peace

What do you get when you add nervous excitement to the mounting pressure of looming deadlines? Nearly, a panic attack. I know this first hand, with evidence gleaned as recently as Friday.
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Thankfully, relief is always only a prayer away. When I get myself worked into a snit, I have learned to hit the deck. Knees, meet kitchen rug. The resulting peace is nothing short of a miracle. Jesus said, "Peace I leave with you. My peace I give you," (John 14:27). He wasn't kidding. Having lived the first 35 years of my life without this kind of peace, I look back in awe of my survival. Thank you, God, for giving us Jesus; and through him, your gift of peace.
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Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thansgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. ~ Philippians 4:6-7
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rest

Sunday mornings are busy for our family. Wait, that's not entirely true. For me, yes, Sundays begin with a fair amount of action, which is fine. I'm not talking about a big hectic circus. There is work to be done, that's all—the kind of work on which I thrive. Currently, I serve as a ministry team leader, a position which necessitates early arrival at the theater where our church meets. Fred and I take separate cars, so the boys can sleep in a bit and enjoy a lazy morning. Often I pick up my friend Dawn en route; sometimes I leave extra early, so the two of us can enjoy a quick coffee before we park on Broughton Street and make our way to the Lucas Theater. Dawn has other plans today, though. I'm going solo.
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Upon arrival, I help set up, lead the pre-service prayer, and check on my ministry team in the lobby, while the band warms up and does their sound check on stage. People start showing up at around 10:45am. We mingle, doing our best to make them feel welcome. The music starts at eleven. Happily, I take a seat. (Some volunteers have to stay back in the lobby until later.) I try to focus on the lyrics, to be present in the worship, to really and truly mean what I'm singing. If someone on my team has not shown up yet, or some other concern hovers over my head, I'll be honest: this can be difficult.


At the end of the service, near the close of the final song, I shimmy past Fred to take my place in front of the stage where I am joined by the rest of my team. We're called Decision Counselors, but mostly what we do is pray with people. Today, I pray separately with two young women; both, mighty big prayers. Serious concerns. Especially Lady #2. She and I walk out together. I check in with a few people, then drive home... or, rather, to the golf course where Fred has invited me to join him and our son for lunch. Having anticipated a quiet, indoor, air-conditioned experience, I groan when I arrive. A gigantic amateur tournament is finishing up. The place is packed. In fact, I've never seen so many people at this course. There are photographers everywhere. The smell of grilling burgers permeates the hot, stagnant air. People are standing around eating off paper plates—an experience I would appreciate most times. Not today, though. As soon as I park, I call Fred on his cell. He's busy interviewing a prospective student, asks if I can hurry in to the clubhouse to look after Gray. "Honey," I plead, "I called to tell you, this doesn't look like what I need right now, at all. I am not feeling well. I am tired. It's so hot here. I think I'm just going to go home, if that's okay with you." Fred laughs (I must sound desperate) and sends me on my way with his blessing.
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Having already spent quite a while in prayer and bible study, I try to write a little, unsuccessfully. The house is a mess; I do a little tidying. Of course I refrain from actual WORK—thank God, that stuff is off limits, one day a week. But, I am restless. Bored. I hate sitting still. I try unsuccessfully to nap. Eventually, the boys come home. I run to the store, make some dinner, check e-mail. Still restless.
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We all head back up to the same golf course so Gray can practice on the range for his Monday morning tournament. The place is deserted now. Amazing, the difference. My heart soars as I observe father and son "hitting eggs" on the range. From behind, Gray's silhouette is a carbon copy of his dad's. Thank you, God, for my family. Thank you for saving my marriage. Thank you for your protection over us, for your goodness to us. Thank you for this place.
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I sit in the shade and take in the artistry of the now-quiet scene: Dripping with Spanish moss, massive live oaks sway in the breeze, towering over the pink crepe-myrtles which dance beneath in the long shadows of dusk. I feel connected to them, to their rhythm. At my left, a turtle peeks his head out of the rippling pond to say hello. Nearby, a blue heron perches majestically in the fronds of a lofty palm tree. Egrets pace slowly in the creek across the way. The place is spectacular; it's even cooling off. The Golden Hour. I snap a mental photo, knowing the camera on my phone can't come close to capturing the beauty of this holy moment. This is peace. This is rest. I am refreshed.
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Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. ~ Exodus 20:8

je t'aime

In her book Jesus CEO, Laurie Beth Jones describes Jesus’ practice of sending ladybugs as symbols of his love for her. My family adopted this tradition years ago, substituting a variety of devices in place of Laurie’s ladybugs. We call each of them a “Jesus-is-Thinking-About-Me.” For my husband, it’s helicopters. Our son Gray, now nine, has been collecting JiTAMs since he could talk—taxi cabs, certain types of clouds, etc. Yesterday he tells me with great delight of two unusual orange moths, which land for a moment on the toe of his sneaker. He adopts the occurrence as a new JiTAM. Charmed by his sweet faith, I decide not to point the improbability of such an event ever occurring again.

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I have two JiTAMs, only one of which I will disclose today: repetitive numbers. My heart swoons when I notice 22:22 minutes on the treadmill's counter, or at the sight of any clock displaying 3:33. The kicker: it has to be unexpected. There is no sitting in front of the digital alarm, waiting for 4:43 to flip to 4:44. Nope. The mark of a true JiTAM is the surprise factor. Once you and Jesus have established your symbol, you’ll see what I mean. And, like me, you’ll experience the depths of your Savior’s love. JiTAMs come when they are most needed: during times of sadness, exhaustion, self-doubt. They also come, I have found, when I have misbehaved: either as a precursor to, or as a reward for repentance.

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Yesterday I rush to the post office to send a package to some new friends, Christian artists I met via Twitter. They are scheduled to visit in November. The mail clerk hands me my receipt: $2.22. Rushing from the post to the grocery store and back home again to make dinner, I glance at the clock. 5:55! Two assurances from above, in less than half an hour—for me, a new record! I smile, anticipating the wonderful benefits that are sure to flow from this new friendship. Je T'aime, dear Jesus. Je T'aime.

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Give me a sign of your goodness ~ Psalm 86:17, NIV

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praying jabez

His mercy flows in wave after wave, on those who are in awe before him. ~ Luke 1:49, The Message

Open my eyes so I can see what you show me of your miracle-wonders. ~ Psalm 119:18, The Message
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Like Jabez, I pray that God will bless me indeed. I pray that Jesus will expand the horizons before me, that His hand will always be upon me through his Spirit, and that He will keep me far from evil. Good prayers, every one. As I daily pray like Jabez, life gets increasingly interesting. The more I expect to see God working in my life, the closer I feel to him, and the more miracles I see.
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Keep your eyes open for God, watch for his works; be alert for signs of his presence. ~ Psalm 105:5, The Message

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sanctification: killing mini-me

We have met the enemy, and he is us. 
~ Walt Kelly, Pogo

Christians are expected (by God, by the World) to live differently. The Holy Spirit enables this by making us aware of our sinful habits, giving us the desire to replace them with Something Better, and the ability to do so. That last bit is where it gets interesting.

Each propensity toward sin is an evil Mini-Me, encamped inside. There are tons of them; they form a vicious, insidious army. Mini-Me soldiers don't fight fair. They show no mercy. In short, they are most unpleasant. Daily, I am forced to ward off their attacks. Protected by God's armor, like the rest of you, I've been given one weapon: the Sword of the Spirit; the Word of God. (Yes, it's a sword, but I like to imagine a bayonette.)

Die, Pride! Take that, Coveting! Sorry, Judgmental, but you have to go. Make way for God's army: Humility, Contentment, Grace. (Ammo: Proverbs 18:12, 1 Tim 6:6, Romans 14:4, respectively.)

If I fail to put up a fight, I make myself and everyone around me miserable; therefore, passivity is not an option. Keep your guard up, Girl, and wield your sword. Or, your bayonette.

For we know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body ruled by sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin. ~ Romans 6:6

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