Yikes!  It doesn't take much to get the stress levels rising these days.  Just waking up to check the weather turns into newsfeed streams of protests, natural disasters, COVID and other hot topics that seem to drag one into a spiral that leads to despair.  

Yesterday I went to the Dermatologist.  I wanted a very unsightly skin tag (insert gag here) removed before I leave for vacation.  We are taking our two youngest to a place in the country to do nothing but swim.  Hence, the need for the dreaded ST (can't even say the word) to find it's way into the rubbish bin in my Dermatologists office and no longer dangling from my body in a  place where one can see the nasty little thing near the strap of my bathing suit.  Trust me - it's not pretty.  Enough said.

My plan:

1.  Wear a sleeveless shirt so Herr Doctor could look at the awful ST, remove it, and discard it all without me having to remove my blouse.
2.  Leave feeling like a rock star.

What really happened:

1.  I forgot to wear a sleeveless shirt.  Hence, the removing of it ensued.
2.  Upon the removal of said shirt, my Doctor immediately by-passed the ST that I was so focused on only to be mesmerized by another "spot" on my back.
3.  No words, but a quick looking over the spot with some weird looking bifocal thingy led him to ask me how long that spot had been there.  Hello?  I'ts on my back; I had no idea.
4.  He proceeds to explain that ST will not be removed today (really?) because the spot on my back is - in his opinion - first stage melanoma.  So concerned about this pesky little spot he proceeds to give me statistics about his professional track record.  Apparently, he has had only one case in the last 5 years that he has felt confident enough to diagnose without a lab result.  I was the one.
5.  I stopped him.  At this point we had been speaking German so I asked if we could switch to English to make sure I was getting all that he was rather excitedly saying.
6.  He then asked me what my plans were for the next two weeks, explaining that only lab results would affirm his diagnosis.  He would need to do a surgical procedure to remove the affect area.  My wound could not be wet for the next 2 weeks.  Follow up would be needed.
7.  I explained our plans for a water park vacation and then after a quick turn-a-round we would be leaving for the U.S but would return August 3.
8.  He had no intention of me leaving the office without having the procedure done.  He was insistent.   So much for the water park next week.
9.  The next thing I knew I was signing a document (in German) stating my approval of the medical procure, was ushered into the sterile operating room, was asked if his nurse could come in and view the spot.  Apparently she was new and he wanted to show her a classic case of first-stage melanoma.  Yippee.  Lucky me!
10.  Anesthesia administered, cutting began, stitches followed, and minutes later I was back at my apartment (I live right across the street from the office).

Whew!

We had people coming over for a planning meeting and dinner needed to be prepared and issues needed to be discussed.  Afterwards, my group of friends and I headed to a local ice cream shop for my favorite seasonal delight within walking distance.  And then they left and I walked home.

Alone with my thoughts, I let the events of the doctors office unfold in my mind and tumble out into the air.  It's then I realized how unprepared I was for the turn of events that had only hours earlier transpired.  I had had a plan.  My plan got shoved into the background and I had no control over the circumstances.  It took me by surprise.  It shook me a bit.  "God, I wasn't planning on this.  Everything changed so quickly."

It's then I heard HIM say, "I know, but I never change."

It could have been another doctor with another cancer diagnosis like dear friends have recently experienced.  It could have been something to loose some sleep over.  It could have been - worse.  It could have been any number of things - all of which I wasn't expecting.

I felt small and God felt big.  Real big. And then I felt grateful.  It's just a spot of skin cancer.

Oh that we may know the futility of our plans.  God is always in control.  We say it - often with conviction.  We mean it - when it happens to others.  We recommend it - as a way of doing life.  But - when things out of our control happen to us - and we somehow didn't see it coming - semantics become different in our minds.  Its then we must discover what we really believe and Who is really in control.

Yesterday, as I sat on the operating table while my Dermatologist cut the spot out of my back, I had dialogue with the Holy Spirit.  I wasn't freaked out.  I wasn't challenged to believe this was not God's plan for me.  I was just - small.  Small thinking keeps you always sure your plans are "your plans".  Somethings it takes a spot of skin cancer to remind you.

Still sporting my SG,
Chrisitna

Yesterday as I walked to my neighborhood grocery store, I kept hearing a loud bellow.  At first I thought it could have been an animal for it sounded so primal.  Then, as I noticed groups of students walking out of a near by business school, I thought that perhaps a few of them were acting silly - hence the sounds.  However they were looking in the same direction ... we were all strangely drawn toward the awful bellowing.

After I rounded the corner from my cozy little side street onto the main road, I caught a glimpse of the Sound Maker.  A young man, in his early twenties, visibly stricken with some sort of mental illness.  Immediately I began to pray.  What was my role?  What did God want me to do ... say ... be in this situation.

I began walking toward the Sound Maker.  He would be stirred by some sort of invisible irritation, begin to wildly shake his head, and then pound his fists into his mouth that had begun to bleed.  I felt a maternal need to protect this young man.

As I crossed the street in my effort to get closer to Sound Maker, I noticed a middle-aged man watching him, trailing him, following his every move.  In German, I asked him if he knew this young man.  He turned and looked at me with eyes that were hollow and tired.  He knew him.   I'm assuming the tired eyes belonged to Sound Maker's father.   I then asked him if the boy was OK.  He turned to look at me again, and said, "Yes.  He's OK.  It's not OK, but he's OK."  His weariness in those tired eyes spoke more than his three sentences.

I felt released by the Spirit to move on ... but this Sound Maker and middle-aged follower Father stayed in my heart long after their physical bodies left my presence.  All I could do was pray as the Sound Maker continued his bellows .. and the middle-aged follower Father kept a watchful eye on his companion.

I don't know what I'm supposed to "see" in this situation.  At first I see the horror of mental illness ... and continue to pray for the power of the living Christ to miraculously heal this Sound Maker.

Then, I keep seeing the eyes of the follower Father.  Eyes that were focused on the one in distress, following close enough to intervene but far enough to let him wander.  It's here I keep landing ... seeing myself as the Sound Maker.  Too often I have struggled and faced my invisible irritations alone ... letting out primal sounds of distress while my following Father kept His watchful eye on me.  How did I not see His watchful eye?

Thank God I know now the nearness and closeness of a loving Father who has turned my bellow from a primal scream for help to a joyful song of gratitude for what I now have with Him.  And yet, there is a haunting that lingers deep inside me this morning.  I can't keep from wondering about Sound Maker.  How many people are like Sound Maker?  They don't shake their heads wildly or let out primal screams or shove fists into bloody mouths.  They are well-dressed, put together, maintain jobs, attend conferences, study, mother, and most frightening ... perhaps attend church.  Yet, inside ... they are just like Sound Maker.  They cry out from hurts or lostness or faintness of soul.  Oh that they find the eyes ... no ... that they turn around and see the eyes of a following Father ... and run into His arms and find all they need.

hearing bellows,
christina

This week I had a profound experience.  As Libby and I sat down to do her homework, she declared that we needed to begin with prayer.  She led the holy words to a loving Father.  As her language of an 11 year-old drifted from vocal chords into the ready ears of God, I sat in awe.  It was a holy moment.

My Libby taught me a whole lot about total dependence on God.  Before we tackled graphs and charts, vocab words, and reading summaries, her soul knew the importance of aligning itself to the true source of all Wisdom and Insight.  She knew only God would give her Momma patience.  She knew only God could diffuse what tends to be a stressful time.

My Libby is not perfect.  Her performance is not perfect.  However, in that tiny moment that she appealed to the Creator and I had the profound opportunity to be present as she petitioned Him ... it revealed a heart that is PERFECT in her position as His child.  She knows from where her strength comes from.

Oh my word ... the things He allows me to learn.

grateful for an 11 year-old teacher,
christina

I love feet.  I especially love summer feet.  Summer feet make great pictures.

I've just finished reading a book entitled, The God I Never Knew, by Robert Morris.  In the last chapter, he tells a story of a poor man in Eastern Europe during the early 1900's.  Seeking a new life in the land of promise, America, he boards a ship to find his dream.  Leaving his family behind and  having no extra money for extravagances like food, he begins his journey with a knapsack of cheese and crackers.

Nightly, he watches as other passengers file into the dining room, enjoying the warm meals that were served.  Knowing he was not able to afford such meals, he retired to his tiny room and ate his cheese and crackers.

Finally, after the 12th day at sea, the Statue of Liberty came into focus on the horizon.  As this poor man stood among the other passengers gazing at their symbol of a new life, a ship steward recognized the man.  Sheepishly the steward asked the man why he had not taken any of his meals with the other passengers.  He didn't mean to pry, but wondered why he gave up the meals that were included in the cost of his ticket.

"We set a place for you at every meal, bu you never came."

Mr. Morris makes a comment after the retelling of this story:

"The opportunity for blessing and provision on his journey had been forever missed."

The poor man didn't know that his meals were covered.  He sacrificed hot meals for crackers and cheese.  He longed for what he saw provided to others and never knew it was offered to him as well.

How about us ... we who say we know God.  God has so much more in store for us than a "cheese and crackers" religion.  It's not about going to church, being good, obeying rules.  Saying "yes" to a relationship with God offers us so much more yet the average Christian, I believe, is saying "I'll stick to the cheese and crackers, thank you."

Fear, preconceived ideas, traditions, unrealistic expectations drive us to tiny rooms that only offer cheese and crackers.  What God - Almighty, Loving and Gracious - has for us is meals in the dining room!  Dare we step out, set aside the cheese and crackers, and enjoy?

throwing away crumbs for more,
christina

Lunch with a friend turned into another story about another church that had hurt someone.  Familiar story.  I left with my stomach full and my heart sick.

I love God.  I believe HE gave His son, Jesus, to die on the cross to pay a debt that I could not owe - my own sin.  I believe that a life committed to Jesus, living in the power of the Holy Spirit, is the greatest, most rebellious, most adventures ride of my life.  I also believe in "the church" ... those who follow after Jesus.  I believe "the church" to be the picture of love.

Having said all that, I am sick.  I am sick that another group of people gathering under a cross and calling themselves a church has eaten another of their young.  What a picture we paint of what it means to be "religious".

I'm tired of this scenario.  I'm pretty sure God must be, too.  The Bible says that the truth will set us free.  Yet, for many of us who have a membership to a religious building, it costs too much and there is no freedom.

I want to say to those who don't fit into the church scene, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry that there are so few examples of what a body ... what a unified and loving group of people who say they love God and follow Jesus ... looks like.  Dare I say there are lots of good people attending buildings on Sunday mornings.  Dare I say there are few committed, truth seeking, giving their lives up only to find their lives groups of people sharing what it means to follow God ... but they do exist.  Take heart!  We are out there!

I want to say don't judge God based on bad examples.  Judge God on His merit, not the merit of those who follow after rules, standards, and man-made traditions that pale in reflecting Almighty God, giver of Life and Freedom and Power.

Ranting about things that matter,
christina

Being in America, one must have a car.  Having children who must be one place or the other, groceries that need to be purchased, meetings that have to be attended and other life kind of stuff ... you just gotta have wheels. 

Since our being here is a temporary thing we didn't want to buy something and then have to sell it before heading back.  We have been using a van that has been on loan to us.  We are so thankful for the transportation and soon the loan period is coming to and end.

This week, I was talking to God about our need.  I felt very peaceful despite no evidence of seeing another car in the driveway.  I just felt Him saying, "Don't worry.  I've got this."  So, I took a deep breath and decided I felt more peaceful trusting God than myself.  Check that worry off the list.  He said He has it.

Friday morning (4/11) my Chris went to the gym.  As he pulled into the parking lot, noticing all the cars parked in neatly marked spaces, he was reminded of our need for a car.  Admitting this was a bit of a stresser, he decided in his heart to trust God as he spoke the request to a Father he knows cares about his every need.

He came home sweaty from his workout and plopped down in the chair in the living room.  We began to chat about the rest of the day when the phone rang.  Chris answered and I could tell he knew the caller on the other end of the line.  In a few minutes, I pieced together some of the conversation based on Chris' part of the dialogue.  In short, we have a new car to use.  A long-time friend heard of our need and he had an "extra" car just waiting in the wings.

When I read the Bible, I sometimes scratch my head over things like water being turned into wine, crippled men being told to stand on new legs, blind eyes being told to open to 20/20 vision, Sea's being parted to allow travelers to walk on dry ground ... miracles (scratch, scratch).

Today, when I think about our car that now sits in the driveway, I giggle.  God did another miracle (scratch, scratch).  Following God is not for the faint of heart. For us ... a problem is elevated to the degree we can provide a solution.  When it's answered in a way we couldn't not image ... it's SHAZAMM.  For God ... it's just His way.  Miracles.

Scratching my head at my own miracle,
christina

 

This morning as my Chris and I were touching base about the day, I asked him if he read my blog yesterday.  He did and then said ... "but you got it wrong.  The salt in the oats bring the horses to the water!"  OOOOOhhhhhhh!  Now that's a different story all together!

The salt drys the mouth, draws the horse to a place of needing water, and the water does the work of refreshment.  Sit on that for a while!

Where is the salt in my love, my words, my actions, my heart that draws others to  a place of needing water ... a place of needing more to satisfy their quench for heart healing, questions to be answered, discovering more about Who I follow?  And how willing am I to lead them not to myself, my strategy for life, a good book, or anything else attached to ... well ... me ... but to the real source of all life - Jesus Christ?!

You see, I am still digging for more!!  More of what gives me life and hope and power and makes my life less and less about me and more and more about One Greater!!!

Where I become less, His power - His attraction -  becomes greater.  I am only salt.  But He ... He is the water!!  And that, my friends, was a discovery about the person of Jesus from the Holy Spirit!

The treasure hunt has just begun,
christina

One in five Americans say religion does not play an important role in their lives, a new NBC/WSJ journal poll shows – the highest percentage since the poll began asking participants about their focus on faith in 1997. (http://www.nbcnews.com/politics/politics-news/losing-faith-21-percent-say-religion-not-important-n51256).

This lover of words looked at the meaning of the word "religion":

  

For anyone who knows me well, having time to myself ... to think, write, read, study, ponder, daydream, be still ... is priceless.  I have a loose ritual that I go through to settle my mind and heart.  I usually grab my coffee cup (I have two favorites) and a little notebook that is a bit tattered.  I grab a colored pen (another favorite) and I jot down things that come to my mind that I can truly be thankful for ... a goodnight kiss from my 14 year-old, an irritating email that caused me to trust God more than myself, a surprise phone call and invitation to lunch.  Then, I wander over to a book a dear friend gave me years ago (see above).  It's rare that I want to copy other people's work in my blog, because this forum is all about me ... my work (Sarcastic tone can be inserted here.)  However, this morning, I find the words of author Sarah Young too good to be passed by.  Therefore, feast your eyes ... and if you dare ... your heart on her words from today's entry:

Worship ME only.  Whatever occupies your mind the most becomes your god.  Worries, if indulged, develop into idols.  Anxiety gains a life of its own,parasitically infesting your mind.  Break free from this bondage by affirming your trust in ME and refreshing yourself in MY Presence.  What goes on in your mind is invisible, undetectable to other people.  But I read your thoughts continually, searching for evidence o ftrust in ME.  I rejoice when your mind turns toward ME.  Guard your thoughts diligently; good thought choices will keep you close to ME.

What I adore about the aging process is not the saggy chin - and other body parts - but the wisdom that seems to settle nice and cozy in my brain like a good cup of Java.  I've spent too many years saying I love and worship God ... Creator ... Almighty ... while my behavior said otherwise.  My behavior said I have to plot, plan, worry and research options in my life, run them by God, then move forward hoping for the best.

In this phase of my life, I am trying to assume a position of quietness.  I'm learning to worship - perhaps for the first time - GOD.  God says to trust.  When I do any action based on  my own fear, worry, stress, knowledge ... I am worshipping ... me.  And can I say, it's so easy to worship me?!  I often make more sense!  I often have a plan that can be checked off the list.  I often have something to show for my actions, making me and others impressed.

When I choose to worship God, things get sticky.  He tells me to trust ... to wait ... to be silent ... to not retaliate ... to listen ... to allow Him to work ... to most often do things that make no sense to any other being on planet earth.  It's hard to swallow, this kind of worship.  It often doesn't make me feel good.  It often doesn't make me look good.  And then, that's it ... isn't it.  It doesn't become about me ... it becomes about the object of my worship.

it's not about me ...
christina

There are a lot of lies running around:  one size fits all, wait 30 minutes after you eat before you go swimming, swallowing a watermelon seed will cause another watermelon to grow in your belly ... jadda, jadda.

So, as a person who has chosen to listen to and follow Jesus, I've somehow listened to a lie that because I know Jesus, troubles should roll off my back as I trip the light fantastic as if a character in Pollyanna.  This morning, as I sit at my table, the Book open ... I find that to be ... untrue.  Lie exposed.

I read the following from a guy named David (King, Man after God's own heart, Author) ... I am laid low in the dust ... My soul is weary with sorrow.

Hmmm.  David had a spot of trouble.  It may have eventually rolled off his back ... but it sounds like it was a long time before he tripped any light fantastic or signed on for a roll in Pollyanna.  He felt it. he got emotional.

You must read an excerpt from the book I mentioned yesterday, 90 Days of Gods Goodness by Randy Alcorn:

If abuse, rape, desertion, paralysis, debilitating disease, or the loss of a loved one has devastated you, then the issue of evil and suffering isn't merely theoretical, philosophical, or theological.  It's deeply personal.  Logical arguments won't satisfy you; in fact, they might offend you.  You need help with the emotional problem of evil, not merely the logical problem of evil.  Like children at times, each of us must snuggle into our Father's arms, and there receive the comfort we need. (pg. 12)

That's what I've realized in my "Shazam" moment.  I have beaten myself up for feeling hurt, evil, trouble feeling somehow I am not the follower I thought I was or should be.  The beautiful truth is ... that as I follow Jesus, there will be trouble.  I can feel it .. I can feel disturbed and weary ... but because of Jesus and His power in my life ... in any life ... I don't have to stay there! I can move forward ... snuggle into my Father's arms!

Getting ready to snuggle,
christina

P.S.  I would love some feedback from you on how you deal with the problem of hurt ... of how God has snuggled you!

In this grief process I've sensed the need to be really, really focused on the goodness of God.  Aren't there a lot of messages out there about who God is?  I don't need my hurt heart to write its' own version of who I think God is ... or is not.  What I need is for God to show me who He is.

Wandering a bookstore, noticing that all the "bargain books" were yet an additional 25% off the already low, low price, I prayed.  I prayed that if there was a book I was to read, God would show me.  I saw lots of intriguing titles ... but then my eyes fell on the one I took home as my own.  The title:  90 Days of God's Goodness by Randy Alcorn.

I've read 2 days worth of God's goodness.  Goodness comes out of hardship.  I can trust a loving God to bring me through a crummy event and ... make ... me ... better.  Pretty amazing.  I'm gonna keep reading.  Two days is not long enough to establish a default in my thinking that ... God.is.good.  But, I know I'm on the right road!!!

reading,
christina

I'm tired.  It comes and goes.  Sometimes the tired makes me jog.  Sometimes the tired makes me cry.  Sometimes it makes me just sit outside a really long time.  Sometimes it forces me to sleep late.  Sometimes it makes me want to run away.  Sometimes it makes me want to savor the moment.  Most times, it drives me to my knees.

I'm finding that tiredness forces things to the surface.  These surface things are complicated.  These surface things often take me off guard.  What I'm learning is I need  help to navigate the "tired".



I have felt alone.  However, one shift of thought is all it takes to see those that God has hand-picked to be in my life.  It's like "the three" that were given to David (2 Samuel 23).  I read this in my Book this morning.  It struck me.  David, according to the Hebrew verb, began to have an excessive desire for water.  I'll let you read the context in which he found himself.  His need was for water from a place that was familiar.  He was in hiding.  He was in danger.  These "three" broke through enemy lines ... for water ... for their friend.

Powerful.

I'm visual so I have to think of news footage in Syria ... and imagine me in that setting.  These "three" risked their lives to get something they knew would comfort their friend, David.  Their desire was to bring something of value to their friend in a time of great and lofty need.

Through my tiredness, I've been given the gift of "three" who have done this for me.  It's a powerful thing, to be loved so well.

Here's the kicker.  When the "three" brought this precious commodity back to David ... he could not drink it.  In fact he says, "the Lord forbid that I should drink this!  This water is as precious as the blood of these men who risked their lives to bring it to me."

What my ... our (me and my Chris) ... "three" have given to us in our tiredness is ... as ... precious ... as ... blood.  How do you say thank you for that?

And, just so you'll know ... I'm still counting my gifts ... in my tiredness.

#127.  Watching a movie on a weeknight.


tired but counting,
christina

My girls are as different from one another as three, distinct, unique snowflakes.  Each a masterpiece.  Each a mix of x and y chromosomes that fashion little women that are ... amazing.  Leader.  Toucher.  Teller.  Put them together and they are a force to be reckoned with ... truly.


This morning I had an encounter with my Toucher.  I know she likes it when I just am ... there.  Usually preferring for me not to talk but just "be" with her.  She was putting the final touches to a flawless face.  Looking eye to eye in the mirror when did this awkward toddler become a ... woman?

I picked at a long, blond hair that was clinging to her t-shirt.  That's what triggered my Toucher to talk.  When this happens ears perk and I listen.

"Do you remember when I was little, I used to take one piece of your hair when you would tuck me in at night?  I took your hair so I could have a piece of you while I slept."

World rocks.

It rocks because of the tenderness.  It also rocks because I don't remember this!  Typical Toucher.  She probably did this without any words and obviously without any recognition on my part of the DNA transaction.

As I am making my list, counting to 1,000 (see Sept. 14th Post) my Toucher reminded me this morning that I am holding onto pieces of hair ... in the form of simple gifts ... as a reminder ... that the One who loves me more than I can wrap a human mind around ... gives of Himself ... everyday ... parts of Himself to me.  One day a warm muffin.  One day a call at just the right moment.  One day a moment of words from my Toucher.  All gifts.  All in the midst of normal life ... be it smooth or rough.

Counting on ...

Small acts.  Random.  Perhaps odd.  Simple.  Yet, without consciously looking for them ... looking for ways to express joy in the midst of real, normal life ... they go unnoticed.  I'm discovering a power in the speaking of normal things as gifts that seem ... holy.

I've become accustomed to sitting outside at an ordinary metal garden table.  It sits stable on a slab of concrete overlooking green yard.  To me, it's become my sanctuary (#12).  While I sit, sip my coffee, and read my Book ... and underline principles ... this One I am pursuing gave me a most precious gift.

It's not the prayers of removing the pain and hurt ... and me doing so ... that are the miracles.  The miracles are me not removing the pain and hurt ... and you being able to see the beauty right smack dab in the middle of it.  That, my sweet girl, is the miracle.

God can.  He can remove, shatter, destroy, raise up, tear down, rearrange, explode, shift, transform.  That is a miracle.  But, because He is wise, and removing, shattering, destroying, raising up, tearing down, rearranging, exploding, shifting, or transforming may not be the answer ... yet ... a bigger miracle takes place when I can utter, with honest lips and breaking heart, thanks ... right smack dab in the middle of it.  That's when God rumbles my heart ... reminding me that He is right there ... right in the middle of the hurt and yuck ... and transforming me to see the beautiful.  Breathtaking.

Still counting,
Christina

Since being back, I've gotten some impressions of who others think God to be.  I find them all interesting ... fascinating ... down right breathtaking.  Since I love words, I love how others use their words to put into concrete the vague emotion about a Creator.  Here are some of them:

I think He's out there, I just can't trust Him.
He has shown me something.
I haven't talked with Him much.
I don't know if there is a God.
What has He done for me?
He has done so much for me.

And then, being a person of words, I like to pick up on the feelings, sentiments, observations that go unsaid.  The things that linger around in the head.  Things like:

I don't feel Him in my church.
Church seems to much of an obligation.
Religion is fake.
Social club theology.

This excites me.  If something is not growing, morphing, evolving - then it's dead.  This makes me feel that there is a longing ... a real desire ... a movement of wanting to know something more about God.  "Yahoo!" say I ... one who has found God ... and found Him to be a wild adventure.

I don't buy into pop culture theology about God.  I can only tell you of my experience.  I'm pretty sure He has a big smile on His face ... a bit giddy even at the prospect of a generation of humans (that He created by the way) who are searching.  One word and He's there ... ready to show who He really is.

Yesterday Chris spoke at a Heilsarmee (Salvation Army) center.  This is not random.  Chris has been helping a German friend of ours (Martin ... pronounced Marteen) every week at the Heilsarmee.  Our friend has a breakfast and Bible study for men who find themselves in need of the services that the Heilsarmee provides.  Chris has been chief bottle washer and bread gatherer.

However, after some time, it was evident that God was doing something with this little band of wounded men.  Martin and Chris approached the director of the center about doing something ... more.  This week, "Brezeln und Bibel" (Preztels and Bible) begins.  Its goal is to gather men for just "hang out time" and approach life and the questions that follow with real answers from the Bible.

Let me backtrack a little and tell you more about the center.  This is a new facility, open only three years, which contains 60 one-room apartments for men.  These men have varied backgrounds:  drugs, alcohol, and mental illness.  However the one common thread that ties these men together is need.  They have lost jobs, families, self-respect and are in need of a place to stay.  The slogan for the Heilsarmee sums up where these men are in life:  "A man may be down, but not out."  Beautiful.

Despite the modern facility and clean floors, dirty men that smelled of tobacco came to the service yesterday as Chris and Martin shared their vision for the program.  The director, a middle-aged woman with a contagious smile and sturdy hands led us in songs.  I was a bit unnerved.  The men sang loud, off-tune, and some spoke under their breath about things that made no sense.  At one point, a man knelt down and wept silent tears as we sang the words of a German hymn I had never sung before.  One man would randomly ask nonsensical questions of the director as she spoke.  She didn't let his rhetoric faze her as she moved the service forward.

Libby was with us. (The older girls were away for the weekend serving a local missions organization as childcare workers.)  As I watched Libby, she was uncomfortable and nerves.  Before the service began, she and I made our way to the bathroom.  Never one to mince words or hide behind her emotions, she let me know she did not want to stay.  "Why do we have to be here?" I wasn't shocked by her expressions of discomfort.  I was feeling them, too.

I was trying to put on a brave face ... a spiritual face ... but in my heart I had elevated myself above these men, their circumstances, and their plights.  Their dirty fingernails and worn faces only added to my hypocrisy.

As I bent down to my Libby in the bathroom, looked her in the eye, the words that exploded from my mouth were words not so much intended for my 9 year-old recipient ... but for me.  I began to explain to her what Jesus did with "these kind of people" ... he loved them.  I began to tell her what Jesus says about the poor and the needy.  If you have a party and invite only those who can invite you back ... what kind of love does that show?  But what if you have a party, and invited the poor ... knowing they can never repay you for your kindness ... that ... that is true ministry ... true love.  I told her that today was an opportunity for us to show Jesus we love him ... by giving of ourselves to those who aren't shown kindness very often.

I took a deep breath before we headed back to the service ... hoping the words I had just spoken inspired not only my precious daughter that was learning a great life lesson today ... but her Momma, too!

As I began to see these men through different eyes, my heart was overwhelmed with gratitude for what I had been given.  I approached a young man with long curly hair and a jacket that was too many sizes too large for his small body.  He was new to the facility.  When I asked him where he was from ... he paused and had to think of his answer.  Later, I found out that this man who looked more like a lost boy had only been there two days.  The director said this was the first time in a very long time that he had his own place to live ... among people.  It would take some time for him to get used to having running water, his own bed, a door that locked, and regular meals.  I prayed that that he would be the poster child for the motto:  A man may be down ... but not out.

Just when I think I am giving God all of my heart, He so graciously allows me to be in a new situation that opens my eyes ... and heart ... to the true condition of my inner self.

I love books.  Not as much as my friend, Kellye, but ... I do love a good book.  In an effort to divert my mind of German grammar at present, I picked up The Chronicles of Narnia.  I've read the series, years ago, have watched, multiple times, the 3 major motion pictures ... but I longed to refresh my mind with some of the simple, Aslan reminders of a love so deep and passionate between Creator and created.  So, I read The Boy and His Horse.

I love ... love the part when the boy, who has only heard of Aslan, not knowing him to be real or myth, has his first encounter with this illusive character.  It's not thunder and lightning or fireworks and bright flashes ... it just a whisper, a knowing presence.

Then, after the first initial "Oh my goodness you are real" kind of moment the boy, Shasta, has with Aslan ... they just talk.  Actually, Shasta talks ... and talks ... and talks.  He tells Aslan about every hurt in his life ... asks him why certain events happened ... and where was Aslan during all of this.  I love Aslan's answer.  He, the creator of strength and mystery, was there all the time.  He was fear that pushed forward, tenderness that offered a companion during a dark night, director that divinely shifted circumstances toward protection.  Beautiful.  He was right there all along.  Only in looking back could Shasta see this ever-present, ever-working intervention of a tender, strong, fierce and all-knowing ... Aslan.

Too often, I admit ... when I'm not reading a book and I am doing real life, I feel just like Shasta.  I don't take the time to look around me ... to look for the fingerprints of Aslan. ( Now, not to confuse you ... or better yet myself, Aslan is a lion symbol of God.)  They are there ... these fingerprints ... you just need to look for them.

I live in a city where few know, like Shasta before his encounter, there is a Creator who is ever-present and desires to walk alongside them ... listening, whispering their names ... in hopes they stop long enough to notice His presence.  Just as Shasta could do nothing else but jump off his horse and fall to the ground ... as if the ground had a magnetic connection to his heart that forced him to lower himself at the feet of this Aslan ... encounters with God change us.

I am somewhat dramatic.  I want  to have encounters with God that are ... big.  Really big.  I want to have thunder, lightning, fireworks and bright flashes.  I want to be able to see God do big ... really big ... things through me.  I want others to see something so uniquely wild in me that could only be explained by the indescribable presence of God Almighty.

Mostly, I get whispers.  I get whispers that tell me I am loved ... even when my hair looks stupid.  I get whispers that remind me to pray for precious Parker and her math test.  I get whispers that tell me to stay a little longer in my big blue chair with Libby because time slips through fingers and 9 year old girls grow up ... fast.  I hear whispers that beg me to hug my Addison tighter ... because she isn't 9 years old any longer ... and her time has come.  I hear whispers that tell me to call my Chris ... and tell him I love him ... just because.  I get whispers that ask me to offer prayers for a woman on the streetcar that looks like her affluence has outlived her happiness.  I get whispers for a little baby that may never hear the words to the song "Jesus loves Me".  I get whispers that tell me what I am doing ... in this city ... has eternal consequences.  I get whispers that affirm that He is always near ... always working ... always strength in weakness.

I would probably not know what to do with the thunder and lightning.  It would probably scare me.  Being a simple girl ... God ... knows that whispers are enough.  Whispers are majestic signs that a holy Father loves me.  He is there.  He is guiding.  In the whisper, I hear loudly the voice of the One who has always been walking alongside me.  I've learned to not only hear, but to obey the whispers.  It's in the obeying that keeps me alert ... and on track ... and pleased ... because in the obeying ... I feel the breath of my God ... knowing in His presence is where I am meant to be ...

Hoping you, too, hear whispers ...

For years, I have had a long standing relationship with Anxiety. The road has become a journey. The journey has become an adventure. The adventure has shaped me into the person who I am today. If my adventure was a book, there would be chapters about fear, chapters about learning to ignore the fear, chapters about coping with feelings, chapters about rest, chapters about taking medication, chapters about not taking medication, chapters about hearing or not hearing God in the middle of anxiety, but most of all.... there would be chapters about how I've learned to see God better, hear him clearer and see him more truthfully right smack dab in the middle of what I have now embraced as a friend, Anxiety.

For the most part, the ugly part of Anxiety is gone. As I age (I hate saying that), Anxiety is almost a fading memory of someone that I used to know. I will carry the lessons it taught me but will no longer carry the pain it desired for me.

So, recently I shared that I had some health stuff come up. Turns out, I started having more symptoms. Only this time, they weren't related to what we thought the root cause was ... weird.

To make a rather long story short, and to give a larger audience a clearer picture of what is going on with me ... I just found out this week that I have a "dangerously" low level (my doctor's words, not mine) of Serotonin. Normal is between 50 and 200. Mine is 7.

Serotonin does a lot of stuff for us. One of the things it does is control mood. So, my doctor was as surprised as I was to find out the culprit of my issues. I think it's safe to say that God has done a brilliant miracle!! I was/have not been exhibiting any signs of depression or anxiety. At this point, with a level of 7, most suffers of low Serotonin are in the fetal position and having a hard time functioning in life. To me ... this is just the best news since finding out I can watch Designing Women on YouTube!

Serotonin feeds neurotransmitters. Neurotransmitters make the body function properly. I am not a medical professional nor do I play one on T.V. Everything I have found out has come from my doctor or Google. But, we've come to discover that my increasing symptoms of difficulty breathing, headaches, fatigue, rapid heart rate, fluctuating temperatures ... all a sign of my low Serotonin.

Left undiagnosed, patients can be diagnosed as suffers of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or Fibromyalgia. The symptoms are/can be the same. Thank goodness I have a doctor who is thorough and checked out every little thing in my blood!

Now, I wait for high-power vitamins to kick-in. I try to rest when I am tired (which feels like most of the time). I try to reduce stress. Stress is the sucker of Serotonin. Anyone who has a real life and doesn't live in a bubble cannot live without stress. We'll see how that goes...

The biggest thing going through this? Feeling like my children are missing out because Mom is tired or sick all the time. Worrying about not meeting demands of a "job" that could negatively impact me.

Here's what I'm learning to do about my biggest worries ... let them go. I have beautiful, wonderful, caring children who will be fine! Because I buy cookies when I wanted to make them, order pizza ... twice ... OK, three times during the week because I am too tired to cook ... it's not gonna negatively impact them. What they are gonna see is a Momma who invites them to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie ... again. What they are gonna see is a Momma who is honest ... and is gonna tell them that I don't like the way I feel ... but know it's not always gonna be like this. What they are gonna see is a Momma who is gonna conserve energy and save it for doing stuff with them and not get stressed out about work goals that aren't being met ... or expectations that aren't being achieved.

I'm learning that God is pleased with me when I am obedient to Him. If that means letting my worries go and popping more popcorn because I don't have the energy, mentally or physically, to move ... then that's what I am supposed to do. I am tired of the thing inside my brain that tells me I am wasting time if I am not producing. It's overdue for that old thinking to go away.

So ... if you are a praying person and you are reading this ... pray that I will rest and that my Serotonin levels will increasingly rise.

Chris always asks me this ... "How is your heart? Are you at peace today?" My answer: "Yep!" My heart (physically and emotionally) is good ... and I am at peace!  Just like my old friend Anxiety ... I think Serotonin will teach me more of learning to see God better, hear him clearer and see him more truthfully right smack dab in the middle of what I am going through now .