up their memories to make new ones in a new home. </span> <span style="color: #666666;"><br /><br />And she's witnessing the sacred courage of a husband and wife as they battle
their way through the dark alleys of a cruel disease.</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">
</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: #444444;">Despite her struggle to break free, she’s beginning to see beauty blossom around more corners than ever before. </span><span style="color: black;">Even while <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/07/for-when-you-have-nothing-left-to-give.html" target="_blank">wrestling lonely</a> in cold, dark nights.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">As I write, she remains stuck
in my walnut tree.<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">But maybe she’s not so out of place,
after all.
<br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Because apparently, this isn't about the chance to fly again.</span>
<br /><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="color: #444444;">This season in the walnut tree IS about the kite breaking free. But it's about her breaking free from something greater.</span> Something that holds her back far more than the heaviest of branches ever could.<br />It's about discovering strange new sources of joy. And peace. <br />And surprisingly<i> – <span style="color: black;">freedom</span>.
</i></span><i>
</i><br />
<br /><b><span style="color: #990000;">In fact, it's about <span style="color: black;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">redefining</span></i> </span>freedom.</span> </b></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #444444;"><b>
</b>
<br />
Finding a freedom she's never known before. <span style="color: black;"><i><span style="color: #444444;">F</span>reedom from herself.</i></span><br />One that soars wild and uninhibited, closer to the Heartbeat of Heaven than even the open skies. <br />One that finds glimpses of His glory in the small, but sacred, plot of land where He's placed her.</span><span style="color: black;">
<br />
A thrilling liberation to embrace that <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-am-older-brother.html" target="_blank">her worth goes far beyond</a> what she can and cannot DO.</span><b>
<br />
</b><br />
</span><span style="color: black;">She's finding these freedoms. <br /><b>In the stuck.</b></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="color: #660000;">She's beginning to see that we glorify God not just by doing big things, out there, for all to see. But by doing the little things. <br />Right here. <br />With nobody watching but Him.<br /><b>Because He's enough.</b></span><br />
<br />She's beginning to trust that the significance of her days isn't defined by her scope or reach.<br />And that her value isn't secured by grand scenery or a seemingly extraordinary calling.</span><span style="color: black;">
<br />
Because when God's in it, it's <b>all</b> extraordinary.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: #990000;">
</span><span style="color: #660000;">
<br />
</span><span style="color: #444444;">She's discovering this grand paradox. <span style="color: black;">This freedom in the stuck.</span> This beauty in the tangled mess. Soul rest in the assurance that no matter how useless she feels, or even looks, in her stuck state, she can still partake in the goodness and glory of God.</span><span style="color: #444444;">
<br />
<br />~ ~ ~
<br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #0c343d;">What circumstance has been beyond your control and left you feeling stuck? <br /><br />My experience on the branch has been an isolating one. How would you describe your experience? <br /><br />Have you ever considered ways the branch might be a friend in disguise, rather than an all-out enemy?<br /><br />And I constantly misplace <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-am-older-brother.html" target="_blank">my identity in what I do</a> (or think I should be doing), rather than in Who He is, do you?</span><span style="color: black;">
<br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: #444444;"><i><b>Share your thoughts, & share the post!</b></i></span></span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-7367599546839780932013-04-03T22:49:00.003-04:002013-04-15T10:37:50.358-04:00The One Thing Your Blog Strategy (and your soul) Can’t Do Without<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTALMYv_lidOoIuqhEwXYdAyPAa3vvIJRqkrah48iHos-vPYfV2JG1jMr4AOBo3sQNWCbKznLzGgvKLInQZ_BJbKNOHD8nDkVfY_LyDoXhdSJtEoufyraoQ1UHrgz4Mo9j44lEqFKdJGU/s1600/Target_MS+Office+Image+Gallery.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTALMYv_lidOoIuqhEwXYdAyPAa3vvIJRqkrah48iHos-vPYfV2JG1jMr4AOBo3sQNWCbKznLzGgvKLInQZ_BJbKNOHD8nDkVfY_LyDoXhdSJtEoufyraoQ1UHrgz4Mo9j44lEqFKdJGU/s320/Target_MS+Office+Image+Gallery.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><br />Create titles that hook ‘em, they
say.<br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #444444;">And they’re right.</span><br />
</i><br />
Present your content with visual cues to keep them reading, they say.<br />
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #444444;">Yep, I’m a believer!</span><br />
</i><br />
Find your voice.<br />
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #444444;"><em>I agree. It</em><em> makes all the difference.</em></span><br /><em>
</em><br />
Close with a call to action to invoke a response from the reader.<br />
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #444444;">Marketing 101.</span><br />
</i><br />
And above all, write, write, and write some more.<br />
</span><span style="color: #444444;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mhmm, Writing 101.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
No doubt about it, I have a huge passion for strategic communication. My
background is in marketing, so I champion all the above principles. <em>But there’s an ingredient that’s imperative
to any blog strategy that I have yet to see in any “top tips for bloggers” articles.
<br />
<strong>And it trumps them all.<o:p></o:p></strong></em></span><strong>
</strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Some of you may have a good rhythm
with your blog and don’t tend to second-guess your writing, your strategy, or
yourself in the process. But I’m guessing for the majority of you, that’s not
the case. Especially after reading posts from blogger friends like <a href="http://www.brownpaperandstrings.com/where-i-am/" target="_blank">this one</a> and
<a href="http://wearegospelgirls.com/2013/03/06/on-those-days-when-everything-feels-crummy/" target="_blank">this one</a>. <br /><br /><em>So let me put my arm around your shoulder and be your voice
of encouragement today.</em> <br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="color: #990000;">This, friend, is what I want you to hear:</span></b></span><span style="color: #990000;">
<br />
<br /><span style="color: #660000;">It’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">okay</i> if you’re titles don’t stop
the entire world in its tracks.<br />
<br />
And it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">okay</i> if you’re struggling to
find your voice.<br />
<br />
Yes, it’s even okay if you don’t close with the all-imperative CTA.<br />
<br />
</span></span><span style="color: #660000;"><em>It’s okay if you’re inconsistent,<br />
don’t come up with the next big thing, <br />
and don’t write nearly as often as you’d like to.<o:p></o:p></em></span></span><em><span style="color: #660000;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></span></em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 12pt 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #990000;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">It’s o-kay.</b><br />
</span><br />
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">So why, you ask, is a writer who has a huge passion for
marketing communications offering you the freedom to break all the strategic rules
she tenaciously champions?<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Because
I have a greater passion for Grace.</i></b></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i><br />
Grace is what trumps all I know about marketing. It’s the glorious
freedom that tenderly beckons me to set aside strategy and break the rules. Regularly.<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Because
I want to know Him more than I want to know success.</i></b><br />
<br />
But Tanya, you ask, won’t that make my blog ineffective, stagnant, and
stale?<br />
</span><span style="color: #660000;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh, dear friend. Trying to constantly configure
the perfect equation for the perfect blog will make your <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">soul</b> ineffective, stagnant, and stale.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">That’s far too high a price to pay.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">And please don’t mistake me for saying that a highly-visible blog is a bad thing, or that it's equated with a lack of intimacy with God, or that we should suppress our God-given dreams. <em>Not at all.</em> <br /><br />I want to make an
impact on our world as much as you do. And that’s a good thing. What I AM
suggesting is that we <span style="color: #990000;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">don't let that desire to make Him known trump our desire to know Him. </i><br />
</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Or
else we’ll begin to mistake our impact for our identity.</i></b> <br />
<br />
I don’t know about you, but I wrestle with that. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A lot.</i> I’ve had a post about my struggle with that percolating for seven
months, but for now I’ll leave it to <a href="http://utmost.org/classic/heartiness-vs-heartlessness-towards-others-classic/" target="_blank">Oswald Chambers</a> to sum up:<o:p></o:p></span></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><strong><em>“Beware of getting ahead of God by your very longing to do
His will.<br />
</em></strong><span style="color: #444444;"><em>We run ahead of Him . . . <br />becoming so burdened with people and problems that we don't worship</em>"<br /><br />
</span><span style="color: #660000;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beware of getting ahead of God by your
very longing to do His will, dear blogger . . . </i><br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><br />
When you can’t find that snappy title that readers will find irresistible, <br />
remember God’s power is made perfect <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
in competence, </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #660000;">but in weakness.</span></span></i><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;">
</span><br />
When you can’t find your voice, <br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #660000;">trust His to speak through you.<br />
</span></i><br />
When you’re banging your head up against a wall to come up with an engaging
call to action (not that I’d know . . .<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ahem</i>),
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">trust His Spirit to invoke a response in
the reader’s soul in ways you or I never could.</i><br />
</span><br />
And when the only feedback you receive is the sound of crickets chirping
instead of comments affirming,<br />
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #660000;">remember Who you’re writing for.<br />
</span>[And that it's also okay to break rules of grammar.]<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
</i><br />
Strategic marketing and communications isn’t the end all be all for our blogs,
dear blogger. <br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Your relationship with the One who authors your life story IS.</i><br />
</span><br />
That relationship with Him is more important than your ministry for Him.<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">So don’t sacrifice intimacy with Him for the
sake of traffic and stats.</i><br />
</span><br />
Impact is valuable.<br />
<strong><span style="color: #660000;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But it doesn’t determine your value.</i><br />
</span></strong><br />
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">And so, my fellow blogger, fellow life sojourner. Whether your blog strategy is
written in a file or simply in your mind, THIS is what He longs for you to engrave in it:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>
<br />GRACE. <br />
</strong><em><span style="color: #660000;"><br />For the imperfect blogger.</span></em></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>
</em></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><em>~ ~ ~<br />And now I want to hear from you!<br /><br />
</em><strong><span style="color: #3d85c6;">
How have you perceived success for your blog?<br /><br />Do you struggle to embrace grace when you see other bloggers excel?<br /><br />Do you ever let your personal value get too wrapped up in your blog? <br /><br />Have you mistaken your impact for your identity?</span></strong><span style="color: #660000;"><em><span style="color: #990000;">
<br />
<br />
<strong>And why not encourage your favorite bloggers today with this post?</strong></span></em></span>
<br />
Every blogger struggles with discouragement, at times. And not just us small-scale bloggers. <em><span style="color: #660000;">So why not reach out to your favorite bloggers by sending this to them!</span> Tell them how much you appreciate their pouring their heart out on the screen. And remind them of the freedom they have to be imperfect. <br /><strong><br />Let's cheer one another on toward grace-based blogging!</strong></em></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<br /><br /><span style="color: #444444;"><em>P.S. My little story of grace in this imperfect post . . . <br />
<br />
Out of all the strategic communication tactics I shared, the
one I struggle with most is closing my pieces with engaging questions. So several posts ago, I quit banging my head
against the wall and decided to be okay without them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A big part of my blog’s purpose is to be a
source of joy for me, not pressure, and <strong>my laboring over that tactic was
defeating that purpose.</strong><br />
<br />
Well, you know the rest of the story, right? As I was finishing up this piece,
God brought the above questions to mind. Not just one, several! It was so foreign to
have them simply come to mind without laboring over them for days on end that I
have to shake my head in wonder and smile. It’s so like Him.<br />
<br />
So! M</em><em>aking a cameo appearance here on Truth in Weakness, closing questions!
Enjoy them while I have them, folks – <strong>Engage away!</strong></em></span><br />
</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-87600042559229409032013-02-25T23:22:00.000-05:002013-03-29T21:29:30.691-04:00Love Finds You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENLiAohT8-JTAiPuZNeCGWpGGS5uyn544lk9SKrNJlTjCu4qC-CybbBF-soHrSdZN7VOh-6KRD0hrOVg2Vn4ACh7_abDPinc-wgQ41gtBW3PXOsdS04FTQ7Jjaf3qegjfd2iWE-61P6k/s1600/holding+hands_creation+swap_todd+white.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENLiAohT8-JTAiPuZNeCGWpGGS5uyn544lk9SKrNJlTjCu4qC-CybbBF-soHrSdZN7VOh-6KRD0hrOVg2Vn4ACh7_abDPinc-wgQ41gtBW3PXOsdS04FTQ7Jjaf3qegjfd2iWE-61P6k/s320/holding+hands_creation+swap_todd+white.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As they pulled into the driveway, I could see in his face that
his body had just taken a hit. And that was before I spotted the mound of gauze
covering his eye. It was a planned surgery, but that didn’t make it any easier
to see my gregarious man lacking his usual zeal.<br />
<br />
His designated-driver buddy got out of the car first, and joked that my husband
“thought” he was coherent, but it sounds like the sedation clearly offered our
friend some early-morning entertainment.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then my husband stepped out of the car. More slowly, and less
confidently than usual. With only one eye offering cloudy vision at best, he
chuckled as he emerged and half-jokingly said, “I can’t find you.”<br />
And I said, “That’s all right. I’ll find <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<br />
We embraced, I thanked our friend for getting up
at the crack of dawn to go with my husband [since my health hasn’t allowed me
to do that], and we made our way inside the house. <br />
<br />
~ ~ ~<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/08/my-tomato-plant-story-surviving-traumas.html" target="_blank">When we face trauma</a>, even if it happens to be something we choose, don’t we attempt to manage our pain the same way my husband’s
doctors did? We tackle it with pain killers from every angle, right? Locally
and systemically. We anesthetize the point of pain with a numbness so potent we’ve
ensured a total <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/09/how-to-never-get-burned-again.html" target="_blank">loss of all sensation</a>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
when the world offers valium promises to make sure we don’t even know we’re
hurting, all logic convinces us to accept. <br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Just give me anything to make me not
feel the pain.</b> <br />
<br />
As counterfeit comfort flows through our veins, it creates a false sense of
reality, our entire system unaware of our gaping gash. Even giddy in the midst
of it. (By the way, the side effects of the valium? It compromised his digestion – <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">his body
rejecting an essential for survival.</b>)<br />
<br />
Between the trauma, itself, and the side effects of our synthetic, self-prescribed
coping counter-measures, <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/09/how-to-never-get-burned-again.html" target="_blank">our souls are crippled</a>. Our thinking seems rational,
but when we’re only seeing out of one eye, we perceive the world partially
blinded. Our vision gets cloudy, and our equilibrium gets off kilter <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">because we’ve lost our center of gravity.<br />
</b><br />
Sure, on the outside, we look fine. We smile, crack a joke, and keep our
incisions concealed under sterile white gauze. Because after all, exposure
makes wounds vulnerable, prone to infection. And just like when my husband first stepped
out of the car, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">we get so disoriented in
life that we have a hard time focusing, and finding God in the midst of it all.
</b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">Yet with floods of grace, our tender Father looks past all our desperate attempts
to find comfort everywhere but in Him, and sees our soul countenance with full
clarity.<br />
<br />
<em>He knows the raw wounds that seep below all the gauze.</em><br />
<br />
And He wants you to know, <br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“It’s all right. <em>I’ll find you</em>.”</b></span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small;"> </span>
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">"Israel, out looking for a place to rest,</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><em>
<br />
met God out looking for them!"</em>
<br />
</span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;">(Jeremiah 31:3)</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small;"><div style="text-align: left;">
Image courtesy of <a href="http://www.creationswap.com/media/1759" target="_blank">Todd White</a></div>
</span><br /></div>
</div>
truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-16434919353980797472013-01-18T13:38:00.000-05:002013-02-26T12:28:48.327-05:00Dear Overwhelmed, and Constantly Disappointed in Yourself<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What a hard road in life you’re walking
right now, friend. Maybe more like crawling. I am so sorry, and I know how
weary you are. Many days life feels like it’s spinning out of control, doesn’t
it? But I want to tell you something. I see your Father doing something in you, something
good. </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know you probably can’t see it, because all you see is what you’re <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> doing, right? What’s falling through
the cracks. That phone call you wanted to make to your friend who’s hurting, the
meal you’d planned on providing a long time ago for the one in need, the opportunities
to reach out to others that your heart longs to say yes to. I understand. It’s
a perpetual struggle for me to see past all that I’m not doing as well.<br />
<br />
But here’s what I see in your life. I see God shifting your dependence from
yourself to Him. Because each time you fall short, each time
you feel like a bad friend, or wife, or mom – those are invitations, sweet soul.
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #660000;">Intimate invitations to cling to the
Cross.</span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or as William R. Newell puts it:<br />
<em>“To be disappointed with yourself<br />
is to have believed in yourself.”<o:p></o:p></em></span></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #073763;">"Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs
forth, do you not perceive it? </span></span></em><i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /><span style="color: #073763;">
<em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I will make a way
in the wilderness and rivers in the desert."</span></em><br />
</span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #073763; font-size: x-small;">~ Isaiah 43:19</span></span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-22040778314241214812012-12-06T08:48:00.002-05:002013-02-26T12:25:28.124-05:00Finding Christ in the Chaos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDMr1HrmiaUTBJgHJal6eqfLZCmxDZkNlnuNzlt5UHt95EE4UmkCUtZoC4Tx17zUJbayots6GRInkV00TrRroboNO1i6ZJfnK7FKsSBJ4tt0jYdEeQJdOoupj-pz8qg7XDocxZ6i866s/s1600/Finding+Christ+in+the+Chaos_Creation+Swap_box+stacked+trial+2+by+Brendan+Sceroler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDMr1HrmiaUTBJgHJal6eqfLZCmxDZkNlnuNzlt5UHt95EE4UmkCUtZoC4Tx17zUJbayots6GRInkV00TrRroboNO1i6ZJfnK7FKsSBJ4tt0jYdEeQJdOoupj-pz8qg7XDocxZ6i866s/s320/Finding+Christ+in+the+Chaos_Creation+Swap_box+stacked+trial+2+by+Brendan+Sceroler.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Today, I have the privilege of writing as a guest author at Dayspring’s beloved <a href="http://www.incourage.me/2012/12/finding-christ-in-the-chaos.html" target="_blank">(in)courage community</a>. I’m sharing about my search for intimacy with the Lord in the middle of a chaotic Sunday morning. Probably the same desperate search most of us are on <strong>every</strong> day during the holiday season, right?
<br />
<br />
Here’s a sneak peek:
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #666666;">“By the time I stepped through the doors and into the worship center, I felt like I had run a marathon. Surrounded by souls engaged in heart-felt praise and worship, I found my seat like a driver going 60mph who had just spotted the stop sign ahead.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #666666;">Slam on breaks.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #666666;">Screeching halt.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: black;">Worship mode: <strong>GO!</strong></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #666666;">Frazzled and exhausted, I knew there was no way I could flip that impossible switch . . .”</span></blockquote>
<br />
<a href="http://www.incourage.me/2012/12/finding-christ-in-the-chaos.html" target="_blank">Click here</a> to join me for the Rest . . .
<br />
<br />
And make sure you chime in with a comment! I’m praying that the Lord loves on you through it, so I don't want to miss the opportunity to personally greet you when you walk through the door!!
<br />
<br />truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-24781070368655321232012-11-12T16:56:00.001-05:002014-09-10T20:03:35.684-04:00Letting Go of the Need to Make Sense of the Pain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxjI0L7G660ew6dWmCJTKHGrXF9UpDCDln2BMcxeiAg0MaJO02VZEKFmi6pTp2JxCgVFiMY6otbJoj0N_bW4BLaSuPJQLjc_FAf6VxQCgnZSkhTGflzJvuINfpSMTNdBrGcLeNGrWxV0/s1600/B&W+Puzzle+Pieces+by+Tiny+Toes+Flickr+Creative+Commons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxjI0L7G660ew6dWmCJTKHGrXF9UpDCDln2BMcxeiAg0MaJO02VZEKFmi6pTp2JxCgVFiMY6otbJoj0N_bW4BLaSuPJQLjc_FAf6VxQCgnZSkhTGflzJvuINfpSMTNdBrGcLeNGrWxV0/s320/B&W+Puzzle+Pieces+by+Tiny+Toes+Flickr+Creative+Commons.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><i>“Lean not on your own understanding.”</i><span style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small;">
<br />
(Proverbs 3:5)</span></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Remember those impenetrable, <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/09/how-to-never-get-burned-again.html" target="_blank">self-protective walls</a> we talked about recently? You know, the ones we build in an attempt to
avoid the uncertain, the uncomfortable, and the painful. Yet the ones that also
prevent our souls from breathing cleansing breaths of freedom and joy in the
process. (If you're new here, you definitely want to <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/09/how-to-never-get-burned-again.html" target="_blank">read that post</a> first.)<br />
<br />
I’ve thought a lot about why and how I’ve built my walls. Long before I wrote
<a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/09/how-to-never-get-burned-again.html" target="_blank">that piece</a>. But when I invited God to tear them down, my longing to fully
understand the ins and outs of my walls clearly grew. It only made sense that
understanding their construction was the key to their removal.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">But one night
recently, I picked up a devotional and read this:<br />
<span style="color: black;">“The heart is deceitful above all else. I’ll never be able to understand it.” </span><br />
<br />
I’ve heard that verse. I’ve heard it a thousand times. But I’ve never heard it
put that way before – that “I’ll never be able to understand it.” And when I
read it that night, it hit me: <br /><i><span style="color: black;">I’ve been trying to understand my heart all this
time – <br />but I’ll never be able to! <br />
</span></i>I simply can’t.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />One <a href="http://clarke.biblecommenter.com/jeremiah/17.html" target="_blank">commentary</a> explains the reality this
way:<br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It even hides itself from itself; <br />so that its owner does not know it.”<br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
(Sheesh! Tell me about it!)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Immediately
after I read that verse, I opened an entry in <a href="http://utmost.org/classic/the-witness-of-the-spirit-classic/" target="_blank">My Utmost</a> that warned
about bargaining with God, and wanting Him to reveal <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">before we respond.</span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">“But
when you act on the basis of redemption, and stop the disrespectfulness of
debating with God . . . “<br />
<br />I couldn’t read any further.<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">My eyes were stuck on debating . . .<br />
</span></i>Horrified at the possibility.<br />
<br />
And in essence, that's exactly what I've been doing. I’ve been debating with God. Wanting to fully understand these
walls to the nth degree <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;">before</span></i>
reaching out in love like He calls me to do. <span style="color: #660000;">Making my response dependent on my
finite understanding, <i>rather than dependent on Grace.</i></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Am I saying we should live in blind ignorance or denial? Of course not. Understanding is imperative, oftentimes a springboard for healing. But it isn't our <b><span style="color: black;">source</span></b> of healing. And it can't be a prerequisite for choosing to love. I want to walk by faith and not by sight <span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #444444;">–</span> </span>even in the broken places of my heart.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">So as we invite the Lord to tear down our walls, <br /><span style="color: black;">
He beckons us to sh</span><span style="color: black;">ift our focus off the wall, and onto Him. </span><span style="color: black;">
<br />He calls us to prioritize the relationship over the rational understanding.</span></span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #660000; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Because sacrificial love doesn't demand an explanation.<br />And genuine forgiveness is an extension of Grace, not logic. <i><br />(It defies logic!)</i><br />And healing doesn't hinge on human understanding.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #660000; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /><span style="color: #0c343d; font-size: x-small;"><b><i>"Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army.<br />For the battle is not yours, but God's."</i></b></span><span style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>
<br />
</i></span></b>~ 2 Chronicles 20:15</span></span></span></span>
truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5549551131609471601.post-536777095131693862012-10-11T17:45:00.001-04:002012-10-22T08:37:15.311-04:00Disney or Disability?<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;">Which will leave the deepest footprint in your child’s soul?</span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwM2W_f23UeLoN7y36xdK2Geb6r-9ZIPmaeCfiRZoaUNEd0mvsSInnW8FV3C7oiDa0Qb_S7ErDGBaZeGeQNrSEXKtaj8DC18F7nlf68OUbiFKbzg4KWlb00jM0J9_Q6PLqmGtLR9VWCZo/s1600/Girl+blowing+dandelion_MS+images.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwM2W_f23UeLoN7y36xdK2Geb6r-9ZIPmaeCfiRZoaUNEd0mvsSInnW8FV3C7oiDa0Qb_S7ErDGBaZeGeQNrSEXKtaj8DC18F7nlf68OUbiFKbzg4KWlb00jM0J9_Q6PLqmGtLR9VWCZo/s320/Girl+blowing+dandelion_MS+images.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Every time I see another friend’s pictures from a family trip to Disney, I have to fight a first-world-problem voice – the one that tries to tell me that we’re depriving our son because we haven’t taken him yet. I know it’s a lie, but I want to take him sometime, so that shallow thought never fails to show up with the pictures.
<br />
<br />
I don’t know if you’ve ever wrestled with feeling like your kids are missing out if they haven’t stood in the gateway to the Magic Kingdom. But let me ask you a seemingly-unrelated question. Have you ever thought about the impact on your children if they’ve never had the opportunity to look in the face of disability?
<br />
<br />
For lack of better segue, let me simply switch from my mom hat to my little girl hat here. As a child, I had the unique opportunity to walk through life with two families in our church who each had a young adult with special needs. Of course, this was before society was using the term, special needs. But we didn’t need it – because these folks had names, of course. And that was enough.
<br />
<br />
So while my impressionable view of the world (and the people in it) was forming, I was seeing people around me interact with these folks, hearing the sound of my parents’ voices exchange with theirs, and learning how to build relationships that aren’t based on commonalities, but delighted in differences. Of course I wasn’t consciously observing all this. I didn’t know that those ordinary Sunday morning moments were collecting as memories that would impact me for life.
<br />
<em>But I do now.
</em><br />
<br />
Because as a result of my family’s regular involvement in those families’ lives, and theirs in ours, these are the precious gifts I was given:
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;"> • A solid understanding of the value that each person on this planet possesses
<br /> • A comfort with spending time with people who are different than I am
<br /> • And the eyes to see that those differences are the very ways that the Lord reveals His glory through them
</span><br />
<br />
But I didn’t receive these sacred gifts by hanging out with these families for just a day or two. They came over time, as our families were involved in each other’s lives. Season after season, year after year.
<br />
<br />
I thought about these childhood experiences last week when I read a <a href="http://teamaidan.wordpress.com/2012/10/03/letter-to-the-others/" target="_blank">blog post</a> by a mom who wrote a letter to the people around her son (who has epilepsy) who didn’t know what to say to him.
<br />
<em>So they said nothing.
</em><br />
<br />
Folks, if we don’t model the privilege of living life with people who are different from us,
<em><span style="color: #660000;"><strong>we become the ones impaired.
</strong></span><br />And so do our children.
</em><br />
<br />
We desperately need to step out of our relational tunnels to embrace horizons of relational diversity. Might that be uncomfortable? Maybe. But why does that have to matter? Is comfort the goal? Is that the decision-making we want to model to our children?
<br />
<br />
Instead of letting the prospect of discomfort negatively influence your decisions, <strong><em><span style="color: #660000;">lean into the uncomfortable.
</span></em></strong><br />
Welcome it as a close friend.
<br />
<em><span style="color: #660000;">Because discomfort is the doorway to Dependence.
</span></em><br />
<br />
If this is unfamiliar territory and the thought’s intimidating, that’s okay. Ask the Lord to open your mind to taking the first step despite the intimidation, and remember that He’s greater than our feeble hearts. If you don’t know where to begin, just ask the Lord. He’ll gladly show you the first step.
<br />
<br />
Here are a few ideas that come to mind, but I’d love for you to add YOUR ideas in a comment to inspire our other readers!
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;"> • Plug into your church’s <span style="color: #990000;">special needs</span> ministry. If it doesn’t have one, why not start one? I have a <a href="http://www.theworksofgoddisplayed.com/" target="_blank">friend</a> who can help you!
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"> • Initiate a relationship with somebody who’s chronically ill and <span style="color: #990000;">house-bound</span>. Start with a simple e-mail! (If you need insight or encouragement before you reach out, e-mail me – because <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2011/09/marbles-curve-balls-lifes.html" target="_blank">I've been there</a></span><span style="color: #073763;">!)
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"> • Invest time in a local soup kitchen or <span style="color: #990000;">shelter</span>. (You’ll be surprised how much you actually have in common.)
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"> • Develop friendships with people who are <span style="color: #990000;">old and grey</span> like we’ll all be in a few years. (Or if you’re the old and grey one, reach out to a young family – we need your wisdom!)
</span><br />
<br />
<em><strong><span style="color: #660000;">Place yourself in unfamiliar opportunities where you <a href="http://truthinweakness.blogspot.com/2012/03/unable-to-pray.html" target="_blank">feel totally inadequate</a> – </span></strong><span style="color: #660000;">because that’s where God’s power is made perfect. </span>
<br />And that’s when our eyes are opened to behold God’s glory.
</em><br />
<br />
Have you ever read the brief dialogue in John 9? It’s become a favorite of mine. Somebody asked Jesus why a man was born blind. And you know what He said?
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<em>So the power of God could be seen in him.
</em><br />
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So am I proposing that we shouldn’t take our kids to Disney? Not at all.
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Am I proposing that the memories from a trip to Disney pale in comparison to the impact of walking through life with folks who have special needs?
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<em>You BET I am.
</em><br />
A million times over.
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Because think about it: We’re talkin’ about <span style="color: #660000;">man-made magic, versus God-breathed glory . . .
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<em>Lean into the uncomfortable, my friend, even if you’re afraid.
</em><br />
Let it serve you and your family well. And others, too.
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And get ready to experience true glory days.
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<em><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;">(Pssst! Wanna hear a secret? The more you broaden your relational horizons, the more your discomfort will fade into a warm sunset of abundant joy. It’s a win-win!)
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><u><br />A Few of my Favorite Disability-Related Resources
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />Free eBook: <a href="http://www.desiringgod.org/resource-library/books/disability-and-the-sovereign-goodness-of-god" target="_blank">Disability and the Sovereign Goodness of God</a>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Blog post: <a href="http://www.desiringgod.org/blog/posts/disability-and-dads-where-desperation-meets-delight" target="_blank">Disability and Dads: Where Desperation Meets Delight</a>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My Good Friend’s Blog: <a href="http://www.theworksofgoddisplayed.com/" target="_blank">The Works of God Displayed</a><br />
</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>(a boat-load of posts, info, and answers about special needs ministry in the Church)</em><br /><br />The compelling post I read last week: <a href="http://teamaidan.wordpress.com/2012/10/03/letter-to-the-others/" target="_blank">Letter to the Others</a>
<br /><br /><em><br /><span style="color: #444444;">Linking up with <a href="http://www.joleneengle.org/" target="_blank">The Alabaster Jar</a>'s Marital Oneness Mondays and <a href="http://friedokra4me.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-parent-hood-week-seven.html" target="_blank">The Parent 'Hood</a></span></em></span>truth in weaknesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08990150036200778476noreply@blogger.com24