Snow Saga

They make it look so easy! It was not that easy!

We are currently on our fourth snow day. Unlike some others, I am not going stir crazy yet, which is surprising for me and my people personality. But I am happy to say my house is clean, my laundry is almost finished, and I've had several rockin' dance parties with my kid.

After all the cleaning craziness, I had filled our garage with bags, awaiting the time when the garbage man would deem it safe enough to venture out to our street.

Well, this morning was the day.  I awoke to that high pitched beeping sound that could only be the garbage truck. I sat straight up in bed while Brady murmured something about the garbage guy being here.

This Mama runs down the stairs, throwing on various sundry snow clothes. Grabbing all the bags, I ventured into the snow in pajama pants, untied snow boots, a big unzipped winter coat and a crazy top bun.

There he was, standing by my neighbor's driveway, getting ready to load another bin. I clomped out into the street, glancing back at my garbage bin. No use. It was snowed in, poor guy. No time to get him out before the truck left.

Imagine my crazy self, carrying six full bags, stomping down my driveway. I kept yelling numerous times:

"Excuse me?"

I expected the guy to hear me over the loud garbage truck. This did not occur. He didn't even look my way. I tried a few more times and then I saw the side of the big blue truck.

RECYCLING.

It was the wrong truck. I had worked myself up, gathered all my bags, thrown on all my clothes, and run out there like a crazy woman for the wrong truck.

Now before some of you start to criticize that I didn't have any recycling - that is not the case. I recycle often. But just not today! I needed the GARBAGE TRUCK! Not the RECYCLING TRUCK!

No wonder that guy ignored me (there's part of me that thinks he really did hear me but didn't want to acknowledge the insane snow monster trudging through the snow). He knew he couldn't help me with my garbage. He was there for a different purpose.

How many times have you panicked about something...in fear and trepidation? You heard it coming, knew it was coming - so you dug in and prepared for a disaster? You threw yourself into anxiety or worry because you were going to miss it, or it was coming and you had to be ready?

Then everything turns out exactly the opposite of what you expected.

Now, I know there isn't much crisis involved in missing a garbage truck (although my husband might not like me storing all my trash in the garage next to his tools), but there is something to be said about the way we work ourselves up and panic only to find there was no reason to freak out in the first place.

Matthew 6 warns that we cannot add a single day to our lives by worrying. And we spend so much time doing it! According to a survey, we spend 6.5 years of our lives fretting. WHHHAAATTT?? Imagine what you can do with those 6.5 years? I mean, you could build a BOAT in that time! (Don't ask why a boat - I guess I was just reading about Noah the other day)

I still struggle with worry - I'm a planner, so I like to think ahead. I like to think things through and complete things with excellence. But if I focus my mind on Him and know that He has control of the outcome of my world, it doesn't matter if the garbage truck comes or the recycling truck comes. I can trust Him with the PROCESS. He takes care of the outcome, and no matter what it is, He's going to work it together for good.

And really, if I wanted to know for sure, I could have looked out the window first.

In those panicky moments, I've started to slow down, breathe, and really listen to what He's trying to tell me. There may be chaos in my world, but sitting down and praying helps me hear Him. There may not always be in peace in my world, but there's ALWAYS peace in Him.

For those of you "worrying" (STOP IT! NOW!) about whether I was able to get rid of that garbage or not, I can proudly say I dug my bin out of the snow and rolled him down the driveway with the other bags to await the great Oz. Problem solved. And so what if I missed it one week? The world will still turn.

But I will say, I should have taken a selfie this morning. You guys would have had a great laugh.

Names

 

I lost something the other day.

 

To the world, it wouldn't be much. And really, it's not a life altering loss. Nothing like losing my Daddy at the newly wedded age of 22.

 

But it meant something to me.

 

A few years ago, Brady gave me a hand stamped, Vintage Pearl necklace. On one square was his name, on the other, Kayden's. Sandwiched between their names was a pretty pearl, much like the picture I posted with this blog.

 

I wore it around my neck almost daily - it was my reminder to pray for the two most precious people in my life. I would often hold the squares in my hand. It became part of me.

 

A trip to Science Central and several trips to the gravity room later sent us home to vacation from the vacation. When I walked in the door and removed my coat, the lone necklace was hanging from my neck, stretched out, detached - vacant of the two beloved squares.

 

I searched my house, the garage, the van, the driveway, but to no avail.

 

They were gone.

 

Our names - and the names of our loved ones - are so important to us. People call us by name, write our names in e-mails, texts, Facebook posts. It is one thing that belongs to us that no one else can take.

Whenever I would look at Brady's name...Kayden's name...on those necklaces, I was reminded of how much I love them. The privilege of joining in community and family with them. I'm reminded that I want to spend more and more time with them, love on them, wrap them up in my arms.  I would place those squares between my two fingers and be reminded of the gift of relationship.

So, what do we think of when we see God's name?

Is it ordinary? Something we're used to seeing? Flinging around in our vocabulary?

"Thank God."

"God is so good."

But the very name of God - is precious.

When I see it am I reminded how much I love Him?
Of the privilege of joining in community and family with Him?
That I want to spend more time with Him?
Love Him?
Let Him wrap me up in His arms?
Am I thankful for the gift of relationship with Him?

I sat in my living room this morning, looking at the snow covered world. In the chair across from me, I imagined Him sitting there, laughing, loving, wanting more time with me. So I talked with Him awhile, breathing in the beauty of His presence.

And while our names are important - bringing identity and belonging to our lives, His is so much more.

Salvation is through His name (John 1:12).

Believers are to gather in His name (Matt. 18:20).

Prayer is to be made in His name (John 14:13-14).

It is at the name of Jesus that every knee will one day bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord (Phil. 2:10-11).

I will miss that necklace with the namesakes of my beloved family.

But I am thankful that God remains who He is, and His name will always be a precious gift in my heart.
 

 

 

Tears in a Bottle

About a month ago, a friend gave me a gift.
It was a dream she had - one of those dreams
you know have purpose.

She told me I could do with that dream
as I pleased.

So it has been rolling around
in this writer's head
for some time.

And this is the result.

There was a bottle.
That bottle had one
purpose.

It collected
tears.

The clear glass
gave definition to each
tear
as it rolled down the sides
sweeping into an ocean of
cries
at the bottom.

The bottle
was
never ending -
as were
the
tears.

We
human as we are...
can't seem to stop
the pain from
coming.

So the tears
continue
to fall,
filling the bottle
with relentless fervency.

But
my dear friend
saw something else.

When she took her eyes from
the bottle
and
the tears
and
the pain
and saw Who
was holding it
she came
to a severe
realization.

The bottle
wasn't
bottomless.

The strong
gentle
hands
holding the bottle
were
continually
pouring forth
the tears as they
filled the
bottle.

The tears -

they were
pre-loved pain
pre-worn heartache

pre-used praise.

He -
the bottle holder -
was
distributing the tears...

they weren't for naught.

The pain
had
a
purpose.

And as the tears
continually
permeated
the bottle

they were
repeatedly
falling
in rapid stream
to create

joy
peace
patience
kindness
goodness
faithfulness
mercy
grace

and love.

When she
focused
on the
HANDS
and not the
TEARS
she didn't see
the result
but she saw
the reason.

And added to the
millions
of tears were
HIS OWN.
He cried
and
shared
and
pained as
He poured.

The bottle.
The tears.

A dream worth writing.
A life worth living.
A love worth giving.

The keeper of the tears
understands.

And when I want to text her,
or call him,
or erase that memory,

He holds my tears
and uses them
for good -
no pain is wasted.

Psalm 56:8

New Living Translation (NLT)

⁸ You keep track of all my sorrows.^[a]
    You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
    You have recorded each one in your book.

Ode to a cup of melted cheese

Okay, I will admit it here and now.

I'm addicted to cheese.

In every form. On just about every yucky vegetable (it makes them bearable). In between pieces of bread, on pizza, to dip in, and especially, most especially, on warm, soft, salted pretzels.

Today, I was waiting to meet a colleague over lunch and I was alone in the room - with my very own cup of melted cheese.

When you are a school teacher there are not many options when eating at the school cafeteria. Let's see, there are chicken nuggets, chicken fingers, chicken fries, and chicken patties. And then there is pizza: square, triangle, and sometimes circle. Now, for a kid's food connoisseur like me, those foods are quite possibly two of the most important food groups.

But one day, as I was walking through the line wrinkling my nose at the naked broccoli, I came upon something beautiful spinning in the glass warmer cabinet. There were pretzel sticks, but below them, what did my eyes behold?

Plastic cups of melted cheddar cheese.

Since that day I have faithfully withheld precious Weight Watchers Points to include that pot of gold.

But back to the room, myself, and the cup.

I found that I had finished my entire tray of food waiting for my colleague. And frankly,  there is never enough pretzel to fully finish the cup of cheese.

But why waste a perfectly beautiful portion of melted goodness?

Carpe Diem is certainly one of my many life mottos, and well, I looked up the Latin for cheese and it is caseus. So what did I choose to do?

Carpe Caseus. Seize the cheese.

I took my favorite pointer finger and dug deep into that cup, spooning out every last morsel. I even used the special spin and lift method, spinning my finger into the deepest parts of the cheese in order to get a perfect spiral bite. I licked my finger completely clean, making sure to appreciate the preservative full "really not cheese" stuff. I have to admit, there were a couple burned parts, but I remained true to Carpe Caseus and devoured my deliciousness to completion.

And it made me think about life.
And it made me think about God.
And it made me think about getting more cheese (but I didn't, not enough WW points).

And I made a decision: that's what I want to do - I want to take my fingers and scoop out all the preciousness life has to offer. I want to dig deep into the very marrow that reveals the most life can give and I want to dance with it, celebrate it, wave it around and fill my soul with it.

I want to share it, deliberate on it, pray about it, and talk about it with you.
I want to appreciate the burned parts, the not so good parts, and even though I don't understand how they got there (how can you burn perfectly good fake cheese?), I want to embrace those parts, too.

When I finished the cup and it sat there on my empty tray, I thought about just how enjoyable my cheese experience was, relishing every moment. And someday, when my life is through, I know I will sigh and feel thankful for every scoop, every spin, every lift, every burned part. And I will not be ashamed that I used my fingers, because life is even better when we get our hands dirty and dig in deep.

So, my friends, my wish for you today is Carpe Caseus. Seize the cheese. Take every moment and scrape it out of the cup, let it dance on your tongue and tickle your taste buds. Because our lives are but a blip, a second, a moment, a breath. Annihilate and guzzle that cup of cheese. It's waiting for you.

And save some for me.

The Root

While driving home from the funeral today, I noticed all the bare trees, bereft of leaves. Usually, I miss the beauty of the colors on the branches. But today, it was if Diann tapped me on the shoulder and said,

"Look, Carrie."

I slowed the car, pulled to the side of the street and leaned over my steering wheel. Yes, it was true. Those exposed branches were reaching, stretching, toward heaven. The trees were worshipping - and without the leaves it was more apparent the direction the limbs were pointing. There was nothing inhibiting my view of the naked stretches of bark, grasping the sky.

Suffering does that. It leaves us naked and vulnerable. But ultimately, it reveals who we really are. And I learned that from my friend, Diann Hunt. Even though she was stripped of everything, her health, her ability to eat, her strength, so much of what we humanly crave - it only revealed and lay bare the One she was worshipping. The brokenness and suffering she endured only further exposed the One who agonized the most - the One whose agony means we will suffer no more one day...that she suffers no more - RIGHT NOW.

I smiled as Jesus showed me the beauty in those brittle branches, because no matter how deep the temperature of this frigid winter decides to drop, those branches will keep pulling toward the sun. They will stand unprotected and leafless, bared before the world.

Because those branches know they have nothing to do with their survival. They know where their source is: the roots. The roots will continue to dig deeper, holding strong and carrying the rest of the tree through the suffering days of freezing ice and blasting wind.

There is such beauty in the broken and suffering who are willing to allow God to use the agonizing moments to reveal their unashamed worship. Because, like Diann, they do not have to be afraid.

They know who their Root is.

Traci

That night before
ten women
gathered
to pray.

how many months
had passed?

she had
suffered
and
waited

and bought beautiful hats

she had
praised
and waited

and loved on her little girl as she left for college.

everyone
watched

as she didn't let the disease win.

purple
bracelets
and
purple
toes
and
purple
clothes
in honor of her gracious fight.

people
partied
in pre-chemo honor
as she
celebrated through the pain.

that night before
ten women
gathered
to pray.

And the
healing power
of a
mighty God
stormed in
like an
indomitable
tornado
swirling through
her body
and
cleansing her soul.

the next day
after
ten women gathered
to pray

the doctor's words
swept her world
like a vigorous wind
and those waiting in the wings heard

SHRUNK.
MERCY.
BLESSING.

The beauty of the broken
flies in the face of
discouragement
doubt
and
disease.

The beauty of the broken
purifies the darkness
and tears away
fear
and is
never
forsaken.

The beauty of her brokenness
lifts the heart
of the
faithful
to see the
peace in the storm.

Party on,
sweet Traci.

Ten women
and
hundreds of others
continue
to pray.

Diann

It's rare

Someone whose very name
even when spoken softly
spreads life like wildfire.

It's immediate

because that name
floods the mind with memories
and fills it up until the ocean o v e r f l o w s
and tears fall.

It's unusual

Someone whose suffering has penetrated
the hearts of thousands
bolstered the prayer life
of hundreds
inspired courage through
ENcouragement.

She breathes beauty
as her broken body
belabors
and
braves
the disease infiltrating her being.

But her
basest response?

Praise.

Her hands
outstretched in purest
simplest
love of the Father
push through the darkness
and shine
reckless abandon as she
TRUSTS
and
FOLLOWS
and
quietly
SERVES
in the midst of
the agony and despair of earthly sorrow.

She dons a blonde wig
and
smiles
as c o u n t l e s s
sit at her feet
and learn
that
God doesn't waste a hurt.

She answers the phone
and
whispers
through nauseous fog
and the love
of Jesus
penetrates the soul.

She cries out in pain
and her Father
kneels down,
softly holding
her close:
peace in the midst
of
heartbreak.

She
is
a
warrior.

And a host
of those infected
by her humility
stand at her side
weapons drawn and ready

Sending powerful prayer
to heaven for
HEALING.

He has not forsaken her.
Her brokenness is not forgotten.
Her beauty reaches a nation of writers
and I
lift a pen in honor

of
Diann.