For those of you who don’t know, my husband is a journeyman beekeeper. That means our basement is filled with wax, wood, and all sorts of weird things like buckets on sticks and a specially-designed vacuum that can hoover the little critters out of places where they’re not wanted. No kidding.
I’m not as involved with the care and maintenance of all the little divas as he is, but I help out enough to know what’s what. And doing so has taught me a few lessons about God and the wonderful and awe-inspiring ways in which He works.
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After many months of anticipation, my donors and I got word that the charity:water birthday project completed last year has moved to the next step in the process. Here’s what we learned!
Whether it’s a marriage that has lasted a decade or an object that stands the test of time, when something makes it to the ten-year mark, it’s worth celebrating. And that’s precisely what I’m doing tonight. Wayne is out playing a gig with the Peachtree Jazz Edition, and I’m relaxing in our beautiful home. A fire is crackling in my living room, Debussy is playing on the radio, and I’m curled up in my pajamas, cozy as a cat.
Ten years ago, things weren’t quite so copacetic.
On the evening of January 25, 2004, I was writhing in a hospital bed, suffering from a spinal headache I’d gotten from a spinal tap I’d undergone that afternoon. In the throes of that searing pain, my neurologist came in and told me, “You have MS. It’s not the end of the world. You can find more information on the Internet than I could ever tell you. Good night.” I’m not kidding; that’s all I got from him. After he’d left, we asked the nurse to call him and prescribe a pill for my headache. Both Wayne and I had been too shocked to ask when he was there.
A word of advice—NEVER look up a health question on the web. For Gregory House, M.D., everything inexplicable had to be lupus. For the Internet, it’s cancer and certain death.
Well, we did look it up, and we got the absolute worst case scenario for an MS patient. After an hour of scouring the web looking for a scrap of good news and bawling like babies, Wayne slammed the laptop closed and told me, “That’s enough.” That night, I was convinced that I’d never have a normal life ever again. And in some ways, I was right. I’ve not been the same since that day, and that’s a good thing.
The eight year anniversary, which I wrote about here, was a big milestone for me. It seemed like an unreachable date, and now here I am, two years beyond what once seemed impossible. I’ve since learned to use that word sparingly, if at all. Why? Because, as Matthew 19:26 tells us, “with God all things are possible.” He proves that to me on a daily basis.
The MS was just the first body blow in a five-year boxing match with life. I won’t go into the sad details here, but let’s just say that pretty much everything that could go wrong—short of one of us dying—did. But, as the speaker in Langston Hughes’ poem “Mother to Son” says, “I’se still goin’, honey, / I’se still climbin’, / And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.”
The Family at Christmas 2012
Today, life isn’t without challenges, but there’s no cause for complaint. It’s not because I’m a saint; I’ve just learned that every difficulty has a reason. I know it because God has used the last ten years in a mighty way and transformed me into a usable vessel. But no matter what hardships happen, I know I’m far more blessed than I deserve. I have a wonderful husband who I adore, a loving family, a comfortable, safe home, an amazing job, and friends out the wazoo. I also recently became an aunt. (See adorable picture below for visual confirmation of the poo-dubber in question.)
Me with the lovely Miss Beatrix
I didn’t earn these blessings; they were freely given to me by my God. He has bestowed it all on me with a loving, liberal hand, and my life is marked by his loving-kindness. And tonight, as I sit nestled in my home, I can tell you the words of Isaiah 41:10 are true and trustworthy: “Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” I can say they’re true because I learned to say it when the prognosis wasn’t as good, when the place I called home was a crummy apartment, and when I basically felt like Job sitting on the ash heap. And if he sees fit to take it all away tomorrow, I can say, “Yes, God is still good.”
I recently watched an episode of the BBC’s Call the Midwife in which the narrator says, “Health is the greatest of God’s gifts, but we take it for granted. It hangs on a thread as fine as a spider’s web, and the smallest thing can make it snap, leaving the strongest of us helpless in an instant. And in that instant, hope is our protector and love our panacea.”
Those words resonated with me because I’ve know what it feels like when that gossamer string snaps and you free fall into the unknown. I know what it is like when your body betrays you and you realize death and decay are eager to strip away what they can with their spiny fingers. However, I choose not to dwell on such things and live a life marked by hope and love instead. I count it all joy.
That’s something God made possible, and that’s the reason why I’m looking forward to the next ten years.
I always told my students, “I hate the word deserve.” To me, it is a sophomoric word, one that’s grossly assumptive. When someone says, “I deserve your attention” or “I deserve respect,” all I can think is, “Where did you get that idea?” When a person uses the word, they’re basically saying, “It’s my individual merits, my snowflake-perfect uniqueness that makes me worthy of something. Give it to me.”
I do, however, like the word “earn.” I like it a lot. To “earn” something, a person must be willing to put in the time, to work hard, to plan accordingly, and to make smart choices. To “earn” something means it’s yours free and clear. You owe nothing and no one for it.
Image from thunderclap.it. And we all know freelance writers deserve the best, yes?
For instance, I earned my master’s degree through countless hours of study and writing. I earned my good name by doing the right things and making smart choices. I try to earn job security through consistently performing at a high level. Essentially, I want to earn my peace of mind, know where everything is coming from, and take measures to make gains and prevent losses.
But the older I get, the more I realize just how little I can actually control…and how little I actually earn on my own.
In 1 Corinthians 4:7, the apostle Paul writes, “For who regards you as superior? What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as if you had not received it?”
Image from thequotefactory.com.
That one scripture undoes everything —“What do you have that you did not receive?” I might have put in the hours in the classroom, but who gave me the brains to earn the degrees? God did. Who made it economically possible for me to go to college in the first place? God did. Who gave me the job I love? God did. Who placed me in a family that taught me what it means to be kind to others? Yep, Him again. Heck, even the very desire to be kind comes from Him, which Romans 3:10-12 makes plain:
“There is none righteous, not even one. There is none who understands; there is none who seeks for God. All have turned aside, together they have become useless. There is none who does good. There is not even one.”
And that’s what makes grace, something more valuable than I can explain, so amazing. There is nothing we can do to earn it; we can’t save up good deeds in some celestial piggy bank to cash in when we hit the pearly gates. It is given to us with open, eager hands by a heavenly Father who sent His Son to pay the debt that should have been ours.
Image of Frederick Buechner from buechnerinstitute.org.
Frederick Buechner, as is his way, says it with style. According to him, “Grace is something you can never get but can only be given. There’s no way to earn it or deserve it or bring it about any more than you can deserve the taste of raspberries and cream or earn good looks or bring about your own birth.”
Everything I am or ever will be is a gift. I have always been right for loathing the word “deserve,” but I need to be less laudatory of “earn” as well. Neither one should hold pride of place.
Which word do you find yourself using more often? Why do you think that’s your default setting? I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter as well as how you explain the meaning of grace to others. Tell me in the comments section below!
I personally love the a new year because it’s a chance to start some things afresh, to renew my commitment to some things I let slide , and to take stock of what I value. One of the things I put on my “to do list” for the year was to post more on this blog, so I’d like to begin with a piece in In Touch Magazine that I’m rather proud of. It’s my first time being in the January issue, and I had a blast putting this one together. (You’ll see why that’s a horrible pun when you read the piece itself.)
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Merry Christmas to you and yours! I’ve really been looking forward to the December 2013 issue of In Touch Magazine to hit homes because it is filled with some super cool stuff. Seriously, we tackled everything from Jesus Christ’s genealogy to the truth about the “War on Christmas.”
As always, you can get our magazine in print free of charge by visiting this page and giving us your mailing address. There are even more wonderful articles and changes in store for 2014, so it’s a great time to start receiving our publication!
Below is my contribution to this issue. I was captivated by the ideas of the moments before the angels appeared before the shepherds. Though they’d looked at the stars countless times before, they were still looking. And that’s exactly what we should be doing today. Let me know what you think in the comments below or–better yet–leave a comment on the In Touch website.
Ever wonder what the Psalms sounded like? Me, too. Hence, this piece was created for the October issue of In Touch magazine.
If you like this piece, I highly suggest you visit our homepage to read articles by writers much, much, much more talented than I. Better still, get a free subscription to our magazine and it shows up in your mailbox like clockwork, all shiny and whatnot.
What do you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts and ideas about this piece. Why not share them with me in the comments section below?! (I’m so serious that I used an interrobang, people! For real.)
Yeah, you, the one sleeping on the plastic pool lounger and thinking about how awesome it is to be a Floridian instead of an Arkansan. The furniture will arrive tomorrow, but don’t get comfortable. This place isn’t the final stop in your life. Far from it, in fact. God has a journey in mind, and let me tell you….the itinerary is long.
You’ll move to another nine cities in your lifetime as far as I know—a couple of them more than once—and put your crap in boxes more times than you’ll care to count. There will be places you love, where you dig your toes into the earth and fiercely whisper, “This is where I want put down roots. Please God, let this be it.” But you can’t, because there are still miles to go before you sleep. However, you’ll learn something from each spot where you sojourn, and you’ll carry them all with you in the marrow of your bones.
In Ormond Beach, you’ll botch your social studies fair project because Seminole Indians lived in Chickees rather than Tepees. But don’t worry, Mrs. Randolph will understand and let you fix it. You’ll discover Tolkien and Lewis here, fall in love with literature, and become terrible at math as a result. Why? Because you won’t be able to concentrate on all those silly numbers when Frodo is taken away from Sam or Reepicheep loses his tail.
You’ll discover music’s your passion and plan one of the most successful surprise parties of all time in Port Charlotte. You’ll hate your parents for awhile for making you leave that warm place where you can set your watch by the afternoon rainstorms, but don’t be too hard on them. You’ll always wonder what might have been had you been able to stay put. But it isn’t the one God had in mind. Look back fondly, but keep going. There are greater things ahead.
Your first apartment in Ocala, Florida will be a tiny efficiency, but you’ll love it because it’s yours. The Murphy bed will squeak no matter how much WD40 you put on it, and while you live there, you’ll make a series of spectacularly bad decisions. Don’t beat yourself up about them; you’re still a forgiven child of God. Oh, and try not to lurk in the AOL chat rooms. ‘Tis folly.
I wish I could tell you what to do about Savannah and the man you’ll meet there. You’ll be crazy about him, crazy enough that you’ll move back to give life with him a try. But the Holy Spirit will tell you to leave, and you’ll be inexorably drawn away like the tide pulled from the shore. You’ll think about it often and ache because you’ll want so desperately to call that port home. But it won’t be the place either. Press the memories like flowers in the pages of a book; preserve their essence and keep travelling.
The man you dreamed about when you lay awake in your pink gingham canopy bed, the one you’re meant for, will be in Valdosta. You’ll marry him, and once you grow into each other, you’ll wonder how you ever managed to get from Point A to Point B without him.
You will experience dazzling moments of joy and become intimately acquainted with fear and uncertainty. You will make friends easily when you arrive in a new place and struggle like hell to keep them because all you know is leaving people behind. At some point, you’ll want to wrap your heart in newspaper and pack it away forever because it’s been dropped, cracked, and nearly broken one too many times.
Little me on that pool float, you don’t know it, but you’ll be adrift in life for a very long time. More than once you’ll wonder why God couldn’t just let you stay put and leave you be. It’ll take you a couple dozen years to put it all together, but He’s got something so much bigger than you think in mind. He’s training you to serve Him. Now, I’m not going to lie to you, God is going to crack you in half to do it, but you’ll survive. And in the end, the dots on your life’s map will be Ebeneezer stones, testaments to His perfect handiwork.
There And Back Again: The Cities I’ve Called Home
This post is the first Blog Month assignment generated by the fine folks over at Compassion International. Our challenge was to write a letter to a younger version of ourselves, but the greater goal is to encourage readers to sponsor a child through Compassion.
Even though I’ve faced many challenges in life, I can say I’ve never wanted for anything. I’ve always had clean water, a full belly, and a warm bed. I have never doubted that I am loved, treasured, and valued. It may have been in different places, but I’ve always had a home. Many kids in this world aren’t so fortunate, but we can change that. Put a pin on their life’s map. Help them make a new start.
If you are interested in doing so, please visit their sponsorship page and take a look at all the kids who are in need. As the sponsor of four children, I can tell you that it is a worthwhile and wonderful way to help other human beings and make a difference in the life of a child.
After many months, The Missing Persons Project comes to a close with a special report focused on a group we call “The Searchers.” This term applies to those who are seeking faith as well as those who have given up on it and those who are wrestling with doubt. As we went through planning this month, we came to a somewhat surprising “ah ha!” moment (at least for us). In some way, we are all “missing persons.” There are seasons in life where our faith wavers, gets thin, or even abandons us. There are times when it feels like we’re holding on to a gossamer string rather than a secure rope that binds us to eternity.
That’s where this piece comes from—those many moments I felt like I was on a tightrope that was one fragile string away from snapping. I hope that people who read it realize that doubt is not a bad thing because, through doubt, we come to understand what we believe and why. When we ask hard questions of God and honestly seek His face, our faith becomes our own.
This article can be read below or by visiting our super-duper-fancy microsite here. If you haven’t seen it yet, I highly recommend you click through. There are many inspiring stories told using text, photos, video, and audio. We’ve completed all the special reports and videos (from soup to nuts as they say), and it’s quite humbling to see it in its final form. Also, if you’d like to give us your thoughts on the project, please drop us a line at missingpersons@intouch.org. We’d love to hear your feedback!
I value healthy eating, but by the seventh mention of bowel movements, I totally checked out. I’d gone to a baking class to learn about something I considered complicated—making bread. But I got a lot more than that for my eight dollars. In addition to learning about all things yeasty, I was also treated to a dissertation on the evils of pre-packaged foods and forced to listen as the teacher waxed rhapsodic about the unfathomable joy that could be mine if I made everything from scratch. Like buy-grain-in-bulk-and-grind-your-own-flour-in-a-mill-from-scratch.
To quote Hall and Oates, “I can’t go for that. No can do.”
Don’t misread my reticence. I’m not one of those people who eschews anything to do with good nutrition. In fact, I avoid fast food as much as possible, drink plenty of water, and eat my veggies. (Seriously, I actually like Brussell sprouts.) But to spend nearly every waking moment of my life thinking about what I eat and how I should buy, store, and prepare it is beyond my ken. If you’ll forgive me the dead metaphor/bad grammar super combo, it might be some folks’ bread and butter, but it ain’t my cup of tea.
Image from wisegeek.com
Hecks to the yes, I value wellness. As a person who’s lived with multiple sclerosis for nearly ten years, I know what it feels like when your body turns traitor and refuses to work the way it should. But expending such an inordinate amount of time, money, and energy in the name of good health makes me wonder if the term “quality of life” has as many shades of meaning as Kool-Aid has uses for Yellow No. 5. To me, a life spent checking labels and prepping food to squirrel away in Tupperware boxes doesn’t make me want to do the Cupid Shuffle or “go tell it on the mountain.” I love to eat delicious, wholesome meals, but if I have to make a choice between spending my life creating them or crafting poetry, the latter will win. Every single time.
In C.S. Lewis’ masterwork, The Screwtape Letters, the title character (who just happens to be a demon) advises his nephew to tempt a person with gluttony. He says, “We canuse a human belly and palate to produce querulousness, impatience, uncharitableness, and self-concern” by “concentrating all our efforts on gluttony of Delicacy, not gluttony of Excess.” In other words, Lewis says, the desire for a perfect slice of toast or ideal cup of tea can never be fulfilled, and in searching for it, a person’s stomach “dominates” his/her life to the detriment of everything else.
I still want to learn everything there is to know about baking bread—but not so I can fend off some invisible specter of illness or fear. I want to bake to help feed the hungry, to teach my future children the value of making something with your hands, and to welcome others to my table to fellowship. After all, what good is lifetime spent filling my stomach with good things only to wake up one day and discover my soul is empty and my heart starved?
