tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20703573559420689282024-03-13T23:38:05.033-07:00On Being HeldCheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-76324507881553087962011-01-27T06:10:00.000-08:002011-01-27T06:52:18.176-08:00Being Friends with C.She drew her knees to her chin and tilted her face in that way she had of inviting you in. Her eyes smiled gently as she relaxed into the telling of my story. And when I had spoken it all, she listened even longer. This is how <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">things</span> always begin with her.<br /><br />Her turn to share was on her and she knew it, but seemed somehow reluctant. As she began to tell about the thing that had developed, the news she'd had to bear, she became vulnerable and delicate to me. Her strength was obvious. Her trust could not be overlooked. Her faith was immovable. She began the journey of this diagnosis, this label, this new life, with all of the hallmarks the woman of faith I know her to be. But in this moment, I only felt her delicate vulnerability.<br /><br />My friend C, is one of the strongest people I know, but the strength she possesses is unlike the kind I have definitions for. She's the kind of listener most people never have the advantage of experiencing. She's the kind of loyal you wouldn't understand unless you knew her. She's the kind of love you didn't really believe existed outside of fiction. She's like that.<br /><br />What's going on in her life is, to once again steal my friend Carolyn's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">phraseology</span>, is "blowing all of my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">categories</span>". See, for most of us, maybe all of us, the kind of news she and her husband received would be devastating. It would be the kind of news we couldn't imagine ever adjusting to or finding a way to deal with. But for them, for her, the word that first came to my mind as she shared it was, beautiful. We're talking about a diagnosis that is at once painful, debilitating, limiting....and yet beautiful. SO BEAUTIFUL!<br /><br />You don't get to know many people like this C. in a lifetime. People who don't just fight to see beauty but naturally seem to have a sort of tunnel vision for it. It's like somehow the other, the darkness of a situation, isn't even on their radar. But don't misunderstand me. It's easy to think of people like this as somehow less smart, less savvy, less .... just, less. But I know C. I know how painfully aware she is of the darkness. And while she doesn't <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">necessarily</span> have to work to push it out, she isn't too stupid to see it either. It's a gift she has and one her husband shares. To be near them is to be near, not just Christ, but somehow, heaven. Sometimes the promises of heaven are a juxtapose for us. They are just too good to be believed. I wish you all could know her. Because to experience her is to begin to understand the juxtapose, the paradox. And you would know it's truth, too good as it may <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">seem</span>, because of the way it's standing there, in the concrete, right in front of you.<br /><br />Thanks C, for being heaven on earth for your little N. and for the rest of us too!Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-56111533949737667212011-01-16T11:58:00.000-08:002011-01-16T12:44:56.569-08:00And Then There Were TwoI've been working my way through Genesis. It always seems like a good book to read in January... when everything is new and starting over for the year. As I walked through the fall of man and the great flood, I was reminded of how just the God we serve really is. Having this sense of justice forefront in my mind I came to the story of Jacob and Esau and the stolen blessing.<br /><br />"And His Father Isaac said, "And who are you?<br />"I am your firstborn, Esau."<br />Isaac started to tremble, shaking violently. He said "Then who hunted game and brought it to me? I finished the meal just now - before you walked in and blessed him. He's blessed for good."<br />Esau, hearing his words sobbed violently and most bitterly and cried to his father, "My father, can't you also bless me?"<br />"Your brother came here, " he said, "and he falsely took your blessing."<br />"Haven't you kept back any blessing for me?"<br />"I've made him your master and all his brothers his servants. I've lavished grain and wine on him. I've given it all away. What is there left for you?"<br />From Gen. 27<br /><br />Genesis 28 goes on to describe how God makes Himself known to the heart of Jacob in a real and meaningful way. Jacob begins a journey of response and we know he goes on to grow in faith and love for his God.<br /><br />I just don't get that.<br /><br />Here's what C.S. Lewis had to say on this passage.<br /><br />" What can you really know about other people's souls - of their temptations, their opportunities, their struggles? One soul in the whole creation you do know: and it is the only one whose fate is placed in your hands. If there is a God, you are, in a sense, alone with Him. You cannot put Him off with speculations about your next door neighbors or memories of what you have read in books. What will all that chatter and hearsay count (if you can even remember it) when the anaesthetic fog which we call "nature' or "the real world" fades away and the Presence in which you have always stood becomes palpable, immediate, and unavoidable."<br />From<em> Mere Christianity</em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em>I guess I'm not the only one who struggled for a bit with the fact that Jacob's deception turned into blessing for him. I mean, here we are hip deep in the justice of God, post fall, post flood and it comes to this; a moment when mother and son team up to deceive, and the God we've come to know as wholly and totally just blesses it?<br /><br />Leave it to good old "Jack" to wrestle it down and pin truth on it. Mr. Lewis tells me, I can't really know Jacob's soul or struggles. I can only know my own and be responsible for <em>them.</em> In the end, my not "getting" someone else's stuff, or the fairness of a certain situation, or why something was allowed or not allowed to happen in someone else's life won't distract God from the conversation He wants to ... needs to have.... with me.<br /><br />So, if it's not distracting God, what is the point of letting it distract <em>me</em>? I mean, He goes through alot of work to get me here in this place alone with Him. He really doesn't want to spend it talking about everybody else. Hmmm....that might be nice I guess. :)<br /><br /><br /><br />**************************************************************************************<br /><br />On a very seperate and annoying note....does anyone know how I can remove that weird photobucket icon patch that keeps floating around on my blog?Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-13164361513754430542011-01-13T06:04:00.000-08:002011-01-13T07:12:32.393-08:00Real MeSome days I'm stuck just being the real me. Most days I'm not. Most days I have an ideal of who I'd like to be and I can at least muster up an attempt at being "that guy". What's interesting to me is that who I want to be changes from day to day. Some days I want to be a sweet and gentle and my demeanor shows it. Other days I tend toward smart and witty. There are days I wake up trying to be goal oriented. Those days I am focused and I work to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">achieve</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Sometimes</span> I am the encouraging happy face on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">every one's</span> day. But there are days, days like yesterday, when I don't seem to have it in me to try to be anything or anyone other than just me.<br /><br />I'm the type who likes variety. If you know me well, you know that I change my furniture layout at least once a month (usually when I'm <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">vacuuming</span> under things anyway). My clothing choices never seem to fit into any certain style <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">category</span>. I'm eclectic with what I wear. I work part time at a job where everyday there are differing responsibilities and tasks, most of which tend toward the creative. I love people. I love all kinds of people, even the people who drive most other people crazy, just because I think it's fun to be around someone new and different. If you were to try to get a glimpse of who I am by my DVR schedule you might think you'd happened upon a schizophrenic. The flip side to all this is that I very quickly grow tired of things.<br /><br />One of the things I grow tired of fastest is me.<br /><br />Okay, don't freak out and start posting about how wonderful I am and telling me how much I have to live for. I have never been, and I have a feeling I never will be, one to struggle with the darker, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">lonelier</span> mentalities. I am not depressed and I don't have <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">tendencies</span> toward it. And to be honest I'm not really even being that hard on myself. I'm just saying that I very quickly grow tired of the same old thoughts that knock around in this same old head on any given day. I guess that's why I choose to try to reflect the ideals of who I would like to be so often rather than settling for boring old me.<br /><br />Yesterday, the day I didn't have it in me to be anyone but me, people kept asking if I was okay. At first I would try to come up with something. I thought about why I might seem "off" and came up with several options. "I just started my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">cycle</span>." " It's the second snow day in a row." "My coworker is driving me crazy." All of these were true, but I also quickly realized that the biggest issue was that I was just being myself, so when the next person asked me if I was okay I asked a question in return. "Sure. I'm fine. Can I ask though, do I seem unhappy, or upset, or crabby somehow?" She replied kindly, "No. You're just.... different. You're..... quieter I guess."<br /><br />It was shocking to me. If you know me in real life you know that quiet is not how most people would EVER describe me. I'd like to think of it as "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">effervescent</span>" or "lively". But the truth is most days I border on too much. This day though, I was basically being told that to be myself was to be quiet. Now, sometimes I am quieter on the days I'm feeling crabby; mostly because I don't want to rip <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">any one's</span> head off, but I wonder if being quieter isn't also just more the real me than anything else.<br /><br />I think to some extent or another we all have an ideal version of ourselves that we at least attempt to bring to fruition from time to time. I think that's okay as along as we're drawing from an authentic place. I mean, to some degree we all have the basis for lots of moods and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">demeanors</span> inside of us. Developing those traits we like best about ourselves is not, in and and of itself, a bad thing. But if we get to the point where we don't even recognize our truest selves, perhaps we've gone too far.<br /><br />I'm not sure how much of who I am from day to day is real and how much is just me trying to be the best I can be. And at some point perhaps the struggle of that <em><strong>is</strong></em> the most real version of myself.<br /><br />For that matter I'm not sure how much of the quiet me I can really handle either. But it might be interesting to find out.<br /><br />When it comes right down to it though, I have a sense of peace about all of this. Because in the end I'm really just a reflection. On bad days, good days, loud days or even quiet days, I'm a reflection of glory. I don't have to do it perfectly or "be" anything because He'll use it all. Yes, He's that powerful.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-33193313926679909852011-01-10T08:48:00.000-08:002011-01-10T09:23:02.645-08:00Time Traveling<em>"It's time for letting go ... of all of our if only's cause we don't have a time machine. And if we did. We would really want to use it? We would really want to go change everything? Cause we are who and where and what we are right now. And this is the only moment we can do anything about ....so breathe it in and breathe it out... listen to your heartbeat...there's a wonder in the here and now. It's right there in front of you and I don't want you to miss the Miracle of the Moment."</em><br /><br />I woke up today with this Steven Curtis Chapman song playing in my head. I don't remember hearing it recently so I guess I have to assume that it wasn't just something stuck in my brain. It was something God wanted me to hear today.<br /><br />I don't know if I'm unique in this, or if it's something all of us do but, when an ugly situation rears it's head I tend to look for all the things I may have done wrong or even just differently than I could have. I quickly set in with the "if onlys" and find myself time traveling for better results. It doesn't work like that though. We don't get do overs in the real world.<br /><br />I've been trying to get over that lately. I've been trying to stop time traveling. Mostly because I know it won't produce any of the results I'm looking for. It only ends in blame, which really doesn't help matters at all anyway. So I've been working to not allow satan to accuse or condemn. But until this morning, with Steven's words floating around in my mind I didn't really get why. I didn't get that there was more.<br /><br />God doesn't want us time traveling not just because He's already forgiven and forgotten but also and more importantly because He's busy with a miracle<em> this</em> moment that He doesn't want us to miss! That's so amazing to me! See in my life right now and in yours He is doing something incredible. He's <em>ALWAYS</em> doing something incredible and so no, He doesn't want us going back and trying to change things because then He won't be "right here in front of us"....." in the wonder of the here and now"..." working it all for our good."<br /><br />To God, as the song goes on to say, even the future is history. So it's really important that we stay in the moment if we want to get in on all of His glory. If we want to experience the miracle.<br /><br />I have five teenagers and one precious little boy waiting in heaven. If you're a parent you understand when I say that I have ALOT of opportunities for time traveling if onlys. But giving the devil that kind of power in my life will completely rob me of my chance to see what God is doing right now.<br /><br />You're right Steven, and thank you for not wanting me to miss this moment's miracle!Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-79619960928168223332010-05-26T05:13:00.000-07:002010-05-26T07:03:15.698-07:00Finding the Stillness<p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 388px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 227px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475569665019505810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPZC97KV-PqrPkof_Ru4RBMPfAQBIzo8PpCfrD0hhXdc9kE62LRfyFX4taC7PtP_Bd4OS4PuJPvHSbe_ygQ_uheZMXQtpsYoRevGDuzy4T15rH-eiLriiXXJKrbfV_i8b6P0EuxsyebWB/s320/under+the+tree.jpg" /><br />I've taken a bit of a hiatus from blog land. I needed it. I need it every once in a while. I get tired of hearing my own voice. The same thought patterns reaching the same cadences about the same things. I am the one person I really cannot escape, even when the last hours of night are growing thin and even the silence of sleep eludes me. </p><p>What I need is a vacation, but I want to take this vacation without myself.<br /><br />Okay. Obviously that won't work.<br /><br />This is how I found myself on a hiatus from blog land.<br /><br />Have you ever tried to still your own mind, or at least ignore the parts of it that take voice? It isn't easy. The thing that works best for me is to fill it up with other things. My mind's voice is not easy to cover up, like maxing out your ipod at a rock concert, but realizing you can still feel the thump of the speakers in your belly. I read A LOT! I watch A LOT of my favorite DVR'd TV shows, and I do A LOT of listening without entering in to conversations.<br /><br />Does it work? I don't know. I guess. A little.<br /><br />Monday morning I had some things to think about. Some things that I knew would not be okay to tune out. I went to my favorite fair weather spot, those bright teal blue Adiro<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRIXCDrkSHOH1B8nBUaDL3gPErmn7s_pV5LCMJWJmT0JyF7UEyydkKSBH-fy9HqVfzqdXQULrHQwV7EtgtuHA4RNoYwM1YUKwpYT052XS5qDuHDAaS34zs06iqTFwohY8YN6QQ0vInikL/s1600/patio+chair.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 263px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 197px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475570445164457890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRIXCDrkSHOH1B8nBUaDL3gPErmn7s_pV5LCMJWJmT0JyF7UEyydkKSBH-fy9HqVfzqdXQULrHQwV7EtgtuHA4RNoYwM1YUKwpYT052XS5qDuHDAaS34zs06iqTFwohY8YN6QQ0vInikL/s320/patio+chair.jpg" /></a>ndack chairs that sit just outside the doors of my dining room on the slab of broken cement. The spot of our "someday" deck. With the wind whipping my hair and the sun warming my face I was still. I just sat. I sat and I prayed a little and just was... still.<br /><br />It was interesting because I'd expected my usual barrage of thoughts and voices. The ones I'd grown tired of and had been working so hard to ignore. I was dreading their return and I had braced myself a bit in that anticipation. My ears heard only the rushing wind though, as my mind stayed still. I walked out onto the lawn and did the thing I love to do when arriving back from a long jog down our quiet country road. I sprawled out in the grass and opened my eyes beneath the towering canopy of trees, watching as airy clouds passed through the swaying leaves creating a moving landscape of incredible art. This had the effect it always had. I felt small. I felt the goodness of being small. Not inconsequential, just small.<br /><br />With my mind still and my heart small I began to hear. It isn't really what He said that is important. It's that I could hear. And I could hear clearly, without all the other stuff, or my own voice trying to compete with His. I could hear and I could listen.<br /><br />I needed a vacation from myself. I tried to accomplish something of the sort. But on Monday I realized that if I let down all my defenses and just sat still and small refreshment would come in a different form. Refreshment would come in the listening.</p>Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-30047609051205106492010-03-31T05:48:00.000-07:002010-03-31T06:38:58.773-07:00It might be HopeSomeone asked me the other day what exactly I mean when I talk about Hope. She asked me "What do you feel when you say that Hope is what matters most in your life? What does Hope mean?" I use the word a lot and I suppose I haven't always realized that Hope means many different things to people. I had a hard time that day describing Hope. Of course I was able to articulate that Hope is the certain knowledge of our eternity with Christ, where everything is beautiful and nothing painful can ever touch us again. But sometimes when you're in a bad way, that description is too far off for impact. <br /><br />Spring fever. <br /><br />Wiapedia describes it as an increase in energy and vitality.<br /><br />I go through it every year. The clocks tick at double time for an hour in the middle of March and the combination of that time change along with the seasonal transition to warmer, longer days forces my body clock all out of rhythm. Usually a light and slight sleeper I become infatuated with sleep. It's all I want all the time. For a couple of weeks I dread the alarm and during usual waking hours find myself drawn to my couch and ottoman with unyielding desire. It's somewhat torturous for an active girl like myself who is accustomed to actually enjoying both early morning workouts and a late night movie. Often both in the same day. And it's not just the lack of energy I grieve. There comes with it a certain sadness. A sense of things just being not right somehow. I truly have come to "Beware the Ides of March" and to know that for me that sense of exhaustion and foreboding lasts for a least a few long weeks.<br /><br />The last couple of days however I've noticed the effect has begun to lessen. I've been able to wake before the buzzing alarm begins it's annoying lament. I find myself opening windows and drinking in the fresh green scent that only spring can usher in. Today the lonely dirt road just past the intersection outside my house beckons and I can hardly wait to lace up my shoes. Spring Fever.<br /><br />I know things are only going to get better from here. I can feel my energy level rising. The sunlight that floods through my kitchen and living room makes me want to do crazy things like, wash windows and clean cupboards. These things get done in anticipation of long summer days when there will be so many better things to do. Soon fishing with the kids and taking them to the beach will trump any domestic duties on the perfect sunny day. And even the normal, the mundane and everyday, will be accompanied by brighter happier moments. The drive to work becomes something better when the windows get rolled down and the radio turned up. The sometimes chore of making supper brightens when you can do it standing outside in the late day sun over a smoking grill. Evenings are spent in leisure on the deck of a good friend with a cool, frothy drink in hand. (Last year we discovered mojitos...perhaps something new for summer 2010?) I could go on and on.<br /><br />Late last night I sat in a pool of bright moonlight in my favorite chair and reflected on the last few days. I thanked God for reminding me that my energy level will fully return and for how much I have to look forward to with this change of seasons. And suddenly I realized... this is Hope! Hope is this sense that even though right now I'm just so tired and I'm still trying to come out of that December snow there is something so bright just around the corner. In the midst of March I usually forget that it's there. I can actually convince myself that spring won't be coming this year. But then a stray breeze wanders across my face or a patch of early morning sunlight on my pillow changes everything and even if I can't feel it yet, I know what comes next. And that moment right there... that's what Hope feels like for me.<br /><br />Hope looks different for different people though. And I know for many of you it isn't as sunny as all this. But you still know Hope. I'm interested to know.. how do you describe Hope?Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-72566501595419501442010-03-24T08:10:00.000-07:002010-03-24T09:26:53.677-07:00Making HistoryI once had a pastor who was fond of saying "World History always serves Church History." As in; the history of the world is really story of God growing, teaching, stretching, strengthening and increasing His people.<br /><br />Economically, politically and religiously our country is in a very unstable place. It's easy to panic. It's easy to live in fear. I find myself asking questions like, "How much will we have to suffer Lord?" And worse still, "How much will my kids have to suffer?"<br /><br />I think about World History and what some have gone through in the name of Church History, and I don't rejoice. I cringe. I don't want to have to do that. I know that God is always and only good. But, if I'm being honest, I don't really want God's goodness to be hard to understand or see. I <em>like</em> the kind of goodness I understand.<br /><br />But, there is something about that statement that calms my soul at the core level. There is stirring in it that speaks of a Something and someOne so much bigger than even our country's social, moral and economic decline. And in that, there is Hope. Yes, World History may be painful, even torturous at times but Church History makes all that pale in comparison. Church history points to a Hope that does not disappoint. <br /><br />Like the baby that is born of a ghastly intense labor and delivery to a mother delirious with the joy of his birth, if we could ask the saints who've gone before us about their trials, I can only assume those trials would be nothing as we spoke, basking in the light of our Jesus. <br /><br />Lord, make us faithful. Make us strong. Stretch us and multiply us and give us courage. Keep our eyes fixed on Hope and convict of It's assurance. Help us to see the bigger picture of Church History and want to be counted in that number."Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-88144775686082926102010-03-17T11:07:00.000-07:002010-03-17T11:46:47.896-07:00Hearing voicesThere's a pestering voice inside my head that likes to ask the most impractical questions or suggest the most impossible ideas. <br /><br />Things like:<br /><br />"Why not convince Steve to quit his job and move to Hawaii where you can open an island bistro together?"<br /><br />"We should start a new church!"<br /><br />"A pet monkey couldn't be that bad could it?"<br /><br />Usually I shake my head at this inner voice and leave well enough alone. Still, I have to smile a little at this side of myself that still likes to envision the world through the irredescent streamers that hung inside my childhood bedroom window. There just beyond the bows of the towering maple tree that practically reached inside my room, anything seemed possible.<br /><br />She's not very practcal though, the voice inside my head. She doesn't see things as they really are. She doesn't see obstacles or respect certain social rules. She heeds no warning and takes insane risks. You really can't listen to anything she says.<br /><br />Lately, she keeps asking me the same thing. "Why don't people just do things that they enjoy? Spend time on things that make them happy, fulfilled, satisfied? Why do people spend so much time doing stuff that makes them crabby?"<br /><br />I try to reason with her. Well, because people have to work. They have responsibilities. And because, sometimes what we enjoy isn't good for us. Sometimes we have to make ourselves find satisfaction in what we have been given to do.<br /><br />She rarely buys it. I don't know why I thought she would this time.<br /><br />"But like, couldn't you find time to do SOME more of the things that you enjoy, IF they're things that are okay with God?"<br /><br />Hmmm.... she might have a point.<br /><br />I've been asking myself this question alot lately. There is SO much that I love to do in this world. I LOVE to try a new and totally impractical recipe. I love taking a long and indulgent walk in the country, just my ipod and me, and no stop watch and no time goal. I love a glass of wine and a good book in the bathtub. I love wearing shorts and a baseball cap when it's 50 degrees and spring is still a bit of a dream. I love a cat nap in the sun on the couch in the middle of the afternoon. I love a good massage, an afternoon in the bookstore, and a cup of hot tea on the patio.<br /><br />Sure...there are bathrooms to clean, laundry to fold, and appointments to be made and kept. There are phone calls to return and quick meals to prepare and concerts, games and performances to attend. All this not to mention work and family. But, I can see that my little voice is making a good point. Now perhaps is not the time to visit the Caribbean. This day it will not work to hike through a rainforest or flip a house or start a new business. But, surely everyday there can be time made to indulge a little. To really LIVE life. To not only glorify God, but to ENJOY Him, as the catechism says.<br /><br />I suppose it's a bit late for resolutions this year, but as I morph from 34 to 35 I want to do it with this thought in mind... maybe, just maybe, not everything that little voice inside my head comes up with is as far out of reach as I think. Maybe I should listen to her a bit more. And <em>definately</em> I'm taking her advice on this one. Everyday should include some time to just do what I enjoy.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-30331205067972288552010-03-01T08:02:00.000-08:002010-03-01T09:56:43.744-08:00A Risky Dream<div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">KUTLESS</span> - "MORE THAN IT SEEMS"</span></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">"Is my imagination running away or is... </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">all this really happening to me? </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">Am I a prince in a far away land filled with fantasy?</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">Where is reality and what are the actions that will define who I am?</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">I am holding on to the visions I've seen of what I could be. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">It's WHAT I SHOULD BE!"</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">More than it seems these dreams inside (show me the way to these dreams)</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">Blur reality's line (till there's nothing left of me)</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">If I could believe the dreams aside (show me the way to these dreams)</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">I am capable of more than it seems.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">Passing through darkness into my own world.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">Will I be more than when I left?</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">Never letting go of the lessons I learned.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">This will make a change.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">A change within me.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">This time I won't run away.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">I found the strength to face these long days.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">This time I won't run away.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">Till there's nothing left of me</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">Show me the way to these dreams."</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;"></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />There was this day last week when I was making breakfast and the sun was just starting to rise in this sort of beautiful pink way and it began reflecting off all of the millions of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">pieces</span> of frost that were falling from the trees and the result was so stunning that I had to go sit out on my step and just watch it happen. There I was, surrounded by a world of glittering <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">iridescent</span> light that could only be possible via the Creator of Beauty. It was breathtaking in the way that beauty is. In the way that you know you can't hold it or capture it you can only be a part of it. It was for me, one of those moments where heaven meets earth for just a little bit and there are these audible echoes of Eden and these believable rumors of Glory and for that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">nano</span> second of time I'm not caught in between. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />I'm there. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />I thought of this song as I was watching God work a miracle in my front yard that morning. I thought of how possible everything seemed just then. I thought about "the actions that define who I am" and how I want to hold on to "the visions of what I could be...what I should be."</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />Eventually I had to go back inside and finish making breakfast (and to warm up), but I was so eager to go back out and just be in that amazing world. When the kids were on the bus and I had a few minutes before work I shot out the door with excitement and ran out into the snow, but I found myself standing in the middle of all that fallen frost with the average, ordinary winter sun much higher in the sky. The newly created colors were gone. The crystal shower was over. The magic had ended. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />The world has a way of doing that doesn't it? It takes a heart of great risk to believe in the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">possibility</span> that "I am capable of more than it seems" for longer than a moment or two. The demands of life tear at the edges of our dreams and all too soon we realize that Narnia (the movie that inspired the song) or Narnia on earth anyway isn't really, real. Or at least it doesn't feel real, which, is essentially the same thing in this case.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">But on my way to work I listened to the song again anyway. Just because. For the first time I really heard the second verse and understood it. "Will I be more than when I left...this will make a change. A change within me." <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Hmmm</span>... not a change within the world. Not something everyone will see or understand. The tree's limbs will still be bare and the sun will not sink back to recreate the morning light... but I will have changed for having seen it. The change will have been within me.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />There's risk in that. There's risk in believing the dream and allowing it to "blur the lines of reality". Because it requires <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">a lot</span> of letting go of what I thought was real. I guess that's why the song says "Till there's nothing left of me ... show me the way to these dreams." </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />I guess that's what life is. It's a constant unveiling of reality which turns out in the end to have been the dream all along. That's the whole point... this life... being <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0oFYGtPNy64">"More than it seems."</a> (Click here to see video)</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />Today I am challenged to not let the schedule or the responsibility or the distractions keep me from living the dream of reality. Today I am challenged to share that with a world who so <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">desperately</span> needs it... one random interaction at a time. And today, I will take a long moment to meet with my Savior and thank Him for being so real and for effecting a real change in me!</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div>Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-28796432609880236122010-02-22T09:41:00.000-08:002010-02-23T03:14:51.061-08:00When it's good to forget"Humanly we can choose to forgive, but it is outside our capability as humans to choose to forget."<br /><br />I heard this quote once upon a time somewhere that I can no longer remember, but obviously it has remained with me. I was thinking about that quote <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">a lot</span> this weekend. And I was imagining. I was imagining what it would be like if we could choose to forget. What if it <em>were</em> up to me; if it were my choice to forget all the bad and remember only the good? What would the consequences of such a choice be?<br /><br />We do it naturally at funerals. Have you noticed that? When someone dies we gather to remember them and we collectively choose to remember only the good. Rarely at a funeral have I heard someone recall a story that brought up past hurts or <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">disappointments</span>. And, it's not just that we're choosing to focus on the good at a funeral. It's like <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">somehow</span>, when we face death, it is possible to actually forget all the wrongs.<br /><br />Yet, for the living we find it so hard to do that.<br /><br />Why?<br /><br />I wonder if it all boils down to self preservation. If it's all about protecting ourselves from hurt. When someone dies they are no longer a threat to us. Whatever it is that they've done to wrong us in the past no longer holds any power of repeat. They're not going to be able to hurt us again the same way so letting go of those transgressions doesn't carry with it the same vulnerability as it does for someone who's still living. Choosing, if we could, to forget the way we've been hurt means leaving ourselves open for future hurt. Or at least, that's what it feels like. If I forget how she manipulates the things I say I might not be as guarded around her next time. If I forget how he loses his temper when he doesn't agree with my opinion I might speak too freely. If I forget how much it hurt to lose that friendship I might walk right back into it again and risk hurting all over again.<br /><br />It's easier to remember because we think the remembering will protect us from pain.<br /><br />But what would the upside be to choosing only to store up the good stuff about someone? What if nothing terrible were recorded in our memory banks? What if with every new encounter the slate were wiped clean and everyone were given the benefit of the doubt? I can only imagine that kind of power that would be released in that!<br /><br />God chooses to see me that way everyday. He's been hurt by me a million times, but He literally chooses to simply not remember it. Each night as I sleep and in the morning when I wake to start a new day He greets me with what my friend Patty calls a "Holy <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Amnesia</span>". He doesn't hold back. He doesn't self preserve or protect. He's all out risk. He has everything to lose when he loves me like that. I'm destined to repeat my sins. I'm fated to break His heart again. But each time He chooses to forgive... and to forget.<br /><br />"As far as the east is from the west. So far has He removed our transgressions from us."<br /><br />Only He would so lovingly choose infinity to describe just how forgetful He is!<br /><br />Why does God do that? Wouldn't hanging on to my offenses be easier? Or at least less painful?<br /><br />Choosing to forget does seem impossible. But with time and lots of prayers for holy amnesia I think it is possible. And as for that guarded heart, I have found in those instances when I've found success in the forgetting that God has done all the guarding. And He's done a better job of it than I ever could. Laying my heart out,open and vulnerable has in those times has proven to be the most rewarding moments of my life! Relationships that seemed doomed have been not just brought back to life but have filled my life with blessings immeasurable. And not having to carry around all the baggage all the time? Wow! What a relief!<br /><br />I've said and done some pretty thoughtless things in my lifetime. I can't imagine how freeing it would be if it were all forgotten. And, I know... some people are harder to forgive than others. I know that some hurts are much harder to forget. But I want to work toward that. I want to be able to offer it in every instance because if the goal is to look as much like Jesus as I can... then the forgetting must play a pretty big role. And because I know how much it would mean to me if those I've offended were able to offer even more than forgiveness but forgetfulness as well.<br /><br />Is it humanly possible all the time? I don't know. But I do want to die trying!Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-30974187938726697782010-01-28T07:10:00.000-08:002010-01-28T08:08:16.575-08:00The RestlessnessDalton, my 12 year old came home from school Tuesday with a bit of a chip on his shoulder. When asked to answer my routine after school questions of "How was school?" and, "Did anything interesting happen?", he answered with an unusual bleakness. "School was boring. Nothing interesting happened. Nothing interesting <em>ever</em> happens. I wish there was <em>some</em>thing exciting that would happen."<br /> It's January. He's twelve. The sameness of the cold and snow and rountine are beginning to wear on my youngest of men. I looked into his eyes and saw a deep and familiar need buried there. A need to feel, to be challenged, excited...alive.<br /> I'm really not much diffrent than Dalton sometimes. Things settle into a routine and the fog of sameness rolls in around me and I feel trapped, unimportant, irrelevant. I become crabby, jaded and difficult to please. I don't know what I want or how I want it. I only know that I'm restless and need to move, to feel, to experience.<br /> Right now, I want the snow to melt. I want the sun to shine bright and hot on the green fields that will sping up outside my windows. I want to take long walks down the dirt road on the kind of summer evening when the light, like a treasured friend, seems to linger just a little while longer than it was meant to. I want sunny days at the beach and dark nights around a campfire. What I desire is the carefree comradarie of summer.<br /> I guess, like the seasons that pass outside my window, when I look at my life I want everyday to be like the best days, the easiest or the proudest or the most exciting. I suppose it doesn't surprise me that life isn't like that. I always knew that we weren't promised ease of living or endless happiness. And, when trouble rears it's head, I know God's presence and have been blessed to quickly sense His love and sheltering aid. Hard times don't surprise me much. What does take me by surprise though, is how difficult the "everyday and mundane" can be. Those are Oswald Chambers' descriptors, and I like them. Everyday...the monotony of work, laundry, meal prep, bed, wake up, do it again. The mundane, same customers, same groceries in the cart, same house, same responsibilities. Sameness can be excrutiating.<br /> Thankfully I love some aspects of this everyday and mundane. I LOVE the basketball games. I LOVE the cozy movie nights that are easy to have with the kids. I love the beauty of the winter white landscape. It's just so easy to miss in the midst of all the sameness.<br /> And then my thoughts turn to Haiti. To a people who would give anything for little bit of everyday. A moment of two of the old, familiar, mundane. And I think of friends who struggle with cancer or have children with demanding and difficult diagnosis'; who beg God for a little familiar sameness. Who wish they could go back and have a few more days of normal before their world was changed completely.<br /> Perspective is everything they say. And I certainly think that applies here. I, like Dalton, need to shift my perspective.<br /> In fact what could be more energizing than organizing some sort of drive to collect money for Haiti. And it might help ease the sameness of the day to stop in with coffee for a visit with a friend who's housebound with her disabled son. Now that I think of it, the possibilities are endless. It's really very exciting.<br /> Hmmmm.... maybe that was the point of my being restless all along!Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-71047071695722949092010-01-21T18:32:00.000-08:002010-01-21T19:03:45.911-08:00No Conditions"The word says God don't give us credit for lovin' the folks we want to love anyway. No, He gives us credit for lovin' the unlovable. The perfect love of God don't come with no conditions."<br /> "<em>the same kinda different as me"</em><br /><em> Ron Hall and Denver Moore</em><br /><em></em><br />I read these words this morning and something like conviction took place as they bounced around in my head and finally settled into my heart. I would like to think that I love unconditionally. I would like to think that when someone I love offends me or hurts my feelings or even takes an action that is outside the realm of what I typically deem "acceptable", I go on loving that person. I accept their shortcomings because I try, most of the time, to keep my own less than perfect moments ever before me. I consider that to be the stuff of unconditional love. The ability to love someone, even when they let you down.<br /><br />Reading this book though, I realize that the kind of unconditional love Denver recieved is something entirely different. You see, it's easy to love someone enough to forebear their transgressions, to look over their failures, or to see past their shortcomings. You do that based on history. You love a person long enough and there's really not much they could do to destroy your connection with them. And I suppose, that is a sort of unconditional love. It's the way we love our families, our friends, espeically our children. But what about the people we don't have history with? How often do we love them unconditonally?<br /><br />I don't know about you but I tend to size a person up upon meeting them. I label them. She's a nice dresser. He 's nice. She's friendly. I compile a subconscious list of things I observe as I spend time with a person and at some point, usually decide I might like to spend more time with them and eventually pursue a friendship on some level. Sometimes I'm not all that attracted to what I observe. He isn't very friendly. She seems snotty. He isn't very deep. These people I tend to pass over. I'm not usually rude to them, but I write them off rather quickly and don't pursue any further contact.<br /><br />There was a time in my life when loving the unlovable came easy. I had less pressures. Less time contraints. Less distractions. These days it seems I'm always running somewhere, attending something, working on something. I rarely have time to meet new people, let alone puruse a relationship with someone who seems unlovable.<br /><br />I may not often find myself in a soup kitchen or at a homeless shelter, but reading that quote from Denver this morning made me realize that not all of the unconditional loving in the world takes place in the missions, or shelters or kitchens. Alot of the unconditional loving that needs to be done can happen right where I already exsist. The bleachers, the work room, the car pools and the grocery lines; these are places filled with people who need to feel unconditional love. But as I choose who to sit by or stand by, or work by, I need to do that without any sort of sizing up taking place. Because the unconditional part doesn't happen after there's a shared history. The unconditional part happens at first glance. It's reaching out in love to someone I wouldn't "want to love anyway", and offering them my heart.<br /><br />Someone loved Denver like that. They loved him at first sight even when what they saw seemed unlovable and for Denver it made all the difference in the world.<br /><br />I want to love like that. I want to love uncondionally....the way I now understand it...the very way I have been loved. I want to love... like that.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-39684604804217709602010-01-13T17:13:00.000-08:002010-01-13T17:14:19.739-08:00It matters to me<span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> <span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> What matters</span>?<br /><br /> I mean what… really… matters?<br /><br /> And what are the qualifications for giving something that distinction of, well, mattering? Standing the test of time? Do things that stand the test of time matter because they do? How about providing respite from the chaos and pressure of life? Does something that distracts or calms or comforts then, matter? Intangibility. Does it factor in to what matters or what doesn’t?<br /><br /> If we were in Haiti right now I suspect our definition of what matters would gain some serious perspective.<br /><br /> But, we’re not in Haiti right now.<br /><br /> Does that matter?<br /><br /> The basketball game last night mattered to me. I hated that about myself. I hated that it mattered. And it mattered a lot. For a moment. And then it didn’t. So the things that matter only momentarily… do they really matter at all?<br /><br /> I spent time today with a very close friend and it was wonderful. The connection mattered a lot to me. Tonight I’ll be with friends who share my heart and matter a great deal in my life. Do these things matter more because the relationships have an impact that lasts for a lifetime, or do they matter less because if there were an earthquake tomorrow I couldn’t take them with me to heaven. I couldn’t take anything with me to heaven.<br /><br /> Only Christ.<br /><br /> Only Christ matters. What does that mean?<br /><br /> What about the way the basketball game brought happiness to my heart? Was that me realizing one aspect of the chief end of man? “Enjoying God?” I was enjoying my kid on the court. How God made him. I was granted a reprieve for a few hours from the pressures and responsibilities of life and just able to enjoy the game. Does Christ care about basketball? Does He care about me enjoying it? Because that might make it matter.<br /><br /> The relationships with my family and friends. I see Christ in that. Does that mean they matter?<br /><br /> I love to decorate, my house, weddings, events…. Those things seem not to matter. But what if to me they do? How do I know that they matter to Him?<br /><br /> I don’t know.<br /><br /> The answer to what matters is an easy one and yet… clearly not.<br /><br /> I just don’t know.</span>Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-33321396120975948312009-11-22T20:47:00.000-08:002009-11-22T20:55:50.794-08:00Beauty and Peace<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIolay6JZD5pIqhC60jyl2F4aa5Y1UGhR3f6uHOKJp05vGQmpJsoY-Htckql-1CPXkMUQzQWVH3hn_iWACnC4Rgof_8hRg5aOuFaMkH-xhfowRcKLCIlfJXYtFbcIWMeEu1Fs9c2l6358/s1600/remembering+you.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407156890586290770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 261px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIolay6JZD5pIqhC60jyl2F4aa5Y1UGhR3f6uHOKJp05vGQmpJsoY-Htckql-1CPXkMUQzQWVH3hn_iWACnC4Rgof_8hRg5aOuFaMkH-xhfowRcKLCIlfJXYtFbcIWMeEu1Fs9c2l6358/s400/remembering+you.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I went for a jog early this morning. It was a really gorgeous morning in the country. There was a light mist that barely touched my skin as I moved through it but, which left the world in a beautiful silence that I was in just the right state of mind to appreciate. Still, I guided my headphone into one of my ears and pushed play. There was something about being surrounded by the silence of creation that enhanced the music. At once I could hear the beauty of the music and the stillness of the world and it was powerful. The song that popped up on my ipod is one that has held special meaning for me before, but this morning it was new again and spoke so sweetly to my heart.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="color:#663333;"><em>FIELDS OF PLENTY/ BE STILL MY SOUL - Amy Grant<br /><br />Be still my soul the Lord is on thy side.<br />Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.<br />Leave to thy God to order and provide.<br />In every change He faithful will remain.<br />Be still my soul. Thy best, thy heavenly Friend.<br />Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.<br />Be still my soul thy God doth undertake<br />To guide the future as He has the past.<br />Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake.<br />All now mysterious will be bright at last.<br /><br /><br />Spoken:<br />(Delight yourselves in the Lord,<br />Yes, and find your joy in Him.<br />Be known for your gentleness<br />And never forget the nearness of our God.<br />And don’t worry,<br />Whatever’s gonna come.<br />Just tell God every detail.<br />And the peace of God that no one understands<br />Will come to you.<br />No, don’t worry,<br />Just tell Him every detail<br />And His peace will come to you.)<br /></em></span><br /><br />I began my jog with some heavy thoughts on my mind. Thoughts that come into my mind that I really don’t like to share with anyone else. Thoughts that are born of things I know I can’t expect or try to make anyone else understand. I find myself in that place every once in a while. I often end up frustrated by it and trying so hard to push that frustration away. But this song came on and I found myself before the throne of God, knowing that He was, as always, big enough to handle “every detail.” I spoke to Him there and told Him that I didn’t know if I really had the energy to tell it all today. I’m pretty sure that was okay with Him. After all He knew the details even before I did. I laid it at His feet and I left it there, for Him to “order and provide”. And then I really did experience a measure of His promised peace. It wasn’t an assurance that the markets won’t continue to plummet or that my teenagers won’t make bad choices or even an assurance that faith shaking situations won’t come into my life again. It wasn’t a feeling of wellbeing, or even a sense that I could get through anything with God by my side (though I do know that’s true). It was simply a moment in which I knew beauty. And knowing beauty, for me, is knowing the Creator of beauty. And knowing the Creator of a world like the one I jogged in this morning was for that moment at least, just enough peace to pass my understanding. </div>Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-77532176723936193322009-11-04T21:08:00.001-08:002009-11-04T21:26:49.393-08:00Beuaty Will Rise<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyM4_Xz4KDpBmcQ5_Eu6kHfLUYav_mwNgBrj05FZypI_6OvkeG5a6fEfLFMKJ_fNcBMj2fSGpxirn8Dt7__VrOZTZRfVWje889SxRw2AF0LM8vosdKdJs9L4LqMYXIV-Ll97pmHMOMPeVD/s1600-h/IMG_0522.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400482833083287666" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyM4_Xz4KDpBmcQ5_Eu6kHfLUYav_mwNgBrj05FZypI_6OvkeG5a6fEfLFMKJ_fNcBMj2fSGpxirn8Dt7__VrOZTZRfVWje889SxRw2AF0LM8vosdKdJs9L4LqMYXIV-Ll97pmHMOMPeVD/s400/IMG_0522.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Warning...long and gratutitouse post follows. Come back another time if you're not up for it. I'll understand. Really!<br /><br /><br />My personal devotion time today was extremely personal and beautifully intimate. I always hesitate to try to share those kinds of things because God is so specific with us as His children when He draws near and pulls us close. He’s often so specific that I wonder if we can really ever fully understand the things He teaches someone else. Having said that though, my time with Him this morning was profound for me and I can’t help but try to share something of what it meant.<br /><br />Okay, so I’m a mildly obsessed Steven Curtis Chapman (and family) fan. You really can’t blame me if you know my story. His music has literally been playing in the background and often even the foreground of most of my adult lif<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UvPvtv7O0pI7GQ_dKJFxYNsuJGheP0Tin6H6tMGZcZEVY697C95l8FVdN54Iv2UQlG_nDZV2yD3YzUxAG_xXKtQ8nR1nE1e1kDi1YeVSaTRFHPXGoxOSg1D1UjWEbgUDo_sFFVeYM0Y3/s1600-h/i+will+be+here.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400484206717290642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UvPvtv7O0pI7GQ_dKJFxYNsuJGheP0Tin6H6tMGZcZEVY697C95l8FVdN54Iv2UQlG_nDZV2yD3YzUxAG_xXKtQ8nR1nE1e1kDi1YeVSaTRFHPXGoxOSg1D1UjWEbgUDo_sFFVeYM0Y3/s200/i+will+be+here.jpg" border="0" /></a>e’s biggest moments. God has used his music to minister to my heart in ways only God and I will ever really understand. But will you bear with me if I try to share just some of what He’s done?<br />I didn’t realize at my wedding what the words “I will be here when the laughter turns to crying through the winning, losing and trying” would mean to me now that “the mirror tells us we’re (17 years) older ” instead of just 17 years old. But I loved the song and it was powerful even before it was understood.<br /><br />Later when my cousin and lifelong friend passed away leaving behind a beautifully fragile wife and two incredible children I questioned God at length. I couldn’t begin to understand how this could possibly be meant for anyone’s good. He quieted my heart with the title track of Steven’s <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji82QAUKbSIe-g-XD83GO5fveOdrXSbSIb8wUpL7dqI5L3XsNx4_W2PHwg1OB1SEj7wiGenKbDuhtgbfJ97enmE7CKhR182pda5l6R4r4YK-YLzdnYX1gopWk-cv0PyiUxCIttoPU2-WtS/s1600-h/speechless.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400484576278313794" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 115px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 115px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji82QAUKbSIe-g-XD83GO5fveOdrXSbSIb8wUpL7dqI5L3XsNx4_W2PHwg1OB1SEj7wiGenKbDuhtgbfJ97enmE7CKhR182pda5l6R4r4YK-YLzdnYX1gopWk-cv0PyiUxCIttoPU2-WtS/s200/speechless.jpg" border="0" /></a>Speechless cd. Words like “ I say so many things. Trying to figure you out. But as mercy opens my eyes… my words are stolen away by this breath taking view of your grace.” And “His strength is perfect when our strength is gone” assured me that Maria and the kids would be given what they needed in their sorrow.<br /><br />Just a year later we lost our precious son, Tristan and the words of With Hope reminded us of the theme God was weaving through our lives and making so real to us that day. “And never have I known anything so hard to understand. Never have I questioned more the wisdom of God’s plan. But through the veil of tears I hear the Father smile and say “Well done.” We know our goodbye is not the end. We can grieve with Hope ‘cuz we believe with Hope. There’s a place where we’ll see your face again.” Just a few months later Declaration came out and every single song on that album seemed as though God had written the words just for me and imprinted their meaning deep within my heart. Those songs and I journeyed for years together and still do today as I process still what it meant to lose my son.<br /><br />A few years passed and we found ourselves in the throws of adoption. We were looking forward to baptizing our daughters when Steven sang in person, what seemed like a concert made just for them at Life Light that year. W<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcY4TABvR2ZJrYCWm1pM4Ugnf-uasfalL0qPpu60nnL80jv054v48NLQ_5FXCKkipSZrnWMVrEpmH0WTuxhcThaICJUQPMyUmhqyT1ixMqXzTTLt_QEFemJ1n3LAAvjj8zxpHkatA-TjzE/s1600-h/all+about+love.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400485778846006514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 115px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 115px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcY4TABvR2ZJrYCWm1pM4Ugnf-uasfalL0qPpu60nnL80jv054v48NLQ_5FXCKkipSZrnWMVrEpmH0WTuxhcThaICJUQPMyUmhqyT1ixMqXzTTLt_QEFemJ1n3LAAvjj8zxpHkatA-TjzE/s200/all+about+love.jpg" border="0" /></a>hen he introduced “When Love Takes you In”, the very song I’d wanted sung at their baptism later that month the tears began to fall so quickly. “When Love takes you in and says you belong here. The loneliness ends and a new life begins. And this love. It will not let you go. Cuz there’s nothing that could ever cause this love to lose it’s hold.” My daughters were in my arms and whatever we were struggling through in that moment slipped away as I was reminded of the way God’s adoptive love was circling us all.<br /><br />I went through a major surgery not long after that. As I sat through tests and procedures I often had them play my Declaration cd for me. “God is God” became my anthem during the surgery and lengthy recovery time that followed. “I can only see a part of the picture He’s painting.” What a wonderful reminder on those days when my little part was looking pretty dark.<br /><br />My dad died a few years ago and there was just a lot of personal processing that needed to take place. I was starting to feel a little picked on by a God I knew held only love for me. I was little bit edgy in how I approached Him but Bring it On helped me find my voice. “Bring it on. Let the trouble come. Let the Hard Rain fall. Bring it on. Cuz I’m not gonna run from the very thing that will drive me closer to you.”<br /><br />Our newest trial is in dealing with the plummets of the livestock markets. Financial strain seems to threaten more than just our pocket books, but this new cd reminds me that “Jesus Will Meet me There.”<br /><br />See.. I have a reason to be mildly obsessed. I told you so.<br /><br />Anyway all of this background to bring you to my moment alone with God this morning. I had purchased the new SCC cd and decided to spend my time with God reading the words and the lengthy explanations Steven gave as background to the music on the cd jacket. My heart broke for the Chapman family when they lost they’re precious Maria last year. I wasn’t prepared for how powerfully God would work through this latest cd, even though I knew the newest work would be deeply moving. Songs like “Just Have to Wait” and “Spring is Coming” not to mention “Heaven is the Face” and “I will Trust You” brought me back to my own loss and laid me open before the throne of heaven today. I was reminded in the rawness of this mornings encounter with Christ of the depth of grief. But this music was so INCREDIBLY laced with Hope that it brought me to a new level of healing. To identify with such loss and such Hope all at once was almost too much to bear. The kind of emotion a new realization of God’s truth brings with it can be overwhelming. There’s a line that haunts me still as even now I listen to the music play softly in the background, “ Well I can’t wait to hear your mama laugh the way that only you can make her laugh when you get silly. And I can’t wait to SEE you in her arms and know the wound so deep inside her heart is healed for good.” And “I can’t wait to watch your brother’s face when he can finally SEE with his own eyes that everything’s okay”... Loss and guilt…and Hope.<br /><br />I sat in the stillness this morning realizing again and anew how powerfully personal and specific God has been in His dealings with me. I’m thankful for the beautiful Biblically based music SCC churns out with each new album. It’s no wonder those words bring such depth and healing. They come straight from the heart of God. Only He could offer those kinds of promises.<br /><br />I’m so sorry that the Chapman’s have had so much to suffer, but I’m praying it reaches many hearts the way it has mine. I think God wants little Maria to have lots of company up there in her “Big, big house with lots and lots of rooms.” And I’m hoping she’s met a little boy named Tristan. It seems they might have a connection only heaven would understand.<br /><br />Okay, I warned you. Thanks for letting me spill on and on today. I appreciate your being here.<br /><br />Now, I'd love to hear about how God's been highly specific for you.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-88841091951919932532009-11-02T07:41:00.000-08:002009-11-02T08:03:49.174-08:00The Silent Breakfast of the Empty Handed HunterYesterday afternoon my oldest son, the passionate hunter, set out to spend some time in his deer stand. Armed with a bow and a fistful of arrows contentment seemed to beam from his face. This is a kid who loves to be outdoors, at peace whenever he’s surrounded by nature.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399535919545682690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 186px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPfuNdSyqXqoLZ5w744S207w2WmH9rKnARK6lU85XOtd63bKzcUfIPDhBo5LJkFEDjjtG-dndRChPM3pSaYesRUBPWb6lQlz9JmK0OprQOnXXM-eo4yYdaHbUg1PHdIPcUqs4Ikv2wxOa/s320/bow+hunter.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br />The call came an hour or so later. “Mom, I need to talk to Dad right now.” I recognized the shaky but controlled calm in his voice. It was something I could easily recall from all these years as a hunter’s wife. It was the exact voice his father used when a deer had been hit.<br /><br />Steve and Taylor exchanged a few excited words. Plans were made to retrieve the deer. The testosterone driven inhabitants of our home were giddy with excitement. Taylor told and retold the story of how in his shock of having his first real shot at a buck he had been unable to even pull back his string. Miraculously the buck had turned and given him another chance. All four manboys quickly donned camouflage gear, flashlights and one more round of arrows. Even uncle Shawn came out to join the crew. They searched late into the night. They rose early and searched all morning. The blood trail had run thin. Hope of finding the deer has now run out. A weary hunter and his son sit at the breakfast table even now exchanging only looks of dismay and disappointment as the morning sun spills across their sad faces.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I offer words like; “There will be other deer.” And “ You still have more time left before the shot gun season starts.” I fill their plates wit<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_ghdaZhr241bNApwfj9QGFeiCOnAQpc68tCpjfTpx6bfRBRKeNeRJ5QgoMt1-0jN1-DqyaF69tpzxnMmO9ecuePzxjp9hZM-avsp58vFDz4q0ETPCaMNMFi7YFxWFjawOApDJuEsW-eu/s1600-h/silent+breakfast.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399536602553743602" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_ghdaZhr241bNApwfj9QGFeiCOnAQpc68tCpjfTpx6bfRBRKeNeRJ5QgoMt1-0jN1-DqyaF69tpzxnMmO9ecuePzxjp9hZM-avsp58vFDz4q0ETPCaMNMFi7YFxWFjawOApDJuEsW-eu/s320/silent+breakfast.jpg" border="0" /></a>h bacon, eggs and pancakes hoping it will nourish more than their growling stomachs. But my efforts fall on deaf ears. This is a place only men are allowed. My son tells me by the look on his face to please find somewhere else to be right now.<br /><br /><br /><br />It’s hard to be a mom of a man child. I know how little he wants to need me. I understand that this is a necessary process. But it’s hard. It’s hard to love him so much and have my efforts to be a part of his life go more than unnoticed, also unwanted.<br /><br />I know it will all turn around again one day. I know he’ll get older and realize I’m not holding on anymore and he’ll be happy to spend time with me again. But for now I miss the kid who would so casually say “I love you” and call me “Mamma.” It was just last year that his arms would circle around me in a quick hug most mornings before he left for school as I stood at the sink washing away the remains of his breakfast. “Have a good day Mom.” Trailing behind him as he shoved one more piece of toast in his mouth and hoisted his backpack over his shoulder.<br /><br />He’ll be seventeen in a few weeks and at 6 foot 3 he is every inch the man he so desperately wants to be. I’m not trying to hold on. Really, I’m not. It’s just that this morning as he walked up to the house, an empty handed hunter, shoulders slouched, head hung low, he was once again a little boy.<br /><br />He doesn’t like the thought of that deer suffering. He can’t stand knowing it’s still out there. Somehow in the silence the men have this conversation. I can’t hear it. It’s not meant for my ears. And words… words are like shattering a glass with a rock this morning. So I slink away. I sit at my computer and I fill a blinking cursor with words they can’t hear. There’s still that sound of something shattering though. I think it’s just my mom heart…breaking. Phew… parenting can be tough!Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-82213457506140317422009-10-28T16:11:00.000-07:002009-10-28T16:12:34.276-07:00AffectedI’ve been home sick for the last 3 days. It’s the kind of sick that leaves me too tired to do much more than cross the room but it’s not like I’m puking or sweating out a fever either. This has left me with a lot of time to, well, ponder. THAT can be a very scary thing. TRUST me. I’ve also had a lot of time to observe. I’ve observed what the stress of a late harvest does to my husband’s demeanor. (Try as he may to remain unaffected). I’ve observed what the thrill of the spotlight has done for my daughter. She loves play practice and whatever took place during that time seems to come spilling out of her the moment she walks in the door. I’ve noticed what really fitting in has done for my middle son who has settled well into the social climate of the sophomore class. SO much less angst than there was last year. My youngest daughter revels in the attention she readily receives from her zany comments and silliness. It’s clear to see that being in the seventh grade has rendered her a bit self conscious and unsure of how to act. Thus the crazy Hannah Montana mimicking that, frankly, gets a bit tired. After all if you’re not sure of your identity yet, why not steal someone else’s right? My youngest son has finally broken into a time of life when we all go to watch HIM do things. Football, basketball, speech, band and choir have us pursuing his schedule now and after following along with the four who’ve gone before him, he finally feels he’s arrived. And my oldest son. Wow. He’s almost a man. He’ll be 17 in a month and I can hardly believe the confident and mature individual he’s become. He’s receiving all kinds of praise at work for his efforts and hunting season is upon him. In his world nothing could be more “right”.<br /><br /> All of this observing left me wondering, are we all so reactionary? I would think if it holds true in my home, it probably does in yours as well right? What I’m trying to articulate is that as I look over what I just wrote I realize that we are all SO affected by outside forces. The season of our lives, the input from the people who surround us, our age, our social circle, the activities we’re involved in, the pressures of our work. These things affect us. Of course they do. That’s normal. I guess.<br /><br /> But, it leads me to wonder…if we weren’t surrounded by so much outside stimuli what would our personalities be? Of course, I don’t want to be a hermit. I realize that the lack of stimuli has basically the same affect in that it HAS an affect, but I’m trying to get at something deeper.<br /><br /> We’ve all had those days where we start out feeling good. We have breakfast and get ready for whatever might be going on. We look in the mirror and perhaps for this day aren’t terribly unhappy with the reflection. We make time for devotions and feel empowered and refreshed. All seems right with the world and then BAMM… something happens. A co-worker makes a rude comment. A sibling calls with a family issue. Someone rear ends us in the parking lot. Our mood changes. Our whole outlook changes. And the people around us have to deal with it. Sometimes these things last for a day and other times we find ourselves in a season of affect.<br /><br /> I started to look over my life. I thought about all the components that affect me. I wondered why I gave these things so much power over me. I pondered whether it was within my grasp to remain unaffected. And, I came to the unsettling conclusion that it is not.<br /><br /> There is a girl I’m not sure I want my middle son to date. It looks very possible that it will happen. I know that will affect me. I really want my oldest son to achieve great grades and ACT scores this year as he prepares for school. What he chooses will affect me either way. My youngest daughter lives for volleyball. How tryouts go this January will affect her so much… and via her.. me.<br /><br /> And that’s just a sampling of my family, one aspect, (albeit the largest) of my life.<br /><br /> So as I observe this week from my sickly perch on the sunlit couch I wonder this; “Who is it God intends for me to be each day? Does He intend for the reactionary Cherie, who is so very affected by her circumstance? Or does He intend for something other? I wonder who Cherie really is… if she isn’t who everything else affects her to be?” Hmmmm…it’s interesting.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-87005819672522525902009-10-17T07:08:00.000-07:002009-10-17T07:10:20.261-07:00Scared SpeechlessI’ve been asked to tell “my story” to a group of women for a Christmas Luncheon. Over the past couple of years I felt like I had been led to pray about speaking engagements. I was challenged to accept whatever came my way. BUT…. I wasn’t really sure I wanted God to open that door. I suppose that was why it was so challenging. I didn’t exactly make it public knowledge, this leading. I guess I figured I was pretty safe accepting that challenge because I didn’t tell anyone I what I was being led to consider. But it now appears that God… did. And now that He went and opened that door I’m wondering if it would be okay to just close it up again. I wouldn’t just slam it in His face or anything. I would just very gently sneak around the backside and slowly creak the door back closed.<br /><br />The thing is, I don’t like to speak. I’m a rambler. I tend to really get going once I open my mouth. Give me a mike ( oh my word, I shudder to remember the one time someone gave me a mike) and I will ramble at will incoherently ‘till the guy with the hook comes out.<br /><br />I do like to write. I suppose that’s partly because when you write and you realize that you’re workin’ up a good ramble, you have only to highlight and cut and phew… saved face.<br /><br />I know what you’re thinking. Write your talk out … then read it. Yep. That’s a great idea. In theory. But I’ve tried that. I panic and I NEVER look up from that paper. It’s not very engaging.<br /><br />And then there’s the whole problem of what to say. I mean really!! Sure I have a story. I get that. We all do. But is mine interesting or important enough to hold a captive audience? I fear I’m doomed to stare into a sea of disinterested feminine faces who are all making mental to do lists while I ramble. Who could blame them?<br /><br />Yes, I hear you thinking. “Wow, Cherie, this is probably supposed to be about God isn’t it? Why are you making it all about yourself?”<br /><br />I know. You’re right.<br /><br />Will you pray please that I’m able to do just that?<br /><br />He didn’t ask me to write. He asked me to speak.<br /><br />So that’s what I’m going to do.<br /><br />(eeek…)Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-20973172491052412942009-10-11T05:48:00.000-07:002009-10-11T05:49:16.526-07:00Seasons“In those days, though, spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed.” Ernest Hemmingway A Moveable Feast<br /><br /> We all go through seasons. Right now my children are going through seasons of excitement, of learning, a time when everything they experience is new and thrilling. I have some friends at retirement age who experience a time of contentment and ease right now; a time when life offers just enough leisure to allow a person to enjoy the moments. I know others who are in times that feel unsettled. Great longings seem to go unnoticed; at the very least unanswered by a God who seems, if not removed, uninterested in the desires of their hearts.<br /> I also know those who endure pain in the moment to moment way of persons who know great loss. These are souls in suffering. Hearts in turmoil. They wait in desperation for a spring that seems to “nearly fail”.<br /> I guess we’ve all experienced seasons like that haven’t we? We wait and we hope for things to get better. Do we believe it will? Yes, I suppose as those who’ve become a new creation we do.<br /><br /> And yet.<br /><br /> I was reading A Moveable Feast tonight and became engulfed in Hemmingway’s description of Paris in the last depths of a long, hard, winter ; when there settled over the city a near panic that the desolation of the season wouldn’t end. He describes that time as a time when “it would seem you were losing a season of your life”. As I slid my bookmark into place I began to wonder… “ Is it possible that there are times when the sorrow, or the fear; the pain or the great loneliness is not merely the passage of a season but also the loss of one?<br /> Can a person lose out on the experience of one season because they cannot see outside of the experience of another? <br /> During the time that followed the tragic death of my son I most certainly seem to have lost a season. So many things went on. The world kept spinning in a way that seemed almost to mock me as it said “Surely daytime and night… summer and winter will never cease.” Yet I ceased to experience them. For me I suppose there was a very real sense of missing a season of my life…in favor of… or at least in deference to another one.<br /><br /> And yet.<br /><br /> Tonight, with Hemmingway’s thoughts on Paris still fresh in my mind, I read through the caring bridge sites of loved ones and a new light began to dawn. What if the season we miss out on becomes the defining season in the lives of those we love? What if Friend A’s son’s difficult diagnosis becomes her other son’s defining season in that he learns compassion and understanding first hand? What if friend B’s son’s limited life expectancy and profound disabilities become her other children’s defining seasons in which they learn to lean hard on Hope? What if Friend C’s husbands struggle with sudden and terminal cancer becomes her daughter’s defining season? The one in which they come to know a God who truly is a Father in every practical sense of the word?<br /> Do we all miss out on seasons? Yes. Depression, loss, financial ruin, crisis’ of faith, anger, resentment, pain, sorrow, even unfounded bliss do cause some of us at one time or another to be removed from life.<br /> God seems to have intended a purpose for these times when we cannot connect; when we’re so busy with the work of making new pathways of connection. It would appear that He intends for our absence to be a defining moment for someone else. Most often for someone we love. A season they need to experience. A time that will build in them an essential aspect of their character; an aspect that they will share with the world… and that is needed.<br /> It was a moment of clarity to realize that as I read the journal updates. So easy to see when you’re not encumbered with mommy guilt. When you can just see things as they stand in someone else’s life.<br /> <br /> And yet.<br /><br /> If I can see this amazing and beautiful truth in their lives… surely… it stands to reason… that it would be true in mine…. and yours.<br /> Spring did come for me after Tristan died, but not without the sense that I had lost a season. And my kids, my family and my friends may have missed me for a bit but they were being tended to by a God who held all our seasons in the palm of His hand. A God who was intent and purposeful about those moments with them.<br /> There were so many times I wanted to cry out and ask God to just stop the world for a while so that I could go about the business of grieving and not miss out or feel pulled back toward life being lived. But the seasons just kept coming. And somewhere between the falling of the leaves and the piling of the snow there came a peace in knowing that spring too would eventually dawn … and that I would be there to experience it.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-56775470632250184892009-10-01T22:19:00.000-07:002009-10-01T22:22:35.097-07:00For a MomentThere are moments in life when you get a chance to do something really extraordinary. You get to benefit someone somehow. You are involved in something important. You witness healing and are able to add something to it. These are moments you expect to be remarkable.<br /><br /> And then there are moments in life when you reach out somehow, with some infinitesimal measure of concern or kindness. You do or say or give something you know can barely matter and yet you do it because it’s yours to do. You feel powerless to offer anything in the face of pain or sorrow. These are moments you expect to be unremarkable.<br /><br /> But sometimes… sometimes the smallest of things become the most meaningful.<br /><br /> And the grandest of gestures seem to pale in insignificance.<br /><br /> The ways I intended this day were not the ways God used. Of course it stands to reason and, in this case is true then, that the things I knew were too small to matter seemed to be used in the most beautiful sense. It’s humbling. It’s so humbling to sit once again in the quietest part of the day and look back in marvel at how little any of it ever had to do with me.<br /><br /> There was “pain in the offering tonight”. But I also got in on “something beautiful”! It was just as I had expected it to be…. only, in reverse.<br /><br /> I guess I sort of get that. If it ever began to depend on me, I suppose I would cave under the pressure. But God will bless what He blesses and withhold from what He withholds. The outcome isn’t necessarily the point. At least it can’t be as far as it concerns me. The point is the obedience. And even though it hurts when all the hard work doesn’t pay off I would risk it all over again. Because sometimes…sometimes the almost effortless thing makes an impact so beautiful, so meaningful that everything else fades away.<br /><br /> For a moment.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-15959118224665912472009-09-29T16:14:00.000-07:002009-09-29T16:16:11.894-07:00Things I learned on a PicnicI remember learning about friendship at a very early age. In my neighborhood there were probably a dozen kids or so who were our age. Our moms would throw these make shift picnics in the backyards. They would spread ratty old blankets across the grass and lay out a spread of sandwiches, homemade cookies and usually some sort of prepackaged supermarket treat. At first I can remember that these little alfresco dining escapades captured our imaginations and allowed us to dream up grand adventures in which we were pirates eating our spoils on the deck of a great ship or fair maidens trapped forever in a castle by a wicked emperor who would only allow us to eat what grain we could find scattered on the grounds of our beautiful prison. Later though, our little yard picnics became long, lazy afternoons filled with the lively banter or delicate discussion of friendship. We began to share our lives in the well tended grasses of our neighborhood. “You get your mom to make the lemonade and I’ll talk my mom out of the chocolate chip cookies she was making this morning. Meet back here at two o”clock and don’t forget your boom box.” We would meet beneath the protection of the weeping willows that outlined T’s property and spill secrets before the plastic cups and Tupperware containers hit the blanket. Our words were backlit by the drama of the tunes that spilled from the speakers; the likes of Bryan Adams and Madonna.<br /><br /> I had forgotten about those blissful afternoons until the other day when one of my best friends called and asked what I was doing. I recited a litany of duties including such things as laundry, cleaning and cooking when she intoned, “ Okay. Well I just made a great new recipe for cookies. ( This friend happens to be an incredible chef…how lucky am I?). and thought maybe if you had the wine we could sit on your patio and hang out.”<br /> <br /> The laundry went undone that day and I’m pretty sure I still haven’t cleaned out the back closet but P and I talked for hours snuggled deep in the bright teal Adirondack chairs on my front patio. We talked over our marriages and shared concerns about our kids. But we delved further still. We talked about dreams we still held for our lives and giggled over a few aspirations we were glad had failed.<br /><br /> As P’s taillights drew slowly away from my house later into that evening I watched, thankful for the grassy backyard picnics of my youth. Our moms gifted us then with what they must have understood would be so important one day… that friendship takes time. It always seemed okay back in the neighborhood to invest time into relationships. I don’t think there were less demands on my mom. I don’t think her time was any less valuable than mine. I think she just chose to value people over schedules. I’m pretty certain that has everything to do with why I can make real and lasting connections with friends today.<br /><br /> We’ve come a long way since those clandestine meetings beneath the whispering willows I suppose. And then again if you call me on any given day, you can be sure I’ll uncork the wine and pull the homemade cookies from the freezer. Pull up a teal blue chair my friend and tell me what’s on your mind.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-52485621142026563272009-09-28T05:40:00.000-07:002009-09-28T06:01:27.391-07:00Mrs. Eisenhower's Legacy<div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFo7nAQECm7miheZZywgjZT1bTNhE2PeWcr-3fQ7RILNpI8-oEYJOIGO3Fc7Le3opm3r2-QlmtiWrtpMMjnsZZHSshqnjkzNJXIgoqhS1YHCEkEyNbvYLHkTVyC0kRoQM_JkjJt6I2SuJf/s1600-h/34_eisenhower.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386498030700472114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 153px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 184px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFo7nAQECm7miheZZywgjZT1bTNhE2PeWcr-3fQ7RILNpI8-oEYJOIGO3Fc7Le3opm3r2-QlmtiWrtpMMjnsZZHSshqnjkzNJXIgoqhS1YHCEkEyNbvYLHkTVyC0kRoQM_JkjJt6I2SuJf/s320/34_eisenhower.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>Dwight Eisenhower was the 34th President of our Country. He was an amazing leader. “Ike” as people generally referred to him was a war hero during the Second World War. He was a Republican but because of his straight forward and authentic approach to politics he earned the respect of a democratic congress for 3 terms and was able to be an effective presidents even with an opposing party in congress. </div><br /><div><br />I read just a little bit about him in my devotions this morning. The w<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSXGorKFChjqpIfjkmG9N2vH7ylp7wvLmZ8riCu1fBkDtU1x9ayCGD9VyOruBvLQRdMdVLz3ZIIWqzVpoo3vnFGU75AKXl4N1JS7zGGtraO1kG4Ax26sx1k-jvniSpAylzjvcEMyBcKvt/s1600-h/book_toownadragon02.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386498585497686162" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 130px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSXGorKFChjqpIfjkmG9N2vH7ylp7wvLmZ8riCu1fBkDtU1x9ayCGD9VyOruBvLQRdMdVLz3ZIIWqzVpoo3vnFGU75AKXl4N1JS7zGGtraO1kG4Ax26sx1k-jvniSpAylzjvcEMyBcKvt/s320/book_toownadragon02.jpg" border="0" /></a>riter of the book I was reading (To Own a Dragon, by Donald Miller) was amazed as he read about Ike’s life. You see Eisenhower grew up in a home with two functioning parents who made it their goal that their children would grow up knowing how important and necessary their role in the family was. Their thought that this would lead their children to realize the importance and necessity of their roles in their communities and for Dwight, even the world was proved true when he became president. </div><br /><div><br />I started thinking about that as I finished my devotion time this morning. I started to wonder if I’ve raised my children with the sense that they are important to our family, to their community and to the world? If I asked them, would they, like young Dwight at age 9 or 10 already be confident enough to agree that they were not only important but essential to our family. That our family couldn’t be our family without them and that God has assigned to them an important task of leadership. Do my kids understand their importance?</div><br /><div><br />Jesus did. In John 3 it says, “The Father loves the Son and has placed everything in His hands. Whoever believes the Son will have life but whoever rejects the Son will not see life, for God’s wrath remains on him.” </div><br /><div><br />Why did God say that He placed everything in Jesus’ hands? Because through Jesus people would either come to know God the Father or not. </div><br /><div><br />No, we haven’t been given the role of saving the world from sin. But that doesn’t mean that our role isn’t crucial. If we don’t offer what you have been given to offer the world… which is really just you being you… the world, your community and especially your family will miss out. We’ll miss out on understanding something of Jesus, God the Father and the Holy Spirit.</div><br /><div><br />As a mot<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwlrb3sm7FjMuuOJcPEvLymws9-ep2wb5bPbge4ZxaTIgoOq0iaemSJ5pDGCCPGPrT3qcxPVBBIfb1ueLjYilapIW9jIJPBjVgFBH3MNmhwQDakrNS3OH80IWfaN4R-vZzsSUc8cloznyN/s1600-h/2bsd.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386501903214330530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 146px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 177px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwlrb3sm7FjMuuOJcPEvLymws9-ep2wb5bPbge4ZxaTIgoOq0iaemSJ5pDGCCPGPrT3qcxPVBBIfb1ueLjYilapIW9jIJPBjVgFBH3MNmhwQDakrNS3OH80IWfaN4R-vZzsSUc8cloznyN/s320/2bsd.jpg" border="0" /></a>her is there anything more precious I could lavish on my children than this beautiful truth? That they are relevent?Eisenhower’s mother puts me to shame in so many ways. For one thing, this woman memorized the entire New Testament. What a beautiful gift she gave to her children in that kind of example but also in being able to call on that kind of understanding when she needed to deal with them in their lives. Also though, Mrs. Eisenhower was fond of this belief; she believed that all the world’s problems could be solved if every child understood his necessity and importance in the world. </div><br /><div><br />I think we shy away from these thoughts because we worry that we’re placing too much importance on ourselves as individuals rather than realizing the supreme capabilities of a sovereign God who doesn’t NEED us to reveal his love or will to the world. Of course this is true. He’s God and He can certainly handle these kind of intricate revelations on his own. But He CHOOSES to use us to do that. When we fail to realize that ourselves or to teach it to our kids we miss out. We miss out and so does our community. We miss out not on being needed by God but by being WANTED by Him. He wants to use our lives to bear witness to who He is. Each of us has a unique and beautiful aspect or characteristic of His to mirror in a unique and beautiful way. If we understood that better. If our children understood that better is it true that the world would be transformed?</div><br /><div><br />I’m challenging myself today to be more effective in instilling that possibility in my kids. I’m challenging myself to believe it myself and be purposeful then in the offering of it to my community.<br /><br />*** Please no criticisms on the book or author references. I understand your concerns. I’m reading critically. You can trust me.</div></div></div>Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-86488987469994940992009-09-22T04:03:00.001-07:002009-09-22T04:03:44.706-07:00The Art of LegacyThere was a time in my life when I didn’t value the generations that came before me. In fact I suppose that was true of most of my life. Until recently. My thirties have brought with them an awareness of my own life lessons and I suppose a respect for what other’s have learned as well. More and more lately I find myself wanting to soak up another woman’s life stories.<br /><br />I go to work and listen to my friends there, friends my mother’s age tell me stories of sorority life on university campus in the 60s. Another woman recalls a near death experience as a child. There is a woman just shy of a decade older than me who, 10 years ago I may have written off as too unhip to be worthy of my ear and now I find her stories alive with color and interest.<br /><br />One of my favorite things about being the oldest of an oldest and marrying an oldest of an oldest is that when we gather at extended family dinners I am privy to the most beautiful collection of women in our aunts. As we sit around the remains of dinner served, forking away at a chocolate cake that sits at the center of the table, we commune. We laugh and we listen and sometimes we cry. I find myself unusually quiet in these moments. Is it because there is something almost holy about them, these amazing women who’ve graced the span of my life? I suppose that is part of it. But I also find myself humbled by the richness of their lives. It is a richness that is built year upon year, not unlike the sumptuous layer upon layer of cake we devour together as we chat.<br /><br />I love to sit at my grandmother’s side as she tells stories of marrying my grandfather at seventeen because she and he were employed by the same farmer. My maternal grandpa has been in Glory for 26 years now. Grams has been remarried for 8 of those years. There’s a lot of story in that.<br /><br />My dad’s dad has stories of an entirely different nature. He recalls his time as a POW guard in Italy at the end of World War II. The sounds of captured German soldiers singing “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” still ring in his ears. He is not a man given to much grace, but somehow he found it for those incarcerated men of war. He understood what they could not because he realized they had been given little choice.<br /><br />Looking back on my own, in comparison, short years on the planet, I realize how many mistakes I’ve made. Most often I’ve learned more from the bad than the good, if I’m being honest. And I suppose that’s okay. Perhaps one day my nieces will share the remains of a chocolate cake at my table and suddenly realize how important my stories are. Maybe not. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned so far into my thirties, it’s this; Much has been lived and much learned in the hearing of another person’s story. And the choice is up to me. I can listen. Or I can simply walk away. But to choose the latter is to neglect one of life’s greatest gifts; the richness of life not only lived, but shared. Shared across the span of generations. This is the art of legacy.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-38881233977665446492009-08-10T21:20:00.001-07:002009-08-10T21:20:44.148-07:00Back to School shopping...What mom hasn’t been there? What self respecting thirty something woman of the era hasn’t found herself on her knees in the back to school aisle pleading… “just tell me this darling… have you found a scissors that suits you?”<br /> Before today, I thought I was alone in my back to school agony, but as the dental assistant (my trip to the dentist by the way, ended up being the HIGHlight of my day) asked about my plans for the rest of the day she assured me, laughing as she suctioned, that I in fact am in good company in my back to school angst. She began to unravel a few memories for me of one of her young children whining over the lack of glossy pink folders which would certainly have secured her place with the “in” group, while her son, completely bored with the task of choosing rulers and erasers began tossing a football into a perfect pyramid of elmers edible glue. But our laughter had subsided by the time I climbed into my SUV and made my way sorrowfully to the bank, wondering woefully if I would be required to take out a loan by the time I’d descended the mountain of back packs and made my way through the river of scientific calculators. I withdrew the amount I was hoping would cover the damages and walked sheepishly away from the teller with my tail between my legs. As I opened the door to depart I heard her stifle a laugh as she whispered to the woman next to her “Back to school shopping… poor sucker!” How did she know? I wondered as I gave myself a second look in the rearview mirror, did the terror show?”<br /> I decided to approach my enemy slowly. But I’m afraid the sound may have tipped my foe off. Wouldn’t you know I got the squeaky cart? The bane of mothers of school aged children everywhere. You know the cart. It’s the one that mocks you slowly… at first you barely notice it’s there, but later, when you’ve offered up the last of your patience to the back to school gods it makes that one last annoying squeak and starts to bounce around as you hustle, almost free toward the checkout line and poufff… you finally lose all resolve and become a whimpering mass of whom you once were. I would not succumb to this fate today though. Not me. I am an experienced mother. I have been to this battlefield before. I know all the tricks. I simply lifted the offending side of the cart with my left hand and strode on. Yes, my arm began to cramp almost immediately but I would not be deterred. We stalked by the aisle slowly. My youngest son (the rookie) asked in confusion “Mom, aren’t we going to go down that aisle? That’s where all the back to school stuff is!” My daughters gasp could be heard from the farthest corners of the store. “What?” he asked with fear in his eyes. “What’d I say?”<br /> “She’s just checking things out. SHE’S NOT READY!” One of the girls whispered loudly in his ear.<br /> “No,” I said, eyebrow cocked in steel willed determination. “ He’s right. It’s time. Let’s go in”.<br /> Flanked by my offspring I dove in, hand first for the dreaded list. It emerged from my purse like a beam of light. You could almost hear the foreboding music in the back ground, challenging me… mocking me. My children shielded their eyes but I would not be so easily intimidated. I armed myself quickly with my pen, double clicking for effect, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed the rookie making a movement toward a stack of pencil boxes. “If you value that arm partner,” I ordered with all the authority I could muster.” You will put that hand back in your pocket and leave it there until further notice.”<br /> I think he was beginning to get the point.<br /> Felicity, I beckoned to me, “You understand how important it is that each item goes into the cart in it’s proper order correct. Because if things go in out of order we won’t be able to double check that we’ve crossed off everything on the list. And you know the cardinal sin of back to school shopping do you not?”<br /> “Yes mom,” She answered, fear swimming in her eyes “Under no circumstances should you ever have to return to the back to school aisle once you have left the back to school aisle.”<br /> I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until she finished. I exhaled with proud satisfaction. Oh she was going to make a great little back to school mother one day.<br /> I had given Kama free reign over her list. After all, the girl is sixteen, it was time to let her spread her wings. But what I had to do to keep her from her mistakes I’m not proud of. She came around the corner at what seemed to be warp speed this beautiful albeit not very price conscious daughter of mine. I barely had time to intercept the 5 subject notebook as she tossed it haphazardly into the cart. I leapt with catlike reflexes across the classic, washable marker stand and deftly caught the offending pad up in my grasp. “Kama,” I queried in a rather high pitched voice “ Did you check the price on this notebook?” I could tell by the funky and colorful cover that this notebook would be found to be almost twice, if not three times as much as the cardboard, plain colored type. “You have no idea how lucky you are that I was able to catch this back to school blunder.” I anchored my hand on her shoulder as I searched her eyes for some sign of recognition.<br /> “Whatever.” she uttered as she took the book from my hand and sluffed slowly back to the notebooks.”<br /> I turned and saw Felicity shaking her head in understanding.<br /> “We’re not going to win them all.” I worked to reassure her. “What matters is that we protect the contents of this cart.” Her eyes flashed with understanding. It felt good to have a partner in this war.<br /> I’m not going to say that the rest of our time midst the crayons and protractors was without incident. We nearly came to blows over the assignment pads at one point and there was a small incident involving loose leaf paper but I don’t feel that it’s bragging to tell you that by the time I reached the checkout line I’m pretty sure my blood pressure had already returned to normal.<br /> I don’t feel I’m ready to talk about the breakdown I had at the cash register just yet. Perhaps with time.<br /> And therapy.<br /> But alas, we have returned home. The back to school items are piled neatly on the living room floor awaiting their appointment with a intial wielding sharpy, and I have uncorked my favorite bottle of wine.<br /> There is a rumor floating around that a green folder has gone missing. But I know my children are just toying with me.<br /> Aren’t they?Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2070357355942068928.post-85001104401554860092009-06-16T07:06:00.000-07:002009-06-16T09:52:13.923-07:00Community, Compassion and the Intent to UnderstandI arrived at home last night after spending the evening with two sister friends deep in thought. I thought over the evening. I thought about the topics of conversation, how we weaved our way through deep concerns and important viewpoints to practical tips and advice all the way through to favorite celebrities and weird dreams. We shared moments of rallying support as well as raucous laughter. There were as many moments spent in the deep end of the conversational pool as there were floating around in the shallows. For me the evening defined the importance of community and the blessing of friendship. While I needed to hear and be heard I also needed the relief that comes with a bit of silliness. I needed to understand as much as I desired to be understood. It was reciprocal and in that it was as basely beautiful as it gets.<br /><br />Steve knows someone who though seemingly deeply woven into the thread of community, despaired enough of his own life last week to end it with the shattering finality of suicide. I was left wondering, how did the the community not see, not pick up on the cues? That thought has been haunting me ever since. Steve had supper with this person the night he passed away and has gone over and over that time again if he missed something, some small sign that would have told him to reach out. Of course that is not a burden that can be placed on Steve or any other person's doorstep. Of course had any of his community known they would have taken measures to stop him. But then the question becomes, how would we know?<br /><br />As we sat around the table last night, my "girlies" and me I wondered almost aloud, "Would I know if you were desperate tonight? I am your community. I am in the tightest of rings inside your community. Short of being your family I'm the friend who knows and loves you best. Yet I find myself unsure... wondering if I would know." I wonder because I realize how good I am at putting on the act, at wearing the mask. At pretending life is great when it's not. I've never despaired of my own life. I don't struggle with the ache of depression. Yet I know how easy it is to pretend for the masses; how important it can feel to present an "all is well" exterior. I would like to think my friends and family (my community) and I would never pretend for eachtoher but then I realize that there are times I pretend just for myself. Sometimes I think we pretend as a means of convincing ourselves.<br /><br />In the end I know that we cannot blame community for the kind of instability and desperation that leads one to the point of taking his own life. But I am still left wondering, do we really take the time to know eachother well enough to feel what lies beneath the verbage of conversation? Do we listen with a desire to understand? I'm afraid too often I am guilty of hearing the words without listening to their meaning. And do I speak with transparency? Do I allow community into my suffering and recieve the balm of their compassion as they offer it? After all isn't all of this what it means to be the hands and feet of Christ?<br /><br />Last night I didn't need to pretend. Last night, as most nights I felt happy and life was lighthearted. And,last night I listened with intent. I'd like to think that Steve's friend's death will remind me always to listen with an ear for understanding and speak with lips of compassion. I'd like to think it will keep me honest about how things are going in my life. I don't know what was going on for TK in his life. And now his community will never have the chance to know.<br /><br />As far as it depends on me, I don't want to miss any more chances.Cheriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10026595440170415720noreply@blogger.com1