Wish you could see it. . .

As I try to put together a concise way to tell the ladies at bible study tomorrow (well, today in about 8 1/2 hrs.) how my friend is doing, I doubt I’ll be able to contain my excitement enough to communicate quickly and effectively. I suspect I will either blubber and not give any pertinent detail or go on indefinitely. As long as they get, “Safe, blessed, and grateful,” I suppose the rest doesn’t matter.

I got to see her and her six children off Wednesday, not knowing if she would make it to her destination safely, or if the van we gave her would get her all the way there. (over 200G’s and barely kickin’) After I not-so-lovingly encouraged her to get the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of dodge before her husband could be released from jail and hunt her down, the next time I heard from her, she said, “I’ve been a busy little beaver since then.” Praise God for His purposes overwhelming my lack of faith!!!

She called me Saturday, gushing, “I know God wants us here. It is perfect. There is no one else here right now, so we have our own little mini-apartment.” (The other places she had considered would’ve required her and her 6 kids to share a room, yes, a room, with another family.) “It’s got two bedrooms with a bathroom connecting them–just like the Brady bunch!!!” Can I get a warm fuzzy navel over here? And then it just got better. “I know why God wants us here, Leslie. There is no drama. There’s not a bunch of other chicks here with all their sh** to deal with along with my own. I don’t have anybody to try not to fight with. I have been so much calmer since I’ve been here. You have no idea. Even with the kids!!” Praise God for peace!! After 13 years of drama, drama, drama, what a blessing to have a moment’s TRUE peace.

The van. The poor, poor, worn out van. It took them nearly three days to make a 12 hour trip. The money that was meant to cover everything, clothes, food, gas, etc. almost all went in the gas tank or oil tank or radiator. But she got there with 50 dollars to spare. The real miracle is not in that, though. It’s this, “Leslie, it was exactly enough for me to get another phone card when I got here.” Not, “it was pure hell because we had to stop every hour.” Not, “I thought I was going to strangle the kids they were so f***ing loud and obnoxious.” Not, “all my money went out the door into that d*** thing.” It was “exactly enough.” Praise God for a change of perspective!!!

They had a sad looking little toy poodle that they took with them on the trip. He disappeared on a stop at a restaurant. There was no place for him to wander out of sight, so someone must have picked him up. What was the response? “See kids, God found a home for him for us because He knew we couldn’t keep him when we got there.” They can’t blame Mom for making them leave it somewhere, and there was no tear-jerking scene as the shelter lady rips the poor dog from the crying toddler’s arms. God took care of every member of the family. He left no one out. It wasn’t “We lost the dog and the kids won’t let me forget it.” It was, “See? God’s taking care of all of us.”

It never fails to amaze me how our perspectives miraculously do a 180 degree turn when we step out in faith and allow God to provide for us. And it never fails to humble me when I am able to witness God doing a great, miraculous work of art in humanity, and am allowed to place a string on the loom. I might not know what came before, or ever know what comes after, but the moment I place my string where He says to put it, I see the beauty forming. I see a grand, intricate pattern taking shape. And when I step into the light at the end of my years, maybe, just maybe I will be able to see that amongst the bold colors and shapes and dark billows of shadow in the picture, there is a tiny, almost imperceptible string forming a crisp edge of silver that somehow defines the space.

May He burn every impurity from my heart so that I might walk the path before me with the light from His reflection, for then and only then do I become an instrument. Thank God we only take one step at a time, or I might never be anything more than a chunk of rock.

Warm fuzzies and harsh reflections

I like warm fuzzies. No, I love warm fuzzies. You know, that butterflies-in-the-tummy-goose-pimply-special kind of feeling that seems to invade your whole body, yet is strangely reminiscent of the first drop of a really great roller coaster ride. It’s only a moment, so you have to savor it, you know what I mean? Were it not for these little slivers of silver, some days I would want to drink my self into an oblivion of red rage.

I get them sometimes when I rock the baby to sleep, when I see Daddy playing with the kids, when I know I’ve been a help to someone in need, and sometimes when I see myself in the mirror with a fresh new haircut and no more gray (for a while). I get them when I discover something uncanny that I have in common with someone. I get them when I pray. . .sometimes. But warm fuzzies are good. It’s too bad they’re temporary.

The thing is, some people don’t believe that those gooey feelings have any merit. They say that it’s just a feeling and it doesn’t mean anything. They think that it’s just a mirage, nothing more than some neurons misfiring in your brain. I sometimes want to grab these people by the throat, squeeze just long enough to make them really lightheaded, let go and say, “No, THAT is the result of some neurons misfiring in your brain.”

How is it that the same people who can agree that the hard ball in the pit of your stomach, headaches, sleepiness, and hopelessness of depression are so unbearably real that they must take medication to correct the misfiring neurons in their brains, yet deny the practical reality of the warm fuzzies?

Who cares what my brain is doing chemically? It’s only responding to my heart! If you go to the doctor for unexplained aches, pains and fatigue, he may ask if you are under a lot of stress. We say, “Well, now that I think about it, YES!!!” He then deduces that our body is responding to too much stress and recommends cutting down this activity, reducing these stressors, getting adequate rest, yada yada yada. Why, then, do we foolishly believe that the symptoms of depression, conversely, are simply our soul’s reaction to a chemical imbalance in the brain? Why do we insist on the simplicity of a pill for our mental well being, while rearranging the circumstances of our whole life (join a gym, change jobs, dump the “negative people in your life,” etc.) because our cholesterol was high this trip to the doctor’s office? Talk about a spiritual disconnect!

Change your life. Be honest with yourself and the people who are important to you and change your life. Yes, change your diet, get excercise, find a less stressful job. Now about that depression. Take a pill and stay on the couch instead of looking for a job. Take a pill and stay in the bed of a man who beats you. Take a pill and find ways to prove what a worthless man you really are. Nobody loves you anyway, right? I mean, look at you. You’re pathetic. No wonder you’re on happy pills. . .Wait a minute, those things don’t have anything to do with how you. . .feel. This feeling is just because you have too little dopameine and seratonin in your brain. . .right?

Don’t misunderstand me. Depression is real. And pills help with the first steps of getting your life back. They give you a beginning, a thrust to push you out of the starting blocks, and you need that. But they won’t fix your life. If you are smart enough to know that you can take a pill for your cholesterol but you still need to cut back on the cheesefries and bacon burgers, you are smart enough to see that if you don’t change your life to reflect who you want to be, vices aside, you will just get depressed again. . .and again. . .and again.

It is a hard thing to take an honest look at yourself, especially when you see failure. Especially when you hate what you’ve become. But each day is a new beginning. A new chance to live with honesty and integrity. A new opportunity to set things right, to make amends, to explore a new corner of the freedom found in forgiveness. To embrace the grace God has offered us through Christ’s sacrifice.

That’s what the law that gives perfect freedom is–the freedom to begin again. . .to start over. . .again. To reflect the living proof we are every day of our lives that if you break one law you are guilty of breaking the whole law and no one can ever meet that standard. No one can. . .ever. When you realize that we are all on the same playing field, you can accept grace. You are no more undeserving than the elders of the church you attend. And they are no more deserving. They are just busy enjoying the gift instead of fussing over all the print on the wrapping paper.

It is a hard thing to see those harsh reflections and not turn away. But if you stare deeply into the ugliest part of your soul and dare to ask God what He sees, before you launch into the “how can you love this filth?” speech He’s heard a thousand times before, take just a minute to savor the warm fuzzie and acknowledge the fact that it is real. It may only be a chemical reaction in your brain, and it may be temporary, but it is only responding to the love that just got planted in your heart, and it is as real as the ball in the pit of your stomach that follows when you let it go.

The little Baptist church down the road from me changed their sign yesterday. Now it says, “Peace isn’t the abscence of conflict but the ability to cope.” I agree, though I must admit that it’s a whole lot better if it’s accompanied by an occasional warm fuzzie, don’t you think?