The Power of a Prayer

This afternoon I left a note for the stranger in the booth next to me. It was written on a scrap of paper dug from my purse. He had done nothing. I left it for him anyway... And then I practically ran from the restaurant. My hands were still shaking half an hour later... and tears threatened to spill... but there's a smile on my face and a joy in my heart. Yes, that's a teaser.  So now... the rest of the story....  ;)

Yesterday a man and his young son were ahead of me in line at a build-your-own-burrito-type restaurant when I noticed he appeared to be carefully calculating what his lunch would cost.  I was tempted to pay for his, but it was a little awkward the way the restaurant was set up -- I was at the other end with my order not even started.  I guess that was still in my mind this morning because at the end of my quiet time I decided that today I would pay for whomever was in line behind me (an idea sort of borrowed from a local radio station).  I actually prayed several times throughout the morning that God would bring the right person into line behind me -- someone who needed the blessing.

After dropping my daughter off at work, headed towards the restaurant, the whole thing started feeling very silly to me.  What are the chances that someone counting pennies is really going to end up in a restaurant for lunch?  One where I normally spend over $9 for a bowl of soup and a medium soda?  So I started praying that it would at least be a person who needed some encouragement.  The closer I drove to the restaurant, though, the more silly the whole thing seemed.  I walked in and almost sighed with relief when no one entered behind me.  Sort of.  There was also a small twinge of disappointment. 

The table where I usually sit was taken so I slid into the booth in front of it, watching the captions on the news station on the TV.  As I watched, my heart was drawn to the man in the booth between me and the TV -- the man sitting in "my" normal booth. He was a slightly older gentlemen, dressed in business attire, working on a laptop and with his back to me.  I couldn't tell you why, but I started praying for him -- telling God that I didn't know what was going on in the man's life, but He did... and asking Him to work in it.  There was nothing about the gentlemen that should've initiated those thoughts or prayers...  he looked the picture of the successful businessman.  He held himself well.  The face wasn't the same, but his age, build, dress and his posture/composure reminded me a lot of Mitt Romney.  He appeared to be a guy who had it all together.  But... something in my heart just wouldn't let it go.

At one point the man stood up and gathered stacks of papers and folders.  I saw his profile and his wedding ring... and increased my prayers.  Again, no reason - but my heart just sure that he needed it.  Then, instead of leaving, he sat down on the other side of the table (now facing me), and pulled his laptop around.  I saw him shake his head as he stared at the screen...  and the way his fingers rested against his temple as he glanced through the paperwork in front of him...  I just started praying harder.  After awhile he stood up again, this time putting his laptop in his bag.  He glanced at the papers in his hand and something in his posture just... I don't know...  there was an uneasiness in his spirit.  He left his things at the table and returned to the cashier area -- apparently to return a pen.

I had a flash of an idea... but knew I didn't have time.  When I glanced back up, though, he was nowhere in sight.  So... I started rummaging through my purse.  No notepad.  I remembered I had a printed report and wondered if maybe there was a half sheet I could tear off.  After a few moments, I found one.  I tried to quickly tear it on the edge of the table, but the table was too rounded to give a clean tear.  And I needed to tear off yet another edge to remove a printer footer....  Ugh.  So now I had an extremely jagged-looking scrap of paper.  Great.  I was out of options, though, so I pulled out my pen and wrote, "This may be weird... but I prayed for you over lunch today."  

As I finished writing, the man started to return to his table and I figured I'd lost the opportunity... but then he was gone again!  Frantically, I shoved papers back in my purse, not even zipping it; slapped the note face-down on his table; gathered my trash; and practically bolted towards the door.  

I rushed out to my car, wondering if I should've left the note face-up... maybe he wouldn't even see it.  That's when I realized I was parked directly in front of the window where he now stood gathering his things.  I ducked my head and fumbled with getting my keys in the ignition, lifting my head just in time to see him reach for my scrap of paper and flip it over.  I hesitated... and saw him read it.  He just stood there for a moment, staring down at that jagged little slip of paper in his hand... then a slow smile spread across his face.  I should've had the car in gear... meant to have the car in gear... meant to be gone already... but something held me.... I was still there when he looked up.  He glanced around the parking lot for a few seconds, searching... and then met my gaze.  I froze.  Then I managed a smile... kind of a "knowing" smile...  hopefully an encouraging smile.  Heart pounding, I put the car into reverse and took off -- my hands literally shaking.

As I pulled away, though, I realized... God had this exact encounter in mind when He had me praying for someone whom I could bless with my lunch hour.  His plan was different -- and so much better -- than what I had envisioned... but He was in it all along.  And then... I reflected back to my quiet time this morning and was stunned to realize just how planned it all was (you'll understand why in a minute).  And as I realized that, it also hit me what was playing on my CD at that very moment -- "The Power of a Prayer" by Matthew West.  Wow.  Major God-wink!  So here's the journal entry from my quiet time....

November 28, 2012
I realized something this morning.  On the way in to drop my daughter off at school, it hit me – I was actually looking forward to pulling back in the drive, opening my Bible and seeing what You had to speak to me today!  I also realized that it was the first time in a long time that I came with expectation.  For the last couple of months, I have been regular because I knew it was what I should be doing… but not because I really felt like I was hearing from You.  That’s changing.  And… I realized… it took stepping out in obedience even when the “feelings” weren’t there.  And it took time, coming consistently even when I wasn’t feeling or seeing results.  And… the same probably applies to other areas of my life as well.  I’ve got to keep trying, striving, even when I don’t “feel” anything; when I don’t see results.  Not what I wanted to hear!  LOL!  And I’m not sure how ready I am to apply it, either.  So… keep working on me, Father.

It's funny how two different devotionals this morning touched on prayer.  Funny, too, how my “random” Psalm reading ended up containing the “scripture of the day” from my Bible app (Psalm 19).

I think of prayer and I think of my Great Grandma Cora.  To be a woman like her!!!

At one time, I was headed in that direction.  I remember praying for things like my niece's hearing aids – and suddenly they worked!  I remember my sister even joking, "Just have Jenn pray for it!"  I remember feeling so close, so confident, so connected.  When did that change?  When did I stop praying?

Cora Monroe was more than just a prayer warrior.  There was a sweet spirit about her.  A discerning spirit.  I’ve often wondered what she prayed for my sister and me.  I don’t know.  I do know I believe the spirit she had was Yours; from spending so much time at Your feet.

So... bring me back to that place where I believe my prayers matter.  Where I want to spend time with You.  Where my first thought is prayer.  Let me be a woman like my Great Grandma Cora – one who spends so much time at Your feet that others can smell your scent all over me; see your peace surrounding me.  I am NOT Cora Monroe by any stretch right now.  Any resemblance that comes will be Your doing, not mine.  Ignite that small ember of faith in me, Father.  I know it’s still there.  Fan it with Your breath… until its fire consumes me.

May the words of my mouth
And the meditations of my heart
Be pleasing to You,
My Rock & my Redeemer!

 May my every thought turn towards You!

Believe it or not, I honestly wasn't thinking about that journal entry when I felt the prompting to pray for the man in the restaurant.  The tears I mentioned in the teaser?  They were simply due to realizing that God had reached down and used me to encourage someone else... just the realization that God was moving in my life -- that He allowed me to see with His eyes for just a second, and be prompted to pray... then to see the smile brought to the man's face as a result.  That in itself was amazing.  

Then... when I finally put it all together with the journal entry/devotions on prayer this morning... with my request to be brought back to a place where I believe my prayers matter?  Wow.  What an answer!  And my heart swells -- because I know that God is definitely on the move.  He is faithful to His Word... generous to His child.  Very, very cool. :)

 -jenn 

 

1000 Sleepless Nights...

I can’t believe it’s been over a year since I’ve posted anything here. First, things were busy with a move out of state. Then… the things that most occupied my mind weren’t things I could readily share.  Truth was, they weren’t mine to share. They’ve impacted my life and my faith immensely, though, so I am going to share that… because I am simply amazed at what God’s doing in me.... 

Ten years ago I faced some hard circumstances in my life.  Those circumstances have in effect shaped me this last decade – while I still believe, it’s been difficult for me to always trust; to always have faith.  But the last several years have had their own set of difficult circumstances as well – hard stuff… really hard stuff.  To be honest, prayer wasn’t always my first response.  I’m a “fix-it” type person and so my inclination is to try to figure out what I need to do to, well… fix the problem!  In recent months, though, I've been slowly coming to the end of myself and I’ve found myself praying more and more.  I’m actually beginning to really understand that whole “pray without ceasing thing!”  I've been praying when I'm not even fully conscious!  Yet… I’ve still been trying to figure it out as well – what action of mine will help to bring the desired results?

One night earlier this week, as I was thinking and praying about it, I suddenly had this thought come to me:  the “fix” wasn’t going to be anything that I say or do.  Whatever was going to happen, it was going to be God showing himself through the situation – totally out of my control or abilities. The next day, though… with some other things going on… I still thought that I might have some impact.  It didn’t happen.  The day was a total roller coaster.  Any hopes I had were pretty much crushed. 

That night I found myself sitting on the porch swing over-looking the lake in the dark, remembering the “thought” from the night before, and crying out to God in total surrender… surrendering things that I hadn’t been sure I could ever surrender.  But I did.  I gave Him permission to totally break my heart… praying, “Whatever it takes, God – go ahead and do it.”  I knew the “whatever” could be – and probably would be – pretty awful to go through. I can't begin to explain how awful.... But I was convinced that the thought from the night before – that it would only be God showing himself through the situation – was truly God speaking.

So... I’m now going through each day knowing that nothing I do or say is going to matter in this situation – that I can’t “fix” it. That knowledge shouldn’t be freeing, at least not by the world’s standards. Yet… it has been. My heart has been lighter, a weight taken from me.  Every once in awhile my mind still starts churning on ways I can try to fix it, influence the situation in some way... but then I turn around and remind myself – it’s not up to me to fix it! I just have to turn it over… lay it in God’s lap... trust... and love with everything that I have.  My heart lightens again.

I’m not saying that the situation is anything different than it was… or that I’m any happier about it than I was.  But…  I’ve found freedom in trusting God.  The storm hasn’t changed... but... I have…. Which…  considering how much I’ve struggled with faith and trust the last decade… maybe there was something to all those sleepless nights….

… what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
 
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
this world can’t satisfy
 
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise

- Laura Story, “Blessings”

BTW – I know... it’s not really over... it’s going to be a continual struggle to keep surrendering... especially for a “fix-it” type like me... ;)   So… don’t expect perfection from me just yet! ;)

-jenn  

 

Addendum/Clarification:  I don’t believe in any way that God brought this situation into our lives simply in order to change me. I don’t believe He works that way. Sin and a fallen world have brought pain and suffering into all our lives. But God has used it -- will always use it when we let Him -- to bring something better... in this case growing/restoring my trust and my faith.

Faith to Believe

I did something on Sunday that I never thought I would ever do:  I found myself texting in church.  As our pastor was speaking from the front, I pulled out my cellphone and initiated a text conversation with someone not even in the room.  I cringed as I imagined my oldest daughter, a few rows behind and to the side of me catching sight of what I was doing.  After all... hadn’t I threatened her within an inch of her life if I ever caught her doing the same thing?   Then there was the fact that I was in plain view of my pastor as well as all those around me.  I could only hope that either (1) he didn’t see me (yeah, right) or (2) he knew me well enough to know that something unusual was happening as I made furtive glances towards my phone and then slid open the keyboard to enter a reply... more than once.  Me... texting during the service.  Definitely not something I ever envisioned happening.

But, then, something else was happening that I hadn’t ever envisioned happening.  I’d come dangerously close to standing in the way of my husband’s leadership... and closed my heart to not only his leading, but God’s.   And the very thing I nearly resisted was something I’d found so easy in another lifetime.  Not literally another lifetime, of course... but it seemed a lifetime ago.  But that was before something happened that had shaken my faith.  And now with weakened faith, logic had nearly over-ruled it completely.  I can remember several years ago sitting in a meeting on the other side of that fence – me, sitting with faith, and watching logic over-rule it.  I remember crying afterward knowing that I’d just sat through a meeting where people had gutted the very programs God used to build that church because they were looking at dollar signs instead of changed lives... and forgetting the God who had always provided – usually just in the nick of time, but never, ever, failing.  Now... here I was... in another church... and I was the one clinging tightly to logic.

The small church we are now attending recently initiated a capital campaign to raise funds towards a property purchase.  We were asking members sign commitment cards  indicating a pledge over the next three years (which the bank will consider when approving a loan amount).  We were also asking for one-time gifts on this same commitment card.  Several times over the last few weeks my husband had brought up the topic of what we wanted to do.  Each time I indicated that I thought we could do a one-time gift, but I didn’t see the three-year pledge as something we needed to do.  We were, in fact, not even going to be a part of this church much longer – we were moving out of state within a couple of months.  We also had three daughters who were getting scarily close to college, a house to sell in a tough economy, the smallest amount in savings we’ve had in a long time, a lot of unknowns with the upcoming move... and were already giving above and beyond a “tithe.”   It just wasn’t our responsibility.  We’d been to a vision meeting for the campaign; we’d participated in the day of fasting; we were behind it 100%.  But... it just wasn’t our responsibility.  I had the feeling that my husband felt otherwise, but I didn’t give him much room for discussion.  It was time to take care of our family. We’re supposed to do that first, right?  All through the campaign it had been stressed that we cannot sacrifice the necessities of our own family in order to provide for someone else.

It was now Commitment Sunday, when our commitment cards would be collected.  I had woken that morning from a dream in which my husband and I had agreed on a number for the one-time gift that was much higher than what I was planning on.  It wasn’t a bad thing in the dream -- we both came to the number separately and felt good about it.  It was higher than I was comfortable with in my now-awake state, though, so I took a deep breath and asked my husband what he had been thinking and got a surprise – his number was even higher!   That was a new experience -- always before we’d been of one mind; separately coming to the same numbers.  After some talking, the number we agreed on was much higher than what I’d originally thought (and a bit lower than what he’d thought), but it was close to what I’d had in the dream.   

We arrived to church a bit late and my husband headed to the nursery where he was serving as I slid into my place behind the front desk.  We had a slow trickle of people coming in after the service started, so I stayed out front a little longer than usual.  I missed the announcements; the first couple of songs; the meet and greet time... and finally slid into a seat beside my daughter for the last couple of songs.  I can’t remember what we sang or what was said – it couldn’t have been much, since I missed most of it.  But as I settled into my seat after that last song, as our pastor said his first few words, I suddenly knew...  I HAD to text my husband... right then, right there... in the middle of the pastor’s message.  Ugh.  Feeling extremely conspicuous, I slid my phone out of my pocket, put it on silent,  and typed as discretely as I could,

“U wanted to do something per month for the 3 yrs., didn’t you?  I’m holding back what u felt led to do, aren’t I?”

I waited what seemed like forever before I saw the notification light blink.

“Maybe.”

I slid the keyboard open again, and with a furtive look up at our pastor still speaking up front, I began typing again.

“Maybe?  LOL”

He answered with a smiley/wink as I typed my next question:

“What were you thinking per month?”

The reply to this one took longer.  I tried to be patient – he was in the nursery with several babies after all.  But I had no idea at what point in the service those commitment cards were going to be gathered, so I kept staring down at the screen – like my constant vigilance would make it light up.  Finally he answered with a number.  To my surprise, it was a bit lower than the one that I was prepared to write down.  Somehow I’d expected to come to the same number like we used to.  I quickly typed in my number in reply, thinking as I did that the one-time gift we’d settled on had been lower than what he’d originally suggested, so maybe this worked out.  I waited....  and I waited.... and I waited...  trying to listen to our pastor and watch for that little green light to blink.  Finally:

“ xxx is fine with me! 

Sorry, got three  babies back here and one wants to help me text!”

I smiled and pulled out the pen to fill out the commitment card – not with a feeling of fear, reluctance, or even obligation, but gratefulness.  I listened to the rest of the message, definitely applicable to where I was.  And for the first time in a long time I realized how much we’d been given – and why.  I remembered how good it used to feel giving, knowing that God was trusting us, using us.  And I hoped maybe this small step was the beginning of healing my damaged faith.  I wanted to get back to that heart I once had – the one that trusted completely.  And I wanted to see what He was doing.  

At the end of the message, the baskets were passed for the commitment cards as our worship leader sang “Blessings” (by Laura Story) with the words displayed on the screen behind him.  I’d heard it a thousand times on the radio, but now I sang it with my eyes opened just a little wider.  Then we came to the bridge.  Somehow, I’d never really quite caught the words before.  But now they hit with full force:

We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love

My throat tightened with emotion and tears streamed silently down my face ....

As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe

And into the chorus, tears still flowing:

‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
And what if trials of this life... are Your mercies in disguise

Wow.

And what if... surrender and faith comes in the form of a text message typed during the Sunday morning message... just in the nick of time? :) Seriously, I honestly have no idea what God actually used to work that change in my heart. But I’m glad He did. And I can’t wait to see what else He is up to! :)

++++

The amazing thing? After I finished typing everything written above, I walked out to the mailbox to find a totally unexpected, fairly large check from our mortgage company – an unexpected “overage” in our escrow account. Received on Monday after surrendering on Sunday... into an open hand that had been tightly clasped the last time the mail was delivered. Amazing timing from an AMAZING God, huh? And, yes, I’m thinking this oughtta be good..... :)

-jenn

 

There... in the Small Stuff

I've got to admit that in the darkness of the early morning, preparing to wake my children with bad news, I briefly wondered where God was in all this.  Today was my daughter's 15th birthday.  But in the wee hours of the morning, while the kids slept upstairs, Carl and I had rushed our family dog to the ER.  As we'd knelt over her in the darkness, Carl had immediately realized the date, the importance, and cried out "Not today!"  Now, several hours later, I woke my daughter up not with a "Happy Birthday," but with the news that her dog may not make it through the day... and she needed to get dressed to come with us to the ER if she wanted to see her.  Not a good start to a birthday.

Her birthday had actually already taken a hit even before Ava's trip to the ER.  The kids were originally to have the day off from school and I'd scheduled a fishing trip for Jess.  But I'd canceled the trip when our school board had unexpectedly changed the day into a makeup day for a previous ice day.   Disappointing.   And now... now I had to tell her that today may be the day she has to say goodbye to her dog. Not the kind of news you want to break to your daughter.  Especially on her birthday.

As the kids one by one came down the stairs, still grappling with the news, my youngest pointed out that we hadn't had a chance to make a pawprint with Ava.  For all three of our previous dogs, we'd known the end was coming and had dipped a paw into a concrete stone with the kids, decorating the stone as only kids can do, and etching the dog's name into the wet concrete.  With Ava, there'd been no warning.  No time to make our traditional pawprint.   It was something Carl had already thought of in the wee hours of the morning, but I'd pointed out that our vet's office had given us a pawprint with the last dog we'd said goodbye to -- and it was much nicer than what we we had done, anyway.  I thought the problem was solved.  But Kayla stood before me and told me it wasn't the same.  The pawprint the vet would give us wouldn't be decorated.  And we wouldn't be able to set it out in a walkway like we could the others.  She was right.  So I told her maybe we could take the one the vet gave us and set it into concrete -- making our own stone, decorating it, but with the print from the vet as the center.  Quietly, to myself, I wondered what the vet would think if I asked for TWO pawprints -- one we could set in concrete and the other to sit on our mantle with the other.  I hate asking for things, though, so I let it go. We headed to the ER to pick up Ava and transport her to our vet.  Our vet recommended trying some different medications, so we left Ava in her care and went home to wait... and sleep... and I never gave the pawprint a second thought. 

I guess maybe I still didn't quite believe what was happening, because later in the afternoon when we received the call from the vet letting us know that there had been no change for the better and that a decision had to be made by that evening, the questions came full-force.  I wondered, "Why today?"  Where was God that He'd let this happen on my daughter's birthday?  ANY other day, but today.  But today?  Why on earth today?  He had the ability to push back the events of this day by just one day.  But He didn't.

We grappled with the decision in front of us -- knowing, really, what had to be done, but just not wanting it to be THIS day.  Jess, with tears in her eyes, and a tremor in her voice, proclaimed that it wasn't fair to Ava to hold on till tomorrow.  So our family of five filed into the vet's office at 6pm that evening to hold Ava for one last time as we helped her the best we could.  As I filled out the necessary paperwork, the receptionist asked me if we wanted a pawprint made.  When I answered yes, she asked what color.  I knew to expect the question -- I'd seen them ask another patient just a week before.  But I hesitated for just a moment as I tried to think how to describe the last one they'd made for us - kind of a marbled/streaked brown and tan.  In that moment of the slightest hesitation, though, the receptionist looked at me and offered, "We could do two of them if you would like."  Shocked to hear my earlier, unspoken, thought voiced by someone else, I blurted out "That'd be great" and then went on to describe the color.

Two pawprints?  I hadn't said a word to anyone about the thought I'd toyed with earlier that day.  I hadn't even thought about it in recent hours!  Two prints was not standard, I knew.  And yet... there was the receptionist, standing in front of me, asking if that's what I'd like.  Where was God in this day?  He was in the small stuff... showing He cared even in the midst of grief and ruined birthdays.  I still don't understand why it had to be that day.  But I do know He was there... in the small stuff.

And that fishing trip?  We rescheduled it for that Saturday.  Our guide had told us that the forecast was for moderate fishing at best, but Jess was anxious to get out anyway.  As we walked out to the dock, though, the weather wasn't what had been forecasted.  It was overcast and breezy.  That little weather change meant I was chilled, but it also meant the fishing was much better than anticipated!  We pulled in 45 fish, twice as many as the "maybe 18-24" that our guide had told us to expect.  And pulling up to the dock after our trip, I heard two different parties say they'd come in with just 1 fish.  Wow.  I know part of the reason for our success was our guide (Bob Maindelle of www.holdingthelineguideservice.com).   Part of it though... I really think... was a God with a fish story of His own... giving my daughter something to grin about.  There... in the small stuff.

-jenn

The Trail

The LORD had said to Abram, “Go......”

Recently, I took some time off. In a move that was totally uncharacteristic of me, I took off on my own – not even sure which day I’d be back or where I was spending my last night. On the drive back that last day, I stopped at McGee Creek State Park in Oklahoma to do some hiking. I texted Carl to let him what I was planning, knowing that sometimes cell coverage can be spotty out on the trail. When I got to the park, I pulled into the visitor center (closed on Sundays) and headed to the box marked “park maps” outside the door. I was disappointed to see there were no trails marked on the map, but I decided to drive around and at least enjoy the lake. I parked near the lake and walked along the shore. I found a suitable rock and sat for awhile with my feet in the cool water -- just enjoying the peace and quiet of a basically deserted park.

A little later, I headed back to the truck to drive around the rest of the park. I took a turn towards the lake huts just to check them out for future reference and at the end of the road I saw a sign marking a trailhead. I couldn’t make out the trail just looking out from the truck, though, so I parked and walked up to the sign. I still wasn’t positive I could see the trail, but I took what looked like might’ve been a trail up the hillside. Once I was up the hill just a little way, the trail was more clear and I felt comfortable taking off to follow it. At times I was a little nervous about losing the trail – a few months ago we’d missed a trail at Inks Lake and ended up circling the same loop something like 2-3 times trying to find the branch out! And now... I was alone... and breaking every single rule about hiking that I knew! I’d taken absolutely no provisions – not even water. I was hiking in an area I was totally unfamiliar with (and I realized after I was a good bit into it that for all I knew there could’ve been mountain lion sightings in the area – I mean, we’ve had them near my home and my parent’s home in Indiana this year, after all!). No one knew exactly where I was (Carl knew the name of the park, but had no clue I would’ve taken a little used lane down to the lake huts). And... did I mention I was alone? So with all that in the back of my mind, anytime the trail went around a corner or became a little harder to make out, I turned and looked back to make sure I could easily recognize the trail behind me. Each time I checked, it seemed very clear. No problem. Eventually, though, I came to an area where the trail became harder to distinguish and I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. I turned around and headed back.

Funny thing on the way back, though. Several times I started to get a little concerned as I looked ahead and lost sight of the trail. I’d start to panic just a little... but then I’d get right up to the point where I couldn’t see the trail anymore and realize it just went around a bend. I could still make it out with no problem. I just had to be right there before I could see it. I had to keep walking even when I couldn’t see where the trail went... and only then would the trail be revealed.

Sigh.... Yup. Life metaphor hammering me. Walking without a visible trail in sight is not always a pleasant experience for someone who likes to know where she’s going. And yet... God has a habit of doing that very thing to us:

The LORD had said to Abram, “Go from your country,
your people and your father’s household
to the land I will show you. – Genesis 12:1

Uh huh.... Just gotta keep walking....

-jenn 

 

Perfect Timing

This particular blog entry isn't so much about my something to say, but more about something to share... and God's perfect timing... and His perfect care of a 14yo girl very special to me.    "I know the plans I have for you...."

On Monday afternoon, the kids and I were trying to think of something fun to do on their last "free" day of summer.  Our efforts were a little hampered by the fact that it was incredibly hot out... and Jess was insisting she wanted to do something outside.  The rest of us, I have to admit, were telling her "no way!"  But as a guilt-ridden mother (wondering why I hadn't just planned something ahead of time), I pulled out my phone and typed "Lake Georgetown Boat Rental" into the Google search-bar.   Yes, those of you familiar with Lake Georgetown probably know that pretty much nothing fits that search.  But the search did pull up an article on Lake Georgetown which mentioned a fishing guide who worked the area.  As my kids complained from the backseat that we were just sitting there (not doing anything), I clicked onto the website for Holding the Line Guide Services.  I was intrigued --  Bob Maindelle is a local children's pastor who offers "Kids Fish Too!" trips at a very reasonable cost, and free to kids of our active servicemen.  Not that we qualify for that last part, but it hints at something about the man behind it.  Very cool.  I figured I might just have to arrange a fishing trip for my daughter (who had been missing fishing at my parents' home in Indiana since we'd arrived back in Texas four weeks ago).

Later that evening at home, I clicked through the website on my laptop and saw a tiny blurb at the bottom of one of the pages that mentioned "Custom Trips."   It read "If you've got something out of the ordinary in mind ... like bowfishing for gar, jugfishing for catfish, flycasting to carp or drum ... just let me know. I've probably done it and would be glad to introduce you to these pursuits. Sorry, no requests for ice fishing can be accommodated."  I laughed at the last line, but one word really caught my attention:  "bowfishing."  Jess has been taking archery lessons for almost two years and has been researching bow-fishing for several months.  In fact, she had just last week purchased (with her own money) a bow-fishing arrow and line.  Honestly, I thought she was a little nuts at the time... where on earth would we take her bow-fishing?  She was going to have money invested in gear that we would have no way to use....  Uh huh... yeah.  Ye of little faith, Mom!  I should know better....

So...  sitting at my laptop, looking at a website for a guy who obviously does well with kids (video on his site cinched that), with a family-friendly outfit and reasonable kids' pricing... and the word "bow-fishing" on his website... what else could I do?  A series of questions and emails later I was realizing that Bob had more than just a cursory familiarity with bow-fishing (which, honestly was was all I had been expecting) and I was sure I wanted to do this for Jess.  The problem was... the best time is a weekday night while it's hot out -- the season pretty much winds down at the end of September.  Uh... weekday night?  And I'm finding this out the night before school starts?  Ugh!   Not happy!  But on Tuesday while Jess is at school I ask more questions and talk with Carl... we are really hesitant on the weekday night thing, but know how great this could be for Jess...  we finally come to the conclusion that if we're going to do it, this week might be best -- hopefully the first week of school will have the least homework.  The only day we can do it would be Thursday, so I talk with Bob about that night, with the note that I'll need to talk to Jess about it when she comes home from her first day of high school.   

When I pick the girls up, Jess laments that all of her not-fun or hard classes were that day, why couldn't she have ONE fun class?  But... doing the math in my head I realized... that means her easy classes will be Friday this week... and the homework from the "hard" classes on Thursday won't be due until Monday!  How much more perfectly could that work out?  So I tell Jess about my conversations with Bob and of course she jumps on it with both feet. :)  A quick confirmation to Bob and we're set for Thursday night:  8-12pm near Salado -- an hour away.  On a school night.  We're nuts, right?  But... the first week of high school as a freshman had been kind of rough for Jess with several disappointments... so the timing of this bow-fishing trip seemed perfect.  Something to look forward to, and working perfectly with her class schedule, and only a few days after her bow-fishing gear had arrived.  Yup... God's looking out for my little girl. :)

When we arrived on Thursday, Bob worked with Jess, helping her get set up -- even putting some of his equipment on her bow.  Then the target practice -- shooting into water is vastly different than shooting at a target.  First -- and probably the hardest to learn to deal with -- is the refraction.  Water bends the light rays so that things are not really where they look like they are.  The rule of thumb Bob gave us was: shoot an inch low for every 10ft away your target is, and another inch low for every foot deep your target is.  That's a lot of math to be thinking about on the fly!  Bob was great working with her and she managed to hit the underwater target a few times before we headed out to find the fish.  It was a GORGEOUS night for it.  When we'd first pulled up, I'd noted a slight chop to the water and my heart had sunk a little - calm water would be best.  But when Bob took us out to the other side of the lake, the chop disappeared -- perfectly smooth.  The moon was up, the temps were comfortable, the sounds of wildlife around the lake (including some vocal coyotes), the smell and sounds of water... I think I could've been happy just lying out on the boat all night!  

Jess was out there for another purpose, though, and so the hunt began.. As we motored across the water, talking with Bob, we found he'd started bow-fishing when he was 11!   Bob took us right to the object of her pursuit and over the course of the night we saw (and Jess shot at) several gar and carp.  We saw a nice-sized drum, but it quickly darted into deeper water where we couldn't see him.  I was really glad for Bob's experience -- the water and terrain was much different than what I had grown up with, and I would've had a hard time spotting the fish without his help.  Let alone all the other guidance he gave Jess!   

Several of her shots over the next few hours came close -- she had really good left/right control, but that refraction (not to mention a moving target and limited vision) took some getting used to.  At one point she hit one, but lost it.  As we got closer and closer to that 12pm deadline,  I found myself silently praying "just one, God... just one."  And the closer we got, the more urgent that prayer got.  But all in His timing, right?  At about 11:50, Bob spied another fish and pointed Jess towards it...  she took her stance... sighted in... drew back... released... and I heard the water churn and my daughter, slightly surprised and unsure, turn to Bob and ask "What do I do now?"  :)  Bob coached her through letting the fish run and tire itself before pulling it back towards the boat.  He then instructed Carl to take the bow while Jess pulled the line in (by hand... we hadn't invested in a reel).  When it got closer, Bob handed me the spotlight so he could use both hands on the net... and when he pulled up the net I could see why.  The size of the fish really surprised me.  She'd put her arrow in the middle of a 9.25lb, 23.25" small-mouth Buffalo.  That may not seem so big hearing the stats... until you see it hanging from my daughter's hands!  Bob has filled out the paperwork and it looks like my little girl will hold the water-body record for a Jr Angler Bow-fish at Stillhouse Reservoir.  Very cool.

We arrived home after 2am with one very tired girl, but very happy girl.  The next afternoon, she was already looking up angling records, local lake info, and lamenting the fact that we don't have a boat.  The fish may have been on the receiving end of that shot... but my daughter is the one hooked. :)   And looking back, I can hardly believe how perfectly God arranged it all.  Perfect timing with school - needing something "good" this week; perfect timing with equipment -- having just received her stuff in the mail mere days before;  perfect timing with her classes -- knowing she'd have all weekend to do the homework in her "hard" courses; perfect guide in Bob (I really can't imagine anyone better out there to show her the ropes); perfect night -- weather and lack of boat traffic;  perfect timing for the catch -- late enough in the night for a build-up without the let-down of spending too long afterwards without a repeat; and one perfect shot for one perfectly ecstatic girl.  So what are the chances that all of that was coincidence -- along with the "accidental" discovery of Holding the Line Guide Services (and the perfect timing of finding it)?  Yeah... I thought not. 

Jesus always did have a special spot in his heart for fishermen, didn't he?   :)   

-jenn

Spiritual Hypoglycemia

I come from a fairly strong family history of diabetes. It's probably not surprising then, that my sister was diagnosed with borderline hypoglycemia as a kid. That basically means that if you wait too long between meals your blood sugar goes too low. I had some of the same symptoms as a kid, and it still surfaces sometimes. The funny thing about hypoglycemia is that sometimes the very thing you need is the very thing you have absolutely no interest in. But I'm getting ahead of myself -- that comes a little later.

One of first signs of low blood sugar is probably an increased irritability. I, personally, don't notice this at first. ;) My family probably does, though! ;) Then a kind of shakiness can set in. I don't know that anyone could see it, but I feel it -- I'm weak and shaky (and by this point I'm usually aware I'm cranky). I know I need to eat. But sometimes I push it anyway -- maybe I'm in the middle of something; maybe no food is readily available; maybe I just don't think I can take the time at that precise moment. Really, I'm just too stubborn to take care of it right then -- I think I can handle it and push on through. So then I start feeling worse. Maybe a bit of a headache.... An inability to think straight and make decisions.... And a general "I don't wanna do anything" -- including eating. My body doesn't feel right. My stomach doesn't feel right. Nothing sounds good. And I just don't have the energy for it. Brilliant spot I've gotten myself into, right? It's at this point my husband will usually look at me (trying to keep from rolling his eyes, I'm sure) and say "You need to eat!" Then, basically, he makes me eat. LOL. It's crazy, but the one thing I need is the thing I'm the least interested in. I need intervention from my husband to do something as simple as remember to feed myself!

So why am I blogging about this? Because sitting in our worship service on Sunday, something our pastor said hit me. I can't even remember what it was that he said, but I remember the flash of light that went off in my head. I hate to admit it... but I think sometimes I suffer a little from Spiritual Hypoglycemia. I get busy, focused on other things, and I put off a meal... and before I know it... I'm probably a little more irritable than usual, but I'm busy and don't realize it.... Instead, I get a little more sidetracked (just leave me alone and let me get it done!). I pass the cranky stage and head into the shaky stage. Here, I'm a little off-balance, but stubbornness kicks in and I try to just keep going. Suddenly, before I know what has happened I am into the full-blown "I really don't wanna do anything -- even eat" stage. The very thing I really need the most, I have absolutely no interest in. Brilliant spot I've gotten myself into, right? I'm finally recognizing it for what it is, though -- Spiritual Hypoglycemia. I just need to eat!

So now the question.... are we in part responsible, then, for providing some intervention in the lives of those who seem to be a little hypoglycemic (spiritually, I mean?). Physically, my husband knows he needs to step in at times and make sure I have food in front of me. But spiritually... shouldn't we be mature enough to know we need to eat? I can't depend on someone to make me partake -- my spiritual health is my own responsibility, isn't it? Or is it? Because there is that community piece... watching out for and caring for a brother... and yet... we're each ultimately responsible for our own growth, aren't we? Hmmmm.... Thoughts?

-jenn 

Not Good to Good

As I was falling backward towards the garage floor, my first thought was not "this is gonna be good." In fact, as I attempted to bounce right back up and keep going, I came face to face with the sudden realization, "this is not good." It wasn't. Eight weeks later, I can still see the bruises and the potential scar on my back and arm. Eight weeks later, I still sleep on ice and my back still tires quickly and tenses up doing something as simple as folding laundry. So, no.... not good.

But... eight weeks later, with weekly visits to my chiropractor, I think my posture is better than it ever has been. "Shoulders back" comes much more easily and feels much better than it used to. Adjustments and stretches are definitely working to my advantage, and I'm working to keep it that way. (With a family history of back problems, that's definitely a good thing!) Eight weeks later, I feel better about my overall health and am spending time each day doing things that are good for my body -- even adding a jog to my morning routine. Eight weeks later I have more appreciation for my chiropractor than I've ever had for a healthcare provider (except maybe the midwife who assisted my homebirths). Eight weeks later, I also consider this member of my church family a closer friend and am grateful for that. Eight weeks later, I'm guessing he's appreciative of my insurance company! Ha! So, really.... eight weeks later -- "Good." Pretty much all the way around.

So, yes, as I was headed towards that garage floor, the thought "Not good!" was fairly accurate. But it wasn't entirely accurate. Yes, it hurt. But in the long-term-- the long-term that I couldn't yet see -- there was "good." And I think the long-term good is going to far outweigh the short-term "not good." Funny how that works....

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)

I just wish I could remember that more often. I have to admit that I forget it way too easily....

-jenn 

Baby Steps

Baby steps. I hate them. Have since birth, I think. My parents tell me I didn't even crawl -- just took off running one day. Maybe it has something to do with my perfectionism.

If I don't have the time to clean the room to my standards, I'd rather not even start. I know that it doesn't make sense, because then I end up in a real mess.... But I just don't like doing something half-way. It's all-or-nothing..... I think I see the same thing in my daughter. The thought of cleaning up her room overwhelms her... and I think she inherited it from me. We just hate the baby steps it takes to get there. If we're going to do it, we should do it perfectly... and, ummm... NOW. :) And if we can't... then... why bother? Which... brings me to a journal entry from seven years ago....

 

Seven years ago I wrote in my journal that walking along a gravel path had woken the desire to run.  Yeah.  Right.  It had been over 20 years since I ran cross-country.  I was significantly older, heavier, and more out of shape than I was in high school.  The only thing I could do now was walk.  I did walk that evening as I waited for my daughter's soccer practice to end.  I set out at a brisk enough pace and put enough work into it that after awhile I felt my muscles go into that stage where only the repetition and the consistent stride keep you going (break stride and you're a goner!).  It actually felt good.  But I wanted to RUN!  I wanted to take off with a ground-eating stride like the 16 year-old kid I once was, not the middle-aged overweight woman I'd become.  But I just didn't want to take those baby steps.  It was overwhelming.  It seemed impossible to get there from here.  I couldn't run... so... in the end... I didn't even walk.

So here I am seven years later.  In basically the same shape.  :(   I took kind of a nasty fall a few weeks ago (running through the garage of all things!).   The damage I did to myself has had me at my chiropractor's office fairly regularly since then.  We're getting there.  And he's been showing me new stretches to help.  Honestly, it's felt good to be doing something good for my body.  And as I've stretched those long-forgotten muscles, the thought has occurred that I want to keep this up -- I want to keep doing good for my body and getting in better shape.  A few days ago Dr. Hoffman added another stretch... a calf stretch.  And suddenly....  as I stretched... there it was again -- the desire to run.  But... just like last time... the voices in my head shout "Impossible! No way!  The most you could do is walk and that's just pitiful."  Sigh.  Baby steps.  I still hate them.  I want to be able to just jump in and go.  (side note:  and I want to be able to do it where no one is watching!  LOL!). 

So... I've been thinking about baby steps and beginnings a lot in the last few days....  And in my somewhat introspective mood I've wondered...  where else in my life is my need for perfectionism and my reluctance to do the "baby steps" causing me to stand still?  Several years ago I realized why I let housework pile up (don't have time to finish, so I won't start).  It took me quite awhile to figure that out, though.  And so now I really wonder where else I'm standing still that I don't even realize.  What other baby steps are holding me back?  And... if I manage to figure that out... just what do I do about it?  

-jenn

Tails of Two Dogs (What I've learned from my dogs)

There's a new boy in my life... with 4 legs and a tail. Our other greyhound, Ava, isn't so sure she likes the change to our household. She probably has good reason. Ava and Star are two very different dogs. They both love people (something greyhounds are known for), but... they love in completely different ways.

Ava is almost cat-like at times. She craves and needs attention.  She runs to greet you at the door and does so with great love and enthusiasm.   But a lot of the time she wants you to come to her... on her terms... do what she wants. Sometimes she wants you, I think, for what she can get. Scratching her ears results in her rolling over and asking for a belly rub. Instead of just dropping your hand to her head, you've got to bend down to her level.

Enter Star. He reminds me a lot of Crook, the greyhound we lost to cancer in 2008.  Crook was a very special boy and very loved.  I think it had something to do with the way he loved.  Even in his last days when he was in such pain, Crook wouldn't stay on his bed if it meant being apart from me. If I left the room -- even for a second -- he got up to follow me. Eyes filled with pain, chest heaving with effort, but with a loyal adoration/devotion that would not let him remain apart from me -- no matter what the cost.  I have to admit that I cried at the show of devotion in those last days, knowing what it cost him.

Star, too, follows me -- even lying down on the cold, hard tile when I'm in the kitchen.  Greys, with little body fat and bony bodies, really need someplace soft to lie.  I know, then, that he is there simply because I am there.

So now there is Star, his head against my leg wherever I go, just content to be with me, to touch me in any way. And there is Ava, who glares from across the room, rolls over and says "Come over here and love on me."  They are just two entirely different dogs.

And it makes me think... what kind of "dog" am I? How do I love?  Am I an Ava who goes to my heavenly Father (or even my fellow human beings) with a "Come here and love me" or am I a Star? Do I have that simple adoration? Do I just bask in His presence?

I'm afraid I'm more of an Ava at times. But I want to be a Star. I want to be the little black dog in the poem that I had tucked into my Bible as a child:

The Little Black Dog

I wonder if Christ had a little black dog, 
 All curly and wooly like mine 
With two long silky ears and a nose, round and wet, 
And two eyes, brown and tender, that shine. 
I am sure, if He had, that that little black dog 
Knew, right from the first, He was God 
That he needed no proof that Christ was divine, 
And just worshipped the ground where he trod. 
I'm afraid that He hadn't, because I have read 
How he prayed in the garden, alone 
For all of His friends and disciples had fled 
Even Peter, the one called a stone. 
And, oh, I am sure that the little black dog, 
With a heart so tender and warm, 
Would never have left him to suffer alone, 
 But, creeping right under his arm, 
Would have licked the dear fingers, in agony clasped, 
And, counting all favors but loss, 
When they took him away, would have trotted behind 
And Followed Him quite to the Cross.

(Author Unknown)

Yeah... I want to be a little black dog.... I want to be a Star....

-jenn