glory days

This week I did something that I haven't done in 17 years, and wow did it feel _____!!

Yeah, like that. Absolutely indescribable is about the only way I could even somewhat describe it. I mean, my feelings surfaced like they had been underwater too long and couldn't breath. So sudden, so explosive, but at the same time so natural, so refreshing. They had been pounding at the door of my heart for so long that when I finally provided a way out, there was no going back. The whole experience stirred up something in the depths of my soul and left me in a total state of wonder with one big question for God: Why?

Why do you give us such innate desires that are woven into the very core of our innermost being, yet seemingly provide only a short window of opportunity for fulfilling them?  If I have served my purpose with these desires, then why doesn't the intensity subside?

Hello?  Am I missing something here? 

All the while, ringing in my ears are the words of David: "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart."   As well as the words of Solomon: "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven."

Well, God definitely has a sense of humor.  I'm sure it's no coincidence that the verses He brought to my mind mention the word "season," as this conversation between me and my Creator came about simply because of my love for a sport.

Are you wondering what in the world I did to ignite this divine interrogation? All I did was buy a hot pink volleyball from Target and use it in a game of one-on-one pepper with my best friend.  

Are you kidding me, you ask?  No, I'm not kidding. That's all it was. A simple game of pass, set, hit.  Except I wasn't 17 anymore.  It wasn't during practice or pre-game warm up. I wasn't wearing a number 8 on my back. And I wasn't even on a volleyball court.  I was in my own backyard, and I was barefoot. The spectators had changed too.  They were no longer parents and peers, but an 8 year old boy, and two 5 year old girls. Three of our four kids were watching our every move and begging for their turn to pepper.

As much as the context had changed however, much had stayed the same. We peppered like we were 17 again. Like we were proud Lady Indians in uniform. 

We had the same movements: She said I set the same, and I noticed she did too. 

We used the same words: When we were going to set it, we said "set!"  When we were going to hit it, we said "down!" When one of us had a good dig, we said "nice up!" 

 

We experienced the same excitement: There was a lot of smiling and giggling when we had a good volley.

   

As we played, one of us dripped with sweat, and the other one just glowed...more of the same. Our youth revived, we reminisced and talked about the glory days. It was incredible. We still had it in us. And I have to say, we weren't all that bad. 

But as fun as it was, I'm still left wondering if my volleyball "season" is really over or if God has just called a really long time-out...

ode to creativity

oh the relentless stream of ideas

begging for their birth...

from me? (cringe)

no. please, not from me.

too many of you are calling for attention, 

so loud it almost hurts.

competing for a spot in my day.

pick me, pick me! they always say.

go away! i sometimes cry

you're stressing me out!

you're clogging up my thoughts,

and i want to think about something else!

wait, no! come back!

i'll give you life, i promise!

it might be days, it might be years,

but be assured your time will come.

be patient blessed ideas, 

creativity needs time to reproduce!

more rejoicing in sockdom!

Once again, the sockdom has reason to rejoice!  Can you believe it? A second lone sock has returned home! 

It was yet another tan ribbed sock, but this time, from my DH's stash (they co-habitate with my pairless stash on the floor of my closet.)  I found this one hanging out amongst a basket full of clean laundry. It was actually a rather unbelievable way to make its return to the sockdom, as if my DH wore one without the other or something. I saw it there mingling with the rest of the pile, trying hard to blend in.  I thought I recognized it as one of the runaways, but dismissed the idea rather quickly, thinking surely a second sock would not piggyback its return so soon on such a similar peer. When I was done folding, there it was again, all alone at the bottom of the basket, looking uncomfortably out of place. It displayed quite a different attitude than the first. It was much more nonchalant, as if trying to mask its comeback. I'm not sure why this second sock displayed such reservation about coming home, but I could barely stand to look at it in all its misery. So without much hope, I went to rummage through the lone sock stash. And to my great surprise, its lonesome mate was right there waiting for me.

I'm starting to wonder if the secret sock society has declared a mandatory homecoming for all the tan ribbed socks. 

(Two down, fifteen to go!)

the return of a lost sock

Woo hoo and Hallelujah! One of my lone socks has returned home!  

Yesterday I was rummaging through my sock drawer looking for a pair of white, low cut athletic socks to wear with my tennis shoes, and to my surprise, peeking out from under the pile of mated socks, I saw its sweet little head. It lay there motionless, as if weighted down by all the complete pairs piled on top of it. It was staring at me in all its helplessness, begging me to come to its rescue. In a state of hopeful disbelief, I slowly pulled it out from its lowly position and went to my closet where the lone socks lay. And lo and behold, I found its match!  A ribbed tan pair of socks has been reunited again, and I am looking forward to wearing them this fall!

Ah, such sweet confirmation.  I knew I was right in not throwing them away!  One down, sixteen to go...

thank a freedom maker

To Bryan A, Laura B, Delson T, Eric C, Bill W, Joe B, Adam B, Harvey W, Ernie M, Betty M, Gary B, Bill A, Dennis B, Scott S, Doc B, Davey P, Ron G, Carl D, Brett D, Bill H, Tim L, John R, Howard T, John M, Charles A, Jim A, Nick M, and every other American freedom maker and their families, past and present:  

I know I haven't met the majority of you.  In fact, I don't even know most of your names.  But there is one thing I know for sure about all of you:  You are my heros. I believe that your decision to serve your country is one of the most selfless decisions an American citizen can make. The work you do every day directly impacts millions of Americans, and I am blessed to be one of them.

I started to write you all a letter, trying to express my gratitude for your service to our country and thanking you for protecting my freedom.  But these feelings I have about my freedom run too deep.  It's been very difficult to put into words.

I remember like it was yesterday that raw feeling I had when I first left the safety of American borders. The reality of my freedom was really defined for me the first time I left the country. I was simply headed to a Mexican border town on a mission trip, and even though I was just going across the border, I was extremely nervous about the implications of leaving the land of the free. I suddenly felt uncomfortably vulnerable. What if the police stopped us? What if they found something in our car they didn't approve of? As we approached the border, I realized that as soon as I crossed, I was leaving my freedoms and rights as an American citizen behind. Literally. 

But it's not like I didn't ever think about my freedom until that point in my life. I've always been patriotic at the core. I'm known in my family for my overflowing emotions on Memorial Day, the 4th of July, and the start of sporting events when they sing the National Anthem. It's just expected of me. When a patriotic song is sung, I'll inevitably tear up, and they'll inevitably look at me to see if I'm crying. In fact, it happened just yesterday at church when they honored the vets and sang their military branch songs. When I saw all those people that had fought for my freedom, I was just overcome with gratitude for the sacrifices they made on my behalf.  

Today I got an email from a friend...a very dear childhood friend whose husband serves in the airforce...the same friend whose daughter coined the term "freedom maker" for her daddy's job. The email she sent was written by some of their military friends. Their words about Memorial Day really rang true to me, so I thought I would share. 

"Today is the day our nation has set aside to remember those that have served our great nation.  While you're popping the top off that cold drink or flipping that steak one last time to cook it just right--Take a minute to think about the thousands throughout history, that took up arms to defend and preserve our FREEDOM.

All have given--some their lives--many their health--each and everyone, their time.  For hundreds of years our rights have been defended by those willing to step up.  They don't want parades, news stories, or pictures in the paper--they aren't expecting fireworks on their behalf--They serve for you*-- Our military gets it. 

Next time you see a soldier in the airport--sailor on the street--airman walking by--or marine preparing to move out--go up to them and simply say THANK-YOU. They'll know why! They'll know you care!"  

Well said.  

Today, why not make it your goal to thank or hug or kiss or love and definitely pray for a freedom maker, because our freedom is not free!  

cleaning your sock drawer

A friend of mine says she's "cleaning her sock drawer" when she's procrastinating doing a dreaded task. I know I'm a procrastinator and all, but a few days ago, I really was cleaning my sock drawer, honest!  You'd be amazed at what I found. 

 

White socks, black socks, blue socks, tan socks.  (Have I been reading too much Dr. Seuss or what? :-)  I found 17 socks total, all without a partner!  Seventeen???  It bugged me so bad that I marched into both my children's rooms and looked in their sock drawers too.  Sure enough, it was the same scenario, different rooms. Pink socks, blue socks, white socks, Barbie socks.  I found 8 socks total, all without a partner! 

Where in the world did these missing socks go? 

I mean, seriously, it's not like they just disappeared...they had to be somewhere.  At one point, both socks of the pair were present, or we wouldn't have had them to begin with. Is the dryer hungry or something? Are you supposed to feed it? How come it never eats the pairs that have holes in them and need to be thrown out anyways?  Oh, I bet I know. They probably never made it to the dryer to begin with. The washer is the culprit! They probably get sucked down the washer's drain pipe, or else disintegrate into nothingness during the spin cycle. Wait a second. Maybe it has nothing to do with being washed and dryed. Perhaps they've had enough of their co-dependent lifestyle and decided to ditch the familiar, hoping to gain some much needed independence. But how do they do that? Do they attend some support group in the secret underground world of lone socks? Yes? Then how do they get there? Maybe if they are lucky enough to fall out of the laundry basket as I bring them up the stairs, and then get accidentally kicked under the couch, that's when they do the secret sock hop that opens a trap door in the floor that leads them to a sockdom like no other... 

Okay, so I'm going off the deep end a little.  But their missing status really disturbs me.  And the poor socks that are left behind are rendered useless. They just sit on the floor of my closet...never considered for wear...never aging...just waiting.  Waiting patiently for their mate to be found. Longing for the day their partner returns and they are reunited, have renewed purpose and are worn again. 

And just so you know, as their owner, it's not like I haven't tried looking for these poor lost socks. I've looked everywhere I can imagine (behind and beside the washer and dryer, under the beds, in other drawers, behind things in the closets), and I must say, I did find a few matches! WOW was I excited! 

Is it cruel for me to keep the others? I just don't have the heart to throw them away, because I still hope they'll show up someday. What if one day, in the midst of a cleaning frenzy, I find one of the missing mates? One that had been lost, but now was found? Or one decides to return to its mate because the underground sockdom wasn't all it was cracked up to be?

 

Funny enough, my lost sock experience kind of reminds me of some of Jesus' parables. The parable of the lost sheep: the shepherd leaves his 99 sheep to go find one that's missing. When he finds it, he carries it home on his shoulders and calls his friends so they can share in his joy. The parable of the lost coin: the woman misplaces one of her ten coins and cleans frantically until she finds it. Again, she is so thrilled that she calls her friends to rejoice with her. And finally, my favorite.  The parable of the lost son: the son asks for his inheritance early, leaves home and squanders it. He finally comes to his senses and returns home asking for forgiveness and a job as a hired hand. While his father didn't actually go out to look for the son, he never lost hope that he would return. And when he did, it was worthy of a feast.

What a relief it is to know that Jesus doesn't lose hope in me.  It's a good thing he comes looking for me when I'm lost, and waits patiently for me to return when I stray.  

So go. Don't procrastinate. Go clean your sock drawer of life and see what you find. I bet you'll find Jesus there.   

in the beginning, God created.

Have you ever studied the intricacies of a flower? Noticed how the colors of a landscape work in harmony, regardless of the season or time of day? Realized how the color and coat of an animal are essential for surviving in its habitat?  God is a perfectionist, and His creation showcases it in a mighty way.

Recently, I have fallen in love with His creation.  I've become keenly aware of its presence around me, and I'm simply in awe of it. The beauty of it all has led me to foreign places in my heart.  Places I rarely go. Some of these places I didn't even know existed. But apparently, these unfamiliar neighborhoods of my heart are where my holy emotions call home.

Not long ago I found one of these neighborhoods.  Amidst what some would call a typical mid-west countryside is how I got there. But that particular day, the setting was anything but typical. I sat in the stillness of nature and listened to the silence. I watched God-sized cotton balls drift through a clear blue sky, all hovering above an endless green expanse. I could see the horizon, but it seemed unreachable. The way the colors worked together was masterful. I was absolutely overcome by my surroundings, and I knew the perfection at hand was no accident. It was unmistakably the work of the Creator.

Then all of a sudden, out of nowhere they came. My holy emotions came out of their homes and rode on rivers of praise down my cheeks. In wonder of His creation, I worshipped Him with my tears.

In the beginning, God created. What did He create that takes you to new places in your heart?

(I've used my camera to try and capture some of the latest causes of my holy emotion...enjoy the adjacent slideshow!)