This past weekend I went perusing through the clearance section in a local used bookstore and found an anthology of love letters. Actual letters written by people to their spouses, fiances, and so on. Some even a couple hundred of years old.
I had to pick it up and buy it. And after reading through the last couple days I have been amazed at the way people used to articulate their feelings. I lamented to my husband that he'd never written me a "love letter" and he reminded me that we've never been apart for more than a couple days in all the time we've been together! In the age of the internet, letters have nearly become obsolete. But emails, tweets, text messages, and facebook posts don't come close to the kind of passion and beauty in the words written long ago.
I mean, who wouldn't want something like this written to them?
"I cannot behold you without emotion; my heart still answers to your voice, my blood in my veins to your footsteps."
"All will pass, except for my passion for you."
"For me, to love is to love you."
"Don't you know everything I do is always done with you in mind. When I have proof of success this is simply my homage to you."
"I should like to live at your feet and die in your arms."
Think those words are pretty amazing? That they convey some kind of love that's indescribable? How about these words?
I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge-that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen (Ephesians 3:16-21).
But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions-it is by grace you have been saved (Ephesians 2:4-5
The LORD appeared to us in the past, saying: "I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness" (Jeremiah 31:3).
As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love (John 15:9).
Hmm. Seems to me I already have the greatest love letter ever written
Over the weekend I had what has become one of my most favorite experiences every year, attending a worship service with Hillsong United as the leaders. In fact, it's so worth attending their once a year U.S. tour that we've driven to Nashville and Chicago just to be there.
Technically, it's classified as a concert, and you have to have a ticket to get in, but trust me, if you've ever been you know that there is no performance, just people singing their lungs and hearts out to the only One who is worth singing to and about.
I think one of the most amazing things about worshipping the God we serve is that He gives us joy in doing so. He's relational, He's given us emotions, and when we worship Him, He blesses us in return. How incredible is that? We don't have to worship out of duty or a ritual that has to be performed, but we can worship Him out of love.
The arena was sold out - at least 12,000 people engaged in worship for two and a half hours. And as I looked around and saw these thousands of people pouring out their hearts, singing words such as "Hosanna in the highest" or "All I need is You Lord" or "Our hearts they cry be glorified, be lifted high above all things" all I could think was that it simply wasn't enough. It didn't even come close to what He deserves, of what He is so worthy of.
It wasn't nearly enough.
So as I thought about that I started getting really excited about heaven. I don't know if we'll be singing in English or a language I've never heard before. I don't know if we'll be singing treasured hymns or rocking out with Hillsong or humming with David and his harp. I don't know what it will look like or sound like, but I know it will be praise and adoration for our God. Forever. One day we will be able to attempt to bring Him all the glory He is due for all of eternity. The music won't stop, the lights won't go down, the crowds won't disperse. Does it excite you? Does it give you goosebumps? Because as I'm sitting here I just keep thinking how I can't wait to get there.
So that I can stand, as Hillsong sings, with arms high and heart abandoned, in awe of the One who gave it all.
I came into work this morning and found that my headphones had been taken off my desk. Stolen, likely by the cleaning crew. I mean, they're only ten bucks, and easily replaced, but it means a day without my IPod, and that can make for a long day.
So I started plotting.
What can I leave behind for them as revenge? Chewed gum for them to pick up? Poke holes in my trash bag and dump liquid in there before I leave? Nasty notes?
They stole from me!! The nerve!!
A couple years ago as I was moving from my brother's home to an apartment I had all my CDs loaded up in plastic bags in my back seat. No air conditioning in my car meant the windows got rolled down. I took a load up to my third story apartment and when I came back down all my CDs were missing. Every last one of them.
The only solace I had was that whoever took them was probably disappointed by my collection and probably had no clue who Steven Curtis Chapman or Point of Grace was. Which also meant they probably sold them online or something. Or threw them away.
I had so much money invested in those.
But seriously, who are these people that steal stuff? My stuff? What kind of person is it that takes things that belong to someone else?
A person just like me. You see, the only difference between me and someone like that is that I have Jesus. My heart is just as evil. But I've allowed Christ to come in and make it clean. And He's the only one who can make it clean. It's His saving grace, His amazing love, that prompts me to give instead of take. It's nothing within myself.
Paul explains it so well in 1 Timothy 1:12-17.
I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength, that He considered me faithful, appointing me to His service. Even though I was once a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent man, I was shown mercy because I acted in ignorance and unbelief. The grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly, along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.
Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners-of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display His unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life. Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen.
If Christ can show unlimited patience on those who act in ignorance and unbelief, I think I can handle buying a new set of headphones.
I have to apologize because I'm pretty sure I'm the reason there are stereotypes about women drivers. I don't even avoid admitting it anymore. It's a pretty well known fact that I am not the most trustworthy person behind a wheel.
I used to be a lead foot, but thankfully driving in a city where there's a cop on every road has fixed that problem. Now it's just that I get extremely bored while driving and it doesn't take a whole lot to distract me. That, and I think I have a perception problem, which is probably also why I walk into things.
Two years ago we let a couple from our church borrow my husband's car. While using it, they ended up backing into it with their other car and it got a little banged up. So my husband and I went to drop off his car to get it repaired. And where we took it was in the middle of nowhere, somewhere I had definitely never been before. I was following Eric, and I didn't have my cell phone, and he was going a lot faster than what I felt comfortable with. He apparently didn't know where he was going either, because he turned around in a gravel road and took off again. So I did the same, and as I was pulling forward I heard that horrific crunching and scraping sound that only a car can make when it hits something. I caught a glimpse of a half broken off wooden post in the rear view mirror and watched as my husband got further out of view. Without my phone I had no choice but to follow.
Not only did we arrive at the repair shop with two dented cars, my husband didn't even know about it! And when I told him, he pointed out that it probably wasn't a random wooden post by a field and a gravel road, it was probably someone's mailbox.
We've all heard the metaphors of life being a road and being in the driver's seat. The road takes twists and turns and ups and downs, and there's construction, traffic jams, speed limits and so on. But no one ever mentions the mailboxes.
No one ever mentions the damage you can do to others when you're too focused on what you need to accomplish that you can't slow down enough to pay attention to what's around you.
Because I know I've definitely gotten too caught up in where I was going, worried if I knew the way and if I would make it there on time that it's caused me to be a little careless when it comes to other people.
Now I know typically your birthday is only a day, but for me it gets to be a week. This has become a pretty well known fact with my friends and family. In fact I was talking to my friend the other day, and I sort of had an off day, and she sweetly reminded me that it would get better because the next day started my birthday week! (I've trained them well.)
I mean, there are 365 days a year. Why should I only get one?
It seems much more reasonable that I get one of the 52 weeks out of the year.
I don't really know where this started, I wasn't spoiled as a child. I had wonderful birthdays and I was very well loved but I was not raised to demand a whole week. I think I just decided as an adult that one solitary day was not good enough.
Now I don't ask a lot. I don't need presents (or a lot of them!) or dinners at fancy restaurants. I simply need attention.and lots of it. Rub my head, my feet, refill my drink, let me pick what's on TV, and of course the most important thing, dote on me. Yes, I require lots of doting during my birthday week.
And, if I don't make a big deal of my birthday, who will?
Every year I ask my husband what he wants for his birthday, and what he wants to do, and his response is always the same, "I don't care." Well honey, if you don't care I'm not sure I do! (Although every year I struggle to get him the perfect gift and make the day special nonetheless.) But it's a whole lot more fun if he gets excited about it.
I have very little expectations. I just like my birthday and want everyone else to like it too.
And I figure, if I keep this attitude it will make all the birthdays that are to come that no one looks forward to (pretty much every one after 29, right?) bearable and fun even! I don't ever want to be sad about my birthday, no matter what the number is.
No, I think I'm going to be thankful for every one.
Psalm 39:4
O LORD, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am!
About a month or two ago, while climbing into the car, I whacked the car door into my forehead. Yep. I hit myself in the face with a car door. I actually cut my forehead and earned a pretty decent bump for a few days due to the incident, and if it wasn't for Mederma I'm pretty sure I would have earned a scar! All because I couldn't open a door.
A couple weeks ago my husband and I were shopping in a department store. On my way over to find him in the men's area I passed through the fragrances. I'm quite content with inexpensive body sprays and whatever winds up with my stocking at Christmas, but I decided it would be fun to try out a few expensive ones. There were no tester strips, and I didn't want to smell like a bouquet of perfume, so I was spraying them in the air and sniffing them out. I picked up another pretty bottle, sprayed, and got myself right in the eye. My reflexes weren't too good, and my eyelid didn't close quickly enough. I must have been staring straight at that thing when I sprayed it. My eye burned for the rest of the evening, and as we snuggled into bed that night, my husband said sweetly to me, "Honey, I can still smell your eye." A sentence that I'm pretty sure had never been said before.
And yesterday, on my lunch break, I walked into the gas station and well, got about two steps before I slipped on the wet floor, my feet flew out in front of me, and I landed with several thuds. The contents of my purse went spilling, and heads turned to see what the commotion was. Yeah, there's a reason they put those yellow signs out for you.
I have stubbed my toe on my dog, I can't drink a glass of anything without missing my mouth at least once, and I am terrified of when I have children and have to carry a baby up and down the steps in my house because I have fallen up and down them a lot.
I am a mess.
I am klutzy, awkward, accident-prone, and sometimes clueless and ditzy.
I have no grace and not a lot of dignity left at this point.
I'm sure I would have flunked out of charm school if I had ever gone.
I have done so many stupid things that I hardly even blush anymore when I do something utterly humiliating.
And I am delighted in.
The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing. Zephaniah 3:17
In case you haven't picked up on this before, my name is Emily. Has been for the last 24 years. So you could say that I knew if I was a boy or a girl, and before they even officially decided to name me Emily if I turned out to be a girl. But he has a clear memory of praying for his sister, "Emily Megan Koepf Horsfall," (Koepf, my mother's maiden name, is actually my brother's middle name and didn't find it's way to becoming part of mine). He was certain that God was giving him a little sister named Emily, even though my parents weren't.
Emily is a pretty easy name to remember. After all, out of the last 13 years, it spent 12 as the number one most popular girl's name. The year I was born it was number 24 on the list. So needless to say it's a name I've heard once or twice before.
So how is it that the other day at work when I picked up the phone I answered, "This is Amy." What? Where did that come from? How do you not call yourself by the right name? I'm still not sure if it suddenly slipped my mind or I was stressed and confused or if it can just be chalked up to another stupid thing I've done, but I referred to myself by the wrong name.
I mean, it's hilarious right? At least, my coworkers thought so. I've talked about how I have a nickname at work that I'm not too proud of, Helen, but I just came up with a brand new name for myself. I actually called myself the wrong name. And the confusion on the other end of the phone, from someone who had thought for sure they dialed Emily, and that this Amy sounded an awful lot like the Emily they thought they had called, was truly priceless.
There's a lot of people who don't know my name. Who don't bother to remember it. Or people who don't treat it with the same affection as my mom and dad who gave it to me. There's a lot of people out there who couldn't care less if my name was Emily or Amy. And apparently, my name isn't even important enough to me to get it right!
But my Father knows my name. Isaiah 49:15-16 says, "Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands."
There's a song by Tommy Walker, and the lyrics are below.
He Knows My Name
I have a Maker He formed my heart Before even time began My life was in his hands I have a Father He calls me His own He'll never leave me No matter where I go He knows my name He knows my every thought He sees each tear that falls And He hears me when I call
Yes, He most certainly knows my name. It is carved into His hands. And even if I forget it, He never will.
I had so many people just unbelievably rude to me for no reason, speaking to me the way no human being should speak to another human being, making me feel about an inch tall. I had a problem that I couldn't resolve right away, but did within ten minutes, and within those ten minutes an email of complaint about me made it's way thru several channels and into my boss's inbox. When in the end, after ten minutes, there was no problem!
Just a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
So finally, late in the afternoon when I finally got away for my lunch break I went to the grocery store. I bought chocolate chips. I bought brownie mix. I bought cake mix and icing. Still not feeling quite better and knowing I could not enjoy any of these things til I got home, I went to the gas station and got a fountain Diet Coke. (The irony, huh?) Surely a wonderfully carbonated fountain soda would do the trick. And then I saw them, there at the cash register. Giant Smarties. Have you had these giant Smarties? I just discovered them recently, and I am in love. I have always loved Smarties, when I was a little girl there was a wonderful lady who always handed out Smarties and other candy after church, and every time I eat them it's a sweet (ha - I didn't even realize that I made a pun!) memory of childhood - but that's a story for another day.
So I grab three of these amazing treats and go to check out. After multiple attempts, the cashier could not get them to scan. With a line of people behind me and no hope of getting them to scan, the cashier just told me to take them. Just take them! For free!
And suddenly, my day has brightened. The light drizzle that leads to my frizzy hair? No biggie. All those people who were so hateful? Completely forgotten. I have just received three rolls of Giant Smarties for free. I am now invincible. My spirits lifted.
Then I realized just how completely silly that all is. Free Smarties made my day better? A total savings of 75 cents? How is it that free Smarties have changed my day when I failed to even think about the free gift that has changed not only my life, but my death? How is it that immediately I seek pointless, worthless things to fill the need for love and reassurance and joy and completely ignore my Savior who loved me enough to bear the cross for me? Maybe I should have gotten some Dum-Dums, because that is seriously what I am.
How does realization that I have a loving Father and a gracious Savior not do enough to put me in focus? That the worst of days are just blinks of an eye that I will one day have no memory of when I see His face and hold His hand?
Because I'm an emotional, short-sighted human I want to say that just knowing Him doesn't make it all go away. But it so does. He's the kiss on the boo-boo that makes it all better. He's the tight hug from my husband that makes me feel safe and warm. He is all of that and so much more.
And without Him, I would know what it's like to truly have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
In a zoo in California, a mother tiger gave birth to a rare set of triplet tiger cubs. Unfortunately, due to complications in the pregnancy, the cubs were born prematurely and due to their tiny size they died shortly after birth.
The mother tiger, after recovering from the delivery, suddenly started to decline in health, although physically she was fine. The veterinarians felt that the loss of her litter had caused the tigress to fall into a depression. The doctors decided that if the tigress could surrogate another mother's cubs perhaps she would improve.
After checking with many other zoos across the country, the depressing news was that there were no tiger cubs of the right age to introduce to the mourning mother. The veterinarians decided to try something that had never been tried in a zoo environment. Sometimes a mother of one species will take on the care of a different species. The only 'orphans' that could be found quickly were a litter of weanling pigs. the zoo keepers and vets wrapped the piglets in tiger skin and placed the babies around the mother tiger.
Would they become pork chops?
As much as I like to think that I'm so much further advanced than any animal, maybe I'm not. What kind of love do I display to those around me? I hate to admit it, but I can think of several relationships, even with brothers and sisters in Christ, where I have been anything but loving.
Even if we're different, even if there are where we disagree, even if they seem like the last person on earth that I could get along with, God's Word has a thing or two to say about loving others.
John 13:34-35 "A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples. If you love one another."
Romans 12:10 "Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves."
Ephesians 4:12 "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love."
1 Peter 1:33 "Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for your brothers, love one another deeply, from the heart."
After all, if a tiger can love a pig, shouldn't I be able to love a child of God?
I work for a homecare company, so I spend most of my day on the phone talking to hospitals, physician's offices, and elderly patients. There are several of us in a small area, and it's not too hard to overhear my coworkers on the phone, like the conversation (or one side of it) I heard the other day.
"You can't hear me? Well, the volume on my phone is all the way up." (Speaks louder) "You still can't hear me?" (Now, practically shouting) "I'm sorry ma'am, I can't talk any louder. Do you think you could turn your TV down?"
We all couldn't help but crack up. I've been there too. Having to speak as loud as you possibly can to someone who has kids screaming or the TV blaring in the background as they continue to ask, "What? What did you say?" All the while I'm thinking, Why in the world did you call me if you're too distracted to talk?
How many times have I done that to God? Called on His name, asked Him for wisdom or guidance or help, at the same time having a thousand other things going on in the background and wondering why I can't get an answer from Him.
Maybe He's talking and I'm just drowning Him out by so much other noise in my life that He can't be heard.
Because I know the truth. I know what His Word promises, that if anyone asks for wisdom He gives freely. That He hears every word I say, He knows what's on my heart. That He answers prayer. That He loves me so much that He wants to be a part of and the center of everything I do and say and everything I am.
So why is it that when I don't hear from Him I blame Him? Is God, after gazillions of years of being faithful and true and perfect, suddenly going to mess it up when it comes to answering me? Do I somehow really believe that God answers every other person but me? Maybe I need to use the old breakup clich�, "It's not You, it's me." It's not You, God, who's not paying attention, it's me. It's not You God who's got so much else going on that You're ignoring me, it's me who's ignoring You. It's me who's not quieting down the distractions enough to focus on You.
And if I turn down the TV I might just realize that He's been speaking the whole time.
I read this story and it touched me so much I had to share it. Jenny Simmons is the lead singer of Addison Road, whose songs include "Hope Now" and "What Do I Know of Holy." You can check out her blog atwww.jennysimmons.com. Her story reminded me that I need to live outside of my comfortable little box, look around me, and show God's love to others even when it doesn't seem safe. It's a little long, but definitely worth the read.
"A month ago I saw a homeless man in the busy, business-professional, restaurant laden area of my town. Since I am not actually in Dallas, it is a rare occasion that you see someone who is truly desolate just sitting in the parking lot of our suburban oasis. But there he was. Ryan and I thought he was dead. And honestly, we drove right past him at first. Along with all the other cars and people. There were men in suits and ties, soccer moms with minivans full of children, and groups of girlfriends who were shopping the strip mall behind us, and we all drove right by him.
He had the darkest black skin I have ever seen. He was slumped over in a wheelchair with his head flung over to the side. He was right in the middle of the Chick-Fil-A parking lot at the height of the busy lunch hour.
It didn't even occur to me to stop, we just did what everyone else did, we swerved around him.
And he did not move. To the world, this man was invisible. And by all appearances, he may have very well been in dead.
STOP
It only took a few seconds for God to speak sternly to me. "Open your eyes Jenny. What is wrong with you? He is a human. He is my child. Will you not even stop to check on him? How can you swerve around him like that? As if he is a fire hydrant or a dead animal in the road. Turn around. Take care of him. He is mine."
But God... Ryan and I have to meet the band in ten minutes at the church. We have a flight to catch. We have gear to take out of the trailer and merchandise to pack. We have a concert. Plus, seriously, he looks dead. He looks scary. He's right in the middle of the freaking parking lot... I might get hit by a car. And Annie is in the car. What if he has a gun? What if he jumps into the car? My stomach is churning just thinking about him sitting there. I can't turn around. He shouldn't be in the parking lot anyways.
My excuses were impressive. Legitimate. Numerous.
But God's voice was clear. Go back. Not optional. I shouldn't even have to tell you. STOP.
I told Ryan we needed to turn around. He said he knew. I got out of the car and for the first time in a very long time I was scared of a person. This man scared me.
"Sir? Sir? Are you OK? Sir, are you trying to get somewhere? Can I help you?"
He looked up. His eyes were drowning in a pool of tears and yellow poison. I have never seen a man as sick as this.
"I'm trying to get to the bus stop. I'm sick, I must have passed out. I'm sorry."
I could hear the shame in his very tired voice. I asked him if I could push him out of the road and asked where he'd like to go. He pointed to a parking spot away from people in the Blockbuster parking lot. I asked what he needed. Food? A ride? I kneeled down so I could look into his sick eyes. He did not scare me anymore. I felt a deep love for him.
He said he simply needed me to pray for him. "Just pray for me, that's all."
I can pray for you, but what about food? Do you need some food? Water? In my mind, prayer was not enough.
I went and got our Chick-Fil-A out of the car and he began to devour it. He told me he was homeless and on dialysis. He lost his job when his kidney's stopped working. Shortly after, he couldn't afford rent anymore and before he knew it, he was out on the streets. He spoke with simplicity. He was kind. Tender. Well spoken. Straight-forward and honest. He made me laugh when he said that downtown Dallas was too ghetto for he and his two best homeless buddies. So they bus out to the suburbs and spend their days in the parking lots of Starbucks and Barnes and Noble. That is, the days he is not in the hospital. He tells me his bus route and exactly how he gets to the hospital from where we are standing. He tells me the homeless shelters that he prefers. He has no family in town. They do not know he is sick and he says they can't help him anyways, they have all wasted their lives away.
"Just remember me and pray for me when you think about it. My name is Dexter."
"I'm Jenny."
You are my Friend Now
I grab both of his dirty hands. His fingernails are long and curled backwards. His hands are surprisingly soft. I tell Dexter that I live nearby and my church is nearby and that I will pray for him, remember him, and check on him. I hold his hands the entire time that I tell Jesus how I don't understand suffering, but that I know we never walk through it alone. I tell him I thankful for my new friend. I beg for healing, provision, and a chance to start over again. I feel Dexter's tears hit my hands. Ryan honks and motions for me to come on, we are going to miss our flight. I tell Dexter I am going to be gone for four weeks but that I will look for him as soon as I get home. He says thank you. And I leave.
I do not stop thinking about him for days. I ask Ryan if we can bring him home if we ever see him again. If we can drop Annie off with a friend, have some men from the church come over, and let him shower and rest in our house. Ryan says he thinks that would be OK. This is not the answer I expected from him. I am blown away at his compassion and conviction. We leave and spend weeks on the road and I ask my friends to please keep an eye out for him. No one sees him though.
I am only home three days throughout the entire month and search for him each time I am back. But I never find him. My prayers become fervent. God please let him be OK. Please let me see him again. I put a blanket in my car and hope that I will be able to give it to him next time. But next time comes and I don't find him. The month gets more intense and I forget about him.
Yesterday
We are running errands. Annie is fussy in the backseat. Ryan is exhausted and has to go get a rental van and trailer. I am trying to thaw out after a horrifically cold photo shoot the day before that left me feeling like I had pneumonia. We are driving by the bank and out of nowhere, in his spot behind the dumpster, there he is. Dexter.
I had forgotten about him. I forgot to be looking. I forgot to pray for him. My heart drops to my stomach. I feel sick. For so long I prayed for him and hoped to find him... but not today.
Seriously, this guy pops up at all the wrong times.
But I am his friend. I cannot drive by and pretend I don't see him (though I really want to) There he is, in his wheelchair, in the Chick-Fil-A parking lot.
Dangit, I am not in the mood to help. To befriend. To love. To give. Neither is Ryan this time. But we have to stop, we know we do.
And deep down I want to stop, but mainly I am afraid. What do I do with him now? Do I bring him to a shelter? Do I rescue him from the streets? What would Jesus do? What is best for him? A million questions rush my mind. I am really not sure what's next in our relationship. Do I simple say, "Yo Dexter! What's up my friend? Need food?" Or, "Hey, Dexter, you're still homeless. Awesome. I still have plenty of money." Do I take him home and give him Annie's bedroom or pretend that he doesn't have needs?
There is no handbook for this. There is just the command to love and take care of the poor. The orphaned. The widowed. And though I'm not sure if he is a widow, he is for sure poor and orphaned. Still, I have no idea what I am supposed to do. I just know I have to do something.
We stop
"Hey, do you remember me?"
"I'm sure I do."
"My name is Jenny. You're Dexter, right?"
His eyes well up with tears. "Yeah, that's my name. You know my name so I am sure that I know you." And he smiled.
I handed him the blanket that had been in the car for him and he wrapped it around his shoulders. I told him that the last time I had seen him he was very sick and I was so worried about him. I told him that I had been praying for him and looking for him. I told him he was a tricky little booger to find. And he laughed. I asked how he was feeling and how his treatments were going. "Dexter, what do you need today? Right now, what do you need?" He said the blanket that I brought him was perfect and that he could use some chicken nuggets. And of course, I can just pray for him, he says.
God gave me that question, it just came out. What do you need today? Because really, today is all I can really handle.
Ryan and I went through McDonald's and Ryan insisted we buy him a gift card. This makes Dexter smile. "Thank you so much, so much. Now I don't have to worry about meals right after dialysis. There's a MickeyD's right across the street." He tells me the shelters he's been staying in this week since it has been very cold. Last night he spent the night at the public hospital hoping to get some pain medication. He never got it, but at least it was warm inside. I asked him if Tylenol would help. He says he can only take one if he is in a lot of pain, but that it might be nice to have just in case.
I tell him I will be back. Ryan said we could give him our home phone number. "Dexter, if you need somebody you call us. Deal? If you need help, need a ride, if something happens, you call us. We will come if we are home. Understand? Deal?" He says deal and smiles his beautiful smile. In my mother voice I reiterate, "I'm not kidding, you will call me if you need anything, right? If we can be there for you?"
I get in the car and my heart aches.
Who holds his hand when he goes in for dialysis? Who remembers his birthday? Who brings him soup and puts him to bed when his stomach hurts so bad that he collapses in his wheelchair in the parking lot? Who tells him they love him and tells him to keep fighting? Who does he call friend?
Oh God be near to the lonely. To the broken hearted. Be the father to the fatherless. Whisper into my friend's ear when he walks through hell without a single person knowing his name.
A Small Move
Ryan and I left. I went home, left Annie in the car, and stocked up as much stuff as I could find for him at the apartment. Some of Ryan's socks. A pair of ski gloves (yeah, um, whoever we borrowed them from... you won't be getting those back). Tylenol. And three instant heat packs that my mom puts in our stockings for Christmas. And I wondered what on earth I would do with those things!?! I got a big sweater and a sleeping bag and a hat. I drove back to the McDonald's and he was gone. My heart sunk. This man is toying with my emotions. And my schedule. I feel annoyed at myself for caring, for getting so involved. Am I doing the wrong thing?
Annie and I went grocery shopping and on the way back, there he was, waiting for the bus. here we go again. He told me he was in the bathroom earlier and that my trip to the grocery store must have been perfectly planned so that I could meet him at the right moment. I showed him what I brought from the house and asked what he wanted and what he didn't want. His answer was anything that could fit in his backpack, otherwise, it would get stolen. He asked me if I had a few minutes so I could help him put the things in his backpack. This is a very small move, I realize, but it was a move. And right now I feel like God keeps asking me to take these baby steps into other people's lives.
His Story
I felt guilty, but I rejoiced in seeing a bag full of prescriptions with his name on them.
In my cynical world I was still conducting my own background search and trying to fish out the truth about this man and his life. Why? He is not a beggar. He has never asked me for any money. I am the one that stopped and asked him to talk to me in the first place. And he barely took my food the first time I offered it to him. He has only asked for prayer and chicken nuggets. He is not holding a sign, panhandling, doing anything illegal, or taking advantage of anyone. He is just trying to stay alive. Why is it any of my business to try and figure out if his name is really Dexter? Or if he really is on dialysis? Why do I not trust him? Why do I think it is important to make sure he is not lying to me? What is it about us that we feel like people somehow have to deserve our compassion and live up to our litmus test of poverty before we give them the help they need? I was disappointed at my skepticism.
Healthy caution is the result of living in a broken world. But sometimes we have to throw caution to the wind and just love. So what if his name wasn't really Dexter? What if he did something bad or made poor choices and that's why he is here? Would I withhold the socks and Tylenol and chicken nuggets? I am ashamed at the judgment I pour onto people.
I crammed the socks, hat, heat pads, and medicine into his backpack. We chatted for a few minutes like normal adults. As if I was not driving away to a warm house and he to a homeless shelter. I looked deep into his eyes and told him that I was so happy I got to see him today. He shook his head. I felt weird about leaving him like that, homeless and all. But I felt at peace.
Ryan and I cannot rescue Dexter.
Dexter is a grown man who must figure things out and make those huge decisions for himself. But Ryan and I have learned from Dexter that we can be a part of his story even if we aren't playing a huge role. We can just be there. Be his friend. Bring chicken nuggets. Find him in his posh parking lot watching the people pass him by. Hold his hands and pray with him. Get the Tylenol out of the drawer at home and meet a few of his small needs. We can do that much...
And for now, when I least expect it, God is asking me to open my eyes, stop being so consumed with my own world, follow his quiet promptings, and just do something. He is asking me to jump into other people's stories. And he is teaching me how to do that through a man named Dexter." (Jenny Simmons www.jennysimmons.com)
When I was in high school my family made what seemed like an everyday, ordinary trip to our little grocery store. My dad and brother hopped out to run in and get whatever it was that we needed. My mom and I were waiting in the backseat, chatting, when suddenly she screamed, flailed around trying to unbuckle, and dove head first into the front seat. The only intelligible words I could understand were "WE"RE MOVING!!!!" as I stared bewildered at her behind and feet in the air, hand desperately reaching for the brake pedal.
It is truly a sight I will never forget, and every time I do remember it I can't help but chuckle. When the laughter died down I realized that the car beside us had slowly pulled forward, but what she had seen was our car moving backwards, causing her insane behavior.
Sometimes we see things that just simply aren't there. We perceive things wrong. We believe that what we believe is reality instead of focusing on the one thing that really matters - truth.
If you've spent any time in this culture and speaking to the people who are soaked in it you may have heard this statement before, "That may be true for you, but it's not for me." The world today is living as if truth is relative and that you can make your own truth. What they see or what they believe is what they define as truth.
But we know better, don't we? We have the truth - Jesus Christ. He is the way, the truth and the life as He says He is in John 14:6. We know the words of our God are truth. "I, the Lord, speak the truth. I declare what is right." Isaiah 45:19. He is truth, He defines what is truth. And what we may think or believe can't change that.
Living that way, speaking God's truth and standing up for His Word, is not an easy thing to do. God's truth can be harsh, it can be offensive, it can make people mad. It's much more tempting to agree with the world when faced with situations where speaking the truth makes you unpopular or not very well liked. But it's not our words, it's God's words, which are the only ones that really matter.
So when facing a culture that believes truth is determined by what they believe and not what God says, we have to remember that there's a reason that we're told to "stand firm with the belt of truth buckled around your waist" in Ephesians 6:14. It's part of our spiritual armor because we are in a battle.
I beg to differ. Actually this morning, I was literally crying over spilled milk. Not just milk, the most perfectly made glass of chocolate milk. That is like gold, people. Chocolatey enough, but not so sweet you can't drink it. Not an easy thing to do. And there it was, all over my counter, running down my cabinets, and puddled on my kitchen floor. Not only that, but the heavy glass managed to find its way smack dab onto my big toe.
And yes, there were tears. My toe was throbbing, I was fighting off two very eager to help dogs licking at my feet, my toast was getting cold, and I was running late for work.
But here I am, two hours later. The milk is cleaned up, my toe is perfectly fine, and I discovered that toast can be microwaved and still be tasty.
I really, really want to cry over spilled milk when it happens. Take my husband's car for instance. The summer we were married, two and a half years ago, the transmission went out. So we charged, we borrowed, we scraped, and pulled together a ton of money to get it up and running. And it breaks down this week. The transmission is shot.
So here we are looking at putting another significant chunk of change into a car that shouldn't have broken down in the first place.and now in the second place. Debating whether that's the wise thing to do, considering buying a new car while trying to get out of debt. Looking at all those zeros and wondering how long it will take to pay them all down if we proceed. And hating that for the third time in our less than three year marriage we have to shell out big bucks to get our cars running.
But you know what? It's spilled milk. It's life. It happens. Milk spills, cars break down, things don't quite work out how you plan. And I can either spend my time drying off my tears or I can thank God that now is the time that Uncle Sam decides to give me back some of my money and that He's providing the means to fix the car. That He's given my husband and I jobs that provide stable income to continue to pay down the other debts that we still have. That we have people who love us and are helping us out with transportation while we wait to get our car back.
Because in the end it's just a car. It's just money. It's just spilled milk. It doesn't really matter in the big picture. When Paul tells us in Colossians to set our mind on things above and not on earthly things it means exactly that. Don't worry about the car or the money. It's earthly. It's not going to last. It's temporal. It's fleeting. As big and huge of a deal that it feels like in my own life right now, it's simply spilled milk and it simply doesn't matter.
After all, when you serve the God who owns the cattle on a thousand hills, why would you ever cry over spilled milk?
Okay, okay, I'll say it. I'll muster up the courage and announce those three little words that are the hardest ones to say.
I was wrong.
Ouch. Now it's out there, it's official. The whole world now knows that Emily Megan Smith did not get it right. But just the one time. It's not like this occurs on a regular basis or anything...
A couple weeks ago I said that I was sure that my sister-in-law was pregnant with a little boy. And so now I'm sure you've figured out that IT"S A GIRL!!!!
A beautiful, gorgeous little girl with lots of dark hair and the sweetest little coos you've ever heard.
Of course, it's easy to admit you're wrong when you wind up with an adorable new niece. But admitting I'm wrong at work? Or admitting I'm wrong to my husband? Not so much.
The difficulty in uttering those three words comes down to one thing: pride. I have yet to meet a person who doesn't struggle with it in one way or another. It's that human nature within us. The desire to ultimately put ourselves first. To think better of ourselves then we really are. To forget that the only good thing in us is Christ.
The Bible has some pretty harsh things to say about pride, and rightly so, as it is one of the things God hates. Proverbs 16:5 says, "The LORD detests all the proud of heart. Be sure of this: They will not go unpunished."
If there's one thing I don't want the Lord to feel towards me, it is certainly detest! But my pride comes when I fail to look at God as I should, the Creator of the Universe, the only One who is Holy and Righteous, and fail to look at myself as I should, the one who is created by Him and for Him, and who doesn't live like it.
But the Bible doesn't simply tell us to not be proud or God will hate us. It tells us what to put on instead of pride - humility. Proverbs 22:4 says, "Humility and the fear of the LORD bring wealth and honor and life." Psalm 25:9 says, "He guides the humble in what is right and teaches them His way." Other Scriptures teach that God sustains the humble, He gives grace to the humble, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.
What amazing promises God gives to those who are humble! When we are humble we show a right view of God and a right view of ourselves, an understanding of who He is and what He is worthy of, and a desire for Him to be above us and everything else there is in our lives. And when that all happens in our lives good things happen as a result!
I don't know about you, but reading those verses gives me a whole lot more motivation to admit that I was wrong. In fact, I'm pretty sure I probably have someone I need to go say it to now.
The saying that you don't know what you've got until it's gone is painfully true.
We've been having problems with our water heater. Most days a very quick shower would spare us from a very cold shower, but on Sunday we had no hot water whatsoever, and not a lot of hope in fixing it that day. Despite troubleshooting, manual reading, replacing the heating elements, and consulting with others my husband hadn't quite figured what the problem was.
And I was flipping out.
How could we not have hot water? How would I bathe? Do laundry? Do dishes? Survive??!!
And quickly my thoughts turned to the country of Haiti. I have the inconvenience of spending a day or two without hot water, while an entire nation is suffering. Total devastation and destruction. People buried in rubble. And the fact that I can't take a nice warm bubble bath is a big deal to me?
Here I am, blessed beyond measure with every luxury and convenience imaginable, and one's taken away for the day and I think the worst has happened. But what if I was in Haiti? What if I didn't have any water, or any food, or a place to live? What if I'd lost everything I owned, lost everyone I loved, and I was left with nothing?
Nothing except Christ.
Would He be enough?
Oh, I say He is. I even sing in church that He is more than enough for me. But do I really mean it? If everything was stripped away and all I had was my Savior, could I like Paul say in Philippians 4:11-13 "I've learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. I'm just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little. I've found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, hands full or hands empty. Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am."
I'm not there. Yet. And that's the hope I have. That He will continue to work in me and teach me how to be fully content in Him. How to find everything I need in Him alone.
Whether I have hot water, cold water, or no water at all.
He had wanted one for a while, especially when he saw his mother-in-law (thanks to a generous son) and his little sister (thanks to a generous boyfriend) both carrying theirs around.
We had gotten a check from his grandparents for Christmas and had just paid off a credit card and other miscellaneous debts, so I didn't feel too bad splurging a bit.
My husband's reaction when I told him what I wanted to do with the money was priceless. "Really??!!! Seriously??!!" We're usually very practical with any extra money that he couldn't believe that I wanted to use our Christmas money for something for him. Multiple times during our trip to Best Buy he looked over and told me that I was the Best. Wife. Ever.
I couldn't help but wonder how he could be so surprised by it. I'm his wife after all. I want to give him good things. I want him to have not only the things he needs but also the things he wants. I love to be a part of that. I'd seen him over the last 8 months as he struggled to find a full-time job. Watched him humbly walk into his old boss's office and ask if he could pick up any shifts. Saw him as he tiredly went off to work a night shift, or when he came home exhausted from working a double. I knew the sacrifices he had made, things he didn't get to do and things he didn't get to have. Why wouldn't I want to do something like this for him?
It made me think of Matthew 7, when Jesus tells us to ask, seek, and knock. He goes on to say that a parent wouldn't give their child a stone if he had asked for bread, or a snake if he asked for fish. Verse 11 says, "If you, then, though you are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!"
Sometimes I don't ask God for things. I know that I have so much, that He's blessed me in so many ways, and that even trials and struggles are a blessing and that I shouldn't ask Him for anything more than He's already given me. But I so often forget that He's my Father and He's told me to ask. He's the giver of every good and perfect gift according to James 1:17. As much as a parent wants to give to their children, or as much as I as wife want to give to my husband, God wants to give to me.
Granted, what He gives and when He gives often differ from what I want, but in the end I never cease to be amazed at what He does. And when I have asked and He answers, I am reminded that the God I serve is not detached or removed from me. He is my Father, my Provider, and the One who loves me more than anyone else.
I don't remember the exact statistic or survey, but on the radio this morning I heard that the majority of people are not all that impressed with how far technology has come within the last 10 years.
Seriously?
Ten years ago I do remember having a DVD player, but I also remember being one of the few to have one. After getting it, we had mentioned something to a friend about watching a DVD and she said, "What? A VDO?" thinking we had come up with a cool new way to say "video." Now the new thing is having a blue ray player and finding a VCR is a rarity.
Ten years ago we didn't have a cell phone. We had a phone connected to a wall in the kitchen, and the cord was just long enough to sit on the steps when the conversation got too long to stand for. When we got a cell phone, we had to plug it in to a cord that attached to an antenna on top of our roof. Now there's the IPhone and some new phone that even has a projector. Why a cell phone needs a projector, I'm not sure, but there is one out there now.
Ten years ago we were still using our computer that had come in three huge cow-spotted Gateway boxes. We didn't have a laptop. The internet had to be shut off for someone to make a phone call. In fact, ten years ago, I was stranded at my school after coming back from my Washington DC trip because my family forgot to come get me and the line kept ringing busy because someone was online. I called from a pay phone. Today, if that would happen, I could use my cell phone to call anyone in my family, because they all have a cell phone, and if someone was on the laptop checking their email there would be no problem. (By the way, someone else who lived near me did take me home that night, and only my dad was awake, using the computer of course, and his response to seeing me was, "Oh honey! You're home! We thought you were coming home tomorrow!" Even though I had left my itinerary on the fridge for them before I left. Don't worry, I obviously don't hold any grudges over that anymore.)
All of this and so much more has changed, but the reason the people surveyed didn't feel like we'd come very far is because 10 years ago they had thought by now we'd have flying cars.
As ridiculous as that sounds, I think I've done that when I've looked at my own spiritual life. I'm disappointed because I'm not flying cars yet like I thought I would be at this point in my life. I was sure I would be Super Christian: Always trusts God, acts on faith alone, and master of guarding her tongue!
And because I'm not there yet, it feels like where I've come from is no big deal. But the thing is, God is much more interested in there being a continual, growing process, and He's the one doing the growing anyway.
Philipians 1:6 says, "Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." Progress on our spiritual journey takes time, patience, and hard work. It doesn't just happen overnight. The point is that we're always growing and moving closer to Him, whether we're in a wagon or in a sports car.
I don't know about you, but I may never even see a flying car 'til I reach eternity!
Okay, so technically, we don't know yet. As crazy as it is driving all of us, my brother and sister-in-law refuse to find out just to ease our curiosity. Rather selfish, don't you think? But seriously, look at this face, is this not the face of the cutest little baby boy you've ever seen?
This child will hate me if it turns out to be a girl.
I have the benefit of currently working in the same office as my sister (in-law, technically, but really, she's a sister!) and thus get the updates when she comes back from visiting her doctor. And today she came back with a little teddy bear that holds the recording of my nephew's heartbeat (I'm not kidding, I am set on this being a boy!).
And it is simply the most beautiful sound there is.
As I listened to it, I couldn't help but be in wonder that I serve the God that beats that little heart. The God that designed tiny little fingers and tiny little toes, and skin so soft there's nothing else that compares to it. The God who created button noses and little giggles and squeals.
I serve the God who is so good He gave us babies.
Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother's womb. I thank you, High God-you're breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvelously made! I worship in adoration-what a creation! You know me inside and out, you know every bone in my body; You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing into something. Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you, The days of my life all prepared before I'd even lived one day. Your thoughts-how rare, how beautiful! God, I'll never comprehend them! I couldn't even begin to count them- any more than I could count the sand of the sea.
As I've been thinking about what to write today, I've come to a realization. I have nothing profound or new to say about Christmas that hasn't been said before. Sorry to disappoint you! Really, I tried. I thought long and hard about it and got nowhere.
So instead of great words of wisdom, I decided to opt for honesty and what I'm learning this Christmas season. I've realized that my attitude about this holiday the past couple years has stunk. Seriously. I've pretty much thought the last few years, "Christmas isn't going to be special this year because." and fill in the blank. Because my parents were 14 hours away and I wasn't spending it with them, because I had to work, because my husband had to work, because we were celebrating on a day other than Christmas so Christmas day didn't feel like Christmas day, because we're poor and can't buy presents for anyone else or for each other, because I have to split time between my family and my in-laws, because we haven't really established our own traditions so Christmas feels different every year, and so on and so on.
Wait a minute, Christmas isn't going to be special???!!
How could I possibly think that? Have I somehow forgotten that the God of the universe, the Creator of all things, the Alpha and Omega, the Almighty, came to earth and took on our flesh? That He humbled Himself and walked among us? That He was born to die so that He might live again and save this girl who thinks that the day we celebrate His birth isn't that special?
Wow. Now I feel pretty humbled.
Unfortunately in this country we are soaked in a culture that sees this day as one that is all about material things. This season becomes one where most everyone is self-absorbed and concerned about money and presents. Did you know that every year we spend 450 billion dollars on Christmas and it would take only 10 billion to solve the world's clean water problem? Obviously, priorities are a little off. And it's so hard for us not to let that kind of thinking seep into our own lives. The call to be in and not of this world is not an easy thing.
But when I step back and look at this day as it should be looked at, as one that changed my life and my eternity forever, everything else just fades away. The tree, the lights, the gifts, the events of the day, really mean nothing at all when I think about Jesus being born so that one day He could die, and that by His sacrifice of living and dying I have hope and security and life through Him.
And the most amazing part of it all is that He thought I was special enough to do it all for.
If you've been reading this blog for a while, you might remember me talking about my husband losing his job a while ago. April 23rd, to be exact. I'll never forget that day, and I'll never forget that phone call.
The day my husband lost his job he found himself in the office of his former boss, hoping he could pick up shifts. He was still considered a PRN (as needed) employee although he hadn't actually worked there in over a year. That morning, she had received notification from HR that she needed to officially terminate his PRN status since he hadn't been there in so long. As she was working on the paperwork she noticed she had a voicemail. It was my husband, and she desperately needed extra help at the hospital at that time. It meant a huge pay cut, night shifts, evening shifts, and weekends, and a lot of time alone at home by myself when I didn't want to be, but it was work. On the same day we got that terrible news God had provided for us. His perfect timing. Amazing. There was no doubt from day one that His hand was in it all.
Since that time we've struggled to put together enough shifts to pay the bills, had a thousand dollar car repair, had three promising jobs fall through, a lot of disappointment, a lot of frustration, and a lot of stress. But somehow, we've also managed to make every payment on time, found cash stuffed in our pockets and checks in the mail, and had a free stay at the beach and another in the mountains. God hasn't prevented hard things from happening, but at the same time He's provided for us in ways that only He can.
A couple months ago my husband was approached by an acquaintance about a potential job. He had a good first interview, an even better second interview, and heard from someone who knew someone that things were looking very promising and that a job offer from HR should be coming. After an eight week process, we found out that he hadn't gotten the job. Meanwhile, my brother had been pursuing a job opportunity for Eric at the place where he worked. We were both disheartened at that point, but he applied for it nonetheless. Last Monday, he had his first interview, Thursday he had his second, and Friday he got a job offer!
Just a couple hours after typing that last sentence, I found out that this company is now offering Eric 10% less than what he was told a few days ago. Not exactly what we wanted to hear. Yes, it's an answer to the employment problem, but it's not an answer to the debt problem or to the desire to start a family. Once again we find ourselves in a place where we feel like we'll be spinning our wheels, just like we've been doing for the last two and a half years.
The thing I have to remind myself is even if we feel like we're spinning our wheels, God's still got a hold of the car and He's moving it along just the way He wants to. Is it easy? Absolutely not. I feel like I've faced more disappointments this last year then was my fair share. So much that was within our grasp has been snatched away.
But when James says to "Consider it pure joy when you face trials of many kinds" he means it. Because when it's all said and done, it's not about having comfort or an easy life or leftover money at the end of every month, it's about how I live this life, and how I serve my Savior.
He hasn't let go of us yet, and I know that He won't. Even when things don't go exactly the way I want or how I plan them, He still hasn't failed me.
Lamentations 3:22
Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.
I would just like to take this opportunity to announce to the world that I have the cutest niece. Ever.
I got to spend a week with this adorable little thing and my heart is stolen. Gone. Don't bother to call the cops, they will have no luck in getting it back. I'm not sure I would take it back. She can keep it. She can have whatever of mine she wants.
She can even keep my shoes that she loves so much.
This child is brilliant. Just shy of eighteen months, and she is learning colors! Colors!!! I remember having color signs hung up in my first grade classroom to help us out when we got stuck. And this kid already knows green, red, blue and purple?? She is on the pathway to great invention and discovery, I tell you. The Albert Einstein of her generation. And, she knows what every animal alive says! (Okay, so we stumped her on zebra and giraffe)
You can teach her anything.and I mean anything. She is sponge. And believe you me, as her favorite aunt (okay, so maybe not - I've got tough competition with there being 5 others!!) I have no problem taking advantage of that little brain that soaks up everything. With those adorable little curls, somebody had to teach her about the fro, right?
It is therefore recommended... to set apart Thursday the eighteenth day of December next, for solemn thanksgiving and praise, that with one heart and one voice the good people may express the grateful feelings of their hearts and consecrate themselves to the service of their divine benefactor.
Samuel Adams,October 14, 1789
Oh,give thanks to the LORD, for He is good! For His mercy endures forever. 1 Chronicles 16:34
It is good togive thanks to the LORD, And to sing praises to Your name, O Most High; Psalm 92:1
