Mom Really Isn't Crazy After All

It was 5th grade, and tomorrow was Mrs. Scott's birthday.  How could I be finding out about this now?!?  We lived way out in the country and I knew we'd never be able to go to the store tonight, and I didn't have any money anyway.  I'd missed the 4th grade teacher's birthday and was determined to not be caught off-guard this year, and still, here I was.  

I racked my brain all the way home and into the evening.  I went to my mom who was stirring dinner  to tell her my predicament. She thoughtfully continued to stir, then said in a delighted, wide-eyed expression (like she'd just discovered gold nuggets under the bed), "I know what you can give her!"  I brightened.  "You do?  What?"

"There's a sack of pheasant feathers in the closet on the back porch."  My heart and my face sank.  That didn't sound like a present.  It sounded well, weird.  She read my face and my mind.  "Go get it.  It will be fine," she said, in a tone that you did not argue with.  

I trudged to the back porch closet, thinking this was once again a "homemade" solution when I wanted to be a store-bought girl.  I shoved open the sliding closet door, revealing a mountain of fabric, bags and boxed of miscellaneous items, and saw the wrinkled brown paper sack.  I opened it and saw the smallish bundle of feathers.  

"Do we have any wrapping paper?" I hollered.  "If we do, it's in that closet."  Several minutes of unsuccessful "rearranging" provided nothing.  Great.  Just great.  I will now be giving her a wrinkled brown paper sack that weighed nothing.  And was nothing.

The next day at school kids starting putting wrapped presents on Mrs. Scott's desk.  I had to figure out a way to give this to her in private when no one else was looking.  She decided to not open presents until right before the end of school, so I was filled with dread the entire day.  No one noticed my present in my hands, as it looked like an old partial sack lunch.  

With each perfume bottle or powder she opened, she smiled widely and said, "Oh thank you, this is lovely." With each I got sicker to my stomach.  I couldn't stay after school, or I'd miss the bus and there wouldn't be another ride home.

Finally with no other presents to open, I had no choice but to jut my hand out and give her the bag.  "Sorry it's not wrapped," I said softly, wincing and wanting to be invisible.  She opened the bag and let out a gasp.  "Oh thank you!" she exclaimed, suddenly revealing the difference between polite acceptance and true gratefulness.  "Pheasant feathers!  These are amazing!"  My classmates looked at me like I was dirt (at least it felt like they did).

I got on the bus heading home feeling happy and pondering what had happened.  Mom had known exactly what she'd like.  She'd met her at my parent teacher's conference.  But how did she know?  She knew because she was a kindred spirit.  A fellow artist who liked to create things, things from nature.  I knew that in my head about my mom, but had missed seeing it in my teacher (even though it screamed at us every day with the little things Mrs. Scott crafted for us.)

I wish I could say I got better about reading people and giving just the right gift, but I still struggle.  I have to always ask the Master Giver of Gifts what I should give, if it is to be anything worthwhile at all.  And He is faithful.  In a way, He answered my own prayer through my mother.  Imagine if I had not trusted the solution that was given to me that day!

A few weeks later Mrs. Scott gave me a gift, a beautiful bookmark decorated with pheasant feathers.  Perfect for an avid young reader like myself, and a reminder that some of the best gifts are not "store bought".

False Accusations and Red Construction Paper

An oral fixation, that's what they'd call it.  Or a nervous tic, I'm not sure.  But every since I was basically an infant, I was chewing things like a puppy and I probably tasted about the same number of toxins.  

One day as I left the playground to walk home from the first grade, I tore off a bit of red construction paper and put it in my mouth.  It wasn't my first exploration of paper, but red construction paper had a very different taste, almost sweet.  I walked and chewed, thinking of other things, the late afternoon sun warming my face.  Maybe Mama would let me go across the alley and play with my friend.

I opened the front door, and heard Mama in the kitchen.  I went directly in to see her, ready to hand her my work papers from the day.  She looked down from the sink at my upturned face, and her expression went from the usual half smile to something darker.

"Where did you get the lipstick?" she demanded, her tone letting me know I was in trouble.  "What?" I said.  "Don't lie to me.  Where did you get the lipstick?"

I looked confused I'm sure, but Mama thought I was acting.  "If you're not going to tell the truth, you can go to your room.  Don't come out until you decide to tell the truth."

I went to the room I shared with my sisters, tears welling in my eyes.  I rubbed my lips.  There wasn't anything on them?  How can you explain to an adult that didn't believe you that you weren't lying?  I sat on the bed and sniffled for some time, the weight of my little world heavy upon me.

I must have fallen asleep, because I opened my eyes and the room was getting dark with sunset.  I could hear the voices of the rest of the family in the other parts of the house.  I got up and went to looked in the mirror on the closet door.  I stared in fascination at my ruby red lips.  What had happened?  It was some moments before the truth of physics hit my brain.  The red construction paper!  I was excited to tell Mama what had happened.  

I wish I could tell you it was a joyous celebration of mistaken accusation.  But no one apologized.  Everyone just moved on. 

Isn't that the way with false accusations?  Few things are more painful than being falsely accused. It's even more painful when it's at the hands of people you believe in your heart should know who you really are.  It takes so little for a seed of doubt to be planted in the minds of people.  So little to water it and make it grow.  And almost no one apologizes to make it right.

The lipstick accusation did not deeply wound me, but it would not be the last time I would be falsely accused by people who knew me well and should have known better.  When I think of those times, I realize how fragile our "reputation" is, when at the hands of sinners.  

It also helps me understand the One Who was falsely accused.  Even though He was fully God, that had to hurt His fully human self.  He had lived His entire humanity in the light, His integrity unquestionable. Yet it didn't matter to the hands of sinners.  They would kill Him because of the truth.  Thankfully, oh so thankfully, a lie would never keep Him in the grave.

I would be quite depressed if I didn't know the Author of Truth, and that in this age of moral relativity where truth is self-defined on a whim every moment, His Truth, His Life and His Way can still be found.  Do you know Him?

House Cleaning to Heal

A few years ago I was praying about how to help a new friend that was lost in depression.  The message I got was, "Help her clean house!"

As I held up each item she agreed to give me her first impression...how it made her feel.  Was it a 1) Happy feeling?  2) Negative memory?  Or 3) No feeling whatsoever.  If She said "No feeling" then I asked her if it was serving any function, and if not, would she like to sell or donate?

If you've ever tried to do this exercise, or help someone do this exercise, you know it is exhausting very quickly.  We came to a Tiffany style lamp, which had some cracks and was not currently working.

"What about this lamp?" I asked.  She said, "It's supposedly worth a lot of money; it belonged to my grandfather."  "How does it make you feel?"  She replied, "My grandfather sexually molested me."  I wasn't expecting that answer to be blurted out, and I couldn't help but ask, "Why have you kept it all these years?"  She said that she thought she would sell it one day for a lot of money. 

She needed money, so I asked her if she'd like my help in selling it.  I found out very quickly it was not a Tiffany, it was a very cheap knock-off.  No one was interested in it for more than $12.  Which made me extremely sad.  Sad that this friend had kept a painful memorial in her house, one that no doubt brought torment, but didn't have the emotional power to get rid of it.

Friends, the only thing worse than having meaningless decor in your home sanctuary is to have decor that has bad memories attached to it!

An injustice perpetrated on you can easily be memorialized by something you see and identify with those memories.  God never meant for us to put up objects to commemorate pain.  He is the Healer.  (Genesis 28:18)

A word of caution about the Tiffany knock-off example.  My friend was not triggered by every stained glass table lamp just because she had that memory.  That is mental illness on a whole different level. 

I'm sure someone benefited from that old donated lamp, and is being blessed by it now.  The phrase "There is no accounting for taste" means an object or experience viewed by people with different opinions on it cannot be measured objectively.

Someone very near and dear to me thinks the statue of liberty should go away, because it is an idol and an abomination.  For many more, it symbolizes freedom and the new hope of America.  On this particular issue, I am on the side of keeping her, but not worshipping her.

There's a lot of rage and depression out there right now.  None of it can be healed unless we start in our own hearts and houses.  

Hell's High Performance Team of the Month: Miscommunication

I don't know about you, but I have the impression I'm not the only one.  August has been rough.  It's been day upon day of communication issues, and frankly, I'm calling out Hell here.

I can just see Hell's Miscommunication Team getting their "employee of the month" trophy.  Enter their names here (translated to English from Native Hellion):

• Loaded for Bear
• Text Didn't Come Through
• Apologize and Make It Worse
• Clam Up
• Lose Self-Control of the Tongue
• Believe a False Report
• Act Angrily on a False Report
• Feel More Deeply Wounded Than Normal
• Wrong Words Right Intention
• Wrong Intention Bad Words
• Did Get to Phone Before It Went to Voicemail
• Phone Not Working During Urgent Timeline
• Fear of Loss
• Jump to Conclusion

Any other members you see not in attendance here?  Frankly, I'm exhausted from what feels like everyone's overheated griddles getting splashed with things that pop when they hit heat and sting you.  Let's take a deep breath, everyone.  Let's count to 100.  Let's seek Him, the author of PEACE, TRUTH, and much much needed JOY.

Hints of Heaven - Diversity

I was watching some wretched documentary when one of the character's wailed, "I've lost my children.  A part of me is gone and I'll never get it back!"

While I can't personally identify, I can empathize. The death of your child is an unspeakable, painful ripping that never goes away in this life.  What I thought immediately when I heard the woman's outcry was, "I think the Lord feels that way frequently; about the church and about precious people who choose hell over knowing Him."

The Lord is so creative, He made each one of us unique from anyone else in history before or ever after.  (It doesn't matter if someone has told you that you're just like your mother, or father, or uncle).

Each one of us has the opportunity to know Him in a way no one else can or ever will.  Our specialness creates that unique relationship.  Yahweh also creates patterns, and thus the similarities that draw us to one another.  Some of us are are able to empathize in a crisis but have no idea how to move out of it; others of us don't appear sympathetic but are cool, collected and kick into action to get us out of danger.  Some of us are color blind; others of us can taste and smell flavors very few others even notice.

It takes all of us to make the quilt that is His body, the Church.  Imagine a quilt that was all one grey color with no fancy stitching.  Wait, ....that's not a quilt!  It's not even an elephant in the fog (photo above--kidding).

 You may have read, "But now indeed there are many members, yet one body. And the eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you”; nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” (1 Cornithians 12:20-21).  What I see frequently is the foot aspiring to be a hand, or something along those lines.

The enemy of your existence spends a LOT of time trying to convince you that you are not fearfully and wonderfully made; that you need to be something or someone else than who He made you.  The meaning of abuse is simply something that is used outside it's purpose.  When we become convinced we are not enough as He made us, and we strive to be something else, we end up self-abusing and abusing others.

On the other hand, when we see people living to their potential in Christ, we see hints of Heaven.  Oh, that I can be a hint of Heaven wherever I am and whatever I do, rather than a stench from, well, hell.

Removing the Mischief Makers

I was awakened from a dream this morning, odd as it was.

I was minding my own business, walking through an older part of my neighborhood, when a man, dirty and mishelved, jumped out of the tall weeds at the side of the road.  Right behind him were others, a woman with a baby, another man.

They were desperate, but I could tell accosting people was not what they wanted to do.  I was calm, and said I would go and get them food from my house.

As dreams go, I was instantly in my house, but I became sidetracked by people milling about.  At one point I was looking down from a balcony onto a careful arrangement of artifacts.  They were fascinating, but there was something dark about them.  A friend stood next to me.  I thought out loud, saying, "I need to get rid of these things."  My friend quite bluntly replied, "Yes, you do."  Then I woke up.

I don't share every dream.  I know which ones are my brain doing its thing.  But this one was meant for someone, not just me.

I am big on benevolence, so helping the needy around me "in my neighborhood" was no big deal.
And, I've also purged my house many times over the years of things that were no longer a blessing and just taking up space.  The message was, there are things or activities that in themselves are not inherently evil, but my fascination with them was taking up space and time.... and distracting me from the Lord's purpose.

Sometimes those of us with big hearts for Jesus lose focus on the main things.  When we stay close to Him and His purposes for us, we will run and not grow weary (Isaiah 40:31).  But when we are distracted, mischief makers enter our lives.  And we grow tired and vulnerable to attack.

I will continue to contemplate and identify the mischief makers in my life, but some came to mind immediately.  Resetting boundaries on my time, and restating my priorities.  And, well, cutting my sugar intake.

I would just say one other thing.  Helping others is not an "add-on" activity we do when everything else is perfect.  It requires sacrifice.  It means NOT doing something else.  A mischief maker can be something that you are doing that you already know has no eternal value, but you are comfortable in it and your flesh wants it and you make excuses for why you deserve to have it.   It can be something that when you do it, impairs you from doing something else.

What was clear in my dream is, there is very often NOT a direct line from the mischief maker to the inability to do what you are called to do.  (They are tricky like that).  Ask Him to show you the connection if you don't see it right away.  It will make the burden easy and light, just like He means it to be.

Two Voices of Deception

There are two types of deceptive voices it seems. One that says "all is peace" when there isn't, and other that cries "wrath and war" when it is not yet.

The first causes the deceived to be lazy and unguarded, hearing only what tickles their fancy and they become prey for slaughter.

The second brings sadness, fear and trembling when there should be peace and joy.

The enemy of our souls is behind both, and both are constantly active today, causing the misguided to kill people who should not die and keep alive those who should not live.

The miracle of Jesus Christ is that when He is in your heart, you will have joy in the fox hole, and when not in war you will celebrate and peacefully store up provisions for leaner days. He will be your anchor.

The enemy will always try to kill, steal and destroy. Our Heavenly Father is, quite oppositely, the Author of life, liberty and joy, even in the midst of trials. Choose Him and choose joy!