Even in my loss, I worked on

I continue to be surprised at the faithfulness of God. This morning I read in my mother's tattered 1939 copy of Springs In The Valley. The scripture was from Ezekiel 24:18 which states, "In the evening my wife died; the next morning I did as I had been commanded." Ezekiel was a prophet who served God around 590 BC. He was a younger contemporary of Jeremiah and served as a "street preacher" to the exiles in Babylon. God asked Ezekiel to do some out-of-the-ordinary things and Ezekiel obeyed. The final chapters in the book of Ezekiel offer hope and restoration for the reader.
Maybe that is why When God Comes Near has just been recognized as a book that offers hope and restoration to the reader. Last week I attended the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference in Asheville, North Carolina. Trying to "put myself out there in the literary world" I sent the book off to be judged by people I did not know-- people who did not know Megan, our family or anything about the horrific circumstances of our lives four years ago. I felt I could allow myself some vulnerability.
After three days of going to writing classes, taking copious notes and meeting with publishers, agents and new friends, we all gathered for the Thursday night banquet where many awards were handed out to people from all over the country. The final three awards of the night were the two "Selah" Book of the Year Awards and The Director's Choice Award. When God Comes Near claimed all three awards.
Admittedly, I was happy and honored to walk to the stage the first time. My hard work had paid off. Someone other than my closest friends had recognized the work as substantial. But when the book was recognized a second and third time, I was reminded of the Bible verse that the conference had claimed for 2011: 1 Thessalonians 1:3 "We remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ."NIV
Like Ezekiel, God asked me to do something I consider out-of-the-ordinary. Like Ezekiel, I obeyed. I stood in my child's hospital room and told my friend that I could not turn my back on the God I loved. When my heart was breaking, I wrote. When I could not believe what was happening to my "perfect life" I wrote. When I went through the valley of death with my child, I wrote. Sometimes I think the words came to heal me. But now I believe the words came to heal others as well. I suppose one has to be well in order to help others get well. In the past four years writing has been a healing balm, soothing my soul while offering something to those who also need healing. I am so grateful my story is allowed to be used because it is in the using we become real--like the skin horse in the Velveteen Rabbit.
The morning devotional said, "The great God wants our conspicuous crises to be occasions of conspicuous testimony: our seasons of darkness to be opportunities for the unveiling of the Divine. He wants us to manifest the sweet grace of continuance amid all the sudden and saddening upheavals of our intensely varied life. This was the prophet's triumph. He made his calamity a witness to the eternal. He made his very loneliness minister to his God. He made his very bereavement intensify his calling. He took up the old task, and in taking it up he glorified it. The evening sorrow will come to all of us: what shall we be found doing in the morning?"

Heaven in Manhattan

This morning I woke to the familiar call of the morning birds outside my window. It was good to be home - back to the quiet, back to the familiar noises of nature and green space. I do not want to live in New York City, but I must admit, I do love to go there. I love the drive from the airport, crossing the bridge and driving along the river into Manhattan. I love the thrill of the cab ride, the honking and speeding only to stop quickly, shifting lanes to press on to our destination. Did we tell our driver we were in a hurry? I love the excitement of Times Square, the lights. and the music on every corner. I love the dinner before the theatre when knowing waiters are attentive to serve you outstanding food in short order. I love the beautiful department stores and the quaint shops in SoHo. I love the crazy idea of standing in line for something as simple and trendy as a cupcake! And I love the walking and walking and walking, even though this morning my body feels somewhat exhausted from the fun of it all.
Exhaustion from what? Certainly not exhausted from being with my family on a fun get-away weekend. Certainly not exhausted from enjoying new experiences together, looking at great art, and sharing a few days of sightseeing together in a fascinating city.
But exhaustion from the extreme pace of it all. Exhaustion from the hurrying, the movement, the noise, the lack of sky and sunlight - the lack of cardinals at my feeder and jasmine blooming outside my door. I realized all that I missed when we climbed the steps and walked through the doors of the beautiful St. Thomas Fifth Avenue Church. It was Saturday and the only movement inside was the soft music coming from the organ. One person wandered around. Two people sat at the front of the long nave. The three of us sat toward the back and rested our feet and listened. For me it was a moment of quiet nourishment from the contrast of frenzy outside the heavy, wooden door. As the narrator of the video describes so beautifully "the church takes one from "earthliness to heavenliness." (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_rL2TZ2ZbQ&feature=player_embedded) Upon entering, it is simple and dark and dreary. But walk in and look up and experience "heavenliness" as the beautiful, tall stain-glassed windows capture the light from the sky and shine down strikingly, reminding the one who enters that here one can indeed, be refreshed and renewed, transported from earth to heaven right in the middle of Manhattan.
What a stark contrast to then step back outside into the bustle and noise of the city. I could not help but make the contrast as we remembered the parents and children lined up outside of FAO Schwartz, waiting for the opportunity to walk through doors to be mesmerized by a toy heaven. We had stood there once and even Blair remembered her childhood day of bliss and the purchase of some long-forgotten toy. But just around the corner, there were even longer lines to get into Abercrombie and Fitch, a store where grown-up kids crave buying an identity that will somehow give them notoriety and power. Henri Nouwen (Show Me the Way, pg. 64) explains it well," There is a mystery which is difficult to grasp in an age that attaches so much value to publicity. We tend to think that the more people know and talk about something, the more important it must be. That's understandable, considering the fact that great notoriety often means big money, and big money often means a large degree of power, and power easily creates the illusion of importance. In our society, it's often statistics that determine what is important: the best selling CD, the most popular book, the richest man, the highest tower-block, the most expensive car."

The journey of this Lenten season reminds us again of the disciples and how they, too, were looking for their leader to be one of power and might. They wanted to follow their idea of a king, their idea of a real leader. But as Jesus continued his resolute mission, we observe the way as harder and harder, lonelier and lonelier, descending as opposed to ascending. He moved away from the crowds and became more and more attentive to the invisible God. Like the disciples, it is just so hard for us to grasp this mysterious idea of descending, giving up, letting go to gain eternity. We want our kingdom and our notoriety now - even with a passing logo.
I amuse myself at finding similarities in stepping into church and stepping into one of those high priced luxury stores on Fifth Avenue. Certainly, you will never have to wait in line. The inside is quiet and serene. There is soft music, good smells and refined, gentle people to assist you.
I suppose the difference is in the point of purchase - or the decision. Should you decide to buy an item you will simply pay your money to the sales person. You will walk out proudly carrying a bag with a logo of distinction. And to justify your purchase, you promise yourself that you will wear the item for the rest of your life.
Should you decide to invest in a spiritual journey of faith, the things of the earth become dimmer and dimmer and all you want is the "heavenliness" of looking up to eternity. The cost? The Bible says that salvation is free to all. People generally line up for something that is free. We certainly stood in line for free admittance to the MoMA. But this freedom is costly because it is a decision not of the wallet, but of the heart. The heart wears a new logo of faith that is acted out daily with choices and attitudes, not carried around to sit aside when we are tired and want to move on to another style. We will be asked to trust in eternal things, not public opinion. We will be asked to give up. We will have to move from "earthliness to heavenliness." What I love is that right in the middle of the madness of Manhattan, "there is a place of quiet rest" where one can easily distinguish the two.

Dahlonega or Disney World

Early yesterday I committed the day to working on marketing my book, When God Comes Near. Just before lunch a friend called, and said, "Drop everything and meet me on the golf course." The weather was stupendous for early March and for ten minutes I battled the choice - work or play...work or play. Before I wandered from my plan, I quickly called her back and said, "I have committed to only book work today. I know you understand. Have a blast." She did understand, being in the professional world herself she knows when work must come first.
Saying "yes" to my commitment seemed to ignite a fire within and move me through the day with lightning speed. Calls were made. Books were delivered and checks were picked up. Parking places opened up and lines were short. The rest of the day was like someone was three steps ahead of me, paving a trail, making my tasks swift and productive. I came home and prepared more books for shipping, wrote some letters and acknowledgements, clearing the stack on my desk. It was seven o'clock before I realized people might be wanting dinner.
What is it that motivates us in our work? What is it that makes us feel we have purpose in our tasks? And how can get distracted with many good things and never get our most important job done? I'll tell you how. We simply want it all and think because we are smart we can do it all. We want to turn left when we should be turning right. We want to grab all the little special events and forget the big project that is ours alone to complete. Have you thought what yours might be?
Here's an example. When our children were in preschool, 1st and 3rd grade we took them to Disney World. Mike and I made the reservations in advance, planned this as a surprise, packed their suitcases and picked them up at the end of the school day. To say the least, they were excited. I still get excited just remembering. They began to guess where in the world might we be taking them and named all the fun places they liked to go. They thought maybe we were going to their grandmother's in KY. They thought maybe we were going camping. We said we were going someplace really fun - like Dahlonega, a small town north of Atlanta where we would go on day trips and pan for gold, hike, and get some fudge or a caramel apple. We laughed at all their enthusiastic guesses and promised it would be the best ever. After the initial flurry of excitement we settled in for the long drive down I-75 to the Florida state line. Once there, Megan and Owen began to notice the billboards and finally squealed, "We're going to Disney World! We're going to Disney World!" Blair, on the other hand, began to cry and between sobs said, "But I wanted to go to Dahlonega!"
Mike and I looked at each other, struck with the passion of our preschooler, and yet somehow thinking the joke was on us. Here we had saved our money, made reservations for a trip every child (and parent) dreams of, driven hundreds of miles and all little Blair wanted was to go up the road a few miles to pan for gold. Thank goodness for a wiser and more worldly older brother and sister who quickly educated Blair on the joys and benefits of Disney World - Dumbo, Mickey and Donald Duck, Cinderella, and the Pirates of the Caribbean. Blair's world suddenly opened to new possibilities and soon she too was pointing and cheering every time a billboard would draw us closer.
Some days are Dahlonega days. They are great days, full of commitments, meetings, chores, gardening and family time. Dahlonega days are the routine days of life. And sometimes you find a little nugget of gold in a day's panning. But if you don't, well, you then reward yourself with some fudge for the ride home. You return again and again with the same expectations and contentment for a somewhat ordinary destination. Day in, day out. Nothing special, but enough to see you through.
Some days are Disney days when you feel you have walked directly into the "Magic Kingdom!" You have committed and planned ahead and charted your course. You stick to your plan and your purpose seems so clear. Although there is much to do, you feel confident. You are alert with anticipation and sometimes just have to snicker at the "not-so-coincidental coincidences" that come your way. And at the end of the day you marvel at what has been accomplished.
We all want more Disney days. But oh, is it ever costly. We have to be organized and diligent. We have to say "no" to lots of days in Dahlonega in order to save up for the big payback, the big day when our efforts have been fruitful and the wait has been worth every minute of perseverance. I must return to the question posed earlier: what is the project that is yours alone to complete? What steps are you taking to transform every day into days of wonder, discovery and purpose for a greater good?
This week Christians will begin again the 40-day journey to the cross. It is a time of denial and introspection. It is not idle. Jesus not only said to his disciples, "Deny yourself." He also said to "take up your cross and follow me." That means the "project that is yours alone to complete" must be lifted and carried toward HIs Eternal Kingdom. There is nothing magical about it. It's real and it's forever.

Friendship - A Beneficial Food Group

Friendship - a Beneficial Food Group
How many friends do you have? Sometimes I think I have one. Sometimes I think I have 5 or 6. Sometimes I think I have multiples of 6. A gathering recently reminded me that friends are this fragile, unique, ever-changing, inspiring combination of certain characteristics that draw me to them. And if I exhibit some characteristic that draws them to me, well...then we begin to share in this mysterious fellowship called friendship, giving and receiving, offering it up freely with love and acceptance, and friendship grows and becomes this rare treasure.
Just as eating certain amounts and types of food is recommended as one of the most important ways to achieve a healthy diet, a special combination of friends can bring together personality traits that strengthen, enrich, and motivate one to be the best they can be. They are different for all of us , but common threads connect.
I am not a psychologist, but I would venture to say that the areas in which one looks to others for friendship and finds value are the areas in which they themselves might feel the weakest. I think it must be what "compliments" a friendship. For example, a good listener is attracted to the one who can tell a story. And a good story teller certainly needs the good listener. It is a two-way street. That is not to say that the good listener should always have to listen. One must learn the art of give and take.
Here are some examples of friendships that compliment each another:
The one who makes me laugh, diminishes my quietness and lifts my heart; she sees the glass half-full and teaches me her viewpoint
"Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down."
Oprah Winfrey
The one who inspires me, pulls out my own creative efforts and encourages me to rethink, redo, start again
"Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow ripening fruit."
Aristotle
The one who calms and soothes me gives me time to breath and rest with thought-out, clear ideas .
"The real test of friendship is: can you literally do nothing with the other person? Can you enjoy those moments of life that are utterly simple? "
Eugene Kennedy

The one who challenges me and demonstrates in her own profession that I, too can begin fresh and contribute something in the workplace.
"You can always tell a real friend: when you've made a fool of yourself he doesn't feel you've done a permanent job."
Laurence J. Peter

The one who confidently shares my faith and touches my soul, stabilizing and strengthening my heart.
"The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares."
Henri Nouwen

And overarching all of these unique characteristics of friendship is the little word "love." We often say we love someone, but are we patient with them? Are we kind to them? Do we envy them? Do we brag? Are we rude? Do we get angry? Do we keep a record of wrongs? Do we protect and trust and hope and persevere? Those are the words found in 1 Corinthians 13:4-7:
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
Everyone wants to have a friend. Being a friend is first step.

Whiter Than Snow

Ahhhh - a snow day!! Living in the South one never knows whether the weatherman 's forecast of snow will come true. Trust me, it snowed. Five or six inches at my house is enough to make everything a winter wonderland and shut down a city. Fortunately, it is not so terribly cold and the power has stayed on - at least for now. After a call from a friend, I was shamed into wrapping up and heading out into the calm of the white morning. I'm so glad I did.
There was no traffic and families were out with sleds and saucers swirling down driveways and sloping streets. Laughter and relaxing smiles were welcoming a Monday where meetings and agendas had been "whited-out" on full calendars. A trek to the grocery on foot became a simple adventure; the spotting of an American Goldfinch sitting on a snowy branch rewarded my walk . My camera never seems to be quite ready or the zoom good enough, but the picture in my mind has been taken.
It's the quiet I love the most. Somehow the blanket of snow muffles even the slightest wind. The birds conserve their chatter and the white of everything calms my spirit. There are no airplanes or leaf blowers, carpool horns or garbage trucks. Even the ringing of the phone becomes a blaring interruption, reminding me that oh, yes, life stirs elsewhere - somewhere. But can it not wait? Can't I just savor these few hours of silence and allow the white to purify and cleanse, offering rest, offering quiet peace?
I think it was Jack London who wrote about it - The White Silence described in the great Yukon Territory while racing a dog sled team to victory:
" Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity--the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven's artillery--but the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the White Silence. All movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice. Sole speck of life journeying across the ghostly wastes of a dead world, he trembles at his audacity, realizes that his is a maggot's life, nothing more. Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all things strives for utterance. And the fear of death, of God, of the universe, comes over him--the hope of the Resurrection and the Life, the yearning for immortality, the vain striving of the imprisoned essence--it is then, if ever, man walks alone with God."
While we are miles away from the romance of the Yukon Territory, I can still transport myself to the utter feeling of smallness as Nature steps in and transforms my world - quietly, magically, mysteriously - into white space, white silence, white beauty.

A snow day in January becomes like the margin on my word document. As my calendar fills up and the year launches into busyness, Nature quietly takes charge and says, "take a break - quiet now, be still, wait and watch."
And as London so beautifully articulates, we wonder about our smallness and our place in this vast world and our hearts yearn for something that pursues us to the white spaces, leading us further down our life's journey toward wholeness. The Apostle Paul says in Romans that by taking a thoughtful look at creation, we are without excuse for not seeing God's divinity in all of nature - yes, even the pure and spotless snow.

And somewhere I remember the verse of a song:
Lord Jesus, I long to be perfectly whole;
I want Thee forever to live in my soul.
Break down every idol, cast out every foe;
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Making Fruitcake

Yesterday was the perfect Christmas Sunday. After attending early morning church we joined our daughter and watched the snow flurry outside the restaurant windows. Feeling festive, we returned home to build a fire, watch football, and ... make fruitcake. I know - go ahead and laugh. Everyone loves to share their fruitcake jokes. People make fun of us brave souls who proclaim that fruitcake holds a fond place in our heart each Christmas. We don't mind.
My mother made a dark fruitcake and steamed it in a pressure cooker. She then wrapped and stored them in a cool place until time for giving or serving. Delicious. I never quite figured out the use of a pressure cooker, so I have moved on from that recipe. But my Aunt Bea has been making a lighter version of fruitcake that has become popular with my family. It's full of cherries and fresh pecans and has a light lemon texture. I gave it to our minister one year and he liked it so much he recommended that the congregation be more open-minded about fruitcake....among many other things that we close our minds and hearts to in this life.
Making Fruitcake is labor intensive, especially the final part where you combine all of the ingredients. Sometimes I talk myself out of the effort. But this year I was pleased and a little taken aback when my husband said, "I want to help you make the fruitcake." I knew there was no getting out of it. And so as I creamed the butter and sugar, Mike chopped. When it came time to fold the egg whites into the fruit mixture - it was nice to have my man in the kitchen! I held the bowl and he folded the whites and fruit to a beautiful mixture. We had just enough for two loaf pans and two mini-loaves.
When the cakes were done, I popped those mini-fruitcakes right out of the pans to cool. Perfection. I popped one of the large ones out to cool. Perfection again - and proud. But the third fruitcake did not want to release. We put it back in the oven for a few minutes, and trying again, the fruitcake split down the middle and fell out of the pan in three pieces. Now, I have had that happen before and if you are quick enough, you can stick a fruitcake back together and no one ever knows - hehe! But yesterday I was not so lucky. I just happened to be standing beside of the sink, and as the cake erupted from the pan, one-third of it fell to its death and drowned in a sink of soapy water. No fixing! All those beautiful cherries and fresh pecans down the drain!
I have heard of people throwing out their fruitcake disasters and starting over - working until they have perfected the process. I was just about to do the same when my assistant watching the disaster, stepped up, burst out laughing, grabbed the remains and said, "Not to worry, we will still enjoy what we have left."
At the moment of crises in a kitchen, laughter is good medicine. You've worked hard, bought expensive ingredients and followed the recipe. You did everything right and you are disappointed when things fall apart. Sometimes, there is no fixing it. Sometimes, you simply have to be content and enjoy what you have salvaged from the disaster.
This Christmas, are you enjoying what you have? Is there laughter and a spirit of love in your home? Is there an aroma of fresh generosity and a spirit of hope? Making a fruitcake is one way to find out.
Aunt Bea's Fruitcake
Divide: 6 eggs, beating the whites until stiff and set aside
Cream: 1 lb. butter
2 cups sugar
6 egg yolks from above, added one at a time
Combine: 1 lb. raisins
1 cup candied pineaple
1 1/2 cups red cherries
1 1/2 cups green cherries
1 cup coconut
1 lb. pecans
4 cups four (1/2 cup of this mixed with fruit)
Add: fruit and flour to creamed mixture
Add: 1 2-oz. bottle lemon extract
1 tsp. grated fresh lemon rind
Fold: egg whites into fruit mixture
Bake: 1 large tube pan - 3 hours at 275 degrees.
2 loaf pans - 2 hours 30 minutes at 275.
(if using loaf pans, you will have enough for two mini-loaves which will bake in
just under hour - when top is light brown and tester comes out clean)

December Deception

Two days ago, I worked at the computer, fine tuning talks I will deliver during December and January. All day long I looked out at the rain and the wind blowing against my window. All day long I felt cold and shivery. But it is okay because it is December. Christmas is around the corner. A little snow mixed in with the rain would be just fine with me. Tis the season, right? But when I opened the door I was shocked to feel the warm air. It's wasn't cold outside. It was warm - like spring. In fact, I looked around in the garden and saw daffodils sticking their heads out of the ground. What is going on? Will winter ever really arrive? Have I missed out on my very favorite season?
This morning, looking outside from my same view, the sun is peeking through the trees and it looks warm. But I am not deceived! I have opened the door, stepped outside and it is bitterly cold. The ferns have crispy frozen fingers and the birds are quick to gather their breakfast and take cover.
Oftentimes things aren't always as they seem. We sit in our climate controlled homes and look through a window, thinking we can tell what is going on outside. We don't bother to go out and read the thermometer or spend some time in the elements. We just think we know the temperature because it just simply looks cold from our perspective. We are quick to judge. We shudder and turn away. And we stay behind our glassed-in walls.
Don't we do that to each other in our relationships? We observe from a distance and assume that this or that is the case. We form our own opinions and we keep the glass between us so we don't have to take action. We say, "OH, I am not going around her - or him. She's in a bad mood or he's irritable or she's not even nice. I can tell by the look on her face." And before we even give the person a chance - step into their world - we walk away from what could be an enjoyable encounter - all because we thought our own thoughts were correct. No matter that the person was thinking seriously about a project. No matter that the person was a million miles from the present and needed time to reenter and put on her "happy" face, her approachable face.
This Christmas, don't be deceived. The longing that each of us feel in our hearts is a longing for relationship. The Christmas encounters we engage in can be meaningful or Scrooge-like. It is our choice. We can quickly make up our mind that others are indifferent and really don't have time for us, so we beat them to the punch by deciding for ourselves how it will be - protecting our own egos. And most times we are wrong. We become the losers. We close ourselves away behind the glass walls and focus on ourselves, our fears, our insecurities. We have lost out on what we long for - a relationship. When relationship is nurtured, it can change our perspective; it can become an hour of great conversation, an afternoon together, a trusting friendship, and ultimately.....love.
Love comes at Christmas. It is what Jesus teaches us. Someone said the other day that the song most requested by adults is "Jesus Loves Me, This I know." And we think it is a song for only children. Love comes as a baby - fragile, new, needing care and attention. Love reaches out. Love grows up and takes on responsibilities. Love demostrates the ultimate, taking on pain and suffering. Love dies and rises to new life so that we might love and live too - forever. Love says, "Joy to the World, The Lord is Come!" And Heaven and Nature sing. No deception. No false assumptions. No glass walls. Just love.