I'm No Cry Baby

Really, I’m not. I get sad and hurt just like everyone else, but it’s rare I cry about it. Not because I’m cold-hearted or brave; it’s just not my normal response. I’m more likely to cry from anger or exhaustion, but even then it has to be pretty extreme. I’m not particularly sentimental either, though I will admit to shedding a tear or two at the hands of Hallmark, a handful of sappy songs, and a few movies I was suckered into watching (OK, I sobbed during E.T. in 7th grade, but it was an isolated incident). Those sorts of tears are usually shed begrudgingly because I feel I’ve been manipulated, like someone jerked my emotions around for the sake of the emotion, and I get annoyed with myself for playing into it.

But there are tears that spring from a deeper well, and they invariably begin within the first verse or two of a hymn or praise song. Whether it's one of my favorites or one that I'd never choose, something about hearing and singing the words floods my soul with joy, and the tears just flow. And it's not sentimentality. The "story" of an innocent man suffering on a cross for the sake of others is Hollywood-quality sentimental gold, but to confess out loud that "it was my sin that held Him there" and "His wounds have paid my ransom" transcends sentimentality. It’s substantive, and it's personal. An audible confession of my great need and His great mercy. And it doesn't stop there. There are so many songs that beautifully express our weaknesses ("Just as I am...with many a conflict, many a doubt/fighting fears within, without…"), affirm His providence and faithfulness ("Hast thou not seen how thy desires e'er have been/granted in what He ordaineth?"), rejoice in the beauty of His creation ("…I consider all that Your hands have made/every newborn's eyes, every new sunrise…"), and extol His majesty (“…only Thou art holy; there is none beside Thee/perfect in power, in love, and purity”). There are more examples, of course, but the common thread through all of the songs is worship. My friend Maria summed it up nicely when she said, "it's the realization of who God is and what He has done" that moves us members of the Kleenex Club to tears.

Even so, I have often wished I could turn off the faucet. First of all, it's uncomfortable, and I don't mean lump-in-the-throat uncomfortable. Crying makes people uncomfortable, and spontaneous crying can leave people wondering how to respond. Which makes them uncomfortable. I think. Or maybe I just assume that. Either way, it makes me uncomfortable. In fact, it makes me so uncomfortable that I've developed all sorts of techniques over the years to disguise the tears (fanning myself, staring at the ceiling, pretending there is something in my eye, "allergies!"). Yes, I know I'm not fooling anyone, but thanks for playing along with me. Secondly, my ability to literally sing His praises is hindered when I have to pause to compose myself every few lines, and it's frustrating.

Still, I am certain my tears are a gift. Years ago, I pled my case to God, "please take these tears away; let me sing to You and of You without crying," and He answered that prayer. I stood in church the following Sunday and sang and felt…nothing. God was still there, of course, but my spirit was unmoved. I quickly retracted my prayer and resigned myself to a lifetime of smeared mascara. For whatever reason, God has hard-wired me to respond to worship with tears, so my tears must be God-ordained. Do they sometimes make me uncomfortable? Sure, but Jesus never said, "follow me, and you'll never feel uncomfortable." In fact, just the opposite is true, but mostly because we waste so much time and energy focusing on ourselves and how we are perceived rather than focusing on Christ. As for my desire to sing through a hymn without crying, it is apparently more important to me than it is to God. If God wanted me to sing, uninterrupted by tears, He'd make it possible. Since it rarely happens, I have to conclude that He values my tears more than my performance. So if you spot me with watery eyes and a red nose, chances are I’m fine. I'm merely expressing my love for God and gratitude for His love for me. So please join me in praising Him…and could you pass me a tissue?

My Son at the Cross

I count it a great blessing and privilege to work at school where we celebrate Easter break and gather together as a campus for a special Easter Chapel. At one point during Chapel yesterday, our principal simply played a recording of "Amazing Grace" and asked students to reflect upon Easter and pray. A church group had just finished a short play depicting the events surrounding the resurrection, and a wooden cross from their production remained on the stage. Students were given the option of praying in their seats or coming up to the foot of the cross to pray, and handfuls of students in grades K-8 took turns coming up to the cross. I love seeing and hearing children pray, but seeing my own son, kneeling at the cross with his head bent in earnest prayer, is an image that was burned into my heart yesterday, and I will treasure it always.

I will treasure it not merely because it was a poignant picture to tuck away in my memory, but because of the truths wrapped in the imagery. Indeed, Zack would have been just as close to Christ sitting in his seat, and his prayers would have been just as acceptable to God. The cross the children gathered around holds no power or significance apart from whom and what it represents, but seeing him kneeling there was a beautiful picture of my young son's relationship with Christ and his understanding of the gospel. I have no idea what words his prayer contained, but I do know he has accepted Christ and has an understanding (far beyond my understanding at his age) of what it means to be a child of God. I have many hopes, dreams, and prayers for my son, but that Zack would know and follow Christ has always been my greatest desire for him. God's answer to that prayer is precious to me, and the mental picture I now have of Zack at the foot of the cross is a gift.

Skating Through Life Epilogue

Anyone who knows me probably knows by now that I fell at the skating rink and ended up sporting an arm sling. That's right, I published a post on learning to skate the morning of the 19th and took a pretty good tumble that same evening. After spending Thursday night and most of the day Friday unable to fully extend or bend my left arm, grasp anything with my left hand, or otherwise use my left arm in routine ways (hmmmm...maybe I should have this checked out?) I finally relented and went to the doctor after work on Friday. As it turned out, I broke my elbow...a little. Basically, a bone in my forearm bumped into a bone in my elbow and chipped a piece off (it is somewhat disconcerting to know there is a piece of bone floating around inside me, but several of my nurse friends have assured me that it's okay). Apparently, the treatment for this type of injury is pretty simple. They gave me something to reduce the swelling and some very nice pain medication and put my arm in a sling. The doctor said it would take about four weeks to heal, but I could try taking the sling off after about a week. During that time, it was really amazing to see how inter-dependent our body parts are. I learned I had taken my left elbow for granted all these years and was especially surprised to discover that even tasks that didn't rely on my elbow directly could affect it indirectly (my "discovery" of these things was usually marked with an "owwww!").

I picked this week's featured gift Friday morning. After a week of flipping my head upside down to fix my hair and employing a variety of creative techniques to get dressed, I was positively giddy when I was able to lift my bent arm over my head and bend my arm behind my back. Our human bodies are imperfect and vulnerable, but our Creator has designed them with a vast capacity for healing. I am very thankful that mine is healing well and quickly.

p.s. I have to admit I was a bit sheepish about discussing the source of my injury at first. In addition to the blog post, I had shared the story with several people at work that morning, and there was a part of me that was afraid my setback could be seen as evidence I shouldn't have been skating in the first place. There was a nasty voice in my head that suggested God hadn't been calling me out of my comfort zone at all, or worse…He had called me out just to set me up for a literal fall. But in my heart, I knew that voice was wrong. A Father that loves me enough to redeem me for His own is not a Father that sets His children up to fail for the sake of failure. In His love He does allow them to experience pain, difficulty, trouble, and failure, but all within His perfect plan. If God is loving and sovereign--and I believe He is--my broken elbow was ordained by Him for a specific purpose. My challenge was to discern what I was to take away from the experience. In the process, I've discovered a few more "gifts" I need to share with you this week.

Though I fell hard enough to break a bone, I got back up and immediately continued skating. There was only enough time to go around once more, and I was determined I would not end the night with a fall. Afterwards, I even ran out on the rink in my socks to join a handful of middle school girls in "The Cupid Shuffle." I don't say this to boast. I'm stunned. A year ago, my reaction to the fall would have been anger, maybe tears, and a vow to never, ever, EVER go skating again. The fact that I didn't respond that way is proof of God at work in me. Cool.

The fear of injury fits right in with my fear of failure and lack of control. Getting injured is basically failure that hurts. Though God allowed this injury, He limited it to something relatively minor, and now that I've experienced "failure that hurts," I'm not so afraid of it anymore.

I've also learned that while it's important to exercise reasonable caution, the possibility of failure is not sufficient grounds to shy away from new experiences. For years, I've boasted of never breaking bone, but my clean injury record could be largely attributed to the fact that I rarely did anything. What a waste. This past week, several kids at the school where I work asked me how I hurt my arm, and I kind of liked being able to reply, "I was roller skating."

Skating Through Life

I've been skating through life. Oh, less than a year ago I would have denied it. I would have pointed to the countless tasks I juggled between home, family, church, and work and been quite indignant. But God was never fooled, and last fall I came to the unsettling, but unshakable, realization that my constant state of self-imposed busyness was a convenient excuse to dodge His call to step outside my comfort zone.

In my comfort zone, I am capable and competent and rarely make any mistakes. I pretty much know what to expect there, so it's easy to operate under the illusion that I'm in control. Success is key, so it's essential I stick to tasks that I consistently perform well. I will try new things, but will quickly abandon them if I don't catch on right away. Risk, failure, uncertainty, dependence, and vulnerability are all unwelcome. In short, the standard in my comfort zone is perfection, and I have served the idol of perfectionism for most of my life. As a result, I have limited my usefulness to God and foolishly trusted in my own efforts rather than God working in me and through me. Instead of serving God boldly, I have held back and avoided new experiences out of fear and a lack of faith.

Now God is pulling me out of my comfort zone and calling me to venture out in new directions. It's exciting, but it's a struggle. As much as I want to be obedient, I know I can't do it in my own strength and am prayerfully relying on Him to change me. It's a daily choice, a daily battle. A daily exercise in faith: serve God or serve the idol of perfectionism, and I'm still in training.

So when my friend Jen suggested we take our kids skating, I thought it would be a fun way to practice saying, "no" to perfectionism. I had given skating a try in junior high, but gave it up after an hour or two (failure!). But that was the old me, and I was determined to give it a try and not give up this time. The first night we went, I took my place on "the wall," shakily scooting along with a handful of kids that had a much shorter distance to fall. I felt anything but capable and competent and though I didn't fall, I really didn't do any actual skating, and I definitely wasn't in control. But it became sort of a quest for me, a challenge to persevere in something that didn't come easily. So I bought a pair of skates a few days later and skidded up and down the hallway on my hardwood floors for two nights in a row. By the next skate night, I was slow and unsteady and even fell once, but I was skating, and by the next one I was going fast enough to get tired and sore and only grabbing the wall (or Jen's arm) two or three times a lap.

So, yes, my good and perfect gift this week is learning to skate. On the surface, it seems pretty insignificant compared to the other things God is calling me to do, but the underlying principle is the same. God answered my prayer and enabled me to respond to a challenge in a way that was completely contrary to my nature. With His help, I faced fear, persevered through failure, and refused to be a slave to perfectionism...and all I had to do was ask.

Gospel Fest Grab Bag

This past Friday I attended Gospel Fest at Fredericksburg Christian High School. The gospel choir (over 100 men, women, teens, and children) led the hundreds of people gathered there in two hours of praise to God. Before I even got in my car to head home, I knew what I had just experienced would be this week's topic. However, I've had some trouble picking one particular gift related to the event to feature, and each time I've reflected on the evening, I've come up with another one. Since I can't seem decide which gift to talk about (and since a fun, but whirlwind weekend is quickly drawing to a close) I'm just going to list them. Here goes…

• Each of us is given a unique blend of talents and skills, and I am certain all the members of the choir, the musicians, and the director would agree that their musical ability is gift from the God who rejoices over us with singing. As with many gifts from our Father, it is one to be shared. Their talent is a blessing to both them and all who hear it.
• Our God is worthy of praise. As children of this mighty God, we are given His Spirit, and the Holy Spirit moves us to praise Him. Anyone who is not moved to praise Him has no knowledge of Him. The desire to praise and worship God is a gift freely given, but one that only He can provide.
• As our hearts overflow with praise, our Father gives us so many ways to express our love for Him. I can't begin to list them all, but on Friday, praise was expressed through prayer, words, music, and song and with voices, hands, and feet. I didn't know all the words to the songs, but I could join in praise with the choir by clapping, swaying, or taking in the lyrics.
• It is such a blessing when God gathers His children together in sweet fellowship to glorify His name and share in the joy of His presence. Such gatherings are a taste of Heaven.
• Finally, every person I saw on Friday night was an encouragement to me and a testimony of God's faithfulness. We are all imperfect people with imperfect lives, and yet the joy of the Lord abounds within us.

The Gift of Gail

I have to backtrack a little bit because I really want to share the experience that inspired me to start this blog. In December of 2009, I had to have a follow-up mammogram, which led to a needle biopsy being scheduled for January. Though the doctor assured me it was "probably nothing...just a precaution…and easily treatable" if it was something, I knew they wouldn't be looking if cancer wasn't at least a possibility.

Still, I trusted the doctor and could even see the teeny tiny micro-calcifications on the mammogram film, and they didn't look so scary. This allowed me to focus almost all of my anxiety on the procedure itself, and I had plenty of anxiety to work with. If you ever have to go through the procedure, let me assure you right now that it doesn't hurt--honest--but when words like needle, incision, and tissue samples start getting thrown around, I get dizzy and queasy and the recurring mini-panic attacks begin. Reading through the pamphlet the nurse gave me when I made my appointment only made things worse. As thankful as I am for the amazing medical technology we have available today, I couldn't help thinking the procedure sounded like something Dr. No would use to extract information from James Bond…though I guess it wouldn't really work with Mr. Bond, but you get the idea.

Of course, one of the first things I did was email a few close friends to ask them to pray (their prayers and support were certainly "good and perfect gifts," but I'll have to save that for another post). One of those friends shared my concerns and phone number with Gail, a good friend of hers who happened to be a mammogram technician at a doctor's office and also happened to be a recent breast cancer survivor. Gail called me that evening, and we talked for a long time. I was happy to hear her echo the doctor's assurances, and we talked through all the things I was concerned about. She said she would be praying for me, and by the time we ended our call, I had gained a new friend.

The day before my biopsy appointment, someone from the hospital called to tell me the machine that allows patients to lie down during the procedure was out of order so I would have to be sitting upright during the biopsy. This was particularly unappealing to me since I knew that would mean the machine would literally be right in front of my face. The morning of my appointment, I was outwardly calm, but in between silent prayers, I was grasping for an excuse to skip out on the appointment (I knew this was a futile exercise since my husband was driving me to the hospital, but you can't blame a girl for trying). After arriving at the office where my original appointment was scheduled, we were told we'd have to go upstairs since they had to use the dreaded upright machine.

When I arrived at the check-in desk, I was surprised to see Gail standing behind the friendly receptionist. Apparently, she was just dropping off films from the practice where she worked, and was on her way back to the office. She smiled and assured me the procedure would go smoothly, and she would be praying for me. Our encounter lasted 5, maybe 10 seconds, and we exchanged very few words, but I knew she understood. She understood--both professionally and personally--what I was about to experience and could relate to all of my anxious thoughts. As she left, and I readied myself for the procedure, I took great solace in knowing she was likely praying for me at that moment, and that served as a powerful reminder that many others were doing the same. Admittedly, I was still nervous, but was comforted by the certainty that I was not alone. I had just been given a gift from God. It was as if He was saying, "I've got this. I know you're afraid, but I've prepared the way, and I'm here." And though I was encouraged by many other people, I cannot imagine a better person God could have sent to encourage me that morning.

I am happy to report the micro-calcifications were not cancerous. Looking back, I know I'll never know God's purpose in my experience, but I know the Bible tells us we will surely encounter things we'd rather not. However, it also tells us that God loves us as His precious children and is with us--always. God's gift to me that morning was a powerful and timely reminder of that truth.

Diving Into Gifts Galore

As Christians, we know we are God's children, but it is almost impossible to grasp the tremendous blessing and privilege associated with being a child of God. To imagine being the son or daughter of the world's wealthiest, wisest, most generous and loving father is to draw a useful, but pitifully inadequate comparison. Our Heavenly Father is no less than the creator of all things, His love for us is immeasurable, and His wisdom is unsearchable. And though it pleases Him to lavish us with His love, He cannot be manipulated, cajoled, or fooled, and His love is not marred by such human weaknesses as pride, fear, guilt, or self-doubt.

Though nothing we can ever possess or aspire to could make us worthy of such love, He chooses to shower us with a multitude of "good and perfect gifts:" His son, our salvation, our faith, our acceptance into His family, His word, His spirit, all of history and creation, our lives, our experiences, our relationships, our talents and skills, our very selves. All things flow through Him, and since He is present in every moment, He also delights in surprising us with unexpected tokens of His affection as we go about our daily routines. Whether they are wrapped in a brief encounter or a few words, these tiny treasures bear witness to the fact that God knows us, loves us, and takes a personal interest in our lives.

And yet, as children of a loving, gracious Father who is rich in mercy and able to do "immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine," we often fail to recognize the abundance of blessings we receive or are reluctant to bring our requests before our Father. So often, we either display an attitude of entitlement, or we pout in disbelief (either because we did not receive what we thought we should, or because we convince ourselves that our desires are either too big or too small to trouble our Father with). As one who stands guilty of both transgressions, I have to recognize that the former demonstrates a lack of thankfulness, and the latter reveals a wavering faith in God's compassion, power, plan, and wisdom.

One of the purposes of this little writing project is to challenge both presumption and doubt by being more aware of the gifts that flow from our Father and sharing my thoughts on a particular blessing in my life every few weeks. Ultimately, however, the greatest gift is God Himself, and though we can never fully comprehend His majesty, the good and perfect gifts we receive from Him offer us a glimpse of who He is and who we are in Him. If we choose to ignore, deny, belittle, doubt, or take these gifts for granted, we miss the opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of God and to dwell nearer to Him. I don't want to miss it.