Does He Really?

I'm reading the forward to Immaculee Ilibagiza's memoir, Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust.  I'm overcome by this quote by Dr. Wayne Dyer:  "The laws of the material world do not apply in the presence of the God-realized."

I have no idea what I'm getting into when I read Immaculee's account.  It's horrifying, shocking, and impossible to imagine.  And yet, in the midst of this woman's battle to survive the genocide of millions--including her own family--she forgives, loves, and experiences God in supernatural ways.

She hides in a tiny bathroom with 7 other women for 91 days while killers hunt for her.  91 days.  In a bathroom smaller than a closet.  With 7 women.  What does Immaculee do?  She prays.  She receives comfort from a real God who really hears prayer, who really protects, who really directs, who really loves, and who really gives us power to let go of hurt and anger.  This God heals.     

Her material reality told her one truth, but God's reality was something totally different.  

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Journal:  Let's pray that we have the faith, courage, and love that Immaculee does. 

What You Set in Motion Today

I'm listening to Francis Chan speak to a group of 5,000 folks.  He says, "Go do something that requires faith."  I realize that every wonderful event in my life almost didn't happen because of my being too nervous, too insecure, or too self-involved.  Marriage, parenting, writing, teaching, or moving to new places?  These things aren't always easy, obvious, or natural.  

As I thought about that quote, I suddenly realized that it's not just big and life-changing things that require enormous faith.  What about knocking on a neighbor's door to start a friendship?  What about writing this very sentence?  What about even waking up this morning and choosing a good mood?  (Now that's faith for me!) A very small act might create an avalanche reaction of beauty, joy, and change.  

I'm going to do things that require faith today.  It's not just big things.  Waking up cheerfully might be my act of faith today. Who knows what I've just set in motion?

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Journal:  What am I doing that requires faith? 

Just Look Up

Every time I feel lost in this new place, I just look up.

An enormous mountain rises so high that you can see it no matter where you are.  When you observe it, you immediately reorient.  You suddenly know which direction to go. 

I find myself desperate for that mountain.  With every turn in the car, I'm shifting in my seat, craning my neck to find it.  And then I relax.  "This is the right way," I say.  I don't even need street names anymore.  I just drive on with that mountain beside me, and I know I'll make it home.

I'll remember the simplicity of looking up to find a mountain as I continue in this journey of faith.  
 
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Journal:  What in my life has been a fixed mountain for me?

Fling Wide Your Gate

Today in church, the pastor challenges me to "open wide the gate of my heart" to God.   I know that verb.   Open.  It means to remove obstacles and allow the kind of passage that makes an interior fully accessible.

Remove obstacles.  Allow passage.  I ask God to show me any obstacles that keep me from flinging wide the gate.  Whatever fear, whatever doubt, I want to live a life that gives Jesus full access.

A closed gate seems like safety.  It seems like protection and control.  But God awaits as the ultimate Protector--the ultimate Safety--who rushes in when I fling wide the gate. 

People who live with flair demonstrate that kind of vulnerability and that kind of trust.  They've made their lives fully available to the purposes of God--no matter what the obstacle.  They know that's the safest place.  That's the place of protection, peace, and provision.

I'm flinging wide the gate.

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Journal:  What obstacle keeps my gate shut?

If Nothing Changes, Then I Don't Either

I hate change.  It makes me anxious. 

This morning at Saturday Morning Pancakes, my neighbor (the one who showed me the lady slipper orchid)  reminds me that when I feel anxious, it's my opportunity to have faith. 

I look at her as if she's just reminded me of my own name.  Of course.  It's so simple.  When I'm anxious about anything, it's a bright flashing neon sign saying:  Opportunity to Trust God Right Here!

I'm anxious because I have to travel.  I'm anxious because I have to leave my environment and live in another one for a while.

As I explain all these anxieties, a boy beside me suggests that if the environment never changes, then a person cannot grow and develop.  He explains it all using a video game analogy.  You've got to move around!  You've got to change things up! He tells me how good it is for my growth and imagination to have some change.

So this thing (whatever it is) that's causing anxiety?  It's an opportunity to trust God.  It's putting me in an environment for growth.  If nothing changes, then I don't either.  And I want to change and grow into the woman God wants me to be.  That means welcoming situations that stretch me. 

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Journal: What's causing anxiety in me, and how can I see this as an opportunity to trust and as an environment for growth?

A Great Big Show-Off

This morning in the garden, I turn the corner towards my little peony plant.  Every time these buds fully bloom, I always think to myself, "Now that's just showing off!"  A peony is just an over-the-top kind of flower.  What flair! 

Pink Peony in Full Bloom

I lean in to observe what seems just like all the popular ruching patterns I see all over skirts and shirts this season.  God indeed clothes nature in a kind of splendor we can only copy.  I look up that word, "splendor," because I begin to recall how frequently it appears in Scripture.  It means magnificent, gorgeous, and brilliantly distinct.  I find references all over the Bible that we worship the Lord in the splendor of His holiness and majesty.  I also learn that God says we are His "splendor" and that He displays His "splendor" in us. 

Peony Ruching

He shows off in us.  I even read that the splendor the Lord gives makes our beauty perfect.  

I finally recall when Jesus says, “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.  If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?"  


God is all splendor.  He displays that splendor in us.  When I look at peonies showing off, I remember a magnificent, gorgeous, and brilliantly distinct God who, in turn, clothes us with all we need to display that kind of splendor.  I want to open my eyes and see that splendor in every face I meet today. 

The Splendor of the Peony

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Journal:  What else do you observe that makes you laugh and say, "Now that's just showing off"?

Sally Smith Says, "You Can't Fall Apart Over Things Like This."

Last night I watch a woman, Sally Smith, standing in the rubble of her mother's home in Joplin.  She turns to Anderson Cooper and says, "You can't fall apart over things like this."

I burst into tears.  Can you imagine your whole life crumbling around you and saying that?  What does she know that I don't?  Sally Smith is firm in her resolve, smiling.  She picks up the pieces of dolls, trying to identify fragments.  Anderson asks her where you even start to build your life again after a tornado like this.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, but it will work out.  It will."

Anderson notices her t-shirt, and she says, "Life is good.  God does not give us anything we can't handle.  I know His hand is in it; I've seen too many things.  We'll be fine.  Saying good-bye to things is hard. . .

Anderson says, "You're about the most optimistic person I've met in a long time."

That's when she says, "You cannot fall apart over things like this."

Sally Smith has the faith, strength, and courage of a woman who lives with flair.  I just love her.  Will I ever be the kind of woman who can look in the face of disaster and proclaim the kind of truth that she can? 


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Journal:  When I'm complaining about any disappointment today, I'm going to remember Sally Smith in the rubble.  Where can you say, "You cannot fall apart over things like this"?

Believing the Best

My daughters were flower girls in a wedding yesterday.   Their job was to follow the bride everywhere, keep their satin dresses clean, and smile.   I envisioned disaster the whole morning.  I could just see my youngest stepping on the bride's train and sending her flying on her face.  I could just picture the oldest one stomping off in protest of having to stand still for the entire ceremony. 

I became a controlling, negative mother as I worried about their performance.  Those girls were going to ruin everything.

I imagined the worst.  I really did. 

But when the moment came, I turned and saw my girls walking perfectly down the aisle, casting rose petals left and right.  When I saw them standing still and smiling for 30 minutes, and when I saw how they gazed at the bride and floated around her like little angels, I felt ashamed at my own lack of faith in them. 

I'm a mom who imagines the worst instead of believing the best.  Something changed in my heart yesterday.  Instead of anticipating their failure, I learned to delight in those little girls.  I want to believe the best from now on.  Not just in parenting, but in marriage and in friendship.  And what about my relationship with God?  Do I believe the best instead of anticipating disaster? 

Living with flair means believing the best about people. 

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Journal:  Who needs you to believe the best about him or her? 

The Text Message I'm Waiting For

The text will arrive sometime today.  I don't know when.

All it will ask is, "What do you see?"

Today marks the beginning of the "What Do You See?" campaign on campus.  Students in the graduate student campus ministry receive a random text message from my husband every day for two weeks.  When I receive the text question, I'm challenged to do three things:

1. Look up and see who is around me.

2. Pause and pray for a few moments, asking God to open my eyes and to show me how He sees those who are around me.

3. Think about what God shows me and contemplate how that is different from how I typically see that person/those people.

I'm also challenged to record what happens--who I see and what I do about it--when I get that text.   

The last time I agreed to this challenge, I received the texts at the most inconvenient times.  Every person in my path seemed angry and unapproachable.  But I'd look down at my phone and see the question, "What do you see?" and pray for God to show me what He sees instead.

I found courage to stop my minivan and ask my neighbor how she was doing.  I turned to complete strangers in elevators and perceived them in light of eternity.  I looked up and saw the office assistant as precious to God.

In John's gospel account, I learn that Jesus tells the disciples to "open their eyes" and see the fields are ripe for harvest.  Jesus tells the disciples to "open their eyes" right after His encounter with the Samaritan woman (who everybody saw as an outcast).  Jesus saw her differently.

I pray my eyes are opened today to see people as God sees them.  I don't know where I'll be when that text comes, but I pray I have the courage to love the way God does.  Eventually, I won't need a text message to remind me to see folks in my path differently, but for these two weeks, I'm training my heart to love. 


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Journal:  What do you see as you read this?

Loving by Faith

This morning, I remember the simplest of truths:  I love others by faith.  There's a supernatural, unconditional, pure and deep love that God wants to produce in me for others (and myself).  But I cannot conjure it from my own flesh.  I cannot think or feel my way into loving folks that, for whatever reason, are difficult for me to love. 

And God commands I love others--especially enemies, especially the unlovable--with that pure and deep love.

Impossible!  Yes.  In my own strength, it is impossible. 

I pull a little booklet off of the dusty bookshelves.  It's How You Can Love by Faith, by Bill Bright.  I flip through the pages, hungry for the truth there.  He writes:

"God has an unending supply of His divine, supernatural, agape love for you.  It is for you to claim, to grow on, to spread to others, and thus to reach hundreds and thousands with the love that counts, the love that will bring them to Jesus Christ. In order to experience and share this love, you must claim it by faith; that is, trust His promise that He will give you all that you need to do His will on the basis of His command and promise."

Suddenly, I'm parenting my girls with the pure, deep love of God flowing through me.  I'm overwhelmed with divine love for my husband, my neighbors, my students, myself.

When God gives a command in scripture, He gives the power to fulfill it.  Living with flair means I enter, by faith, into that divine flow of agape love.  I love the unlovable.  I love the ones hardest to love.  I love in a way that counts. 


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Journal:  Bill Bright suggests I make a list of folks in my life that are hard to love.  Then, I choose to love them by faith. I'm to ask the Holy Spirit "to fill [me] with Christ's love for each of them", then pray for them and think of ways to tangibly demonstrate love to them.   Will I love by faith this week?   

A Change of Plans

Snow Storm Coming

I had already run around in short sleeves.

I had already let my daughter frolic outside in flip-flops with butterflies on them.

I had already pulled out the spring clothes and encouraged my children to splash in puddles of warm melted snow. 

The weather report said a huge snow storm was coming, but I refused to believe it.   They said 7 inches.  They said even the University would shut down for the morning. 

Snow on the Winterberry

I look out the kitchen window, and it's here, right on my winterberry bush.  We have no choice but to stay inside.
 

The girls build elaborate block castles--not out of boredom, but of opportunity. 

It's not every day that you're snowed in.  I learn that the oldest has built a "Cloister Portal," and the little one has made her own "Observation Tower."


I take pictures of the structures.  I'm fascinated by the designs.  A Cloister Portal represents a beautiful concept.  A cloister refers to a place of seclusion, for spiritual purposes, and a portal refers to the grand entrance into this location. 

As I sit secluded indoors (not even making it to the skating rink), I remember this:  When nothing in my life looks like it's supposed to, and when my world doesn't follow the expected course, perhaps I'm to think of this time as my own God-given cloister portal, my own observation tower.  From up here, the seclusion teaches me how a beautiful winter storm (when it's nearly Spring) actually blesses.

It's a portal--my grand entrance--into the life God has for me.  

I snuggle into the rocking chair and realize it's not too bad to be snowed in.  There's beauty in this cozy room, too.  There's opportunity here. I look down, and I realize that Jack has stretched a paw out in my direction as he sleeps by the heater.  I love that little paw. 

Jack's Paw While it Snows Outside

Living with flair means I walk through that cloister portal when God wants me to.  




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Journal:  How can I learn to see opportunity instead of delay or disaster? 

Every Problem We Have Is Related to Our View of God

Today, I remember this quote that I read almost 15 years ago in a little book called, Disciples are Made not Born, by Walter Henrichsen and Howard Hendricks.  The authors claim that "every problem we have is related to our view of God."  It was the kind of sentence a person underlines and then rewrites in her favorite journal by her bed.

It's the kind of quote to repeat to yourself when you're thinking about everything that's going wrong in your life.

I remember it because I have received multiple emails from the English Department entitled:  EMERGENCY MEETING! to "update us on the financial situation."  The budge crisis affects all of our jobs, and I have no doubt that the purpose of this meeting will confirm our fears.  

I look at these emails and ponder the meaning of the words "emergency" and "crisis."  Then, I restate the truth:  Every problem I have is related to my view of God. 

Can this really be true? The quote argues that if we have a big God, we have small problems.  If we have a small God, we have big problems.

What kind of God do I have?

Do I view God in such a way that what the world sees as an "emergency" or a "crisis," I now see dissolving into a peaceful opportunity to see the work of God displayed?  What do I need to believe about God to live with the kind of flair that smiles in the face of bad news?   The Psalmist in Psalm 112 (a wonderful acrostic poem) proclaims that those who know God will "never be shaken."  He writes, "They will have no fear of bad news; their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord. Their hearts are secure, they will have no fear."

Living with flair means our hearts stay steadfast, trusting, unshaken, and fearless.  We have a very big God. 



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Journal:  If I have a problem today, how does my view of God change this problem into a possibility?

Walking on Water

This morning, the lawns become ice skating rinks.  The children are so light they can skate across the surface of the snow without falling through. 

When I walk, I sink.  I'm just too heavy.

All day, I think of those weightless little children and the joy they exude as they twirl and slide to school. 

I pray that I learn to travel light, as they do, to cast my heavy burdens on the Lord, and to shed the worry and stress from my heart.

Without fear, weightless, I walk on water. 

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Journal:  What weight might I cast off and onto the Lord? 

Keep Contact!

We skated to school today.  It was the only way to make it down the hill.  "Keep contact!" I cry out to the children.  We discover that if you try to walk on ice, that's when the falls happen.  But if you keep contact--never lifting your shoes--you can glide smoothly along.

Keep contact!  I say it over and over again, reminding myself I will not fall if I keep my feet down.

Later, as I begin the morning rush of dishes, laundry, doctor's appointments, responding to student emails, lesson plans, and all the rest, I stifle my spiritual self, my true self, designed to rest in and receive from God. That little mantra repeats:  Keep contact and you will not fall. 

On days like this, when I'm already late for everything, I remember that keeping contact matters most of all.

And all of a sudden, the day opens before me, smooth and clear as winter ice.  I launch out, skating smoothly with the wind at my back and the sun on my face.  






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Journal:  How can I keep contact with God today?  Is it possible to stay connected on busy days? 

What We Most Want

Finally, at 6:00 AM, we agree to open presents.  This is only after the 2:00 AM squeal alert that presents had arrived under the tree.

My living room sparkles with shreds of wrapping paper, bows, and tissue paper.  By now, the little girls play happily with their new dolls, and I drink coffee--lots and lots of coffee.  

Amid the laughter, I hear my husband calling out, "Can you think of any other person's birthday party where you get the presents?"

He turns to me and says, "Isn't that the real meaning of gospel?  We celebrate Jesus, but we end up getting the gifts." 

Bring on the gifts, the shimmering joy, the peace, and the love.   May we unwrap His gifts upon gifts, in obvious and hidden forms, today and all year.  May we have the hope and the faith to see them, despite every circumstance.

May we lift our eyes and be led to what we've been waiting for all our lives.  Can it be that what we most want, we find in that manger?

Merry Christmas from Live with Flair!

A Clog in My Heart

Yesterday, I'm walking alone in the woods behind my house.

Evening in the Pine Forest

It's not a very big forest, but it's big enough to get lost in.

I'm looking up through the pine trees, taking photos and moving forward with a grand plan: I want to see the sun set through the pines, and I want to find beautiful pine cones.

A chill settles on the forest, and a strong wind snakes around the trees like it's coming for me.  I know if I keep walking in one direction, I'll hit a road, but I'm not sure which road or how far it is from my home.

By this time, I find myself taking a winding path and tumbling out onto a foreign road like I'd been spit out from the forest's dark mouth.   I'm in some strange neighborhood now.   It's getting colder, and I'm sapped of strength.

Finally, I clench my teeth and call my husband because I have no idea where I am.   He's so loving about it, so gentle.  But I'm angry at myself that I have to call him for help, and I refuse to have him drive to pick me up.  Instead, I walk the mile home along a road with no sidewalk. I'm too smart to be lost.  I'm too capable to need rescue. If you saw a hopeless woman without her coat, tripping along and nearly falling back into the forest, you were looking at me. 

Pine Cone on Forest Floor

What is this deep resistance in me?  What ancient sap inside of me keeps me proud and unyielding when I know I need rescue?  I refuse for anyone to come find me and just take me home.

This morning before church, I review my photos:  The pine trees and these cones aren't oozing sap like they do in the warmer months.  In the colder seasons, the sap thickens and hardly flows.   There's a clog in the heart of those trees until the summer sun comes and warms it, changes it.

As my husband pours warm syrup over snowman-shaped pancakes this morning, I pray that God would unclog the cold, hardened things in me.  Otherwise, I'll stay lost and wandering in that dark woods. 

The Danger of Inviting God In

Last night, my youngest daughter and I read together from a book, and it occurs to me that she's actually reading.  She's actually reading words.

She'll never be the same.  Once you learn to read, you can't undo it.  You see a word, and you must read it.  You can't refuse.  The effects of learning to read are irreversible.

And involuntary.  Try it.  Look at a word and try not to read it.  You just can't help yourself.  You've cracked a code; you've escaped from a labyrinth and nothing will ever look the same.

It reminds me of a life of faith.  The Teacher shows you how to crack the code; you're out of the maze. 

A life of faith irreversibly alters the way a mind sees the world.  It shimmers with the radiance of God's glory, and you interpret everything through the lexicon of God's love, goodness, and power.  At first, like for a young reader, the process is slow and basic.  You recognize God in obvious ways, perhaps recounting answers to prayer, emotions felt in worship, or wisdom gained through Bible reading.  But then, you find you're really reading.  You can't help it.  You read God in the tiniest moment and see into the life of things.

You'll discern the truth about this world.  Your heart will break, and you'll want to hug strangers in grocery stores. You'll start worshiping God when you see an acorn, a seashell, or a cat's missing eye.  You'll see a spiritual narrative behind even the garbage in the parking lot.  You'll write a blog every single day because you can't contain the worship and keep it all to yourself.

You'll want to proclaim things. 

That's the danger of inviting God in.  You will learn to read, and you won't be able to undo it.

It Really Works!

Green Tomatoes Leftover from Summer

I was a doubter about the whole ripening-tomatoes-in-the-basement plan.  Everybody said they would rot.  Everybody said they wouldn't taste the same.

My daughter and I journey to the basement late yesterday and sit cross-legged before a box of tomatoes wrapped in newspaper.  Just a few weeks ago, we gathered all the green tomatoes from our garden before the first frost.  

She unwraps the first one.

Tomatoes Unwrapped! 

It's a juicy deep red.  It's a brilliant and fragrant red. 

We can hardly believe it.  My daughter and I unwrap each red treasure.  The experience is better than picking them off the vine.  Add the element of doubt and surprise, and all of a sudden, we have a celebration on our hands.

Basement-Ripened Tomatoes

We carry our produce to the kitchen.  Outside, the cold wind blows.  There's a chance of snow, and the gray sky announces winter.  But my kitchen says its summer--the kind with fresh tomatoes and a counter top full of vegetables.

Roasting Tomatoes and Garlic

We get to work.  The little one decides we must make homemade. . . something.  We chop each tomato and roast them with cloves of garlic.  Then we remove skins and seeds and blend the whole thing into a delicious soup.  We've got grilled cheese sandwiches crisping and homemade garden tomato soup simmering.

I'm so thrilled that those tomatoes never ripened this summer. I'm so happy for that particular disappointment.

When Plan A fails, Plan B often turns out better--more magical--because of the unexpected, against-all-odds sort of outcome. The truth of it all hits me like the cold wind against this window.  Plan A has to fail sometimes because God's got a surprise in mind that I'll unwrap when the cold wind blows, in the sorrow of a dark basement.  That's when I'll need it most.

When "Plan A" Fails

Green Tomatoes Before the Frost

We hear that a frost will come this week.  It seems so tragic:  dozens of beautiful tomatoes that never had a chance to ripen. 

But all is not lost.  As novice gardeners, we take advice from a master gardener in our community.  She tells us to harvest our green tomatoes, wrap them in newspaper, and tuck them away in a closet.  In several weeks, we'll have a bounty of luscious, deep red tomatoes. 

I've never ripened tomatoes this way.  It seems unusual and unnatural.  It's an entirely different means to a harvest. 

Wrapping tomatoes in newspaper

We eagerly wrap tomatoes like little gifts and hide them away to ripen.  We'll peek in on them every week and watch their progress.  It's not the way it's supposed to happen, but it works.  It's exactly right for this season.



I'm up to my elbows in unripe tomatoes that will ripen in an unexpected way--a way I didn't imagine existed.  No God-given dream in my life has turned out in the manner I imagined.  The right process, the plan that was supposed to unfold in a particular way, veered off into orbit and produced a harvest in a different way, under different conditions.  I've learned to trust this concept.  I've learned to accept, trust, and then rejoice when Plan A fails.

I hold my dreams loosely--gently wrapped and tucked away.  God knows when and how they'll come about.   

He's Making Stilts

At 7:30 AM, I'm drinking coffee at the breakfast table and attempting to grade papers.  Our neighbor (the one who stops by occasionally and says, "I should probably stay for dinner") comes in.  He's the type of 9-year-old who carries a little cage with him in case he finds critters.  When we walk in the woods, he's equipped with nets, cages, wading boots, and all his fishing gear.  He's prepared indeed. 

He is, after all, a Scout. 

He has a zeal for living I wish I could bottle.  He approaches the breakfast table and pulls out an order form for popcorn.  He's a Boy Scout (Not yet, he tells me.  He's still at the Webelos level.  He's a Cub Scout eagerly preparing to be a Boy Scout), and he's selling popcorn as a fundraiser.

At 7:30 AM.

I'm not surprised at his early morning sales pitch.  He's an entrepreneur if I've ever seen one.  His lemonade stand grossed a fortune in July. 

As he folds the order form neatly, he says, "I'm going to earn a new badge for building with wood."  He pauses, creating anticipation.

"What are you going to make?"  I ask. 

"Stilts!"  

He confirms that he's already very skilled in stilt walking. 

Stilts:  those wooded structures that we attach to our legs to walk high about the ground. I read later that shepherds in France, mounted on stilts, could do extraordinary things--walk through the rivers, run across dangerous marshes, and forge trails otherwise blocked by thick brush.

The stilts make a way through the wilderness.  And at that height, stilt-walkers see with a new perspective. And this little boy knows the places he can go with them strapped to his legs. 

I want stilts.  I want to be a stilt-walker through this day:  rising above obstacles, forging trails.  There's no path cleared in this territory.  It's a life of faith, and I need my stilts.  I mount up by faith, I see the blocked path, and I walk on.


(Photo:  "The Stilt Walker of Landes," Sylvain Dornon)