Trust, Tenacity, and Letting Go of Fear

October 29, 2012 by 23 Comments

A Lesson In Trust

My hands wring sweaty, clamped around the steering wheel, heart beating towards suffocation. A blanket of anxiety drapes over my shoulders, down my legs, as we drive over the Ravenel Bridge into Charleston. I turn to my teenage daughter and tell her to start talking to me. I need a distraction.

“I have this irrational fear honey,” I explain, “it started almost twenty years ago . . .”

“I know Mom,” she interrupts, “you’ve told me about it before.”

She reads the directions I printed out. Knowing what to expect helps the fear diminish, even though I listen to the voice of the GPS.

As we take a left turn to exit the bridge, my nervous laughter breaks the tension and she catches the contagious giggles.

How It All Started

Almost twenty years ago, fear settled over me while behind the wheel of my Toyota Celica on a small bridge in Jackson, Tennessee. H drives behind me, in an un-air-conditioned moving van with all our possessions, his mother sits in the passenger seat.  We were making a cross-country move from Phoenix to Cleveland, Tennessee as newlyweds, entering the season of seminary.

I swerved off the road, overcome with sudden anxiety and nearly escaped a collision with the face of a rocky mountain. H missed the rear of my car by inches.  And even though God continues to move us to islands connected by bridges, I avoid driving over them whenever possible. Until my friend Kelly called to say she is coming to town on a visit from Colorado.

Kelly and I, we’ve been friends for almost twenty years. Before her wedding and our collective five children, we linked arms on the pilgrimage of missionaries to join Youth with a Mission. Five household moves ago, we shared the foundational years of planting our spiritual roots in leadership. The last time we were together our boys slept in infant car seats. I wasn’t about to let crossing a bridge steal this opportunity.

From Fear to Freedom

Sometimes we must revisit the areas of greatest challenge and deepest wounding for the purpose of cultivating deeper trust in Jesus. Because salvation is an ongoing process of learning how to let go and trust. And those who trust become trustworthy.

I want more than anything, for God to know I am trustworthy. So when the enemy of the soul taunts with “We’ve already dealt with this so why are you here again” and “This Jesus stuff doesn’t work” I hold on to trust with a death grip.  Because Jesus, He will save me from myself.

I kicked fear to the curb on a bridge that day and looked trust in the eyes around a café table and pastries with our teens. Today trust is born on a writing journey with a dream. I’m engaged in a stare down I’m planning to win.

If I believe that He holds my life in His hands, then what have I to fear?

Do you struggle with letting go of fear? How do you let go?

This is a re-written post, in case it sounds familiar.

Linking with Ann to count gifts of cool air, rainy days, a good book on the porch, a husband who makes dinner, friends visiting from Asia and Africa, the continual God-incidences here on the blog and for my coach Terry Walling, who lifts my arms when they are weary.

With friends Laura and Michelle too.

This is #29 in the series 31 Days of Letting Go. You can read the collective here. If you are a writer, I invite you to link up any post you’ve written on the theme of letting go in the comments on Friday. Subscribe to receive the series in your inbox or feed by adding your address in the side bar under Follow Redemptions Beauty.

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How to Find Mystery in the Ordinary

June 6, 2012 by 91 Comments

Grey clouds hover; shield the sun’s wake up call.  Water drips like a cranky faucet on the window ledge outside.  Droplets let go from eaves into palms of leafy-cupped hands.  I stretch horizontal under sheets; take freedom while H sleeps in Chicago.

It’s the first Monday of summer’s freedom and she puts her finger over her lips, hushes to avoid awakening the schedule.

My first-born drifts from her bed to mine, curls up beside me propped up pillowed with the computer on my lap. Two minutes later, sleep lulls her back and the rhythm of deep breathing cracks stillness open.  My fingers freeze in this moment, to honor His presence pushing time aside like clearing the kitchen counter.

We enter the room of Ordinary Time on the liturgical calendar, through the closet among sleeves and tired shoes to find the mystery in a long forgotten box on the top shelf beside the purses.  This season between Pentecost Sunday and the first Sunday of Advent is the longest season of the year.

The season without balloons and banquet tables confetti strewn. Ordinary Time is the finger paint artwork hanging on refrigerator doors so long you barely notice it anymore.

How do you search for the mystery of Christ beyond his birth and resurrection? Where do you find it?

May I suggest lectio divina, the ancient practice of prayerful meditation of the scriptures or lectio sacra (holy reading)? An opportunity for the Holy Spirit to awaken truth cloaked in parable, fiction and poetry  . . . . on the beach, your back porch, in seat 14D on Delta or the passenger seat of your mini van.

Sarah Arthur, author of At the Still Point, describes it this way:

“Curled up with a good story, we have encountered the memorable character, the articulate phrase, the evocative image, the small suggestion, the smuggled truth, the shattering epiphany, which changed us, and we weren’t even looking to be changed. It enriched our lives, and we didn’t even know our own poverty. We were not the same people afterward.”

As the sun peeks her golden eyes through shutters, I read scriptures, a blog post, an email from a friend that speaks words of encouragement as if she just read my mind, heard my prayer in a can stringed thousands of miles. And  God whispers, “You just opened the mystery, I’m right here.”

I’m pleased to be giving away two copies of Sarah Arthur’s wonderful book At the Still Point: A Literary Guide to Prayer in Ordinary Time.  “A journey of the imagination guided by poets and authors, both classic and contemporary, who have known the things of God but speak in metaphor.”

I originally found this beauty on Ann Voskamp’s reading list last fall. Let’s enjoy together, shall we?

Just leave a comment in this post on the blog, I’ll add your name in the drawing on Sunday, and two people will recieve a copy of the book in the mail.

Linking with Imperfect Prose, God Bumps, WWLW, Thought Provoking Thursday, Life in Bloom, One Beautiful Thing.

 

My kids pulled Leigh Kramer of HopefulLeigh and Jennifer Johnson Camp of You Are My Girls out of the bowl for the giveaway. Congrats ladies!

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When You Are Enough

March 25, 2012 by 38 Comments

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned.

For as in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.

Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them:

if prophecy, in proportion to our faith;

if service, in our serving;

the one who teaches, in his teaching;

the one who exhorts, in his exhortation;

the one who contributes, in generosity;

the one who leads, with zeal;

the one who does acts of mercy, with cheerfulness.

Romans 12:3-8 ESV

This week I walk around my yard with a horticulturalist, gleaning new knowledge about  trees and water and grass. Talk with a technician about the air conditioning unit that died that day. Listen to a friend teach a group of women about the conversations of Jesus. Hug Ann Voskamp, author of the book of prose that changes the way I see life. Look in awe at 168 Facebook shares on the story of a blogging friend. Raise my arms in  worship led on the guitar by my bike riding friend. Share conversation in line next to a mother of four who longs to play tennis in spare minutes. Laugh with three silly boys in the back seat of my van.
I marvel at the way He clothes each of them differently with grace and faith. So why do we compare ourselves? 
May we rest in the knowledge that He gives each of us just the right amout of grace and faith, to accomplish what He calls us to do.  
And that flower in the picture, it was a weed on the side of the road with the light streaming through it to reflect the morning dew.
Happy Sunday Friends! 

 

Also linking with Fresh Brewed Sunday, Scripture and Snapshot and Still Saturday.

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What Do You Really Want?

February 20, 2012 by 55 Comments

His question startles me from daydreams over the patterned carpet in the sanctuary and  ducks waddling under heavy rain just outside the low window. I sit on the padded seats in the front row between my kids, when H asks the audience, “What do you really want?”

As if on cue, a rumble of thunder shakes the building in the pause. Rain sounds like sand dumping slow crescendo on roof.

He refers to the way Elijah asks Elisha, “Tell me what I can do for you,” before he leaves the earth in a fiery whirlwind. (II Kings 2:1-12)

I think about that question, glance over at my son. Our linked shoulders create a bridge between cerebral space and I assume to know what he wants. The video editing equipment he orders on Amazon two days ago, so he can create masterpieces.

As I caress the arm of my daughter, I remember the boards she creates on Pinterest last night, with clothes she wants for her sweet sixteen in just a few weeks.  Is this how they would answer his question?

Solomon answers wisdom and I want to rip out all the carpet in my house and enjoy wood floors, paint the family room and go to Europe yesterday. But when I think about what I really want, I remember a night decades ago.

How my heart beats like mallet on a bass drum, shaking the bed where I lay in rhythm of metronome. I am just twelve years old, tucked under blankets alone in a house deep in the wooded pitch of night, when I hear the intruder break in to the basement. Hear footsteps squeak on the cold, clammy dungeon of cement, creak up each wooden step, turn the rusty knob to open latched door.

It was then that I realized what I want. It changed my view of want forever. When I called out to God to rescue me, protect me from the evil lurking just steps away from my bedroom.

I want to know the presence of God. Know that He loves me, stands at the foot of shaking bed to hear my cries for help, watch protective over me, rejoice when I sigh relief, shed tears in sorrow of loneliness.

I want to know the presence of God more than I want things, control, or status.

And maybe it takes a brush with terror, the heartbreak of loss, the emptiness of poverty for the heart to understand that what we want lies behind the eyes of the one who sees us true.

When Elisha answers Elijah’s question – what do you want – he replies, “Let me inherit a double share of your spirit and become your successor.” Maybe this seems a bit greedy to you, wanting to have twice as much as the one who speaks rain into existence and fire to fall from heaven.

But really, when he requests a double portion, he refers to the inheritance of the first-born child who rightfully receives more than the others do. In essence, Elisha asks to be Elijah’s rightful heir to the mantel of prophecy. Not because of all the signs and wonders he will proclaim, but because he hopes, it is what God wants.

At the depths of the soul wanting, do we want what God wants? To be an authentic heir, to belong, to have our name carved into the bloodline of the mystery. Want this more than anything else?

We stand among the crowd holding umbrellas and jackets above their heads, ready to brave the sheets of wet that fall from the sky. Ask the kids if they want to go out for breakfast and they shrug their shoulders, grey clouds casting ambivalence.

Later, as we sit over plates painted yellow egg and caramel sticky, we laugh about not being hungry when we stood on the cold tile of indecision and I don’t think I’m hungry, just minutes before.

Maybe the question isn’t, what do I want; rather, what do you want, God.

Can you trust Him when He answers?

As we continue the Joy Dare with Ann, thanking him for three things a day, 1000 in 2012, will you kindly share a bit of gratitude in the comments today. Let’s link hands through cyberspace to celebrate His goodness as we approach the season of Lent.

  • The way my kids order coffee at breakfast and widen the eyes of the waitress.
  • How my son eats his waffle, her sausage and half of my crab benedict after he said he wouldn’t order anything because he isn’t hungry.
  • The list of food items my kids say they just won’t order off a menu anymore because the way I cook them is always so much better.
  • A dim room and all of us under blanketed couches and chairs to watch Downton Abbey.
  • Today, a day off for all of us.

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Kindness Beyond Obligation

October 12, 2011 by 4 Comments

Sitting in front of my computer, pondering the mystery of hesed in the book of Ruth, I get the call.  The one from my husband telling me my daughter is in a car accident, asking if I can get to her quick because his office is further away from the crash site and she is sobbing.

Still pondering as I pull into rain soaked, muddy grass on the side of the road, amidst flashing lights of fire trucks, police cars and a bevy of uniformed men, I ask Him, “where does hesed fit into this scenario?.”

This Hebrew word, one of the most potent in the Old Testament, has no translation in our English language to capture its exact meaning, ends up with a cafeteria of words for meaning like kindness, mercy, loyalty, loving-kindness, steadfast, unfailing love. 

But really how do we describe active, selfless, sacrificial caring for one another that goes against the grain of our fallen nature?  The way Boaz took care of widows, outcasts in the community (Ruth 3:16).

And I wonder – this mangled car on the side of the road, my daughter’s tear stained, broken heart, deep disappointment from an act of injustice – where is hesed?

Because it is easy to see it, this mystery, in the hands of those that feed the hungry, in the eyes and smiles of those who care for the sick, minister to the poor.  But hesed isn’t what we do out of duty or obligation, it is who we are deep down in the marrow of our being.  Selfless, voluntary care of another just because.  Because of Jesus.

So when I get past thinking about what this costs us – the dollars and cents, the heartbreak that comes when hope is fractured by injustice, how we can restore the freedom my daughter just found two weeks ago as a driver – hesed reveals itself.  Breaks through the fog of circumstance, brings hope in these ways:

People travelling busy pull off the side of the road, get rain soaked, just to make sure she is okay.

A principal leaves school, walks suit clad in drizzle, sloshes through mud to offer consolation. 

A brother offers the riches in his wallet to help buy her a new car. 

A co-worker calls just to know, hear her voice.

A youth leader prays over the phone, words soothing a broken heart.

Like Ruth, carrying hesed in sixty pounds of barley on her back to Naomi for provision, we carry these acts of kindness.   Sustenance for this faith journey, through to the promise of redemption.

Snapshots of the Gospel lived out.  Voluntary, just because, acts of kindness.  Hesed breaks through, gives hope right there in the soggy, messed up circumstances of a car accident.

So tell me friends, how do you experience hesed?

He has not stopped showing his kindness (hesed) to the living and the dead~ Ruth 2:20

To learn more about hesed check out the Gospel of Ruth: Loving God Enough to Break the Rules by Carolyn Custis James.

Linking today with Ann and Michelle :

 

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When We Wonder

October 10, 2011 by 2 Comments

 

Several times, in different cities, I brush shoulders with two women from Southeast Asia:  in crowded elevators, at honored dinners, in rooms of thousands. Observe them sitting on the front row in prayerful posture as they watch their husbands take the stage, in small gatherings holding the microphone themselves.  I listen to the words of wisdom spill out, give life.  I wonder what it is like; to be the wife of a world changer, someone with that much influence transcending cultural borders.

Because in my own life, I have asked him these questions – you know the ones – about whether what I do is enough for Him when I look at the lives of others. Wonder if this writing really makes a difference, if I should be doing something tangible like scooping food for the poor, visiting the sick.

And on a day I plead these questions, I find myself seated in my van with these two women I observe over many years.  Stand with them in the narrow aisle at Tuesday Morning. Find paper napkins for Thanksgiving to take back to Malaysia for one, while the other flits from aisle to aisle discovering treasures for grandchildren in Singapore. 

Right there, surrounded by nutcrackers, shiny wrapping paper, dangly trinkets for the tree she asks me.  Wonders about my past, what I write about, how I got to this place where I stand in life. She exchanges a page of her story, what she gives up to carry the bread to those that have never tasted yet around the world.  The bread that satisfies, never grows stale.

I look at all the things that money can buy stacked on shelves behind her. In the joy that beams radiance in high cheekbones and eyes narrowing to small slits, I know that these things I can touch, they don’t fulfill what the heart longs for. 

The clutch of a frail hand around my forearm, genuine words you must write on that particular day, the day I doubt, feel naked.  It is Hesed revealed.   Endless warehouses stacked full of bread, the fragrance of loving-kindness unexpected.  Just when I thought the last crumb swept away, he speaks love, fills me up with who He is. 

Did I really think that there wasn’t enough bread for me?  That He forgot? 

He reminds me that faith is the assurance of what we hope for, certainty of what we do not see (Hebrews 11:1).  Life isn’t always measured in tangible results, things we can see with the eyes, touch with the hands.

And these words, prayed from the sturdy twin houses built on rocks, they remove the lie that God is finite, that his love somehow reaches maximum capacity:

For the Lord your God is living among you.

He is a mighty savior.

He will take delight in you with gladness.

With his love, he will calm all your fears.

He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.

Zephaniah 3:17

We, all of us bread, do make a difference.  Keep believing, listening, thanking and join me with  Ann today to count the gifts:

  • For waking up to rain dripping on leaves outside my window.
  • Only two nights of cooking and dishes this week.
  • Perspective from conversations with leaders.
  • Kind words whispered in the comment box.
  • The smell of fresh compost.
  • Flowers that continue to bloom profuse.
  • Candlelight dinner on the back porch with family.
  • Watching my husband grill steak with earphones in.
  • Singing together in the car.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Oops, I Forgot!

October 5, 2011 by 6 Comments

 

Five minutes until bedtime and he remembers the homework.  Pulls out the computer, his notebook and pencil, all with labored breath.  Turns around, looks at me with eyebrows pressed together and whines, “I have twenty math problems to do.”  It’s too much for a tired boy.  He is looking for grace.

H and I just return home from an evening with guests from Asia.  Dinner and conversation with world changers while my young people eat pizza, play with friends, text us.  His memory, often found in my voice – it’s missing tonight.

This forgetting, it looms like a dark cloud and he works hard to make it disappear.  We’ve talked about it, what he can do to remember and I see that he is trying.  Writing down in the classroom what he attempts to remember without notes before. Admitting forgetfulness. 

But sometimes, in all our striving to do the right thing and change, we mess up.  And today, instead of reminding or punishing, I extend grace from the excess I receive earlier this week.

Because I know that real change doesn’t always happen by doing the right thing.  Hearts mold strong when nourished in love that looks like grace. Gives hope to start over, press on.

So I sit on the edge of his bed, tickle his back, pray over him.  He hugs his favorite pillow, the one that is flat and short of feathers.  With face turned away from me, in the gleam of the nightlight, he whispers, “I can’t believe I forgot about my homework.”  The guilt still clings to the heart.

“It’s okay honey.  I see that you are trying,” I affirm.  He turns his head toward me, smiles wide. I see the weight fall off in the eyes.  “Thanks Mom, and oh, I almost forgot to tell you, I have an academic team meeting tomorrow after school.”

I laugh, thank him for remembering, say goodnight.

The burdens we clutch look different on everyone, some of them only visible to the carrier.  What I bear  as a boulder, might be a feather for you.  Thankfully, grace abounds without limits.

Grace covers.

Grace restores.

Grace gives hope.

Grace heals.

Grace has no limits.

Grace requires no hoops to jump through.

Grace removes guilt.

 Grace ushers redemption.

Grace looks like blood flowing from Jesus for you.

Are you in need of grace today?  How do you extend and receive grace?  Tell me about it here.

“The grace of God is infinite and eternal.  As it had no beginning, so it can have no end, and being an attribute of God, it is as boundless as infinitude.”  ~James Bryan Smith, The Good and Beautiful Life

Linking with Ann today to ponder the practice of hope, how we live out this faith day by day.

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