Blog Post

September 18, 2018

Feeling Young Again

*** I am so pleased to once again, share a post with you from my son and favorite guest blogger, Miles Macleod. It is a beautiful and insightful take on Matthew 18:3. You can follow his family blog on macleodsonthemove.weebly.com. Enjoy!

Can you find the monkey?

So it’s been about six weeks in Malaysia and I’m feeling young again. But don’t get too jealous. I’m not talking about the grip-life-by-the-ears-and-drive-off-into-the-sunset-with-reckless-abandon type of young; it’s more like the I-can’t-read-this-menu-do-you-have-any-photos-of-your-food-so-I-can-point-to-the-pictures young.

It’s infuriating at times and good for a few laughs at others, but mostly it’s just embarrassing. Like the time I couldn’t figure out how to turn the water back on in my house and had to seek my neighbor’s help, or the time I drove down the wrong side of the road (they drive on the left here), or the time I did that again, or the times I pick up Quincy from daycare and can’t understand what his teacher is asking me to do so I just smile and nod and leave and don’t do what they ask, or the time I accidentally drank pond water from a spigot and the nearby guards laughed before showing me how to get filtered water, or how it’s taken me two weeks (and counting) to replace the only lightbulb in my bathroom (Erin showers in the dark every morning), or how I sometimes say “Good morning” (“salamat pagi”) to my neighbors when I see them walking in the evening (“salamat petang”).

Whatever confidence I had gained as a successful member of society while living in the States has quickly disappeared. Now, I’m more unsure, more unaware, and more pensive. More child-like.

There is a verse in the Bible, somewhere in Matthew, where Jesus tells a bunch of people to be more like children. It will help them, He says, get into Heaven. Whenever I’ve heard this verse mentioned, I assumed he wanted us to have more faith — child-like faith — a faith rooted in trust and untainted by the limitations of empirical evidence and the cynicism of adulthood.

Now, though, I’m thinking I had it wrong. Why would He want us to have the same type of faith that led me to put my trust and my bloody teeth and my cookies and milk into appeasing some mythological creature (see tooth fairy) or cultural apparition (see Santa)? That can’t be the same faith that He wants us to have, right? I would think He wants a more adult-like faith than that, one that has been tested and refined. So why be like children then? Well, in light of my six weeks in Malaysia, I’m thinking what Jesus likes so much about children isn’t so much their faith; it’s their helplessness.

I think about Quincy and his own helplessness too. At one years old, he relies on me for pretty much everything and because I come through more often than not, his love and his trust for me grows. I’m there to carry him on my shoulders when he tires and grab him from his crib when he wakes. To kiss his boo-boos and read his books; to teach him boundaries and open his doors. To him, I am everything. My identity — in his eyes — is defined by his own limitations.

And so it goes with world travel. For those who have yet to do it, I strongly encourage you to give it a try. There are numerous benefits, but perhaps none more so than the spiritual clarity that comes with it. My can-do American attitude has quickly been replaced by a please-help Malaysian posture. And through this transition and in the midst of my helplessness, my Father’s identity has been redefined by my own limitations. He is made strong in my weakness. My place in this crazy, amazing world has never been more clear. I am child-like. But for my Father, that’s okay.

Quincy in Cambodia making a new friend

August 31, 2018

The Way to Wellness

The pain awakened me. My feet were throbbing, and the ache reached up to the back of my knees. I lay still trying to figure this out, then realized as I readjusted my body that my back, neck and head hurt too. I remembered swimming in Nantucket Sound a few days earlier. God am I that old? I sighed and lifted my pounding head from the pillow, slid out of bed, and limped into the bathroom. I can find the Tylenol and open the child-proof cap without even being conscious.

It wasn’t until that evening, when my clothes felt like they were on fire that I realized I was sick, not just sore. Then the shaking chills. I fumbled around for a thermometer. 101.7. I gulped some more Tylenol and went to bed. It was a restless night but I awoke free from fever, although not from the pain. I called my doctor.

“Hold on,” the secretary said flatly after hearing my story, punctuated by, I have never had a fever that high! for dramatic effect. When she came back on the line she said, “The doctor said, ‘You’re a nurse. You know if you’re sick.'”

I do? This was my first thought. Because historically I am pathetically unaware of my physical well-being, until my body just drops and quits. I’m a great nurse for you but like most nurses, detached from the signals and sirens going off inside my own body.

Someone had to tell me when I was pregnant, when I was turning yellow from eating bad shellfish, when I should consider that I might have a concussion. I don’t like to spend time inside of myself. It just never seems beneficial.

There’s a plus side to my ignorance. My husband marvels at my ability to deflect “vain imaginations,” my resilience under pressure and a forward drive that prevents a morbid preoccupation with inward scrutiny. I stunk at meditating in the 70’s. At a yoga class I took a few years ago, I started giggling then had to leave when the instructor told us to be “mindful.” It sounded like Dali Lama meets Miss Manners.

But there’s also the flip side. A lack of self-awareness can lead to self-deception; perhaps nothing evil or even un-Godly, but I can easily slide into my old comfy self-reliant shoes – the ones with well-worn scriptures and broken-in prayers.

Then he said to them, “You like to appear righteous in public, but God knows your hearts. What this world honors is detestable in the sight of God.” Luke 16:15

Yikes! Detestable? Let me look at another translation… how about “abominable?”

I recovered from my sickness of unknown origin after six days and felt like I was coming out of general anesthesia. I had lost time, so my natural course of action was to catch-up and get busy. Then one morning early in prayer, I heard God speak to me very clearly. He said this:

“Don’t take Me lightly.”

It startled me – it was a warning, just short of a rebuke, and I knew I had to spend some time looking inside, and at how the inside was manifesting outside. I had to take my spiritual temperature.

Charles Finney wrote in the 1850’s about negative morality – how Christians are inclined to settle for just being good people. We don’t curse, don’t smoke, don’t hurt others. We are nice Christians, assimilating into the mainstream of life, but if we are just good, not sanctified, we stink like last week’s garbage. We become hollow trophies, relics of dead religion and social injustice programs – applauded by mankind and the devil. Detestable to God.

What was my remedy? Repentance first. I had been “esteeming the things of God lightly” – foremost, my relationship with Him. I had been rushed, distracted, malnourished from “lite” prayer, lazy grazing in His word, genuflecting before His throne room of grace. I felt ashamed. My temperature was lukewarm at best, but in the public eye I spoke eloquently, laughed easily and even loved well. But was it His love, or mine? Could I have loved if they hated me or my Jesus? Or if I speak Truth, not just what someone wanted to hear? Can I rejoice in suffering, when what I think is rightly mine, is taken by a just and sovereign God? I knew all this, but I had begun to take it lightly. We are pulled from the flames of hell, redeemed and set free by a brutal death on a cross and clothed in heavenly righteousness. How can I ever take that lightly? A Love far greater than anything I could return? Yet I was treading softly down the well-worn path of neutral Christianity.

My worship was indeed sick; not dying or dead but just sick enough to make me useless, just like the fever that haunted me for six days, wearing me out, weakening my reserve. I still functioned, but I was hollow and ineffective. Salt without saltiness, a flame without warmth.

“Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one–the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts,…” ― C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

I thank God for His warning, that He loves us enough to say, “STOP!” Since that day, I’ve noticed all the places where I can worship Him “in spirit and in truth,” not just in lip-service and the “dont’s”. At work, when a patient’s call light is on again, at home, when my husband who never asks needs to know how much I love him, or looking at the night sky studded with every star my God has named. Funny – once I started looking for places to worship Him, my joy returned. Playing the piano, walking the dog, talking to Jesus before I close my eyes at night. I feel renewed, and so very loved. Thanks, Lord, for pulling me back in, close to You.

Because Your lovingkindness is better than life,
My lips shall praise You.
Thus I will bless You while I live;
I will lift up my hands in Your name.
When I remember You on my bed,
I meditate on You in the night watches.
Because You have been my help,
Therefore in the shadow of Your wings I will rejoice. Psalm 63:3-7

July 25, 2018

Color-Coded Chaos

Will finished his cigarette and took one last look around his yard, his house then grabbed his cooler and shoved it into the back of his black pickup and rode off. I could see him through my sunroom window where I pray every morning, through the thin layer of cedar and maple that separates our two homes. When you live so close, you either love your neighbor or, if you’re a Christian you “have to” love your neighbor. My husband and I did both, for six years, and in return I think Will liked us and may have even been a little sad saying goodbye.

Now my own life is changing, that much I know. In my excitement, I’ve started way too many things at once and I wake up exhausted. I’m not even working.

“Hi honey! What did you do today?” my husband asks when he comes in from a day of building things, caked in saw dust and sweat.

“Oh, I was working on the non-profit/ book stuff/coaching website,” whatever the case may be. And he nods respectfully even though I could be creating Frankenstein in the basement for all he knows. In a way I wish I was because I’d have something to show for hours of labor each day. But nothing. Just dreams that make more dreams.

Will was the best-ever neighbor. He watched our house when we were gone, rescuing all of my plants on the sun porch last winter when the temperature hit a numbing six degrees. He even watched our house when we were home, sending my husband text alerts about suspicious activity in the street. Once he saw me walking my dog at night past his house.

“You should be careful here at night,” he warned.

“I’m okay,” I assured him. “I have a big dog.”

“I have a big gun if you ever want to borrow it,” he offered with a smile.

Now looking over to his empty house is like looking at a corpse in a casket. He’s not there so it’s just a house, swept clean and echo-ey. Last night my husband and I prayed for good neighbors, maybe ones that we could point to Jesus. We tried with Will, inviting him to church many times.

“The church would burn down,” he responded. Or he would wave his can of Budweiser at us and yell, “I’m too drunk!” But I have hope for Will as he heads to his new home high in the Vermont mountains. God speaks through His creation and I believe our good neighbor will hear.

I’m in a season of transitions and I’ve always had a hard time separating things. Same with when I lose someone close. It’s like the whole weight of everyone I’ve loved and lost bears down on me and I’m crushed. My son Miles and his wife and children just packed up their lives and left their home of seven years in North Carolina, to begin a new life in Malaysia.

“Malaysia? ” people say, with their faces twisted up in shock. “How long are they going to live in Malaysia?” I think only God knows that answer. It’s far, it sounds crazy but that’s how following Jesus often looks. And they are all ecstatic.

They visited us on the Cape before they left. And to complete my joy, my other two grandsons were here at the same time. Balls, trucks, beach buckets and books lined every foot path inside and out. Joyful chaos. Then it was time for goodbye. As they pulled out of the driveway a small hand pressed against the back window, then they were gone. I know now why my mom hated goodbyes.

See I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the desert. Isaiah 43:19

A knife, a grenade and three crayons. I move methodically around the room, eyes to the floor that is strewn with the last remnants of my grandchildren’s busy worlds. The big stuffed teddy bear that Leo dragged around the house and yard with him had to go back in the Celtics can with his other buddies. Pipe cleaners, Popsicle sticks and the glue my granddaughters used for the odd jeweled raft they created that was semi-stuck to the small play table, were sorted back to their shoeboxes. I sighed. These kids utterly wear me out in such a glorious way. The bubbles go up high on a shelf and I turn to scan the room, still and quiet. Curious George, missing an eye, winks at me as I turn and go back to my grown-up world.

I wish my life was as easy to sort as that play room. Career up on a shelf, people close to my heart that I know God wants me to spend time with – maybe they can sit next to Curious George and chat while they wait for me look up from my laptop. The book, speaking invitations stacked neatly in predictable color-coded boxes. Just yesterday I stared at all the messages I had flagged in my mailbox, wondering why they were so disorganized and then it hit me. They were organized by color flag. Only I had picked a random color each time I flagged one.

“Oh purple looks cute! I’ll flag that purple!” Not a clue that there was an opportunity for some order.

But maybe, just maybe, I am exactly the way God intended me to be – the same girl that danced on the desktops to break up the monotony of a 2nd grade classroom. Jesus is probably shaking his head at my mess and thinking it would be a good thing if I could sort it all out a little more, and He would help me, no doubt.

“God is not a God of chaos,” I’ve heard over the pulpit more than once. And it’s true. But I think He’d rather have us doing something, than just being like Will’s house. Empty and echo-ey.

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Renewed day by day. I like that, no, I need that. Yes, there is much to do. Maybe Jesus can help me color-code my dreams. Or we can build a jeweled raft and try not to glue it to the table.

“Hi honey! What did you do today?” my husband will ask.

And for once, I’ll have something to show him.

May 10, 2018

The Top Ten Things Mama Taught Me

Manners. I hated learning them and I was the only girl north of Baltimore who knew how to curtsy. I was banished from many meals, red with shame for “smacking my lips” or slipping an elbow onto the table. It was often absurd and out of touch, but included in that package was learning to respect those folks older and usually smarter, and learning to be gracious with the ungracious. Poise. It’s an old fashioned ideology.
How to make the best southern biscuit in the world. Sorry, I’d have to kill you if I told you, and besides it’s learned, not taught. Just stay close by, I’ll give you some warm out of the oven, soft as Gabriel’s pillow.
Every time you say “I can’t,” substitute it with “I don’t want to.” Dang, she was right again. Every time.
The only time it’s okay to lie is when someone gets a bad hairdo.
The only time it’s okay to be rude is when someone talks too much. Oh and she showed us how all right…
Swearing is a lazy use of language. There are more creative ways to express yourself.
Life is short – eat french fries and milkshakes.
There is no sorrow like losing a child – you will not get over it, and that’s okay.
People can be jackasses (her word), but refer back to #1.
“Motherhood is self-defeating; the only way you succeed is to let go.”

My mom is in heaven now, finally reunited with a son and a grandson. I don’t think she would’ve called herself a great mother but let’s be real – we are winging it, especially when they’re teens. Love really does cover a multitude of sins, because Love is gracious, just like my mom taught me. Only God’s love is perfect, but a mom’s comes pretty close. Happy Mother’s Day to all of you beautiful moms out there!

My grandson Eli presenting a rose to his mom.

March 5, 2018

Just a Dog (Not a Dog Spelled Backwards)

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. Ecclesiastes 3:11 NLT

Georgia is a dog.

Georgia is my new dog. She’s as sweet as a Georgia peach in June and already loves me, but I’m pretty sure it’s because I feed her, pet her and take her for walks. In other words, she’s just a dog. She’s not my child, so please don’t call me her parent. Her parents are two dogs of an undetermined, un-designer mix, which I shouldn’t have to explain.

I’ve noticed a trend in several areas of our culture where we are shifting our natural affections for weird ones, hence the crop of doggy shops that are abounding. Don’t tell me we are in a recession if stores like Bloomingtails or Posh Puppy Boutique prosper. Women at work whip out their phones to show pictures of their “grand-dogs.” This new obsession has been tagged “replacement – syndrome,” a mostly millennial craze which grossed 4 billion last year on such pet essentials as strollers and pet-slings. One article I read showed a young man licking his cat with a rubber tongue.

I am not without compassion. We yearn for what we feel we should have but don’t. Ever since I put down my sweet Rosie two years ago I have been perusing the internet for a new friend, “one with four feet” as my son Jake announced when he was five and tired of burying goldfish. It seems like a simple prerequisite but I soon learned that the world of dog ownership has morphed into an exclusive culture. Even if you can afford $2000 for a purebred, you may not be worthy of one.

I began to wonder if I was a good enough human to adopt a mutt. One turned me away scornfully when I told them, yes, I did have to work. Finally I found Georgia, named after her birthplace. I was sweating the adoption a little because I don’t let my pets on the furniture to “snuggle” – I don’t care if it is their forever home, they will be forever on the floor. And if they need a bath there’s the garden hose, although they get the senior fluff and puff at Petsmart should they live that long. But the southern rescue that released her to me didn’t sound like they cared about that. Different culture. I doubt they have a Bloomingtails.

Longing. Barren women fasten upon a pregnant mother or a newborn cry. Yearning for approval is soothed by a bunch of letters after a name or the accouterments of a fat paycheck. The bottle of wine brings a reliable comfort, so does the little pill for “my anxiety,” as my patients refer to it. Or maybe it’s the boy/girlfriend that really, really loves you…for now. C.S. Lewis wrote:

“The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things – the beauty, the memory of our own past – are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.”

Solomon wisely noted that eternity is planted in each human heart. We instinctively long for what we can’t see. So we fashion a substitute, a golden calf. We lose hope, or just patience. The gifts which God delights in giving to His children become objects of worship or even worse, discarded as cheap arcade tokens. We want more, bigger, shinier and a short cut to get it. The longing becomes bondage.

And my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:9

His riches in glory. Eternal life. Heaven. If you are a Christian, then you know this is not our home. We are sojourners, so we travel light and hold everything loosely, especially pets. I have learned that even the things we think are secure may not be. Anyone who has picked out their child’s casket will agree. We know there is more than this, but we can learn to love the gifts He has placed within our reach today. And be grateful.

If you are not a Christian, then think about the longing. God put that there. You are really longing to know Him, the one who tenderly formed you. That’s exactly why Jesus came.

I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;^[a]
Marvelous are Your works,
And that my soul knows very well. Psalm 139:14

I found this on Amazon while I was looking for a ball for Georgia that she couldn’t eat:

Furbo Dog Camera: Treat Tossing, Full HD Wifi Pet Camera and 2-Way Audio, Designed for Dogs, Works with Amazon Alexa (As Seen On Ellen)

For $249, you can watch your dog on your smartphone while you’re busy at work, which you need to do a lot of because you spent $2500 for the dog and it costs another $150 a week just to keep her in doggy daycare, then there’s the toys, the accessories and the pet insurance. Furbo even spits out treats for Fido, and it has a 2-way chat and bark alert. I’m hoping it’s really a one-way chat and one-way bark. Be real. Almost 2000 people have given it four stars and it works with Alexa.

I’m glad I have a new dog. I love my dogs and I have even suggested getting a dog to people who are profoundly grieved. They are simple and loyal creatures, an oasis of comfort when the rest of the world seems too harsh and complex. I marvel daily at God’s glorious creation, from dogs to daffodils, which are pushing through the cold dirt right now. As I look around me, I am blessed. But this is not home; the best is yet to come.

So do not be dismayed! If you have a Furbo and a Designer Dog but still feel like something’s missing, you’re right! Jesus is saying, Hey, this way! Once you know the Creator, then all of creation makes perfect sense. And you can freely love those around you, even your pets.

“I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” – Jesus

Thanks Jesus, for a new dog, for making the journey through this life a little sweeter. You think of everything.

February 13, 2018

Love Lessons From Jail

“First Corinthians 13…”

I’m opening a small Bible that I brought to give to one of the inmates.

“Where is that?” Jessica asks.

“It’s right here.” I push the Bible towards her, keeping my finger on the page.

Kara glares at her from across the table. It’s her Bible after all. I just gave it to her. Jessica grabs my pen and starts to mark the page.

“Do you mind if I make a little mark here? Just so I can find it?” Jessica doesn’t even look up.

Kara leans forward, starts to say something but stops. She looks exhausted, her hair is a matted mess like she’s been sleeping in the woods, but I catch a little fire in her eyes, then she sits back, shaking her head. She’s too tired to care. “No, it’s alright,” she says softly even though Jessica has already underlined the chapter number, a small mark that she won’t ever look for.

I want to check my watch but I don’t want them to think, no, to know that I am tired too. I stand and walk back over to the whiteboard.

Love is patient…

The topic is Love tonight at the jail. I picked it – it’s February after all. I realized scrolling through past lessons that I had picked Love last February too, but I can’t remember how it went. Better than this, I bet. It’s an off night. Only three came out, for reasons I can never understand, and sometimes that works for the best. A small group is less intimidating, the girls can open up more and God will help me. But tonight it’s two new girls and Gail, an older woman who I swear lives here. Her sentence stretches out past the horizon, due to frequent trips to the hole. Someone told me she lived on the streets with “her man.” But it’s been a while.

Love is kind…

I draw two big hearts side by side and write WORLD over one and GOD over the other.

“Tell me what kind of love the world gives,” and I watch their faces twist up in confusion so I reset it. “Ok, what kind of love does God give us?”

“Unconditional,” the girl with the matted hair says flatly.

“Good!” I write it inside the God heart, then write Conditional in big letters in the other heart. Now they get the game. The God heart fills up with Freedom and Forgiveness and the World heart fills with selfishness and shame. I feel like this is too easy so I throw in some Greek.

Eros. Phileo. Agape.

“Agape sounds Indian,” Gail says.

“No it’s Greek,” I correct her, feeling the foolishness of this conversation. I can see her bumming money at the bus station. Hey do you want to hear some Greek? As soon as I tell them that Eros means sensual or sexual love they completely regress to somewhere around fourth or fifth grade. I sit back down, feeling defeated and a tad disgusted.

Love never demands it’s own way.

I’m praying under my breath as I try to rustle the last shreds of my lesson together. Gail senses my despondency.

“I can be mean sometimes,” she says.

“Well, I know you can be sweet sometimes too Gail. ” I’m touched by her honesty. “And I can be mean too.” My words settle like pretty snowflakes.

Then Gail says, “I wish a was a bird. A big bird.” I wonder where she’s going but I want to think of David writing a psalm about flying away.

Jessica starts to laugh at her. “So you can escape?”

“No, so I can poop on everyone who’s pooped on me.” By now Jessica is sputtering and turning red, and falling into Gail.

Love bears all things…

“Then you want to be a horse!” as she demonstrates the size of horse manure with her hands. Kara is silent, her face expressionless and it occurs to me she may be withdrawing form something. Or very medicated.

“Ok guys, back to love.” They stop laughing and look up. I feel like the kind of teacher I couldn’t stand. Dull. A droning voice. Even my notes wonder what I’m doing.

Jesus made a point of showing us over and over that what we thought we had was beside the point. Five fish. Two mites. Or should we just call down fire and toast them all? I remember one time when my husband and I were pastoring that I confessed to my mother that I felt like telling everyone to go to hell. She thought that was terrific. But it wasn’t – it was a screaming indication that I was spiritually bankrupt. I was sitting at the piano smiling every Sunday, embracing women I considered faithless and teaching their little demons about Jesus in the cold basement. Apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15:5) Oh yeah, I forgot. Again.

An exasperated Jesus asks his disciples, “Are you being willfully stupid?” (Matthew 15:16, MSG) They weren’t getting it. Neither was I, trying to love what i thought was worth it, with a small love that I manufactured for my own benefit. And here I was again; a teacher trying to teach something that I understood but didn’t really know. I forgot AGAIN.

Love hopes all things..

“Do you want to know why I’m here?” They are silent. “I’m here because I love you.” The words come out soft and I am as surprised as they are. Yes, that’s it.

“I’m here because Jesus loves me. I don’t deserve it, but He does and He’s put His love in me. That’s why I’m here. Because I love you. And Jesus loves you.”

Kara looks up from the table, her eyes searching. Jessica and Gail are looking straight at me, and I know I saw just a small flash of hope, like a shooting star.

Love rejoices in the truth.

As I drove home that night I prayed for Kara and Jessica and Gail. I knew that despite my dumb lesson in Greek, that the Holy Spirit was able to take my notes and breathe upon them – to feed 5,000 with two loves of bread, to feed three women with the feeble prayers of another woman who knows what it’s like to be held captive, without hope, then set really free. And He is still able to teach an old teacher a new lesson in Love – even when I’m willfully stupid. It just takes a spark, a small spark of humility and a flash of hope. That’s all He really needs.

Love never fails.

*** All names have been changed, except Jesus.

(All Love scripture from 1 Corinthians 13, NKJV)