Waiting Room November 27, 2008

In the last two weeks, I’ve spent a collective nine hours in waiting rooms. (Five different appointments – but nine hours…seriously?!?! You do the math…) I’m burnt out on medical magazines and “no cell phone” policies. I let my kids have multiple lollipops at one appoinment, and allowed my daughter to lay on the nasty waiting room floor and color while people were forced to step over her. I know, I know…what has become of me?

Here’s the thing. I’ve also been in a waiting room with my physical health, as I teeter between the last weeks of pregnancy and a number of medical challenges that have cropped up. Doctors attempt to find a balance that may not even exist, fully, and I wait…and wait…and wait. What is God teaching me through this time?

Wait and hope are interchangeable in much of scripture. I’ve been meditating on that concept.

You see, my balancing act is getting so precarious that several weeks ago, I declared it far over the line into God’s territory. There is no sense in worrying about it. There is no sense in taking it all too seriously. It is what it is, and about this one thing I am serious: it’s entirely in God’s precinct. It is foolish to think that humans and medications can really balance or fix my situation right now – it must be God’s work in this body.

So, I wait, and I hope. The Bible says straight out, ”hope does not disappoint us.” (Romans 5:5) It is interesting to me that this observation in scripture follows a litany of what suffering produces. It goes like this – perseverance, character, hope.

Waiting through a miserable time produces hope. And waiting through a miserable time is hope. Really wrap your mind around that one today. It’s worth the time.

Sweet Belief November 20, 2008

Recently, we headed out to a baby dedication in a friend’s home. Along the way, Adam put jazz music into his earphones and hunkered down to study some behavioral communication (MBA stuff.) Little Lauren fell asleep. Ashton, my 4 1/2 year old boy, and I, were left to make the 30-minute drive together. We drove mostly in silence, but on occasion, he’d speak out from the back seat.

“Hey, mom – did you see that?”, he said, about two thirds of the way to our destination. I turned down the radio.

“What, honey?”

“That church! It was really cool looking.”

“Oh, nope – I didn’t see it, Ashton.”

“Well mom, it was really cool.” Pause. “I was thinking you’d probably speak there one day.”

Dramatic pause. Lump in my throat. “Yeah?”, I managed. Another pause as I turned this thought over and over in my mind for a few minutes.

“Hey, Ashton?”

“What is it mom?”

“Well – I just wanted to say thanks for believing in me, honey.”

“Sure mom. I’ll always believe in you.” And in his reply, there was no pause – no hesitation at all. Now that is what I call sweet belief.

I always expected to believe wholeheartedly in my kids and to cheer them from the sideline – every time – whether they were a starter or a bench-warmer, the soloist or the one turning their pages.

I did not expect, or even think about, what it would feel like when my kids would believe in me.

It makes me want to be the woman they believe I am; full of courage, pursuing relentlessly the call that God has on my life.

Marathon Musings November 16, 2008

There are two things in life that make me tear up every time, and I don’t know why. One is a good marching band, and the other is a good race.

I feel goofy when it happens. Why would anyone in their right mind cry when the marching band takes to the field with a forceful anthem, brass and woodwinds harmonizing? The drumbeat is infectious to me. I don’t really know why I feel so emotional, but there is something about the outcome when that many people march a certain way and play the right notes that moves my soul.

And today – the Richmond Marathon – well, it surprised me, too. We went down to the course for the half-marathon to cheer on a handful of friends and family whom we knew to be running. After we arrived, I leaned over to tell my son and daughter that when Aunt Janet (our fastest runner!) rounded the bend, they needed to let out a big cheer for her. When my son asked, “why?”, I could hear my voice getting that funny crackle that comes when you are about to have a good cry. I said, “Because she has worked so hard, and we are so proud of her, and she needs to hear us cheer because she’s almost through, and it will help her make it to the end.”

As I stood abruptly in an attempt to escape an avalanche of giant teardrops, I wondered why it always hits me like this when I come to a race to cheer someone on. (Mind you, I am never running. I have run a race three times in my life, but never longer than a 5K, and not in about 8 years. I am on the sidelines these days!)

So, I turned it over in my mind as we walked back to the car, and realized that I think my life is just like the race.

I’ve always thought of many people cheering us into heaven. You know, like the soul train line. All the saints who’ve gone before, jamming like nobody’s business on the sidelines of the pearly gates. But in this moment, I realized it is much more.

Hebrews 12 tells us “Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders us…and run the race marked out for us…” It doesn’t seem we’ll just be surrounded by all the saints when we make our big entrance into heave. It seems we are surrounded. The jam session has already begun, and the soul train line is happening right now, while we work out our faith in our every day lives.

That’s why the marathon is so moving to me. I can envision many who have gone before me, cheering me on right now, in this moment. Some days I feel I am at the last mile, and I will never see the finish. Other days I feel I am just beginning. Regardless of where I feel I am in the race, there are these great souls standing by to say, “You’re looking good! You’ve got this, girl! Stay strong!” It moves me at the core.

Now…if anyone can tell me why I cry for marching bands, I’d be oh so appreciative. And for my friends running the next race in town, if you could put some tissues in with your power gels and personal effects, I’d gladly take one when you pass by. I’m sure I’ll be needing it.

All In November 1, 2008

My dad used to say, “Don’t put all of your eggs in one basket.” Seriously, if I heard it once, I must’ve heard it 100 times growing up. I can remember one of my first post-collegiate jobs where I was miserable. I turned to my dad for advice. His wisdom was to “try like crazy to make this job work, and try like crazy to figure out what you’re going to do if it doesn’t.” That, by the way, is the grown-up version of “don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”

It’s funny how those old messages keep rolling around in your head, even when you reach adulthood. I didn’t realize how much I was impacted by the reminders to have multiple baskets at all times until just recently.

I was at a Bible study, and there is worship time just before we break into groups. So, a song was playing about surrender. I was agreeing with the lyrics when I heard this simple phrase: “It’s ok, Christy, to put all of the eggs in My basket.” I was floored.

Have I been holding back? Have I not been “all in?” I couldn’t believe it. Was God showing me that my heart, in fact, has not been totally surrendered in an area? As I turned over this thought in my head, I started to think about ministry life. A year and a half ago I left a great gig as a behind-the-scenes ghost blogger of sorts for senior leaders of a financial organization. It paid well, and it was a pretty steady job. But I felt that God was putting words on my heart for others, and that I should take a big step of faith to start speaking. So, I left the ghost writing, and the regular paychecks, behind.

Now I’m out on a ledge, so to speak. I guess if I’m honest, I have been holding onto some eggs. Sometimes I’ll say, “If I can’t make ends meet with ministry, I could always get a part time job at Starbucks.” Or, at night, I’ll think about how I could network my way back into business…if this ministry stuff fizzles. Don’t get me wrong – I am all about relentlessly pursuing that to which God has called me. I guess sometimes I just go back to all those old messages in my head, and I draw up a “Plan B.”

I’m trying to mentally burn those secondary plans and leave behind the feeling that I must figure it all out. I’m trying, because God has assured me that with Him, I can be all in. It’s ok to just stack up all of the eggs in His basket. Dad and I never talked about it, but I bet he’d agree. So, I’m letting go of the last of my fears for today. I’m sure I’ll have to do it again tomorrow. Seems this “all in” thing – this real surrender – requires a daily dose of courage. I’ll keep you posted…