When You Lose Community At Christmas

December 14, 2012 by 6 Comments

rblosecommunity

For many years our family found intimate community inside the walls of a church of thousands on Christmas Eve. This year, in our small seaside town, we’re wondering where we will worship, if anyone will notice our absence.

In the early days of ministry, our backyard met the asphalt of the mega church parking lot in Phoenix, where my husband served as one of fifteen pastors. On Christmas Eve, we padded our shiny shoes through a backyard battlefield of pecans; hair haloed by orange trees, their bounty brushing our velvet and lace.  We pushed the wooden gate open like the closet door of Narnia, into the sun setting golden over the desert, bouncing her light shadows off rows of windshields and arms swinging gift bags.

And seventy-five people followed us back home.

Will you join me over at BibleDude.net to finish the story? I’d love to meet you there in the comments today.

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When it’s Time to Ask for Help

June 10, 2012 by 18 Comments

With every push of my sick boy in the swing under clusters of oranges hanging canopy, I drop my bucket into the well of loneliness. It hits the cold stone walls on the way down, echoes when it hits the floor empty. And a voice on the other side of my fence cracks the quiet open, pulls the rope and bucket back up again with arms tired from carrying a sack of whiny.

My pastor stands in the church parking lot on the other side of my concrete wall and his familiar southern accent in the middle of the desert moves me to the gate. I unlock it with Harrison on my hip. He greets me with his usual wide-eyed smile, asks me how I am because he hasn’t seen me in a while. My uncombed hair, bare face and eyes ringed red answer his question.

It’s been a month of  . . . .

Meet me over at Always Alleluia to read the whole story. I’m guest posting at Kris’s place today and she just has a way of making you feel right at home. So come on, pull up a chair and let’s talk. I’ll meet you over there.

 Linking with Multitudes on Monday, Playdates with God, Graceful, Soli Deo Gloria, On Your Heart Tuesday and Just Write.

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Taking Risks, Turning Heads

January 2, 2012 by 22 Comments

I look down at my watch during conversation and realize the time. Grab my purse to pay the bill for our tuna burgers and squash ravioli in order to get to a store with my friend before they close. Its a few days before Christmas.  On our way, we pass by store windows decorated with snowflakes, furry sweaters, tall boots, and make jokes about getting older.

I push on the brass handle of the glass door, realize it is locked.  Cup my hands around my eyes to peer inside because the overhead lights shine bright and I see movement.

A short, stocky woman with wide eyes, hair in the beginning stages of dreadlocks walks toward us.  I talk to her through the thick glass, “Please let us in.  She has never been here before,” pointing to my friend who is smiling big.  “We’ll just look around for a minute and I am sure she’ll buy something.” We’re girlfriend giddy.

She doesn’t respond, just turns around and walks away. My friend notices a red cross sewn into the neckline of her shirt. So we wait there.  My friend shakes her head, thinks I am bold for asking.

And when she returns with keys to open the door, we start a silly conversation – the two salespeople, my friend and I – like schoolgirls reunited. The whole store of flowy night gowns, furry robes and lacey underwear all to ourselves. And they tease my friend about it being her first time in the store and that she better buy something since they let us in after hours.

We talk about God, husbands, our kids and then about lingerie.  And right there, behind the cash register, the manager that let us in pulls up her top to show us the bra she wears.  To make a point that the merchandise is worth buying.  My friend and I look at each other and laugh.

I don’t even want people to see the gooey, brown spots from my sick dog dotting the carpet at home, much less the sagging skin around my mid-section or the bra I am wearing.

After they let us out, my friend turns to me and admits, ”I can’t believe we just did that.  That you asked her to let us in. I would have never done that. And I can’t believe she pulled up her top to show us the bra.”

As we walk away, I think about how easy it is to get stuck in the mundane, the comfortable of life and avoid risks.  How most of the memorable moments of my life happened when someone or something challenged me to push into the unknown, expand my faith, grow deep.

Like Mary saying yes to carry the Savior of the world in her womb and Ruth leaving home to live as a foreigner only to birth a child who would be the grandfather of David, I want to take risks that please God, expand perspective, invite opportunity.

How are you taking risks? Pushing beyond your comfort zone? Do you have someone in your life motivating you to be more, experience more?

Let’s take risks together and keep the list of thanks in 2012.  Won’t you join me?

Joining Ann to count the gifts and Laura at Playdates with God.

  • For liquid soap that isn’t messy
  • A shower that comes out soft and rainy.
  • For individual bathroom sinks.
  • A comfortable, cozy bed.
  • A quiet neighborhood without traffic noise.
  • Neighbors that take care of your sick dog because they care.
  • A husband who warms my side of the bed before I crawl in.
  • Wireless internet that works when we all want to be on at once with numerous tabs open.
  • Meaningful emails from subscribers at Christmas that make me teary.
If you have been reading Redemptions Beauty for a while, may I just whisper a suggestion? One that would make this heart beat a bit faster today. Can you enter your email address in the box “Follow Redemption Beauty” in the right hand column and join me on this wild journey of faith? It would make me happy if we could make it official, so I can include you in special emails I won’t share with everyone in the blog. I look forward to growing together in 2012!
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Open to Hear the Message

December 30, 2011 by 20 Comments

My family gets way ahead of me in the line for security. It took me longer to get my belt off, jewelry put in a safe place. As I stand like cow among the herd waiting to be checked, the man in front of me pulls back the shade over the huge window next to us, asks me if I want to look outside.  I take one last look over at the palm trees in the distance that wave their branches beyond the runway. Say goodbye to the desert in my heart while my shoulders throb from the mess I  carry back home.

My camera bag on one shoulder, computer on the other, and a purse full of the rest hanging across my chest. And for some reason I ask God why I got separated from my family standing here because it seems odd.

And just as I ask the question, a blond headed boy not more than three years old wearing an Arizona ball cap begins to sing.  While his mother beckons his younger brother to get back in line next to her in a thick Midwestern accent, he sings these words just behind me in line:

The angels say a baby is born,

 It is Christ the Lord,

 Jesus is here,

Have no fear.

Amidst the giants in trench coats, holding their worldly goods while looking down at their seat assignments on that thin piece of printed paper, this little boy declares the glory of God.  That Christ was born and He is here with us now.

It echoes over and over in his tiny voice as he swings from side to side.  While his parents put their shoes, diaper bags, kid backpacks in the grey bins on the conveyor belt, He continues to sing the song like a skipping record. Reminds us of the presence of Jesus among the luggage and the schedules; that He is here with us, that we should not fear.

I smile over at Him, standing in the midst of that beauty and I think that this is what Jesus meant when he said we should come to him like a child. Fully open, no excess baggage or years of experience to close the heart up. Just wide open faith to declare the glory of His coming.  His coming to us so we can live abandoned lives without fear.

When I meet up with my family seated in the black vinyl seats at the gate, I ask them if they heard that precious boy singing. They all shake their heads no.

Then the answer comes.  The one to my earlier question about why I got separated. God used that little boy to deliver a message to my soul. Separated me from my family so I could be open to hear it.

A reminder of His presence with me right there in the security check line at the airport.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” ~Matthew 19:14

Linking with the Gypsy Mama for Five Minute Friday

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Because Your Story is Worth Living

December 28, 2011 by 10 Comments

We pull up to the stop light on Camelback Road and all of us – my friend Kelly behind the wheel, Murielle in the back seat and I – turn our heads to the left at the same time and put pause on the swirling conversation and laughter. In a moment of silence, our eyes glue to the yellow convertible pulled up next to us. We watch the man at the wheel and the woman seated next to him wearing the fur-lined hood looking straight ahead through the entire span of the red light.

It’s a typical December afternoon in Phoenix, sun shining us squinty, cerulean sky sans clouds, and cool, dry air. But it seems odd to see someone covered up in a parka driving with the top down.

And just like the parts in a symphony, we tell their story the way we see it as if cued by a director holding a baton. Each of us shares a unique version of color, dialogue, and feelings for our own made-up version of their story. A sporadic tragic comedy spurred on while sitting in traffic.

I do this a lot.  It’s the writer in me. Make up stories in my mind about the stark white-skinned Minnesotans carrying sand toys and umbrellas past me on the beach. Or create a drama about the teenager reacting to her mother in the dressing room at Forever 21.

Maybe it comes from sitting for hours at makeup counters in department stores as a child while my mother bought an entire line of new skin care. Watching people around me and then making up their stories to pass the time.

But after we tell the tale of the miserable couple in the yellow convertible, each line more absurd and humorous than the last, I wonder if it isn’t easier to lose ourselves in the story of someone else than to live the one God gave us. 

I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.

~Jeremiah 29:11, The Message

Linking with Ann @ A Holy Experience and Jennifer @ Getting Down with Jesus and Laura @ The Wellspring.

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When Timing is Perfect

December 21, 2011 by 18 Comments

It would be our first Christmas together, married only seven months. We left Phoenix just months before to set up home in a small apartment in Cleveland, Tennessee where H attends seminary. The first chapter of our story, now twenty-one years old.

We sell H’s Volvo before we leave Phoenix to pay for utility deposits, first and last month’s rent, food. No jobs or house waiting for us, just faith that God spoke to us to go and fulfill the beginning of a call to vocational ministry. H picks up the ringing phone between loads of boxes. The call of acceptance as a student to the seminary.  We still laugh about our assumptions. Or was it faith?

Last night, seated around a table of enchiladas and refried beans with close friends and family in Phoenix, my mother in law recalls a memory of that move.  Laughs about how we had to remove the stairs in that apartment to get our custom mattress to the second floor bedroom. She and I hoisting that heavy mattress as high as our arms will reach while H pulls it up to the second floor.

There were a lot of days like that in the beginning.  Being resourceful with what we had to make life work.

And just when hope begins to fade in bills we can’t pay during Advent on that first Christmas in 1990, an unexpected knock comes to our front door in Tennessee. We open it to find our pastor from Phoenix standing there with a broad smile.  His car backed up to our apartment, trunk open and loaded with gifts.

I don’t remember the exact contents of what he unloaded, or why he drove thousands of miles to show up on our doorstep.  It just felt like Jesus answered our prayers for rescue and it came in the form of our pastor loving us this way.

As we scrape up the last bites of refried beans and rice, a young waiter approaches our table, crouches down to greet us for a moment. It is the son of family friends, all grown up and newly married. I haven’t seen him since he was my son’s age but he remembers me. Smiles and tells us about how he and his new wife start their life together with countenance glowing Jesus.

His Dad helped us load that moving van twenty- one years ago.

My heart beats joy as I listen, because I know a bit of his story and the Jesus I see in him, it reveals redemption. Because just like our pastor showing up unexpectedly and this young man approaching our table, Jesus always comes at just the right time to reveal His goodness.

When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners. ~Roman 5:6

I just wanted to pop in here for a minute and say that each one of you is a gift to me this Christmas. I am so grateful for the blogging community. I will be taking it slow over the next few weeks, not posting as frequently to enjoy time with my family here in Phoenix.  If you have been enriched by what you read here, the greatest gift you can give me (besides leaving a comment) is to share the address of Redemptions Beauty with your friends, family, co-workers. Thank you and Merry Christmas!

 Linking with Ann, Jennifer and Emily.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Overflowing Gifts

December 20, 2011 by 5 Comments

The wooden gates with the giant red glittery bows open slow as our car rolls down the narrow dirt driveway. On each side, we pass rows of citrus trees. Orange and yellow balls hang profuse like a child who decorates the Christmas tree and hangs too many ornaments on branches to weigh them down.

“Are those real,” my children ask from the back seat. “Can we eat those oranges?”

Nine years ago, we leave our house in central Phoenix to move to the East coast of North Carolina. Our back yard, a former citrus grove, lines full with orange and grapefruit trees. Harrison is too young to remember.  But Murielle recalls the fresh orange juice her Dad made from that low hanging fruit. She was only six years old.

So much fruit laying on the ground and rotting that we couldn’t eat it all fast enough. Had to throw bags of it away. Full brown paper bags often sit in yards, at the end of driveways with signs that read, “FREE, TAKE SOME” to passersby.

Now when we purchase a pomegranate, spend what seems like gold for that one beautiful claret colored ball of juicy seeds, my husband recalls stories from childhood. How pomegranate’s blanket the ground in Phoenix and he eats them whenever the mood strikes. That paying for them now seems strange.

In Rwanda,  the most luscious giant avocado’s hang from trees like the citrus in Phoenix. Every bite is a delicacy and they laugh at my expression of joy over a ripe avocado I eat like a steak dinner on my plate.

As Harrison peels the orange he pulls off the tree, I think about how our gifts – the low hanging fruit that blossoms profuse in our lives – can be taken for granted. 

The way a single voice leads a congregation before the throne of Christ. How someone tells a story that transports the mind to another place and time. When someone runs like the wind up a mountain free and easy.  A meal prepared by hands of love that satisfies the stomach and feeds the soul.

“Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing. Anyone who does not remain in me is thrown away like a useless branch and withers. Such branches are gathered into a pile to be burned.  But if you remain in me and my words remain in you, you may ask for anything you want, and it will be granted!  When you produce much fruit, you are my true disciples. This brings great glory to my Father.” ~John 15

May we all give thanks for the gifts he gives freely – the low hanging fruit that we take for granted- as we approach the coming of Christmas.

Linking with Emily to unwrap the simple gifts He gives in the everyday of life over at Chatting at the Sky.

 

 

 

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