My favorite space

Dear God,

My favorite space in your creation is sitting on the beach at night.  I hate the beach during the day.  No offense.  It’s crowded, hot, and sticky.  Plus, bathing suits? That’s a hard pass.  But night.  At night the crowds die down, sometimes a breeze floats over the water, and the sun begins its descent toward the horizon. 

It was well within your right to just flip the switch from day to night. No easing us into it, no 30-minute warning – just, lights out, go home and go to bed!  Instead, you make the decision to create an extravagant display of your glory - every.single.night!  Maybe not every single night, but pretty darn close.  And you could have made a sunset template with the same clouds and colors on a continuous replay loop.  But no!  Instead, you reveal your creative spirit in a new and different way each day.  May we never grow weary of marveling at this glimpse of you.

And just as the sun hits the water before resting until daybreak, a stream of light splits in three directions.  Beams of shimmering light, dancing and stretching across the expanse of sea, resembling the shape of a cross.  The artist signs His masterpiece.

I delight in sunsets.  But, when it becomes dark, only the moon illuminating the sky...that’s what my heart yearns for.  I sit on the shore, my toes sifting the sand between them.  The constant chatter in my head grows silent.  In my world, the only sound I hear is crashing on the shore over and over and over again.  There is a rhythm to it, a cadence.  The womb and heartbeat of Abba Father.  My soul rests in the promise of your waves.  No matter what is happening in my life or in the world, the sea will always rush to shore and retreat into itself again. 

Your presence surrounds me in those dark, rhythmic moments filled with intimacy and restorative power.  I feel safe and seen and loved.

**unknown photographer

True Acceptance, True Belonging, Unconditional Love

Growing up, my family would make an annual pilgrimage north.  The drive from Florida to Michigan was an excruciatingly long trip.  Sometimes it would take 20 hours, depending on how many times we stopped.  As we entered Michigan, we would move from interstate to country roads.  The ups and downs of the back roads felt like a rollercoaster from the back seat.  My stomach would drop with each wave of pavement.  Looking out the front window to the horizon was the only way to ease my car sickness. 

In my mind, getting to the edge of town seemed to take forever.  Finally, familiar landmarks would come into view.  I’d spy Gene’s Shell station out the window and I could barely contain myself.  I would shake with excitement and sometimes an “EEP” would slip out of my mouth!  One more turn and we would arrive at our destination. 

The brown Burgee Insurance building (now Edward Jones) on the right side of the road indicated it was time to turn.  That brown building was like a large “welcome home” sign.  We would turn into the narrow driveway leading to the house and I could feel myself bouncing in my seat.  My parents, on the other hand, sat still, letting go a collective sigh.  The long journey was over; until it was time to head south.

The side door of the charming Cape Cod would open and there stood my Grandpa.  He was dressed in coveralls, arms open wide, with a smile so big you could see his gold filing.  He would lean down for a big, sloppy kiss that made a loud “mwah” sound.  Then he’d scoop me up in his arms for a great, big hug and say “Oh, oh, oh” through a jolly chuckle.  My grandma would greet us in the kitchen, usually with a towel in hand, having just sat down a plate of cookies.  She was a beautiful woman with high cheek bones, porcelain skin, and the most delicate smile.  As only the best hostesses do, she’d insist you come right in, sit down and relax. 

The same anticipation and excitement came over me every single time we made the trip, no matter how old I was.   Pulling into that driveway meant I was about to see two people who loved me like I was their own grandchild and treated me no differently.  True acceptance, true belonging, unconditional love.  It meant I was going to see my three sisters.  Sisters by marriage, but what did that matter to us.  It meant I was going to see my aunt and uncle and cousins who I loved spending time with as well.  I tried so hard to enjoy those times because I knew our time together would fly by and before I knew it we would be headed back home.

I often wished the United States could be rearranged so Michigan and Florida were closer together.  I would daydream about what it would be like to live near my Michigan family on a daily basis.  Our summers together were often full of adventure, fighting, and family meetings.  In the moment, I think we all wondered how we would ever survive each other.  But, as I look at the totality of my life, those summer memories are precious treasure hidden deep within my heart. 

The tradition of a yearly trip continued as an adult.  The driveway we pulled into was different, but the anticipation and excitement had not changed.  What became harder were the goodbyes.  I not only had to say goodbye, but my kids did too.  The tears would come as my daydreams faded through the rearview mirror. 

The other day I was driving towards the grocery store and I had a thought that broke my heart.  I passed Gene’s shell station and realized that the landmark no longer evokes the same emotions it once did.  The first couple of months after moving to Michigan, I would drive past my grandparent’s old house and those familiar landmarks and pinch myself.  I just couldn’t believe we were living in Michigan.  My daydreams had finally become reality.  That was a year ago.

My last year in Georgia was a difficult year.  I spent it walking through the stages of grief.  I was grieving relationships with people who were still very much alive, which I think is one of the hardest kinds of grief.  But, the Lord taught me some valuable lessons about myself and others.  Slowly, I was able to heal, grow, and move forward. 

But, again, I find myself cycling the stages of grief.  My reality in Michigan looks nothing like I had envisioned or planned and that has been hard for me to accept. 

Maybe my expectations were unrealistic or were not in line with the expectations of others.  Anne Lamott once said, “Expectations are resentments waiting to happen”.  I can see that could be true.  So, is the solution to live a life with no expectations?  That seems a lot easier said than done.  Expectations are hard to let go of, especially if they are ones you have been building up your whole life.  God, why would you allow our move to Michigan not meet my expectations?  Many sleepless nights I’ve contemplated this and searched for a way to fix it. 

I have sat on this post for several days, not knowing how to end it.  Wouldn’t it be great if there was a neat and tidy bow wrapped around it – a happily ever after? 

Instead, God gave me His explanation of things as I watched the Easter service this morning.  I had to laugh through my tears.  The process God uses to show Himself and His love does not match up with our expectations of God and His love.  We tend to think that if God loves us He should meet our expectations and bless us with a life exactly as we envisioned.  Uncomplicated, right?

But, if I am honest, I cannot think of a single time my life has worked out this way.  So, why should I expect it to now?  Over and over the complexity of life, the complexity of relationships – the hurts, heartbreaks, and heaviness have lead me to think, surely this cannot be from the Lord.  But…

What if, He uses this process of revealing our humanness to further illuminate His holiness?  What if He separates us from our expectations to make room for Him to move and work supernaturally in our lives?  What if through this process of examining and refining our hearts, we learn how to communicate, forgive, and love more like Jesus?  What if His process of showing Himself and His love far exceeds anything we could have ever have dreamed, planned for, or expected?

The process God uses to show Himself and His love does not match up with our expectations of God and His love.  Hearing this today has been a game changer (which ironically was the name of the sermon)! 

I am ready to stop my lamenting and questioning.  I am ready to unclench my fistful of expectations and allow God…

Ways to Survive the Playground Bully

I’m no Hemmingway, but I am trying to get the creative juices flowing…because that is the kind of thing you are supposed to do during a quarantine.  Right?  It feels like there is an expectation that you have do something meaningful, big or important, so you can emerge from your quarantine cocoon a beautiful butterfly.  Build an addition to your home, learn a new language, train for a marathon, lose 30 pounds, develop a cure for cancer, help your fifth grader graduate early, write a novel…

Friends, I have done none of this.  In fact, when this is all said and done, I may not physically be able to burst out of my cocoon because I will be in a carb coma, will have no upper (or lower) body strength, and my butt will be asleep for sitting too long.   

But, I am attempting to write. Quite possibly, this post will be like the first pancake coming off the griddle.  It’s not like I have anything to share that hasn’t already been posted or made into a meme.  But, maybe, vomiting words on a page will help process all the mental and emotional garbage that seems to overflow at the most inopportune times.  Maybe it will help others feel not so abnormal, especially if they find themselves self-isolating with the various stages of grief, like me. 

I struggle to understand how we even got here, to this quarantine.  It’s like we were innocently playing tetherball on the playground, blissfully unaware of anything around us.  And then, BAMM, the school bully snuck up behind us, gave us a wedgie, and kicked us in the nuts.  Now, half us of are sitting patiently (as directed by the teacher) with an ice pack on our crotch, waiting for the swelling to go down.  The other half says “ice packs are for babies” and have joined the bully in his wedgie/nut crushing tirade.  

It all feels so very hard, so heart-breaking, so hopeless.  Parents are finding themselves in a “substitute teaching” position, which they are completely unqualified for. Teachers are scrambling to create engaging and creative virtual teaching models with little to no notice or assistance.  Our high school seniors have no place to flaunt their senioritis – no prom, no senior skip day.  Essential workers are being used by the economically privileged as human shields.  Lord, have mercy on our healthcare workers – they are in a war zone!  I cannot even fathom having to make decisions about who is worthy of testing, who is worthy of medical supplies, who is worthy of saving.  How dare we play armchair quarterback to those in the medical field who are sacrificing months of time and physical touch with their families in order to save ours.  And, I’m sorry.  I just. cannot. even. with these political leaders! 

I have to remember there is another side to this story.  The positives – Italians singing on their balconies.  The helpers, like my aunt who is sewing like a mad woman to make masks for healthcare workers.  The humor - the ability to laugh in the midst of this mess.  I realize some people feel like it is in bad taste to make jokes during a crisis like this.  I don’t know.  There are just times you have to laugh to keep from crying. The laughter does not devalue the seriousness of our current reality. 

Confession: I spend way too much time on social media these days – crying at uplifting videos, reading inspiring posts, and giggling to myself at silly memes.  Solidarity around “homeschooling”, social distancing, the Tiger King, emotional eating…all hand-delivered to us through cute, hilarious, belly laughing memes, tweets, and videos.  Who are you wonderful people and how do you come up with this stuff?  How I covet your ability to parody songs; create or re-create tik tok dance videos, and share your heart through your writing (yes, I’m talking to you Melissa Radke, Anne Lammott, Jen Hatmaker, and Brene Brown - it’s like y’all are in my head, speaking the truths of my heart)! 

Technology is a blessing and a curse, but I choose to focus on the gift of instant connection during this time of physical isolation. Our church buildings are closed, but technology allows us to continue to worship collectively.  Broadway and theatres around the nation are using technology to prove that the show MUST and WILL go on.  There are many schools supporting distance learning through online platforms.  And, how thankful are we for the plethora of ways we can connect with everyone we love, even if we can’t reach out and touch them.  Btw, Gen Xers – can you imagine if this happened when we were in middle and high school?  Holy busy signal, folded notes and mixed tapes through the mail, and song dedications on the radio (this one goes out to that special someone…you know who you are). 

My takeaways from this word vomit: 

1) Find a way to process this “unprecedented” moment of history, but do not feel pressure to accomplish grandiose/life changing things. 

      2) Acknowledge the hard, heart-breaking, hopeless stuff.  Help where you can, take time to thank those essential helpers, do your part to make the swelling go down, and pray.

      3) It’s okay to laugh.

      4) Embrace technology and find ways to connect with other people.