It’s a Boy!

Christmas 2013Born: In Bethlehem, during the census

Lineage: the line of David

Weight:  8 lbs, 10 oz.

Length: 21 inches

Name: Jesus, Messiah, Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace, Savior 

Mary and the baby are doing fine, but both are exhausted. It was a tough delivery. We weren’t sure we’d make it to Bethlehem before the birth. The city was in chaos because of the census and she delivered in less than desirable facilities. Nevertheless, God made provision and we’re so grateful.

Jesus has Mary’s eyes and she says he has a carpenter’s hands. Although we won’t be home for a while, we can’t wait for you to meet him. 

Please know how grateful we are for the way you stood with us during this unexpected and remarkable pregnancy when many shunned us and did not understand. It meant a great deal.

No gifts, please. If you wish to celebrate our joy, go to the temple, give God your praise, and make a financial gift to the poor.  

I confess the magnitude of all this still hasn’t quite soaked in. Messiah is finally here! Thanks be to God.

With a grateful heart,

Joseph

Posted in Birth of Christ, Christmas | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Why God Loves Dogs

Verla Wallace

Today is a good day. I want to relish it because bad days are the ones we typically remember and rehash, even though both are a necessary part of the cycle of life.

King Solomon–once touted as the wisest man on earth–wrote often about life’s ups and downs. It drove him crazy until he made his peace with it. “There is a time for everything … a time to be born and a time to die … a time to weep and a time to laugh … time to mourn and a time to dance,” he wrote. (Ecclesiastes 3)

I was thinking about his words as I sat today on our patio in beautiful weather, watching our new puppy Toby snooze contentedly at my feet. Definitely a good day. But it unexpectedly triggered a sad day many years ago involving another dog.

The dog’s name was Tillie, a majestic Greater Swiss Mountain Dog and a 100 lb. hunk of burning love. When her master died of cancer much too young, Tillie came to live with me. We were both hurting. She, from the loss of her owner, and me, from the departure of my husband and the death of my previous marriage. She seemed almost relieved that she now had a new assignment. Me.

She set the ground rules right from the start. Her walk came first each day or there would be no peace. Her bark  resembled a herd of stampeding buffalo and caused grown men to jump. Friends often remarked no burglar would dare intrude. But, truth be told, if burglars came with treats in hand, she’d take a vow of silence and lead them to the jewelry.

Each day as I worked at my desk, she lay sleeping at my feet, just like Toby does.  The strategy allowed long naps without dereliction of duty, since any attempt to leave the room without her would draw immediate detection.  She shadowed me as earnestly as someone in the Witness Protection Program. It was, after all, her job. When she thought the hours at my desk had been sufficient, I’d feel an insistent pawing on the back of my chair, followed by a cold nose nudged under my armpit, demanding I pay more attention to her. Another walk was her preferred solution.

The hours at the river were the best. Walking its banks cleared my mind of the residue of too many deadlines and too little time. Tillie seemed to understand those walks were more for my sake than hers. We’d stop at a favorite spot and sit shoulder-to-shoulder, lost in thought, watching the water make its way downstream.

Then one day it was her turn to leave. It wasn’t her decision. Her body decided it was time to go.  Her legs went first, refusing to cooperate, and then her spirit took a hit. I saw it in her eyes: Who will do my job?

Her final night she couldn’t climb the stairs to take her post beside my bed. Tenderly, I moved her bed to the foot of the stairs and, after gentle reassurances, retired for the night.

Near dawn, I woke up to slip downstairs and check on the one who always checked on me.  But there she lay–alongside my bed as close as she could get–her body curled in the spot she’d warmed a thousand nights before. I don’t know how she did it—climbing the stairs that one last time.  I guess she didn’t want me to wake up and find myself alone. It was, after all, her job–to make sure I was always loved and protected.

That’s why I believe dogs are God’s secret ambassadors. Dogs are a visual reminder of how God is with us and for us, loving and protecting us until it is our “time to die.” Like dogs, God love us unconditionally and thinks more highly of us than we deserve. Like our dogs, God never lets us out of his sight, our partner for the journey as we weep and laugh, tear and mend, speak and stay silent, just as King Solomon wrote.

Solomon was having a bad day when he initially wrote those words about the capriciousness of life. But eventually he came to the conclusion, “…everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing can be taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him.” (Eccl. 3:14)

The good days and the bad. God is there for them all. It’s his job. Dogs are his reminder.

Posted in Change, Christian Living | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

Jesus and Cereal

Verla WallaceIt had been an extremely difficult hour of discussion about fear, how we each felt about it, experiences we’ve had with fear, how we’ve coped and what God has to say about it. The voluntary participants were female residents of a halfway house/shelter, who were dealing with abuse, drugs, alcohol, homelessness.

I loved the group’s gut-wrenching honesty. They were women with nothing left to hide, so they didn’t hold back.

There were just two little challenges in the form of two strawberry blonde, angelic-looking  preschool-aged daughters of one of the group’s participants. There was no other place at the shelter where they were allowed to go unsupervised, so they were here. Together, they registered about 6.8 on the Richter Scale.

We’re not talking high-energy munchkins. We’re talking children who had lived through things most of us will never experience and we were watching the fallout. In the popular vernacular, we might say they had issues.

Frankly, all the adults there–including me–had issues. But, of course, we were not the ones shrieking, biting, wildly lurching from chair to floor to blackboards, flinging toys, and resisting all efforts at positive reinforcement, distraction, bribes and timeouts.

Their totally overwhelmed mother periodically jumped up to yell and perform various other unsuccessful interventions–some appropriate and some…not so much. In the midst of it all (with me sending up several silent “Help!” prayers), we tried to continue our discussion.

We talked about Elijah in I Kings 18-19 and how he was at the top of his game, coming off a major success–with God’s help–only to find himself running for his life, with a contract on his head. He was full of fear.

We read about how tired and depressed and spent he was and how God ministered to him–first with food and shelter and rest, then later speaking to him–not in some powerful dramatic encounter like a wind or earthquake or fire. Instead, God showed up quietly in a gentle whisper. In all the chaos and confusion and distractions, God still found Elijah and spoke just the words he needed.

I was sure that little of this great story had sunk in. Not in all the chaos.

As our discussion began to wrap up, the older child tugged on my arm to remind me I had promised she could have five minutes at the very end to “read” my Bible and summarize the story for all of us (which she wanted to do the whole hour, along with ripping out pages and coloring in my Bible, too). I was surprised she remembered. It was just one of many “bribes” we tried which seemed to have no effect.

She quickly jumped onto the sofa and snuggled in beside me, grabbed my Bible, opened it and began to tell her version in a confident, dramatic voice.

“A whole bunch of bad men were chasing this other guy who didn’t have a gun but he had a piece of God in his heart.” (pronounced “howt”). She then turned to me and said in a whisper, “Does God have enough pieces for everybody?”

Before I could answer, she jumped back into her story. “SO…God called the cops and told them to go get the bad guys. But they had already killed the good person, who was Jesus, and stuck him in a grave.” (There was a little theological confusion here. Just roll with it, for now.) 

The little girl continued, “But God said, ‘Oh no you don’t, Buster!’ And he yanked Jesus up out of that hole and said, ‘Get out of here, Jesus, and go home where you belong! Then he told everybody if they had one of those pieces of God, they could go home with him, too!”

Then she slammed the Bible shut, crossed her hands, let out a deep sigh, and said very matter-of factly, “So… we all went home with Jesus and had cereal. THE END.”

While I sat speechless, she jumped off the sofa and flew again into action mode.

I guess Jesus stopped by after all.  He wasn’t in the earthquake or the whirlwind. He spoke quietly through the storytelling of a doe-eyed little girl trying to make sense of her troubled life. It all came down to someday being able to eat cereal with Jesus.

Posted in Anger, Courage, Fear | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

Getting in God’s Face

Verla WallaceUnanswered prayers wreck me. Sometimes I feel like saying, “God, would it kill you to let me in on what you’re doing here? It’s not like I’m asking for a Rolex watch. What I’m asking for falls under the header of things you care about, too!”

Silence.

Silence is not golden. Silence stinks. Especially from God.

Then there’s the well-meaning but annoying responses from people who want to help, but who make it worse with unhelpful comments like, “God never gives us more to handle than we’re able to bear.” Or “The only way out is through.” Or my personal favorite, “Just keep on keeping on.”

Do they really think I don’t KNOW all that? I’ve written and spoken exhaustively about God’s silence, about suffering, about waiting, about depending on God, about growing in compassion, about releasing others from our judgments. I get it. I also know that “No” and “Not yet” are answers. too.

Unanswered questions still stink. God’s selective silence still stinks.

I hate that God doesn’t put his arm around me and take me into his confidence and say, “Verla, you don’t have enough time for me to tell you everything, but let me share with you some of what’s ahead. Let’s clear up some of those pesky questions that trouble you.

“Now don’t get freaked out,” God might say, “when this particular thing happens that you’ve prayed about for so long. It needed to happen for that person you love to take responsibility for her own decisions. The relationship will be salvaged.

” And, true, that person you’ve been praying for so long WILL die, never having decided to join my family. Sadly, free will means some people you love won’t share eternity with you. It’s not my doing; it’s what they want and they will get it. I know that breaks your heart. That’s why I’m trying to prepare you for that day, even though you can’t imagine what it will look like.

“And when that hurricane damages your house in four years, you may be displaced for a while, but you will not be homeless. You will, however, be surprised at who is there for you and who is absent. I don’t want those relationships to end yet, though, because of how I’m using them to grow you both.

“Another thing. There’s a stroke coming and the E.R. doctors will be completely out of their depth. However, I have a nurse there who will be watching over you like a hawk. She hates Christians, but you two will hit it off and she’ll have a great suggestion she’ll make to another doctor. Plus, I have a miracle or two up my sleeve. Then, later down the road, you’ll have a chance to talk to her about your relationship with me. She’ll even teach you how to make souffles!

“Michael will be out of the country at the time on that new job he hasn’t gotten yet–the one he loves but which is outside his comfort zone. (The job will freak you out for a while, but that’s another issue.) Oh, and by the way, you’re going to love the trip you’ll take in 2015, but you’ll never make it to Africa. Does this help, Verla?”

“Lord, stop! This is freaking me out! I can’t keep track of it all in my head. It makes me excited and happy and scared and panicky all at the same time. Can’t you just tell me about the unanswered prayers part?

“No. You have to know these things if you’re going to insist on answers to your questions. Look, do you remember reading this week about Voyager, the first man-made object to exit the solar system? Well, your solar system is just a small part of one galaxy among innumerable other galaxies which are under my control. Everything affects something else. Life is complicated.

“Well, Lord, when you put it that way….”

“Frankly, child, my plans are none of your business, but I still let you know about some things even when I don’t have to. But I’m not toying with you. Don’t you get it? It’s not a punishment that you don’t get to know all the answers. It’s a gift!  You’ll know what you need to know, when you need to know it. To know more would crush you.

“Sorry, Lord. I guess I forgot who I am in the grand scheme of things.”

“No, child. You forgot who I am. Now….tell me about your day and leave the rest to me.”

Posted in Answers, Expectations, Waiting | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Judging Our “Truthiness”

IMG_2357As I was channel surfing recently, it struck me how many highly rated television shows today are contests with serious-as-a-heart-attack judging, winners and losers, and lots of drama.

There’s “American Idol,” “The Voice,” “Dancing with the Stars,” “The Biggest Loser,” “Celebrity Apprentice,” “Shark Tank,” “The Bachelorette,” not to mention all the shows on the Food Network where some aspiring chef is elevated to star status or crushed into oblivion because his use of ox tails or kumquats didn’t please some master chef who’s the designated Talent Crusher.

In a world where many people feel diminishing control over what’s happening in their lives and the world around them, watching a contest where some are crowned and some are crucified, apparently makes us glad it’s not us that’s losing, thus feeling oh so much better about ourselves.

Last week I spoke to about 100 people at a shelter where men and women in the most dire circumstances come as a last resort. They’re dealing with homelessness, unemployment, addictions, abusive relationships, and mental illness. One man sat in the audience with body language that signaled, “Mess with me and you’ll regret it.” He was scary.

Because of where we were and because of his appearance, I made an instant judgment that he was probably crazy, a felon, and an addict. He was none of those things. Afterwards, he came up to shake my hand, thank me for my talk, and to share just enough of his story for me to feel horribly ashamed at my rush to judgment. I was wrong.

It seemed like I was just exercising good judgment. But it went further. I took a giant leap from making a judgment about my personal safety to making a judgment about the man’s character, behavior, background, future, personal value, and more. It was pathetic.

Judging is necessary. Every day we decide what food we eat, who will be our friends, what is right and wrong in a given situation, how to spend our money and time. That’s not what I’m talking about.

Rather, it’s the way we think we’re judging others in the name of godly discernment, when we’re really making judgments about someone’s character or worth as a human being on the basis of one encounter or their appearance, behavior, politics, whatever. We call it wisdom…or speaking the truth in love…when it may only be a reflection of our own brokenness and need to feel better than someone.

Comedian Stephen Colbert famously made “truthiness” a part of our language (recognized by even the Merriam-Webster dictionary). It means preferring our own version of the facts or what we wished was true vs. facts that are true.

So…are your judgments true or just full of a lot of “truthiness?” How about a “truth or truthiness” self-audit?

Write down the ten people you interact with the most (family, friends, coworkers, neighbors).  Name judgments you’ve made about them. Not what you say about them or what you want others to think you believe about those people…but what you really think about them. Do you know for a fact that it’s “the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

One way we exchange our “truthiness” for more truth is to plant God’s truth in us. He always speaks the truth. For example, he said none of us has been treated by him as our sins deserved (Ps. 103:10). Furthermore, God says the standard by which we judge others will be used to measure us (Luke 6:36-38), so we are encouraged to be merciful and full of grace.

Another way to think about being merciful is learning to empathize with others. The world-renowned Cleveland Clinic created this video to help their medical staff develop more empathy as caregivers.  We treat others differently when we know their story.

In the end, God says, choose the truth over your own “truthiness.” And even if you don’t know a person’s story, love them anyway. He’s got the judging part covered.

Posted in Compassion, Judging Others | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

When Is It Time To Go?

Verla 2013

How do you know when it’s time to go? Go forward, go back, go in a different direction, go make it right, go get help, go in spite of your fears?

This morning I found myself returning to a process I’ve used dozens of times when I need to sort out confusing options. I put things down on paper. It’s nothing extraordinary. But it keeps me from kidding myself about reality. It’s also a great place for God to show up to help clarify.

A couple of years ago I was evaluating a major decision about my small business, LifeChasers LLC. The business was 10 years old and it felt like it wasn’t a good fit for me anymore. How would I decide if a change was appropriate? I put things down on paper.

  • Why did I launch it in the first place?
  • What was the original mission? What did I hope to accomplish? What was accomplished?
  • What was the market like…when I started and now?
  • Did the need still exist?
  • Did the market need me doing this?
  • Did God want me to continue ?
  • Did I have the same passion for it that I had at the beginning?
  •  What is the real reason for my restlessness?
  • Who will help me make this decision?
  • How will I know when it’s time to go? What will it look like?
  • What’s next?

IMG_0365_2

By the time the decision was made, I felt totally at peace that it was time to go. After 10 years, I closed my business.

It was harder to let go than I thought. I had invested so much of myself in LifeChasers and had seen wonderful things happen. It was hard to leave when I didn’t have to do so. Plus, I wasn’t sure what I was going to.  A friend wisely said, “You’re going to ‘not doing LifeChasers.'” That had to be sufficient for a while. God doesn’t always tell you the to part until after you leave.

Remember Abraham’s story in Genesis 12:1-3? God told Abraham he was supposed to leave his country, leave everything that was familiar, and goGod had plans to make a great nation out of Abraham’s bloodline. As far as where Abraham was to go and how this was going to happen, God essentially said, “Uh….I’ll get back to you on that.”

It was a messy transition and Abraham totally messed up more than once getting from here to there. God did eventually provide details to Abraham and execute his plan. In fact, Jesus was born from Abraham’s blood line. Abraham’s story became part of God’s bigger story for the redemption of humankind!

Abraham did no whiteboard analysis of when to go. His “process” was simple surrender. He listened to God and said yes. “I’ll go when you say go, God, even without details.”

Today, I believe God uses both surrender and whiteboards to guide us.

Most of us will never see a magic postcard drop from the sky saying, “Go to Cleveland… and I’ll get back to you with the details.” It happens. But it’s far more common for God to reveal himself as we do the nuts-and-bolts things like a self-audit or seeking wisdom from those wiser than us or paying close attention to the circumstances playing out in our lives. God is in it all.

The first step to a good decision, though, is always surrender.

When we tell God that we’re all in to whatever he has in mind for us, even without knowing the details, we ensure we’ll be part of God’s bigger story–a storyline far more significant than anything we could figure out on our own.

Posted in Change, Decision-making, Life Purpose, Waiting | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Chatting It Up with God

Verla--head onIt’s me, Lord, back at our meet-up place here at the blog. Since you’ve promised never to leave us and since you’re everywhere anyway, I guess I never really went anywhere. I just haven’t been very good about keeping our date here to write together.

To be honest (and what other way is there to be in a conversation with you), I’ve got nuthin’ and I hate to sit here and be reminded by the blank page that I’ve got nothing. It’s embarrassing!

It’s not as if we don’t talk. Gosh, you’re my best friend and we talk about everything. Working with you has been the best part of writing this blog, because I didn’t want to just offer up a lot of blah-blah-blah rhetoric. People come to this table with heavy stuff, so the words matter. You’ve always had great ideas about what words might be most helpful. It’s felt like we were a team.

Have I reached the borders of my understanding of you? Maybe my well is dry. Everything on the planet goes through seasons of drought.

Some writers insist discipline is what gets you through times like this. Just write, they say. Sometimes that works. As a journalist, I could crank out news stories in my sleep. As a PR consultant, I could whip together client collateral materials or find creative ways to persuade people to buy widgets or support a cause without difficulty. But I can’t do that here. Glib platitudes stick to the roof of my mouth.

No, I’m crystal clear about who makes this blog tick…and it’s not me. The people who gather at this table don’t need my words; they need a personal encounter with you. 

This blog was never intended to be a substitute for time spent with you. Rather, it’s a simple amuse-bouchea tasty spiritual morsel to whet people’s spiritual appetites–to remind them about this God who loves relentlessly, rules sovereignly, and refuses to give up on us when everyone else has.

How do you do it, Lord? The irrational and limitless grace. Never tiring of our company. Always available to listen. An utterly ridiculous capacity for patience and forgiveness. I’ve lived long enough, and been rescued and forgiven and nurtured and directed and loved and comforted so many times by you, that my gratitude has reduced me to reverential silence. I can’t seem to find words big enough anymore to tell your story. It’s like going on vacation and taking home a thimble of salt water to explain the beauty and majesty of the ocean. Pathetic.

I need you, Lord. We all need you. So, until you release the words again, I’ll wait and listen. Please welcome everyone who shows up here looking for you. Give them a taste of who you are and I know they’ll be glad they stopped by.

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