THOU SHALT NOT

A beautiful fall day on a road less traveled.

"What emotions are you not allowed to feel? I want you to take time this week to think about what feelings you have that you have been told or that you have believed you should not feel, and I want you to be honest with yourself. Let's come back and talk about those next week."

That was a tough assignment. I'm a people-pleaser who has a long history of figuring out the expected answer so that I can say and do the "right" thing. An easier assignment would have been: What are you supposed to feel? What would be the culturally/familial/good-Christian-girl response?

I am a life-long servant of Should, fluent in the languages of Ought and Appropriate.

My first challenge was to try to identify what am I not allowed to feel. My experience has been six decades of subtle and not-so-subtle comments and teachings along the lines of "This is the correct feeling, response, opinion, etc....and anything different is unbiblical, sinful, and dishonors God." (And if I've got any of that mess going on in my life, I'd better get it cleaned up before it leaks out and someone finds out about it!)

I remember once, several years ago, when a friend who was processing a heartbreaking personal tragedy - when this friend admitted "I am so angry at God right now!," an acquaintance who overheard her gasped and retorted emphatically, "Oh, don't say that! You should never be angry with God, and you certainly shouldn't say it out loud if you are!"

In the moment, my own grief-clouded mind had a vague recollection that there are multiple scripture passages about things like being angry and sinning not and don't let the sun go down on your anger and such, but still, this person's comment felt so grossly inappropriate, out-of-place, and downright wrong. Didn't God already know my friend's heart, her grief, the tumult of her emotions? Would pretending that she felt differently somehow be "more Christian," more God honoring? Did not David - the man after God's own heart - freely confess his innermost feelings and struggles, and did not God preserve David's outpouring of emotion for the church? What was this acquaintance suggesting? That dishonesty with God and forced self-deception were somehow better than my friend's open and honest outpouring of grief, anger, and distress?

But back to my homework several weeks ago. What am I not allowed to feel? And of that list of taboo emotions, which do I actually feel? Could I be honest with myself? Could I be honest with God?

It was not a fun assignment.

You shall not be angry. You shall not feel hurt. You shall not express thoughts, opinions, or preferences that do not align with those of people in positions of power. You shall not speak out against injustice or express any feelings of distress if doing so might disrupt the peace and tranquility of the status quo.

What I discovered was that so many of the "thou shalt nots" holding my heart hostage were not issued by God at all, but by broken people around me.

Sin - including bondage to man-made "thou shalt nots" - enslaves.

The gospel of Jesus liberates.

Opening up the deep recesses of my guarded heart to the light did not bring more guilt, shame, and wretchedness, as I had expected. On the contrary, it brought freedom, hope, joy...and a deeper sense of how greatly I am loved by my heavenly Father.

God knows my heart. Why should I be hesitant to share freely with him all of my feelings and struggles? He already knows, and he can handle anything I bring him...even those things considered forbidden or taboo. He is so good, so faithful, so compassionate, so gentle, so incredibly kind.

* * * * *

Shortly after writing the above post, I was blessed to worship with my church family and we sang the following song together. Yes, He IS a good, good Father!

CONVERSATIONS THAT TURN QUICKLY TO CHRIST

Blessed to talk with the youngest son! He weathered Hurricane Milton safely and was thankful for a day of sunshine and cooler temperatures yesterday. Conversation touched several topics, but I want to share two of those topics here.

Youngest Son bought a street bike several months ago and he is absolutely loving it. As we talked yesterday, he commented that one thing he enjoys about riding the bike is the amount of concentration, awareness, and continuous adaptability it demands. He explained that the mental focus required when he rides his bike actually provides mental rest "from all the other things" that otherwise occupy his thoughts.

My old boss at the hospital lab once told me the same thing about riding horses. "If you go for a run to de-stress, all the frustrations and worries of work still make their way into your head. But when you're riding horses, it requires just enough concentration and focus to push all those other thoughts out so that you can mentally rest for a while."

This got me to thinking about rest. We need physical rest, and we all know that getting enough rest for our bodies is hard work in today's go-go-go culture. But we also need rest for our minds.

I feel like my brain NEVER turns off. I have lain awake at night, physically exhausted and desperately desiring sleep, with my mind running a hundred miles a minute trying to untangle some Gordian Knot that could absolutely wait until morning. I've screamed silently in the darkness to my squirrel-on-speed brain, "Just shut up and go to sleep already?!"

(I know folks who seem not to have this problem of a brain with no "off" switch, and I've regarded them enviously at times, thinking how peaceful it must be to have a clear, white, static-free screen between their ears. How quiet, how calm. I cannot even imagine.)

If a naturally keyed-up brain isn't enough of an obstacle to mental rest, there are also text messages, emails, podcasts, social media scrolling, music at the coffee shop/Walmart/the grocery store, traffic lights, and blinking lights from our devices even after the house goes dark to help keep those neurons firing, firing, firing.

Yes, physical rest is hard work; but for some of us, mental rest is even harder.

And then there is soul rest, which is perhaps the hardest of all...and which brings me to the second topic of conversation that I wanted to share. Youngest Son said something to the effect of (and Ben, please correct me if I get this wrong - I can edit this post!): When Christians are together, why does conversation not turn more naturally and consistently to Christ and the Gospel?

I mean, think about it: what do we talk about when we get together? We talk about our kids, jobs, projects we are working on at home, favorite sports teams, the weather in -----, vacation plans, the price of eggs and cheese this week at the grocery store, movies, car problems, recipes for holiday appetizers, frustrations with relatives, FaceBook memes, and Aunt Bertha's recovery from recent knee surgery.

Oh, sure, we may throw in a spiritual reference - "Please pray for Aunt Bertha" or "Thank God we didn't have any damage from the storm" - but God, faith, and spiritual matters are not usually the central topic of conversation.

This got me to thinking about conversations I've had over the past week. If I counted correctly, only three of those conversations were about faith in any significant way. To be honest, I am not a big conversationalist, but, still...only three?!

And here's how I think that relates to soul rest: If I am not talking to myself often (without ceasing) about Jesus, his love for me, and his work on my behalf, and if I am not excited to talk to others about how much Jesus loves sinners, and if I am not curious about how Jesus is working in the hearts and souls of the people around me, if I am not eager to hear how Christ is growing and challenging and sustaining my brothers and sisters each day - then how am I ever going to find soul rest, because the Gospel IS soul rest, and I need to be hearing it and speaking it and wrestling with its implications alongside others every chance I can.

Lord, forgive me for all my idle words. Quicken my stony heart. Heal my blind eyes so that I can see Gospel needs. Open my deaf ears so that I can hear Gospel opportunities. Loosen my mute tongue, so that I speak often and freely of you and your glorious grace. Lord, please, turn my conversations quickly and joyfully to Jesus, because I and the people around me desperately need the rest that only my beautiful Savior can give.

A LITTLE WINDOW INTO MY WORLD

A Happy Place

I saw a post on Facebook recently where an interviewer asked individuals what they were learning in therapy. Participants' one-word answers included: Accountability; Empathy; Resilience; Patience.

Foregoing the one-word stipulation, here's my go at answering the question.

Things I am learning in therapy:

I am developing a larger emotional vocabulary.

Other people's emotional regulation is not my responsibility; my own emotional regulation is my responsibility.

Being assertive does not equal aggression, insubordination, or manipulation.

I cannot change others; I can work on changing me.

Being honest about my hurts, weaknesses, fears, and failures is hard, but it is also one of the first steps toward moving past them.

* * * * *

Switching topics, what are some things I am changing in my life?

Recent changes to my day-to-day:

Biggest change is undoubtedly the new job: work is much less stressful, I am loving learning new things, and staff actually take a break for lunch together each day. (How weird is that in the nursing profession?!)

I have reduced my caffeine intake from half a pot of coffee in the morning and a super-size Diet Coke in the afternoon to 2 cups of coffee or tea per day. I've also added a "green drink" to my morning routine.

Alcohol consumption has been slashed to practically zero. This physically hurt the first week; today, no longer craving the daily bourbon or gin-&-tonic. (Thank you, Jesus!)

Mom and I are eating our evening meal earlier in the day (before 5:00 pm), and portions for me are significantly smaller.

I am sleeping at least 8 hours each night, even when I have to be up at 4:00 in the morning. It is  wonderful to be free from the shrieking night-time on-call alarm.

Aiming to do yoga twice a week, walking at least twice a week. So far, so good!

Y'all, I bought new scrubs for the new job and, this past week, I ordered a few items of fall clothing for myself without overthinking it and without feeling guilty. That is huge. (In the past, I would consider a purchase for several weeks or months, often talking myself out of the purchase altogether or feeling guilty for buying something for myself if I went through with the purchase.)

* * * * *

What about writing?

I am not writing as much or as consistently as I'd like, but I am also not beating myself up about that. On days that I can write, I am thankful. On days that I am not able to write, I shrug it off and tell myself, "Oh, well. Maybe tomorrow."

I'm trying to post once a week consistently here at the blog. Sometimes, however, it is a struggle to come up with ideas to write about. Suggestions?

I am also working on another fiction manuscript. It is a story I feel compelled to write, an exorcism of sorts. I am not especially fond of the story line, and working on the project - because of difficult themes within the story - often makes me angry. I'm struggling with the resolve to "just be angry and get it done!" so that I can move on to pleasanter projects. Prayers appreciated!

* * * * *

What about YOU, Dear Reader?

What are you learning about yourself? about others?

What positive changes have you made recently in your daily routine?

What hobbies or passions do you desire to pursue? How are you making those things happen?

I've given you a little window into my world today: I would love to have a little window into yours!

IT IS GOOD TO BE IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD

It is so, so good to be in the house of the Lord this morning.

Gratitude as I drove to church this morning:

• I am thankful for my new job. I have wonderful coworkers, I enjoy the work, and the schedule is a huge improvement.
• I have learned so much over the past 5-6 years: completed a difficult college degree; became comfortable with a plethora of practical nursing skills (still so many to learn); bought a car and car insurance for the first time ever in my life; learned how to take care of grown-up paperwork like my advanced directive, durable power of attorney, and will; started saving for retirement (a little late to the game at age 60, but at least it's a start).
• I have been privileged to work with and to care for some of the most beautiful people in the world; have fallen in love way too fast and grieved deeply.

Concerns as I drove to church this morning:

• Will I be provided for and taken care of when I am no longer able to work? Will I have a place to live when I am old?
• When I can no longer care for myself and must depend on others for my care, will I be a blessing or a burden?
• Will family still be present and active in my life when I get old, or will I be tucked away in a corner somewhere and forgotten?
• Is there anybody besides me thinking about these things today on my behalf for the future?

Most Sunday mornings, I drop Mom off at Sunday school class, then head to a cozy parlor for 45-minutes of writing time. This Sunday, however, the parlor is locked. I am sitting in the foyer outside the sanctuary to write.

I settled onto a hard bench with my Bible, laptop, and tea, a chaotic turmoil of thoughts and concerns roiling inside my head.

It's a bit noisy here in the foyer: the music team is going over songs for morning worship, and heavy traffic roars by outside the front door.

Lord, are you here? Can you hear me above the music, the traffic, the noisy thoughts inside my head?

Eyes closed, deep inhale. Hold it. Slow exhale.

Lord, I am anxious - again - about the future. What's next?

Breathe in, breathe out.

And then, rolling through the sanctuary doors, Adam's sweet voice:

"Thro' many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come; 'tis grace has brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.

"The Lord has promised good to me, his Word my hope secures; he will my shield and portion be, as long as life endures.

"And when this flesh and heart shall fail, and  mortal life shall cease, I shall possess within the veil a life of joy and peace."

Yes, He hears even above the noise, and He calms my fears.

* * * * *

I was glad when they said to me, "Let us go to the house of the LORD!" Psalm 122:1

One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to meditate in his temple. Psalm 27:4

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever. Psalm 23:6

NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP

NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP

-originally posted September 25, 2015

As I am prone to do at this 50-something, menopausal stage of my life, I awoke in the wee hours of the morning one day this week and simply could not go back to sleep. This happens so frequently now that I have made wee-morning my regular time to pray for my children and for my church family. This particular morning, however, my mind turned to other things...

For some reason, as I lay awake in the darkness, memories of other times when I had lain awake in bed, praying, came to mind. Memories I hadn't visited in ages.

I recalled one of my most comforting childhood memories:  that of being tucked into bed at night by my dad or my mom.

Tired at the end of a long day of work or play, full from a good dinner and freshly bathed, I would climb into bed and burrow under the blankets. Dad would flip off the lights and come sit on the end of the bed, smelling deliciously of coffee and cigarette smoke and perhaps cowness or tractor exhaust or, if he had eaten lunch at Olympia that day, of garlic. We would talk a little bit, and then he would tell me it was time to say my bedtime prayers.

"Now I lay me down to sleep..."

I would pray, and then sometimes he would pray, too. That very simple children's prayer worked like a magic incantation, ushering me from wakefulness to the drowsy shadowland of almost-asleep.

"Amen."

A goodnight kiss, and then..."'Night, 'night. Sleep tight. Sweet dreams," as Daddy left the room.

I can't think of anything more comforting than slipping off to sleep with my last conscious thought being that my Father was right there with me.

* * *

And another memory came to mind...

I was a teenager, and my bed at the time was a fold-out couch in the dining room - the dining room, because it was a room the family didn't use every day and therefore had less traffic. (I am not sure, but I think maybe my regular room and bed had been given to a relative or guest who staying with us for an extended period.) At any rate, I often read my Bible in bed at the end of the day and would leave it on the arm of the couch when I turned out the lights.

Mom and Dad no longer came to tuck me in and say bedtime prayers - I was too big for that - but my heavenly Father still met with me to talk and pray before ushering me off to sleep. Sometimes, I would wake up in the middle of the night, worried about an upcoming test at school or frightened by a bad dream, and I would feel around in the dark until I found my Bible. Pulling it close to me in bed, I would be comforted knowing that Yes, God was still close, still keeping watch.

I didn't think that small black leather-bound book was a magic charm or some kind of lucky amulet; no, it was a physical reminder - something I could touch with my hands - of the invisible presence of God.

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep..."

* * *

As I lay awake that morning earlier this week, remembering these scenes from my youth, it struck me that night after night, year after year, for as long as I can remember, God has faithfully met me in the gray twilight before sleep, and in the scary darkness of my fears and anxieties, and now, in the wee-morning wakefulness of middle-age.

Every night when I burrow under the blankets, He is there and waiting to talk. When I wake up and the sky is black and the stars are as bright as ice, He is still there, awake and listening and waiting to talk.

For over fifty years - how many nights of sleep? how many nights of sleeplessness? - God has been awake and present and listening and ready to meet with me.

A passage from Psalm 121 also came to mind in the wee-dark hours that particular morning:   "...he who keeps you will not slumber. Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD is your keeper..." As I recalled those memories from my childhood and considered these verses from Psalms, I was brought to tears, overwhelmed by the incredible faithfulness of God.

Fifty+ years of nights for me, and He has never slumbered, never slept.

Every single night, my Father is awake, still watching, still protecting, still listening, still comforting.

All through the night.

COUNTING BLESSINGS

She may look janky, but she's a trooper!

Change makes me anxious.

I am facing big changes in the weeks ahead. I am super excited...and very nervous.

To counter rising anxiety, it helps me to recall God's faithfulness, provision, and protection in the past. Remembering God's past faithfulness gives me assurance and confidence for the future. Today, before the start of tomorrow's big new adventure, I am looking back.

God's provision for me on this nursing journey:

A father-in-law who let me use his farm truck so that I could get a job and drive to work.

A lab director who gambled on a completely inexperienced new-hire, trained me, encouraged me to do more...then accommodated my work schedule so that I could.

The friend in the library who challenged me to "think about it, instead of telling me why you can't." You unlocked the door to Possibility.

A daughter who chauffeured me to school my first year of classes and who was my biggest cheerleader through some really rough places, a young woman who set an incredible example of hard work, determination, resilience, and grace.

A son and daughter-in-law who generously covered a portion of my school fees and a mother-in-law who helped me pay for my text books. Nursing textbooks are crazy expensive.

The little red Yaris, a gift from my sister and her husband so that I could have my own transportation to school and clinicals.

Best. Nursing. Classmates. Ever. Shared trauma forges bonds.

Soul sisters who prayed for me, cried with me, and exhorted me to lean hard into Jesus.

Hospital coworkers who told me often "You can do this" and who shared their wealth of wisdom and experience with the kindness and generosity of true care-givers.

A pastor and worship team that fed my exhausted soul each Sunday and gave me strength to stumble through one more week.

A son and daughter-in-law who shared pizza and took me out on the lake when I needed to step away and breathe.

The generous friend who gave me three hard 10-hour days to "help get back on top of this house," which had degenerated into absolute nastiness due to school-term neglect.

Parents who prayed for me, a step-mother who mentored me, siblings and kids who encouraged me every step of the way.

The multiple strangers who changed flat tires in the rain, paid for my food in the McDonald's drive-thru, and hugged me when I broke down crying for no apparent reason in the produce section at Walmart.

Fantastic coworkers during long night shifts on med-surg and protection driving home, asleep.

New opportunities, and two Patient Care Administrators who set the Gold Standard for nursing PCA.

Precious patients who shared their hearts and lives with me during the tenderest season. What a blessing and a privilege to approach the Throne alongside these beautiful souls.

And now...

A new door opens.

A new adventure awaits.

Yes, I'm anxious, but I am going to be okay. I know God will be with me and He will faithfully guide and keep me...like He always has before.

THANK YOU

Over a decade ago, a friend gave me a copy of Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are. Thus began my journey of recording daily small gifts to develop and strengthen the discipline of gratitude.

As I engaged with Ann's book all those years ago, I wrote this: "Ann began a study of prayers of thankfulness in Scripture. What she found surprised her. Prayers of sincere gratitude were often recorded in the midst of - or just preceding - great trial or distress. This puzzled her. Ann's study - and her resolution to fill a notebook with '1,000 gifts' - led her to discover that she had been understanding joy backwards. She had thought that joy came first, that true gratitude and thankfulness to God were based on, were the fruit of, his tangible blessings in this world. On the contrary, Ann found that it is thankfulness that produces joy." (You can read an ancient post about "One Thousand Gifts" HERE.)

Fast forward, oh, five or six years. Another friend gifted me blank journal and challenged me to "write down five things each day you are thankful for." I already had a "thankful notebook," so I decided to use the new journal to record instances of the clear hand of God in my daily life.

Things like a flat tire on a busy four-lane highway, a prayer for help, and the immediate arrival of a family member - "I thought that looked like you!" - who cheerfully changed the tire in less than 15 minutes.

Things like a fearful plea that God would get me safely to my destination on my first-ever solo international flight, which required changing planes in a foreign country - and the young man who sat in front of me on the airplane leaving Chicago, who, after brief conversation, exclaimed, "Oh, I am going to Kigali, too! We have the same connecting flight in Brussels. Stay with me, Auntie, and I will get you exactly where you need to be!" His name was Immanuel.

Ten+ years after reading One Thousand Gifts, I no longer log small gifts daily into a spiral notebook, and that first journal documenting God's interventions and provision is tucked between other journals on a shelf. Thankfulness today has become much more a way of thinking than an exercise with pen and paper.

I am a morning person, typically waking long before my alarm sounds as the sky fades from black to deep indigo. Used to, my first thought of the day was worry as cares of the coming day crashed in on me before my eyes were even fully open. Nowadays, my first thought is usually, "Thank you."

Thank you, Father, for the glittering morning star.

Thank you for light rising on the eastern horizon.

Thank you for this quiet moment before the day begins.

Thank you for the Carolina Wren singing outside my window.

"Thank you" has become a morning routine, a habit. It's just what happens when I wake up.

And for that, I am so very thankful indeed.

* * * * *

"Thank you" - these are literally the first words that pop into my mind when I wake up most mornings. (Oh, to be clear, I will have much less pleasant thoughts as the day progresses, but the day really does typically start with "Thank you.")

About a month ago, something very weird happened: I woke to an entirely different thought. Thank you has become so "normal" that when this different phrase popped into my slowly waking mind, it startled me.

I blinked. I looked around the room, wondering if someone else had spoken, but no one was there. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

Again, clear as wren song: "I love you."

I hardly dared to breathe. Who had spoken? Where had this come from?

I never figured out if "I love you" was spoken from my heart to God - I do love him - or if it was spoken from my Father to me, but I eventually decided to settle on the latter. Perhaps it was both.

Thank you, Father. Thank you.