IN A NUTSHELL...

My favorite tree is a white oak. Mature white oak trees look like fairy trees, or like a place for Robin and his Merry Men to lounge about, waiting to drop on Prince John's minions.

When we moved back to the farm, we relocated a few trees to the yard around the house. A maple tree, which has thrived and is now a respectable size for grandkids to climb. Two cedar trees - one for the baby we lost, and a second to be a "friend" to the first, because my middle daughter did not want the Baby Tree to feel alone. And, after much searching, a knee-high twig of a white oak.

All the trees we relocated survived, all except the little oak. The white oak, sadly, succumbed to drought and careless tractors. I kept my eyes open for another of the rare saplings, and a few years later, found one to transplant. I faithfully watered the little tree and tried to protect it from the dangers of farm life. The little tree got trampled once, and the main trunk broke. The little tree got weed-whacked. It suffered abuse from small children. I continued to water the twisted little stump, no thicker than my thumb, willing it to live.

And you know what? The little tree did live!

The white oak is nowhere near as big and lush as its neighbor, the maple, but slowly, steadily, it continues to grow. And today, beneath the little white oak tree, I found acorns...lots and LOTS of acorns! This makes me sooooo happy!!!

When I was struggling through nursing school not-so-many-years-ago, an acorn reminded me of the bigger purposes of God. Today, an acorn reminds me of God's faithfulness and goodness again. Inside the glossy brown shell of this tiny nut, God wrote the entire blueprint of a magnificent tree that can live for hundreds of years, grow to enormous height, and shelter and feed untold numbers of animals. And if God can write the script for for a white oak tree and tuck all that potential and promise into a tiny brown nut, then surely I can trust him to write the story of my life. 

There is so much in my life that does not make sense right now, much that leaves me angry, frustrated, heartbroken, and confused. My heart has been trampled, weed-whacked, and abused, and my future is shadowed with so many unknowns.

But God continues to water, nurture, and faithfully sustain.

And I continue to grow.

The birdfeeder was a gift from my sweet coworkers,
 in memory of Dad, who died earlier this year.
Daddy loved birds...and trees.

WORK

I am thankful today for sunshine and for a day off work to catch up on reading and lectures for school. Systematic Theology 101 is challenging my mental capacity and blowing my scholastic fuses. (But, Wow!, is the content encouraging!)

I participated in a discussion about WORK recently. When someone asked, "Who actually likes to go to work?," I sheepishly raised my hand. No one else in the room did. (What can I say? I love my job - the work I do, the people I work for and with, the patients we serve. Sure, getting up at 3:30 some mornings is not particularly fun, and I am tired at the end of the day, but, seriously, I love my job.)

Then another question was posed: "If you didn't have to go to work every day, would you?"

Let's speculate...

If I won the lottery or if some long-lost relative bequeathed me a vast inheritance, would I still get up at 3:30 in the morning to go care for anxious patients?

Hmmmmmm...maybe I'd skip the 3:30 wake-up part. But, you know what? I would still want to be active in meaningful, relational, productive work.

"If I won the lottery..." - the whole assumption here seems to be that if my financial needs were met, that if I didn't have to worry about how I was going put gas in the car or afford my medications or pay to replace the washing machine, then my world - and my outlook - would be completely different. I would be safe, secure, free from anxiety. I wouldn't have to work. Instead, I could just relax and enjoy a stress-free life. Rest. Breathe. Visit my kids. Take a holiday.

But you know what?

I ALREADY AM SAFE AND SECURE. TODAY. RIGHT NOW.

I belong to the God who created all things (see Genesis 1-2), who sustains and oversees every tiny detail of my life, and who promises to bring all things to glorious completion (see Revelation).

Question and Answer 1 in the Heidelberg Catechism sum up my situation beautifully:

Q: What is you only comfort in life and in death?
A: That I am not my own, but belong - body and soul, in life and in death - to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven; in fact, all things must work together for my salvation. Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and make me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.

Friends, I don't need to win the lottery.

I ALREADY HAVE!!!

And now, I need to get back to work. I have a LOT of reading to do before an online meeting tonight.

(And to my awesome coworkers at UCSC: I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning!)

ANOTHER FIRST...ALONE & QUIET

 Another first in a season of firsts...

I walked up and addressed the young woman behind the counter: "I need a room for the night. Do you have any available?"

Sixty-two years old, cranky hip that no longer tolerates long drives, and for the first time in my life, I stopped and booked overnight lodging for myself, all by myself.

(PAUSE HERE to appreciate the fact that I could even make this trip last weekend to a memorial service for my Mom. Jules asked me this evening what are some things I am thankful for. Well, I am thankful that I have a job I enjoy, and a reliable vehicle, and enough money in the bank to buy gas and to stop when I can't drive any further. And I am SUPER thankful for the good friend who found Montgomery Bell State Park online and encouraged me to stop and rest.)

Every First is an education.

Lesson 1: "Alone" is very quiet.

No travel companion to talk with. I took a solitary walk along the edge of Acorn Lake, sat alone in a swing as evening settled over the water.

Initially, quiet felt uncomfortable. Like my mind was searching, scrolling, reaching for some point of contact with another human.

I hiked back to my very nice and very empty room at the lodge, changed into my bathing suit, and headed to the pool. A young family splashed and laughed in the shallow end of the pool; two older couples chatted as they bobbed together mid-pool.

I slipped into the cool water and swam. To my sore body, the water felt like a welcoming friend.

Later, a "drink"...alone. Dinner...alone. And then back to my empty room.

Over the course of the evening, the uncomfortable feeling of aloneness gave way to internal quiet. Peace. Rest.

The next morning, I enjoyed a quiet sunrise over the water and coffee on the balcony with God and my Bible. Prayers for family. Prayers for friends. Prayers of gratitude for God's provision, kindness, and faithfulness.

So. Much. Thankfulness.

After breakfast...alone...I packed, loaded the car, and hit "home" on the GPS.

Saturday afternoon, I had been terrified to stop by myself. Sunday morning, I drove away from Montgomery Bell State Park with a deep, deep quiet in my heart. "I'm okay." I smiled, a huge ridiculous smile. "I am going to be okay."

Lesson 2: Quiet is incredibly revelatory.

It took most of Saturday evening for my thoughts to move from unsettled, busy, searching - to - simply being present, alone in my own skin, still in the presence of God.

After last weekend, I suspect we use music and podcasts, TV and internet scrolling, nonstop chatter about work and sports and hobbies and church, to fill our heads with background noise so that we can avoid the uncomfortable place of standing silent before God.

Lesson 3: Quiet is grounding, healing, therapeutic.

Before my overnight stop last weekend, alone felt scary. Now, after that stop, I am resolved to make time a couple of times a year to be away and completely alone, quiet, fully present and undistracted in the presence of my Savior.

* * *

And [God] said [to Elijah], "Go out and stand on the mount before the LORD." And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. And after the wind and earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a thin silence... 1 Kings 19:11-12

REPOST! WEIRD!

WEIRD

- originally posted Friday, October 11, 2013

"You're weird, and I'm tired of dealing with you. I wish you would just go away."

Even if you haven't heard those words spoken aloud, directly to your face, you have probably felt before that this is exactly what the person standing across from you thought or wanted to say. Hearing those words from someone you love really hurts. "Feeling" those words from another hurts, too.

Rejection from others is just a fact of life in this fallen world. It's something we all experience at one time or another.

• I'm a wordy - I like to read; I write; I process things through words. You're weird.
• I'm an introvert - I process thing internally, rather than thinking them through out loud. You're weird.
• Graphic screen images impact me strongly - I can still recall an image from a horror movie that I watched when I was a teenager, and that memory makes me feel like throwing up, even today. You're weird.
• I value personal integrity - Say what you mean; be what you are. Don't talk one way and walk another. Duplicity - in myself or in others - grieves me. You're weird.
• I don't think jokes or comments that belittle women or make light of sin are funny. At all. You're weird.

This list could go on and on!

You get the idea, though. Whatever it is that makes You uniquely You - someone else, someone who is different in a particular aspect of personality or belief, is going to come along and label you as weird. Dismiss you. Give you the "Ugh, I wish you would just go away" treatment.

And when that happens, if you're like me, it's awfully easy to take that hurtful comment and get all wrapped up in it. To start thinking, "Yeah, I guess I am pretty weird. I don't belong. I'm undesirable. Unlovely. Maybe I should just go away." Then you spiral downward into a pit of life-sucking, soul-crushing melancholy.

But, whatever others may say to us, Scripture teaches that, in Christ, we are God's beloved. We are described as beautiful, a delight and a joy to God, the apple of His eye. We are the ones that the holy, sovereign Creator of the universe loves beyond measure. He does not belittle us. He does not dismiss us. He does not wish we would "just go away" - no, He draws us continually into His presence.

We are studying through Romans on Sunday mornings at Grace. Romans 8 is so incredibly beautiful, so full of life and hope and love and encouragement - even while giving honest testimony to the trials and hurts of this life - that I've decided I need to commit several verses to memory. Currently, I'm working on these verses:

"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, 'For your sake, we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.' No! In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor death, nor anything else is all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:35-39)

The knowledge and experience of that kind of love absolutely grinds to powder the barbs that others sometimes throw at us.

When I've had people throw the word "weird" at me, it's always been as a derogatory term. A slam. But, I looked up the word weird and it is also defined as: supernatural, extraordinary, fantastic.

Anyone who looks at me with a sneer on his face and calls me "weird" - well, he obviously doesn't have a clue what he's talking about.

HELPLESSNESS, AGENCY, AND NEW MUSCLES

Morning View

"I am in a really terrible situation, but there is nothing I can do about it. I don't have any choice."

According to Merriam-Webster.com, one definition of the word agency is: "the capacity, condition, or state of acting or of exerting power," such as "the agency to bring about change." Synonyms include power, means, and incentive. Antonyms to agency include words such as helplessness, powerlessness, and passivity.

Learned helplessness, according to Psychology Today, is "when an individual continuously faces a negative, uncontrollable situation and stops trying to change their circumstances...The perception that one cannot control the situation essentially elicits a passive response to the harm that is occurring." If I am helpless, nothing I can do has any affect on the negative things happening to me, so I just...well, do nothing. When you live in a prolonged state of learned helplessness, you eventually start feeling like you are not even a real person anymore, but only a hollow shell or a shadow.

Have you ever been in a situation where you thought: "There is absolutely nothing I can do to fix this. I have no choice but to struggle through one more day and hope something will eventually get better."? I don't know about you, but I am over here raising BOTH hands: been there, done that...for a long, long time.

Thankfully, after many years, agency is something I am trying to develop and become more comfortable with. When you have lacked agency for a long time, when learned helplessness has become entrenched, even small decisions and initiatives feel HUGE and SCARY and UNCOMFORTABLE.

Sometimes, you feel like you have no good options and the temptation to retreat back into passivity looms large.

Sometimes, there really aren't any good options. Every possible solution to a difficult or harmful situation comes with its own set of challenges and problems, and you find yourself stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place. 

Just doing nothing seems so tempting. What difference will my choices make anyway?

But here is something I am learning: Choosing over and over to stay in the same destructive cycle of learned helplessness is still a choice.

Even when faced with two (or three or four) unappealing choices, I DO actually have agency:

• I can choose Scary Option A - or - 
• I can choose Scary Option B - or - 
• I can choose to do nothing (i.e. learned helplessness).

This leads me to another thing that I am learning: Agency is a muscle that gets stronger with exercise.

Every time I make a choice not to stay in the cycle of learned helplessness, the choices in front of me look less and less scary.

In fact, some of them look downright exciting.

* * *

(I want to say a big THANK YOU to all the wonderful people in my life who have walked alongside me during a prolonged season of learning to make difficult choices. These prayer warriors and cheerleaders have made the BIG SCARY THINGS so much less scary. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU.)

CLASSMATES

Information and material for my September class at Westminster Theological Seminary loaded on Monday morning. Looking through the course syllabus, assigned readings, schedule of lectures, and homework assignments, I felt a familiar knot in the pit of my stomach.

I am so out of my league in this program, friends.

But by God's grace, here I am. Intimidated, yes, but also incredibly excited. Every class so far has challenged, encouraged, and grown me in ways I could not have imagined. Introduction to Systematic Theology promises to do the same.

Since Monday was a holiday and I had a little free time, I decided to get a jump start on the first week's reading assignment. First up: John Calvin's Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book 1, chapters 1-9.

Mom left me some books that she thought might be helpful for my studies at WTS. Sure enough, there among the gifted books, I found a copy of Calvin's Institutes. The book is old, with yellowed pages and a cracked spine. I carefully pulled the book from the shelf and sat down to begin reading, thinking the whole time, "What on earth have I gotten into? Who do I think I am, taking theology classes at a school like Westminster?"

Well, let's do this.

I took a deep breath and opened the book.

"Chas. C. West, Columbia Seminary, 1932-'35"

The inscription inside the front cover made me feel like God himself was smiling at this timid student!

Charles West was my Mom's daddy. I knew him as a quiet, gentle, retired Presbyterian minister with a thin gray fringe around his otherwise bald head.

But in 1932, Charles West was a 22-year-old student at a prestigious seminary in Decatur, Georgia. I looked at the inscription, scrawled in his familiar handwriting, and wondered: Did Granddaddy feel like me, holding this book in his hands back in 1932...intimidated? nervous? excited?

I suspect he did.

I may be out of my league...but even so, I am in the very best company.

I smiled and began reading.

This book is absolutely lovely and is a delight to read.

* * *

Thank you, Mom, for this lovely book. Thank you, Granddaddy. Thank you, John Calvin.

Thank you, Lord.

* * *

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God." - Hebrews 12:1-2

HOLIDAY/HOLY DAY

In honor of the holiday, I prepared a list yesterday afternoon of things to do today:

• Laundry
• Continue cleaning out Mom's closet
• Clean off one more bookshelf in the living room
• Access and review coursework for my next class
• Map out schedule for schoolwork for the semester ahead

These are all things I want to accomplish while I have a little extra time - a day off from work! - but, they don't sound very "holiday," do they?

* * *

A friend asked me recently if I have any hobbies.

"Taking care of dying people," I answered. There really hasn't been time for much else the past several months.

"You need to get a better hobby," she replied.

* * *

Once upon a time, I enjoyed kayaking. Actually, I enjoy many things associated with being near/in/on the water: I am very bouyant, so water feels almost like my natural element.

My son and daughter-in-law introduced me to kayaking a couple of years ago - thank you, Tom and Carly! - but the hobby comes with a few significant obstacles:

1. Same offspring instructed me to never go kayaking alone, and both opportunities to kayak and buddies to paddle with are very rare.
2. Transporting my kayak is problematic: I have a cargo rack on top of my Rav4 and a lovely set of ratchet straps, but I also have crappy shoulders and am unable to actually lift the kayak onto the roof of my car.

This year has been The Year of Doing Hard Things. Yesterday evening, I decided it was time to tackle one more Hard Thing. I did not want to spend my entire day off work...doing work.

I recruited my #2 son to help me figure out a way for his wimpy 62-year-old mother to actually load my kayak. (Thank you, Nate!) We formulated a strategy; Nate demonstrated the technique; the kayak was unloaded from the Rav4, and then I reloaded it ALL BY MYSELF. There was nothing graceful or attractive about the process, and it took a hot minute, but I did eventually get the kayak firmly secured on top of my car without damaging either the kayak or the vehicle. Woot!

Loaded!

I repeated the loading and unloading process two more times this morning: once before I drove to Reelfoot Lake, and then again when I came off the lake after a lovely 2 1/2 - hour paddle.

Do not fear: safety precautions were taken!

• I wore my lifejacket the entire time I was on the lake. (Normally, I sit on it. I have never been anxious about falling out and drowning because I am...well...very bouyant.)
• A family member knew my location the entire time I was out. I let this person know when I got on the lake and when I came off - AND - using the magic of Life360, she even monitored me as I paddled. (Thank you, Abby!)

Abby texted: "This cracks me up!"

Also, because God is so very good to me, he sent me paddle buddies. As I was sliding my kayak down the ramp to the water, a truck drove down to the lake access, pulling a trailer loaded with 3 kayaks. A dad and his two young daughters graciously allowed me to join their party. We paddled and chatted together for over an hour before I thanked them for the company and turned back toward shore.

Today, I am thankful for...

• Kids who help me "figure out a way" when things are hard
• For my friend Hannah, who listened to me cry as I drove to the lake because I don't like doing hard/new/scary things, especially by myself
• For 3 lovely strangers who welcomed me into their family outing (& shared their sunscreen :) )
• For a beautiful lake, a clear blue sky, and a cool breeze over the water
• For a God who sees, cares, and tells me that He loves me, over and over and over again