If you are ever around me when it is my birthday and we happen to be in a public place, I forbid you to break into a round of “Happy Birthday, dear Amy.” I would be mortified and probably crawl under the table.

At least that is what I thought until a moment ago. I just read this post at Lisa Whittle’s site. It got me thinking and got me excited. It made me think of Zephaniah 3:17.

“The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.”

Can you imagine God taking such delight in you that He sings! I’ve read that so many times before, but it hit me in a new way tonight after reading Lisa’s post. God loves me enough to sing about it. I don’t imagine it is a quiet, subdued singing either (unless I need soothing, perhaps). I imagine it is a gusty, full of zest, and full of emotion, shout from the heavens kind of singing. And it is a song to make everyone stop and wonder in amazement.

Somehow, something shifted just now for me. I don’t think I would shy away to have the King of the Universe sing to me a love song. I think I would be, I think I am enthralled.

On second thoughts, if any of you want to sing to me when my birthday rolls around next December 15th (I’m safe cause it’s far off to remember!), I might not stop you. I might relish the moment as a reminder that God is singing too.

Several years ago I lived in Bloomington, Indiana. I was on staff with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship and struggling a bit to make ends meet on my own. A family offered to have me live in their basement. I paid some rent and supplemented this with helping with the kids. We opted to try it for six months but it worked so well that it lasted three years!

When I first moved in, they were in the process of putting in a bathroom in the basement. Until it was done, I used the guest bathroom upstairs. One night I got up to use the bathroom. Not wanting to wake anyone, I walked in the dark and didn’t flip the light on until I reached my destination. “Silly, cat!” I whispered and then — in terror — I slammed the door! It had clicked in my sleepy mind that the tail I saw protruding from behind the toilet was ringed rather than pure grey.

I knocked on Jerry and Dana’s door and announced that there was a raccoon in the bathroom. Neither believed me and told me that it was the cat. I insisted that Jerry check. Sure enough, there was a raccoon now caught in the bathroom!

The shape was right from behind. The coloring was right. It just took me a moment to notice that the tail was a bit off and things were not what they appeared.

After reading some antics that happened at Amy’s “In My Life” site involving reptiles in the toilet, it got me thinking about that night. As I’ve thought about it, I’ve pondered how often things are not as they appear: physically, emotionally, relationally, and spiritually.

Physically

We all know there is no such thing as magic and that magicians use slight of hand to make us think we’re seeing something we’re not. (But it is still amazing and I so wish I could learn the quarter out of the ear trick.) Just like magicians, we make things in our lives look differently than they are:

• Hiding things in the closet when company comes
• Plucking the offending gray hair
• Putting on our faces
• Acting as though things are one way when they aren’t

In the animal kingdom, I can think of two things start out very differently than what they will become: the fuzzy caterpillar and the ugly duckling. Maybe I should make that three because scripture teaches that even we aren’t what we will one day be. No, I don’t mean the aging process we fight so hard.

Emotionally

I think most of us put on fronts. We pretend we are doing better than we actually are. We smile when we feel like crying. If someone asks how we are it is a “Great!” or “Fine!” We tell ourselves and others that this or that hurt, slight, or disappointment, doesn’t matter anyway.

Relationally

Even here we can pretend that things are different than they actually are. We pretend we aren’t angry or hurt when we are. We pretend we are the best daughter or friend or wife or mother or church member . . . there ever was. We find our importance in relation to those around us rather than in relation to our heavenly Father.

Spiritually

Yes, we can pretend that we are doing better in this area than we actually are. We can quote scripture and teach Sunday school. We can make a meal for someone who is ill or just not let anyone see how closely the pastor’s lesson struck home with us.

In lots of ways, we have the right shape, the right color, but deep down we know that something is off. There are rings on that tail that should be solid!

I’m rereading and thinking, “That doesn’t sound very hopeful!” But there is hope in the fact that things are not what they appear. Not that we should all go pretending — not that. Rather there is hope in knowing the end of the story even if we don’t know the twists and turns that it will take to get there.

Physically, emotionally, relationally, the world seems to be in a piteous state: global warming, war, disease, school shootings, drugs, . . . . But the hope is in that it will all one day be renewed. As scripture says, even creation waits in eager expectation (Romans 8:19-21 (NIV)):

The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

All the pretense and pretending will one day fade away. It will become clear that things are not what they appear when the glory of God shines all around. It’s hidden now, but one day it won’t be so. There is hope in knowing that I am not yet what I will be but I am becoming. There is hope in knowing the one who is changing me and all His creation.

While there is hope in that, the challenge of all this is letting ourselves be real with one another while we wait. In doing so, I think we might find hope in God’s community. So the next time you are tempted to say “Great!” (of course unless you really are), think about if the tail is solid or has rings!

A few weeks ago at Lisa Whittle’s site, she encouraged us to share a “get real” moment. Those are the moments where we share what is really going on in our hearts and minds and souls. I thought I would share some of what I shared there and maybe elaborate a little.

My get real moment is “pretending it doesn’t matter.” I do this in a variety of ways. One of the quickest things to come out of my mouth is to say “I know that’s stupid or silly” about something I have said or done or thought. I don’t judge others this way. It never crosses my mind to do so. But with myself, it is second nature. I’m trying to watch it and not do it so often (or someday at all), but you may need to call me on it. The reason behind saying it at all is that if I say it first it might hurt less if you say it.

I don’t know that I hear others say those words about themselves to the extent that I do. However, I also think that women (and probably men too) are great pretenders. We play the game of It Doesn’t Matter Anyway.

In elementary school, we are not asked to play and we say, “It doesn’t matter, I didn’t want to jump rope anyway.”

I went to exactly one dance in junior high and high school. It was in junior high and even though I didn’t have friends to go and hang with, I bought the line from the teachers that it was for everyone and anyone could come and it wasn’t a date kind of thing. I still remember the cafeteria being emptied of tables and chairs and the beat of the music. I think I lingered in there watching everyone dance for about an hour. I was too shy to just join in what even seemed like a group dance. I spent the next two hours sitting on the curb outside in a patch of darkness waiting for my mom to come pick me up. Though I told her I’d had loads of fun, my mantra in my head those two hours was “It doesn’t matter anyway. I didn’t want to dance anyway. I don’t like dancing anyway.” Since I had never really danced, this was pure presumption on my part.

By the time high school rolled around with “Homecoming Dances” and later the prom, I had made myself so busy running a thriving babysitting business that I could easily say, “It doesn’t matter anyway that I wasn’t invited. I couldn’t have gone anyway. I’ve been booked 3 months out to sit for so and so.”

It mattered to my mom that I didn’t go to the prom. Even though the arrangement my parents had worked out with me was that I got a certain amount each month that I budgeted for lunches or clothes or school supplies or gas or whatever, she offered to spring for a dress for the prom my senior year. I was actually mildly amused by how seriously she took it because I was so versed in it doesn’t matter anyway that going was never an option in my mind. She could take care of the dress, but it would have been a dress that hung in my closet. No group of girlfriends and certainly no boy was planning on including me. So, I told myself, “It doesn’t matter anyway . . . .”

I was in chorus my sophomore year. There was a special singing group for juniors and seniors. I sang second soprano. Even though it felt like a risk, I tried out. And when I didn’t make it, it confirmed the belief that I couldn’t sing and that it was silly to try out and what had I been thinking and I didn’t want in it anyway because it would take away from my studies and I wanted to get into a good school. I didn’t want it anyway.

As an adult I have the same mantra about various things, “It doesn’t matter anyway, I didn’t want the house with a white picket fence and the kids would ruin the carpet anyway and a husband would drive me nuts. It doesn’t matter GOD because I didn’t really want all that anyway.“

Or it doesn’t matter anyway about that job. It doesn’t matter anyway that a friend is moving because we weren’t that close anyway. It doesn’t matter anyway . . . .


Or sometimes I say, “Okay, I wanted all that but God, you are enough anyway” and that is a pretend too. I say it because it sounds more Christian and accepting.

But when I pretend in whatever way, I wall off bits of my heart. While I shouldn’t wallow in things, when I pretend — or perhaps lie — to God and others that it doesn’t matter anyway, I squash hope. I forget to let myself dream. I close myself off to possibilities. I refuse any comfort because who needs comforting when it doesn’t matter anyway? Squashing hope and dreams is spirit deadening because it limits life to what is immediately before you and it forgoes any real communication with God about what is really going on.

God would rather hear me say, “I want it all — the kids, the husband, the dog, the in laws everyone complains about, the very best friend I can call at 2:00 AM. And God I know you are suppose to be ENOUGH, but sometimes I want it so and it doesn’t feel like you are enough.” When I’m honest to say that, He invites me on his lap and tells me He knows and reminds me that He is enough but it is okay to have those feelings. They are longings He built in me. And He invites me to wait a little longer to see what He will do — not a promise that all those things will come the way I think they will but how He might use my hands, my life, my heart and meet me in a way I can never imagine.

It is best not to pretend those things don’t matter anyway because when I pretend like that, I wall off my heart and do not let Him comfort me. And I risk falling into the pit of doubt that says He is holding out on me, keeping back the best. But God doesn’t do that. He knows it all matters. He wants to hold all the things of my heart. But He needs to be free to meet all those dreams in anyway He chooses. I need to trust that any which way life goes, God has my best interest at heart.

• I would have held your hand more often
• I would have called you more just to say “Hello” even if we would be seeing each other in just a few hours.
• I would have laughed when you tried to tame my crazy kitty Katy into coming to you no matter how late it made us for dinner
• I would have pressed to meet your family sooner
• I would have let you help me with more things instead of trying to be independent
• I would have snuggled more
• I would have told you more about my thoughts and feelings. Oh, it wasn’t that you didn’t it ask but just that I am not a natural talker.
• I would have made you more cookies and peanut butter pie.

If I had only known that you’d be leaving here so soon, I would not have been so shy. I would have loved you out loud.

If you were here right now:

• I’d let you help with flowers for the yard
• I’d actually cook for you
• I’d tell you how hard it was to have you go so suddenly
• I’d laugh with you about Mali’s antics. She would have you wrapped around that tiny paw.
• I’d let you comfort me on some of the strange turns my life has taken
• I’d tell you about the book I hope to write
• I’d drive you crazy holding your hand
• I’d laugh more
• I’d smile more
• I’d be the one to try and sneak the kiss
• I’d count every second as a treasure

And, yes, I would love you out loud . . . .

Bill died April 23, 2007 from an aortic aneurysm. We had met at church. Our first date almost turned into a group outing. I was standing with Emily when he approached me and asked about a concert in Peoria that night. Assuming he meant a group outing, I turned to Emily and asked her if that sounded like fun. He graciously said that more people would be fine. But Emily caught on more quickly than I did and she declined.

When he picked me up he noticed that I didn’t put the garage door down. I explained that it was broken and I had no clue what to do with it. The next day he came by to fix it for me. I was making cookies, so he stayed for some . . . .

He fixed that sill garage door 3 times! Third time was the charm. It hasn’t broken since.

But I suppose instead, it’s my heart that got broken to have him leave so suddenly. It’s been a year and I still remember. It’s been a year that was really hard in places, but my heart is healing. I’m making it through.

Bill brought me laughter and a feeling of connection that before I had only ever dreamed could happen. Without Bill I might have given up that the connection even really existed. While it hurt to say a sudden “Goodbye,” there is hope in knowing that mystical connection is fact not fiction and even I can dare to reach out for it.

I dread it when I hear that a stretch of road I normally traverse is going to be “under construction.” In theory, these projects are meant to help in the long run. In the short run, they are headaches in the making. And if your part of the world is anything like my part of the world, “construction” on even a tiny segment takes forever.


Roadblocks was what came to mind as I was reading for the on line study at Lelia’s of Lysa Terkeurst’s book, What Happens When Women Say Yes To God. (If you want to join the discussion or read other’s thoughts, just click the button at right.)

I even had a bit of a stumbling block/roadblock on Monday. I had a doctor’s appointment and was using my lunch break to accomplish it. (To my credit, I had let them know I might be a few minutes late coming back.) Sigh, maybe that was a prediction. But I’m usually in and out. It’s a routine kind of thing. The fall of 2006 my iron was extremely low and for whatever reason, my body wasn’t absorbing it from food or pills. I had to get it intravenously like eight times! At which point, my iron count was probably high enough to set off a metal detector! Now I go in every 4 months or so to see how much ground has been lost (usually 60-100 points). It was so high when they gave me those treatments, that while it is still dropping it is now in the “normal” range.

But my usual in and out turned into a sit and wait. I don’t do sit and wait well…. Part of it for me today was, “What were they thinking at work?” I had already told them it might be a possibility, yet I felt myself get more and more anxious about it. And God brought to mind Lysa’s words where she spoke of the gatekeepers Acceptance and Rejection. Rejection, criticism was what I feared if I lingered to long even for a necessary appointment. Acceptance is what I craved. As Lysa so aptly wrote, both gatekeepers require a lot (the fear of not being able to continue to perform or the lure of being constantly let off the hook because I don’t measure up).

Lysa challenges us to choose worship over worry. Worry is a great roadblock to me. I can find worry in everything. When things are hard, the worry is ten times greater. Lysa writes:

When we worship in these hard places, we are reminded that none of this is about me — it’s all about God.

I want to have a heart that automatically looks to worship instead of worry. But a lot of my worry comes from where my eyes — physically (counting the dollars and balancing the checkbook), emotionally (what are people thinking or saying about me), and spiritually (my own inability to be “good enough,” worthy enough for God) are looking. I look at storm rather than the storm calmer.

Lysa uses a beautiful illustration of her youngest daughter Brooke. Brooke is Lysa’s child who most needs touch. Once, she was in a dance recital and the part she anticipated dancing got switched. In tears, she searched out her mother. Lysa knew she couldn’t be on stage with her daughter but she said, “Lock your eyes on mine and Mommy will touch you with my smile. Don’t look at anyone or anything else . . . . It doesn’t matter if you mess up. What matters is that you keep your eyes on me the whole time. We’ll do this together.”

I need to lock eyes with the heavenly Father. It has been a difficult few days and that seems hard to do. I’d like to hide and pull the covers over my head. But I am choosing to lock eyes with Jesus and choose hope by doing things like taking spring pictures over the weekend or calling a friend when I need it or reading all the antics and wise thoughts of my bloggy friends. In these ways I am locking eyes with hope.

And not only am I trying to dance, God is dancing and singing over me. The smile never leaves His face when my eyes are locked with His.

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.” — Zephaniah 3:17 (NIV)

It seems like it has been a long time in coming, but it appears that we are finally trading winter for spring. That feels like hope to me! So, I thought I would share a few pictures from this winter and my outing today into spring!

The playground down the road is silent and lifeless during the winter.

Today, the playground was teeming with life and a pick up basketball game.

There are no flowers in the winter. Well, this is my yard. With a friend’s help, I had flowers for the first time last year. I’ll have to see what I can muster this year.

But I found these beauties dancing in the slight breeze while on my walk.

These have been my valiant allies when I shoveled what seemed to be our every 7 to 10 day snow storms. While I welcomed their comfort and warmth, it is time to retire them to the basement for a season.

My toes are excited to trade them for these pretty pink sandals. Alas, they are not suitable for days at work, but I suspect I’ll make good use of them in the off hours! I felt pretty and fun in them today at church!

As much as I am enjoying the change in seasons, I am also aware of restlessness in my heart. As all Christians are continually being transformed to be more like Jesus, I pray the same is true of my heart. Though it has meant some tears the last month or two, I hope it means that spring and new growth are abiding there as well.

What is your best picture of spring? Post it and leave me a comment and I will come see!

I have high expectations for myself. In school it was A+ type work. In terms of relationships, it is being trustworthy — let your yes be yes and your no be no kind of stuff. I am also a completely confidential person. This is probably a mix of things. In my family growing up, everything was a secret so I learned not to share. That probably wasn’t so healthy. But then there is also the piece that I worked in ministry for 11 years and dealt with student’s private lives so there were things that had to be kept confidential. And then I got my MA in counseling, so everything is private there! But it also slips into my relationships. I just don’t tend to repeat things — not even to say, “Don’t tell anyone else but . . . .” We all know how that works.

I am also intensely loyal and tend to go out of my way to help people. Until last weekend, I thought this was mostly about helping people I knew well and cared for. A friend pointed out that I tend to respond that way to everyone. For example, there is a single mom in my community group. I do not know her at all. We’ve never said much more than “Hello.” Part of it is the timing when she joined, I had to miss several weeks, so there hasn’t been much opportunity. She recently told the group she was looking for a sitter because her regular sitter is going to be out of town for a week. I immediately said that I might be able to help because of the odd hours of my work schedule but that I needed to look at my schedule.

I looked at my schedule and found that I had some things already scheduled. I could definitely help one day and possibly rearrange life on a second day…. I began to problem solve how I could totally meet the need — even considering using some vacation time. My friend pointed out that I respond that way to a lot of things but it isn’t necessarily my job to meet every need that comes my way — do what I can but don’t turn into a Chinese acrobat with all kinds of contortions. I cannot be all things to all people.

All of that sounds somewhat positive, doesn’t it? Loyal, caring, confidential, helpful. It is but there is a catch. Those are expectations of myself but I am realizing that I put those expectations on others as well. When the need isn’t met or confidentiality is broken or whatever . . . I am extremely hurt.

I believe that God has given me a tender heart. It makes me see things that other wouldn’t see and respond in ways that other might not respond. But a tender heart can also be easily hurt. I am finding the need to sift through what appropriate expectations are and where I perceive a slight when there might not be one.

The Velveteen Rabbit is a great book. In it the Skin Horse explains real and why it doesn’t often happen to toys that break easily or have to be carefully kept. Real is when you get shabby in the joints and your fur has been loved off. My thought lately is that I may have to be “too carefully kept” to develop the friendships I long for. So, I’m praying that God would help me with my expectations, that I can give to my heart’s content but not have the same expectations of others. I think the tender heart is a good thing. I just don’t need it so easily broken.