Noel Never Hurt Anyone

“Wow, that’s really clever.  Seriously smart.”  I stopped suddenly to admire a display and my youngest was almost jerked off her feet.  I looked over in time to see her attempting to relocate her shoulder.  “Ow! What is clever?  That?  What is it? It’s weird!”  She too, paused and moved out of the way of the passengers making their way to the cafeteria.  “This is clever, this….this….seasonal display.”  I waved my hand at it in an attempt to pull words out of the air. I’m not exactly sure I would call it that.  It is pretty, but it isn’t anything.” She retorted.  “Exactly!” I shouted.  “That’s why it is so smart!  It says celebration but wipes the entire Christ out of Christmas.  Look at it!  There is no star, no sheep, no shepherd, nothing spiritual to muddy the waters or offend anyone.  It’s a masterpiece!”  I was impressed and enthusiastic.  My children were uninspired and hungry.  “Mum, it’s great really but can we go get dinner now?  We are super hungry.”  My oldest grabbed my free hand and tugged me down the deck.  “Coming.” I grumped, cross at being dragged away.  “But we are going to talk about that “seasonal piece of festivus” later!  It’s brilliant.”

My country can do politically correct like no one else.  Seeing the anti-Christmas-tree-dress-non-decoration proved it.  I have been thinking about that blasted tree dress since I saw it in mid-December. Thinking about why we want to keep the celebration but not the person behind it, thinking about what Christmas would be like without Jesus and thinking about how glad I am that I celebrate the birth of the Messiah each December.  Without Jesus at the center of the holiday, I'm not sure I would live through the celebration.

I have had a few lengthy phone calls with family and friends since the 24^th of December.  They have included words phrases such as: basement flooding, 2 inches across the whole room, she is vomiting but has no fever, unexpected drive that will take 6 hours, (and the ever popular), how do I know when it’s done?  Friends, might I remind you holidays are not for cowards.  They are forged out of the blood, sweat and tears of family and friends.  They are birthed painfully and anyone who tells you otherwise got to the punch bowl before you.

So dear heart, let me take a moment, now that you have made it through the 25^th, to wish you joy this coming year. I pray that it brings you blessing.  May the peace Jesus offers flood your mind as you ring in 2016.  May you know the forgiveness, restoration and future hope He alone can provide.

I am praying for you this week,

xoxKaren

PS.  Blue and black people, blue and black.

Lack and Longing

Dear Friend!

I am posting mid week because my friends make me happy.  This post is originally from 2015.  I do pray you will get to a service this weekend.  Thinking of you this weekend.  Drive safely.  Be kind.  Share your cookies.

xoxK

Delivery!

“I have to drop my son off first, I’ll bring her by around six.  Maybe I can pull it together and bring dessert.”  
“No worry.  We have more than enough food.  See what your time allows.”  With that, I hung up the phone, feeling pleased with myself.  Some people find life easy to organize.  I don’t.  Any plan that I manage to pull together feels like a major victory.  I had just created an impromptu hang out time for three teenagers on a Friday evening without needing to drive.  I was impressed with myself.  I set myself to food preparation and scanned the living room.  “Girls, time to tidy up!”

I turned on the Christmas music as the girls started cleaning.  There was a knock on the door half an hour later and my girlfriend flounced into the  living room.  “Hello! We’re here,” she announced needlessly.  “You are,” I agreed.  Her arms were full and she started to place plastic cups on my table.  “Ta da,” she sang merrily.   “I made you all dessert.  Well, I tried to make you dessert.  I thought I had two pudding mixes, but it turns out I only had one.  So the girls can each have a taste, unless you have pudding.  If you have pudding, you can add more!  I’m sorry, I should have checked my pantry before I started!”  I giggled.  If anyone in my life was going to show up with an unfinished dessert, it was her.  “And the empty cups?” I inquired, knowing exactly what the answer would be.  “I was making dessert for everyone!” She repeated herself slowly, as though I were daft.  “Those are for you and your husband.  Do you have anything that can go in there?”

Moments like these, provided by friends and family make me insanely happy. This friend in particular, has a knack for doing the unexpected.  God alone knows how we have maintained our friendship over the past decade.  We communicate differently.  I could tell you that I am an auditory learner and she is visual, but the truth of the matter is I am sensible and she is a lunatic.  Misunderstanding stalks us.  We are constantly skirting disaster.  She once called me to request I pick up her daughter and then looked at me quizzically an hour later when I arrived to get her.    

The fact that she presented me with an unfinished dessert wasn’t offensive in the least.  It was a delightful gesture filled with good intent and insanity, exactly what I expect from her.   Friends aren’t bothered by lack of perfection, they are able to see the heart behind the finished product regardless of the outcome.  I find such grace a wonderful part of the Christmas season.  

Perfection is defined as the condition, state, or quality of being free or as free as possible from all flaws or defects.   Christmas is the time when the standard of perfection is raised over friends, family and finances.  For one month, any imperfection is viewed as damaging a holiday which needs to be free from all forms of stress and strife.  Real life could not be farther from the truth.

Christmas outstrips the resources of many.  The ability to buy fabulous gifts, interact without strife and maintain a positive outlook is possessed by few, especially during the holiday season.  Real life has a way of upending good intentions.  When delusions of Christmas grandeur threaten to upset your peace of mind, it is worth taking a stroll through the story of the nativity.

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be registered, each to his own town. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the town of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.  And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth.  And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

The Shepherds and the Angels

 And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.  And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.  And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”  And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,

   “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger.  And when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them.  But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

And at the end of eight days, when he was circumcised, he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb. Luke2:1-21

Suspend if you can, the perfect Christmas and reflect on scripture for a moment.  A young woman, pregnant outside of marriage.  A young couple, with no family members willing to share accommodations.  A baby born in the presence of animal dung.  A new mother with no one to tell her that her baby is beautiful.  No soft cotton outfit to put on the newborn.  A shady bunch of farm hands showing up out of nowhere and no cheese plate to share.   Nothing about this picture meets the criteria for social etiquette. Not a lot about the setting says celebration.  

Heaven however, finds the event glorious.  

Perhaps dear friend, you find yourself outstripped by Christmas this year.  If you are feeling the lack, the longing and the lacerations inflicted by life, could I invite you to take a look into the stable where our Savior was born?  I want to remind you of a simple truth: Jesus did not condescend to come to earth so that you might have a merry Christmas.  He didn’t come for the tree, the lights or the gifts.  He came to bring you hope.

Jesus came, so that you might experience forgiveness when you are rightly accused.  When you are unable to bear one more minute, He came so that He could help you endure.  If you are faced with the inability to cope, he came so that He could get you to the other side of your circumstance.  He came, so that when this world wraps up like a gift, He can right the wrongs and bring the perfect peace and justice you long for.

So dear friend, I wish you peace in the darkness this advent season.  That you might have the eyes to see heavens’ joy.  The heart to hold on to the hope He offers and the grace to sing no matter where this season finds you.

I am thinking of you this week,

xoxKaren

The Cattle are Lowing

“Ha ha!” I shouted as I walked into my friend’s living room.  "What?” she asked, joining me where I was standing.  I am easily distracted by brightly colored objects and had stopped in the doorway to admire a new treasure.  “This!” I held up the magnet in my hand.  I knew immediately why she had purchased the trinket, she liked the cow. I smiled and waited.  “I liked the cow,” she explained, peering at it over my shoulder. “Uh huh. I can see why,” I countered.  “She’s handsome!” 

My friend had returned from holiday which meant I was invading her space to catch up, drink tea and eat her food.  I never have to edit myself when I’m with her, she will entertain any question I ask, no matter how daft.  I examined her ornament, “What happened to Jesus?” I asked. “Hmmmm,” she smiled, peered at it and was giving the matter some consideration.                                         “He’s clearly not as important as the cow, I think this might be blogworthy,” I declared.  “Here, let’s get it out of the plastic.”  She unwrapped the magnet as I reached for my phone.  “It will be easier for you to photograph.”

I confess I was surprised to see my friend breaking out the Christmas decorations.  November is almost over and I feel like advent snuck up on me this year.  Shopping madness has begun and online retailers didn’t wait until cyber Monday to break out the savings propaganda.  Everyone I know seems to be off and shopping while I sit at home wondering what happened to fall. 

I’m kind of behind.  Truth is, I approach the holidays with a particular type of dread.  Some of the nicest memories I have of the Christmas season, involve churches and the message of the nativity. But as the years pass, I struggle with how slick the holiday has become inside the church.  

It’s not a bad thing.  Many of the churches in my area are filled with talented people who like nothing more to give of their time and treasure over the holiday.  They are astonishing and fund Christmas events for hundreds of families, as well as opportunities for giving and blessing others.  Christmas productions put on by churches are of such a high caliber, that some are far better than shows I have paid to watch.

It wasn’t like that when I was growing up.  Secretly, I yearn for the days when boys dressed up in their dad’s bathrobes and placed tea towels on their heads.  No self-respecting shepherd would be caught dead without one.  Likewise, the girls would don coat hanger wings, covered with tin foil and put on halos made of garish tinsel.  Any parent with an ounce of talent, who thought to create wings bigger than the mandatory coat hanger size, or who somehow managed to jerry rig a halo that floated above their child’s head, were rebuked and shunned until they conformed to the lowest common standard. After all, Satan stared out as an angel and look what happened when he lost his humility. 

Simple nepotism determined the roles of Gabriel, Mary and Joseph.  Talent had little to do with anything, and I doubt words like “outreach” and “gospel opportunity” crossed anyone’s mind.  They were all too busy trying to figure out where the cardboard star from last year was placed and where they were going to put the two token hay bales. It was simple, basic and all together lovely.

I examined my friend’s magnet again.  I liked it.  The cow was clearly the celebrity.  Mary was charming, the donkey needed orthodontic work and Joseph seemed sincere.  I had to look hard to figure out where the redeemer was.  Wait. No.  I found him.  I wondered what the artist was thinking when they drew the savior of mankind because honestly Baby Jesus looked kind of like a fried egg.

So this was my week.  I’m sitting at my laptop, after a lovely church service, contemplating advent, in a world that takes the shiny parts of Christmas and reduces the coming of Emmanuel to a tiny, insignificant detail.  A fried eggs worth of attention in a decked out mass produced scene. 

I am praying for you this season dear friend.  Praying that somehow, by God’s great grace, you will keep Jesus at the center of this holiday.  Not just with deeds, but in your heart and in your mind.  That as the world strives to decorate its darkness with lights, that you will gain a deeper understanding of what advent means, in such hard and unsettling times.

Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high,
And cheer us by your drawing nigh,
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,
And be yourself our King of Peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Praying for you this advent season,

xoxKaren

PS.  Thank you dear friend for letting me take a picture of your trinket.  You have never reduced Jesus, your life glorifies him.  

Checks and Balances

Fall is my favorite time of year: family walks, foggy mornings, and falling leaves are special memories of the season.  After summer travel, fall offers a chance for my schedule to resume its structure.  I live life alongside a few close friends and in fall I can once again invite myself over on a regular basis to share tea and time together.  It makes me happy. This September however, someone put my life on fast forward and as soon as I figure out who did, I going to accidentally bumper smooch them with my minivan.

I thought I was catching a break a fortnight ago, when I managed a week without needing to medicate any family members.  I figured our crisis were behind us until my better half asked for Tylenol.  When questioned, my concerns were dismissed with a measured amount of nonchalance.  “I’ll be okay.“ He alleged.  “I’m going to wait it out a bit.”  In hindsight, I should have taken him out behind the barn and shot him right then.

(Not true Man of Mine! I would never get rid of you.  You are everything to me and aside from that, we don’t have a barn.)

By Wednesday, my guy was down for the count and by Thursday, we were dealing with a crisis.  By Friday, there were reactions to medication and by Saturday I was desperate.  I called everyone I knew to get counsel, professional and nonprofessional alike, and by that evening I had a plan together.  Sunday was awful but Monday held hope that the situation was going to turn.  If your spouse or loved one has ever been in pain, you understand how nerve wracking it can be. It’s really difficult.

I have to confess though, I was at my care-giving best.  Every fourth and sixth hour, I brought my husband his medication.  I was a symphony of attentiveness.  I fetched water, cold packs, and hot water bottles.  I even gave the man a bell to ring.  But as things got more complicated, I had 4 medications to dispense and I needed to write things down.  I hadn’t slept for more than 3 hours at a time since this whole mess started and I wasn’t at my decision making prime.  Writing a medication schedule, I got a friend to check it and posted it on the wall.  I set my phone alarm to the correct intervals and had everything ready to go.  I was organizing the chaos, conquering the storm, rocking the casbah, or something to that effect.   

My alarm would sound, I’d look at schedule, grab the pills from the corresponding bottle, wake my patient, give him water and drugs, and waltz back to the couch where I kept vigil.  It worked really well.  We were six days into our drug marathon when I awoke at 3:30 am.  My symphony of care was about to hit an off note.  I remember thinking, “I am so tired I could vomit,” the minute the crickets in my phone started chirping.  My feet felt like they were on backwards as I staggered from the couch to our bedroom to check on my husband.  Standing by the bedside for a while, I tried to remember what I was doing.   Drugs, yes that was it.  It was time for his medication.  I looked at the schedule with my flashlight, stuck the pills in a container and awoke my sleeping beauty. 

I still have no good explanation for what happened next, no matter how many times I go over it. He sat up in bed and put his hand out for the pills.  I placed them in his hand and passed him a glass of water. 

“Love you,” he murmured.

“Back at you, hush up and take these,” I handed him 3 pills. 

“Honey,” he replied without missing a beat, “you’ve given me these before.  I already took these.”  

I stared at him blankly.  I looked at my chart, his outstretched hand and the pills.  I didn’t say a word.

The secrets of nursing have been passed down orally throughout the ages. More recently, science has proven that listening to a patient that is stoned out of his tree on painkillers is not a good idea.  A sensible caregiver would have said, “Darling, I have given you these pills every 6 hours for a week.  Yes, you have taken them before.  Don’t worry.  I’ve got it.  Take these and back to sleep.”  A competent caregiver would have provided the right medication, support and direction.

That is not what I did… not even close.

“Really?” I asked.  “I gave you these before?”

“Yep.” He replied. “No worry.”

“Hold on then.”  I looked at my chart, perplexed.  I could have sworn I was doing this right.  Yet, I was being told by my oxycodone snarfing counterpart that I was handing him the wrong combination of meds.  “Okay,” I replied, coming up with plan B, “here take this…” 

And this my friend is where it gets amazing.

I picked a random bottle off the bedside table, took out a pill and handed it to my husband.  I didn’t read the bottle, I didn’t look at the chart, I have no idea what drug it was.  It could well have been the one that caused an allergic reaction.  I put placed it in his hand…

“Wow, I’m sorry darling.  Here take this.  I must be tired.” I apologized and handed him a blue pill.

“No problem babe,” said my high as a kite mate. “That’s why we have checks and balances.”  He gave me a fist bump, “Checks and balances!” He rolled over and was off to sleep, snoring, dreaming of walruses and toaster strudel.  

Confused, I plodded back down the hall and put myself to sleep. 

My next alarm went off at 5:30am and when it did, I remembered what I had done.  Panicked, I ran to the room to see if I really had abandoned my schedule….and if I had killed my husband.  That had me fairly concerned.  Yes, there were the correct meds, undigested in a dish.  But what had I given him?  No clue.  I was utterly amazed.  What had I been thinking?  What on earth was I doing?

This my dear friend, is what I have been ruminating on for two weeks.  The situation got me thinking.  Some of you have been under great stress for a prolonged period of time.  You are overtired, burned out, and are pretty close to the end of your rope. There isn’t any point in discussing things anymore, because you left the realm of sensible ages ago and you don’t show any sign of coming back soon.

I expect if I asked you when you last felt God was in control of your situation, you would direct me to a time before storm clouds gathered on your horizon.  Perhaps you would tell me about a special time of prayer, where you felt certain God was faithful and trustworthy.  Some of you might even be able to quote a specific verse you felt was significant, bringing you comfort and hope.  Maybe you look back on that scripture and wonder what has happened since.  Why God has become quiet as you have run out of resources to fix your situation. 

If this is you dear friend, my heart goes out to you.  I have been there.  Many are there with you.  Friend, please listen, in this time of crisis you have got to stick to the written word.  Don’t let fatigue and confusion pull you from your confidence in God’s care.  Don’t abandon your faith, because you don’t have all the answers.  Don’t give up on the Lord because he is for you, not against.   

Who among you fears the LORD and obeys the voice of his servant? Let him who walks in darkness and has no light trust in the name of the LORD and rely on his God. Isaiah 50:10

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.  I will say to the LORD, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”  Psalms 91:1,2

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.  Proverbs 3:5,6

When pressure increases, we are to stand with the word of God and resist the temptation to accuse God of negligence.  The truths of scripture can act as the checks and balances against our human tendency toward unbelief and fear.  Try wielding the word of God this week.  Pull out a 3x5 card and write your favorite scripture on it.  Carry it with you and meditate upon it at every opportunity.  Get prayer on the difficult days.  The promises of God do help in hard times.   God will see you through.  

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren

Majestic or Magic?

Hello Friend!

How is your week going?  Still standing?

After neglecting my email for a couple of weeks, I am sitting down to organize hundreds of notes that have piled up since I last sorted and filed.  It’s taken about 15 years, but I am finally becoming overwhelmed by this form of correspondence.  Email is such a mixed blessing.  Consequently, I’m on a quest to figure out what to do with all the digital dithering I create. 

Don’t tell me to create folders either! It doesn’t solve anything.  Because then I need to go through the folders in order to determine what is relevant, which puts me back in the same place. When you have folders, you merely provide headings for your incompetency sessions.  Is the student list from my daughter’s algebra class 3 years ago important?  What about the letter I got from my friend when she was in Europe?  Will she ever want to remember that she had to leave the table at her second cousins wedding to vomit in a potted plant after she drank aquavit for the first time?  How on earth does one solve such problems?

(Ok, clearly the letter about aquavit is a keeper.  No question. I will need to have her for dinner soon and bring that one out: transfer friend’s letter to “things to do soon” folder.)

I’ve tried denial and avoidance, but neither is working and I’m becoming desperate.  I’ve also been praying for the rapture, some might call that misdirected but I took that up in order to survive this next election cycle. 

It reminds me a bit of my daughter’s friend, who after saying grace at lunchtime, closed with “in Jesus’ magical name. Amen.”  Such a mix up caused shrieks of delighted laughter around the table.  “Majestic!!” The sweet teen corrected herself, “majestic, not magical, wow!  That’s bad.”

Ever been there friend?  Ever been tempted to ask God to wave a magic wand over your life?

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Phil 4:6-7

When procrastination finally gets around to catching up with me, I am tempted to ask Jesus for magical solutions.  I’m not interested in asking for wisdom, I want answers to float down from the heavens.  I’m not interested in glorifying God, only making my life easier.  I’m not interested in talking with the Lord, I’d rather tell Him what I want him to do.

Can I encourage you this week friend, to spend some time in prayer?  As we head into fall, have an old fashioned prayer meeting and bring before the Lord some of those issues that sit in the corner of your mind.  Pray with your spouse, even if it’s weird.  Phone a friend and place a prayer request.  Better yet, ask someone face to face for prayer and then stand there awkwardly.  Expectantly….  If they say, “Now?” Say, “Heck yes!”  Complete the whole uncomfortable experience by grabbing their hands and closing your eyes.  Maybe you could start humming Kumbaya My Lord.   

(Ok, that one might be too far, but I would LOVE IT if you pulled that off.  It is my favourite song.)  

I have seen God do amazing things when I step out in faith and embarrass myself. 

Be safe this Halloween week.  Wear bright clothing.  Harvest sugar products from your pagan friends – or not – get out in your community and make a difference. 

I’m praying for you,

xoxKaren  

Lily Work

And upon the top of the pillars was lily work: so was the work of the pillars finished. 1 Kings 7:22

Hello Friend!

I’ve missed you, how are you? 

It’s been a prayerful few weeks since my last entry.  I've reflected upon the goodness of God and the fragility of life.  Spending time with fancy hospital machines made me contemplative and I found myself walking hallways late at night to pass time.  I shouldn’t have been up but I was running on adrenaline and thought laps around courtyard might still my mind.  I was on lap 4 when I had an honest to goodness late night revelation. 

I don’t like cupcakes.

It still makes me sad to confess it but it’s true.  Not that I dislike cupcakes, I just don’t prefer them.  To me, they are a bit dodgy.  Not confident enough to identify as a cake, they feel the need to hide behind copious amounts of frosting.  It makes me suspicious of the little beggars.  They were first heard of around 1790 and were baked off in tea cups (another sin) as muffin tins hadn’t been invented.  Since then, they have hung out at gatherings defeating dieters through the centuries. 

Not long ago, the food world went cupcake crazy.  Gourmet cupcakes started making appearances in bakeries and before long the internet was inundated with the things. Not just pictures but entire websites dedicated to the art of baking and icing cupcakes. Gone were the days of chocolate and vanilla, driven out by such flavors as pistachio, salted caramel, and green tea wasabi.  Suddenly, perfectly normal women lost their minds and became intent on building objects out of fondant and frosting.  Like my life wasn’t hard enough, without feeling I needed to spend hours sculpting Disney’s latest tutu-clad-abomination, dancing across key lime grass procured by a #233 Wilton tip.

Yet some people are what I call "lily work" people. People who are able to spend lavish amounts of time on precise tasks, without going crazy.  I am not a lily work person.  I am the bulldozer type, but I have seen lily work people in action and they are amazing.  Like my girlfriend who, without being asked, decided she would make party favors for a friends 75^th birthday celebration. She did her research and created a red cookie (symbolizing luck) and decorated it with a Chinese character denoting longevity.  Red dye, cookies, time, chocolate, characters, gold dust, more time, generosity, and attention to detail combined to create a delightful favor for 50 guests.  The birthday boy felt blessed.  It was lovely. If you had handed me the assignment, I would have stuck a red M&M to a fortune cookie and hoped for the best. 

The Old Testament doesn’t talk about cupcakes, which is a blessing, but I have found some wonderful references to artistry there.  The instructions for building the temple were precise and the Lord assigned gifted workers to specific tasks.  There were timbers to be hewn, rocks to be cut and beams to be raised.  However, what always strikes me were those who were called to the more ornate tasks in the temples construction.  Walk through 1 Kings 7 and see if you don’t agree.  Equally important to the establishment of the pillars, was the “lily work” crafted to display God’s glory.  Lily work was the ornate decoration that God instructed was to adorn the temple.  It required time, skill and devotion. Sometimes, my utilitarian nature scoffs at such extravagance, yet God mandated it.  

I was thankful for the gift of lily work last month as a skilled surgeon wound his way through tiny arteries and vessels, into ventricles to mend my daughters heart.  Again and again, my life has been touched by the thoughtfulness of those who bless others with lily work.  A card when I was blue, a meal when I was exhausted; all glorious expressions of God’s care and thoughtfulness. Is there any small tasks that you have left undone because it seems insignificant? I can assure you, that if the Lord has placed it in your mind, it is too big to ignore.  Friend you have no idea the beauty this lily work adds to a life. Be lavish with your time this week and generous with your love.  The Lord finds it beautiful.      

I'm praying for you this week,

xoxKaren

Debit and Deficit

I find banking unpleasant, which is why I avoid banks.  However, refusing to enter a building doesn’t stop the people inside from trying to communicate with you.  I have learned to adapt to the banks persistence by ignoring the mail they send and stacking in on the counter until my husband sees it.   It isn’t my most functional behavior.  If you try shaming me for such conduct I assure you it won’t work.  It might seem un-empowered but I’m okay with it.  (I’ll have you know I used to spell womyn with a “y.”  I’m over it now.)

A couple weeks ago, the bank sent me a new debit card.  I didn’t ask for one, I got a new one only 4 months ago.  Naturally, I assumed the bank had made a mistake.  The new card was examined, deemed unnecessary and promptly destroyed; my life continued. 

Turns out, the bank also sent my husband a new card.  As a man who reads his mail, he asked me what I did with my newest debit card.  I told him.  My husband got patient and explained, had I read my mail, I would have known the bank sent me a debit card with a fancy microchip that would make my banking life better…stronger….faster.  I had essentially killed the debit card equivalent of the 6 million dollar man.   

I was unrepentant.  My husband informed me, my current bank card - the un-bionic one, was expiring in two weeks.  I responded by getting cross.   The next morning, I called my bank and confessed what I had done.  The teller seemed surprised that I would cut up a new card as opposed to activating it.  I assured her that it was normative behavior and that I cut up mail without reading it all the time.  She suggested that the bank only sent me mail that was important.  I assured her she was mistaken.  Sensing a personality clash, she changed the subject and ordered me a new debit card.  I practiced deep breathing exercises until the call was finished. 

My second bionic debit card came within the week.  I phoned the 800 number and activated it like a normal person.  I was pleased at my personal growth and considered the matter settled until the first morning my I had to use the stupid thing, two days later.

I was standing at a gas pump at Costco trying to swipe my bionic friend and getting absolutely nowhere.  I looked around for an attendant.  He was hiding in a small hut in the corner of the parking lot. 

“Hi, I wondered if you could help me.  I just got a new bank card, it isn’t working…. Maybe I’m doing it wrong, could you try?”  The young man put on his best customer service face, “Sure, they can be tricky sometimes.”  The fact that I had been using a debit card since this boy was born hung heavily in the air.  We ignored its presence.  Walking over to the station, he ran the card again.  Nothing.  No activity bionic or otherwise.  “I’m really sorry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.  “No problem,” I replied cheerily, I’ll call my bank.”  I pulled my hungry car into the parking lot and called my husband, “My new debit card isn’t working!”  I complained.  “Darling, the bank is across the street, go and ask them for help.”  I couldn’t fight his reasoning, steeling my nerve, I crossed the street and entered the bank.

It was painful.  Really.  I walked up to the teller and explained that my new bionic debit card was malfunctioning.  I couldn’t make it work.  She looked at the computer in front of her and asked questions.  I confessed to cutting up my debit card without reading the paperwork.  She told me the bank didn’t send out debit cards without a good reason.  I disagreed and told her the bank had sent me many things without good reason.  I began to list them.  She became patient, I became polite, and it was going to get ugly soon.  Realizing she didn’t have the clearance to fix the problem, she sent me to a banker who got to sit behind a table.

The woman behind the desk listened to my story and nodded.  She didn’t seem phased by my senseless act of debit card violence.  Perhaps it was because she was sitting down.  “I understand,” she said, smiling sympathetically.  “Let me make a call and see if we can fix this.”  After 15 minutes, she hung up the phone.  “Well, the good news is the bank made a mistake, the replacement card has the wrong number on it.  They sent you a card with an expired number.  You can’t use this card at all.”  She smiled so happily, pleased that she had unraveled the mystery:  it seemed wrong to rip my hair out.  “The good news is, I can get you a new one sent to you in two days.” 
“Delightful!” I countered.  “Anyway you can help me withdraw some cash? So I can get my errands done?”  “Of course,” she gushed.  “We’re a bank!” she giggled.  I practiced deep breathing.  “Will $50’s work?”  I nodded, tasting blood on my lip.

I was in a fairly foul mood when I left the bank.  What should have taken me 5 minutes had now taken 40 and I hadn’t even started my errands.  I pulled into the gas station up the street.  I texted my husband and surly note about how my morning had been sabotaged by the bank.  He sent me an upbeat text about “staying chill” reminding me that my problems were minor in the light of eternity. 

I responded by deleting his contact information from my phone.

Standing in front of a gas pump for the second time that morning, I started at the machine which was telling me to place my cash in a contraption to my right.  I inserted a $50 bill.  It hummed and spat the cash back out.  I straightened the bill and put it in again.  The machine hummed, blinked and spat it out again.  I took another $50 out of my fold, thinking that perhaps the bill was dodgy.  The machine gave that one back too.  Suppressing a scream, I put my head down and begged for mercy.  It was then I noticed a small notice, “This machine accepts, $5, $10 and $20 bills.” 

Thanking the Lord for clearing that up, I marched inside.  “Hi, do you have change for a $50?”  “Well, I don’t know.” Came the rather snotty reply from Cecelia, a young woman with a fascinating nose ring. I was barely containing my temper.  I looked at her sternly trying to figure out where I had seen her before.  I decided her large nose ring made her look very much like a bull I met in Swansea, England while crossing the moor, during a back packing trip.  I hadn’t gotten along with him either. 

Deciding that information was not helpful I said, “Look, your machine doesn’t take $50’s! I’m trying to buy gas!”  Cecelia looked up from the counter and straight into my eyes.  “Oh well let’s not worry with that stupid machine anyway!” Cecelia was treading carefully now, I was hanging on by a thread and was not as polite as I had hoped.   “I will ring you in here.  If you need cash back, come and I’ll have it for you.”  I thanked her tersely and went outside.

After filling my gas tank, I replaced the nozzle and headed inside for my change.  In my absence, Cecelia had decided something about me.  She was very kind.  She talked quietly, thanked me for coming in and looked at me when she said, “I hope you have a good day.”  She meant it.  She placed the change in my hand and moved on to her next customer.  

Counting my change, I had to laugh, of course it would be that amount.  Six dollars and sixty six cents, it had been that type of morning.  My irritation had gotten the better of me in front of at least three people that morning. My flesh was doing a great job and squashing my faith.   I wondered why I let life’s petty annoyances get the better of me time and time again. 

In truth I knew that answer.  Aside from my piggy mindedness and sin, I haven’t been giving myself enough space lately.  I was doing too much, too quickly with too little time spent on things that give me joy.  Life has been a bit of a grind and it’s been a while since I’ve taken some time out to play.  I’ve been running my life with a serious joy deficit.

Unless the LORD builds a house, the work of the builders is wasted. Unless the LORD protects a city, guarding it with sentries will do no good. It is useless for you to work so hard from early morning until late at night, anxiously working for food to eat; for God gives rest to his loved ones.  Psalm 127:1-2

What about you my friend?  Had any moments to yourself lately?  Have you spent and afternoon with a book or someone you love, sharing time and enjoying their company?  If you, like me, are finding the little things are causing you big frustration, can I suggest you take some time out?  We are not built to deal endlessly with issues and annoyances, every now and then we are supposed to laugh ourselves silly.  Try find some space for happiness this week, rescue a worm, eat a pear.  Breathe deeply and create some more space. 

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren

Glimpse of Glory

Hot tears ran down my face as drove to the freeway.  “If this keeps up, I’m going to have to pull over,” I muttered at the Lord.  It wasn’t His fault I was crying but I’ve been blaming Him for a lot lately.  I smiled at myself, took a breath and tried to pull myself together.  Suddenly, a wave of grief rose up in my heart and tears filled my eyes again. “Fine then,” I hiccupped as if a question had been answered.  Pulling over before I had an accident seemed like wisdom.  I spotted the driveway of a closed restaurant and parked the car.  

After checking my surroundings for monsters, policemen and strangers, I put my head down on the steering wheel and cried. 

I wasn’t even sure why I was crying.  I had received some surprising news the night before, but truthfully I had so much to be thankful for the tears seemed misplaced.  I sat quietly and tried praying. 

Rebuilding a life after a trial isn’t an easy process. Ask anyone who has been through a divorce or who has done a round of chemo and they will tell you the same thing.  Some days, it is hard to look straight ahead.  Some days, you spend too much time looking over your shoulder at the destruction behind you.  Some days, the loss seems overwhelming.

I spent my prayer time telling the Lord I didn’t understand.  I didn’t understand my circumstances and I certainly didn’t understand why my prayers went unanswered.  I confessed I was having a hard time looking forwards when all I saw over my shoulder was ruin and ashes.  I asked for help, because I knew I was lost in self-pity and impatience. 

Then something special happened. 

I looked in my rear view mirror and caught a glimpse of the sun rise.  Full on sunshine as I looked over my shoulder.

In that moment, I remembered that I’m not going to understand.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord.
"As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isa 55:8-9

In that moment, I remembered it was God’s job to make things beautiful. 

Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God's work from beginning to end Ecc 3:11

In that moment, I remembered that He is lovely even when I am not.

Giving them a garland instead of ashes, The oil of gladness instead of mourning, The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting So they will be called oaks of righteousness, The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.  Isa 61:3

I am praying for you this week my friend, if you are looking over your shoulder at what has been, what has hurt and what has gone; that you would find moments of His providence.  Moments where the Son shines so brightly through the darkness, it causes you to smile through tears.  I pray you would see His fingerprints all over your life, all over the pages of your days, because He lovingly hovers over you. 

May peace rest on you this week,

xoxKaren  

Some Assembly Required

Then the LORD God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”        Gen 2:18

The weekend before school begins can be a frenzied time.  Summer is over and real life is about to hit full force as alarm clocks, bagged lunches and homework come back into focus.  Labor Day weekend is a time to take a breath and gear up for the next season.  If you are mindful, you can make it significant by setting a beautiful table and sharing summertime memories over a special meal.

I am not mindful.

Ask my husband and he might mention that sometimes not only am I not mindful but sometimes I am not thoughtful either.  Which is ironic because it was my desire to bless him that got us into trouble in the first place.  Like any homemaker, I am forever looking for ways to improve my surroundings without spending any money.  My latest budget adventure had been to purchase a second hand Ikea loft bed (for a screech of a deal) from a dear woman and to bring it home to him unannounced.  He looked surprised.  When I suggested that he help me put it together, he didn’t look surprised any more.  He didn’t look anything actually, because he has a really good poker face.    What should have been crossing his countenance was a look of amazement, then horror, then frustration.  Instead he stared at me blankly, plastered a grin on his face and said “Okay.”   

He is a prince.

It is a well-known fact that people who write instruction manuals for a living hate people.  Not just people, but humanity at large.  Masquerading as individuals who pay attention to detail, these maladjusted wordsmiths are out to take anyone down who fancies themselves handy with a screwdriver.  Equipped with translation software, they hate in many languages.  Something should be done to stop them.

Instructions can be helpful if you learn by reading.  If you are a kinesthetic learner, you might as well bash your hand with a hammer at the outset of the project because the manual writing reprobates have your number.  My husband is aware that written directions mean little to me; armed with this knowledge we began to assemble the bed. 

If anyone asks me how I know Jesus is alive, I won’t quote scripture, I’ll point to my man.  Without the Lord, neither of us would be here. When we were in our 20’s we had to instate a rule of silence before church on Sundays, because it was the only way we could get to church on time.  Without fail some quarrel would break out Sunday morning that was so volatile we would sit in the parking lot and argue.  I would have blamed spiritual forces were it not for my vicious temper.  I would rather have taken the credit.

For the first 7 years of our marriage my husband would continually tell me, “We are on the same side.  We don’t need to argue, we are on the same team. In fact, we are the team!”  It was a mantra and it was sorely needed.  I didn’t play well in groups.  But God is amazing.  We were now 4 hours into a project, laughing because we had come to an impasse.  I had interrupted him three times after asking his opinion and in retaliation he ran away with the tools so I couldn’t do anything. We managed to put the darn bed together without arguing. Shouting, laughing, teasing, eye rolling, but no arguing.  I can tell you honestly, that only the power of Jesus made that possible.  Without him, it would have been war-zone.  At the end of the day, I was very thankful.

What about you friend,  

How is your husband or wife? When the tension rises, do you know how to argue lovingly?  Are you arguing the point or the person?  Are you known as people who work together or against each other when things go sideways?   I hope as the years pass you are learning how to play on the same team.  I pray that when you argue, you will pray at the same time. That by asking for help, the Lord will get you on the same team.  If He can do it for me, He can do it for you. 

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren