Tag Archives: Faith

The Jumping Off Place

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“A woman jumped to her death from a balcony in the heart of Buckhead Wednesday, Atlanta police said… Police were on the scene at 1:11 pm. More details were not immediately available.” This was the headline for the story in the local newspaper, minutes after a woman in her 20’s presumably took her own life.

I watched them load her body into the coroner’s van. I saw the police, fire fighters, detectives and medical examiner pack up their things, shake hands and get into their cars to leave. All in a day’s work.

Just like that…a life abruptly comes to an end.

“Who was she? What was her name? What was so bad that the only option was death? Was it an accident? Does she have a family? Husband? Boyfriend? Anyone?”

I wonder what the last thing was that was said to her? What was her final thought? Was she scared? Did she immediately regret her decision?

Things seemed to move in slow motion as passersby continued to talk on their cell phone or with the person in the car with them. People were smiling and laughing, oblivious to the fact that just minutes before, out of desperation, a human being had plunged to her death.

It’s weird, right? I mean, I don’t even know what this woman looked like and yet I feel in my gut as if I just lost a friend.

I wonder if she knew that there was a church just feet away? I wonder if she knew that there would have been multiple people eager to come to her rescue?

In staff meeting today, our amazing campus pastor encouraged us to recognize that there are thousands of people, right here, who don’t know God and have not heard the name of Jesus.

“Was she one of them?”

Just minutes before this happened, several staff were in a meeting discussing reaching people and who we want to be as “the only church that some will ever see.” What does that look like? How do we turn that from just a really great idea into something tangible?

As I turned from the window and walked slowly back to my desk, one of the first things that came to mind was, “The enemy prowls like a lion, ready to devour anyone within reach.” 1 Peter 5:8.

Honestly, if this did not happen right in front of me, it would have been just another headline. If I had not watched the woman who witnessed the fall weep while recounting the details to authorities, I probably would not have even read the article.

This made real what Billy was saying earlier in the day. We must go out and reach the seemingly unreachable. We can’t assume that someone else will.

Just before the course of the day changed, our staff was spread throughout the auditorium praying for each other, those who have yet to be reached, those who are inside and outside our walls, the rooms in which we meet…

One could argue that this happened because we were intentionally praying for those right outside our door. A jab from the evil one? Perhaps?

Darkness is real. It is lonely. It is haunting. And it is brutal.

The only thing to combat the darkness is light.
As Mother Teresa said, We must love without getting tired. Love does not have to be extraordinary. It must be tireless. Love = Light.

Do you have a jumping off place? You know, the place where your toes (metaphorically speaking) are just beyond the edge. I was standing, looking down from that very place almost 10 years ago when I faced the option to recover or give in to my addiction and allow it to take my life.

What wants to take your life?

Please friend…I beg you…before ever succumbing to the lies of the darkness, bring whatever it is out into the light. There is nothing too awful…nothing…that the cross is not enough to cover.

Have you been effected by suicide or a sudden death? What is the one thing you would tell someone who is walking through unexplained and tragic loss? What can I pray with and for you in this moment and throughout the day?

Whatcha got in that U-Haul?

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“Oh, don’t mind that, it’s just my spiritual baggage.”

I grew up going to church in a beautiful building with big white columns, ornate wooden benches, organ pipes floor to ceiling and a beautifully decorated soapbox called a podium where the minister in the long black robe stood.

I knew my catechism each week and would stand proudly in a handmade smocked dress as I recited them to the Sunday school class, annunciating the answers while smiling at the teacher. Manipulation at it’s best.

On Sunday evening, looking out the back window at that monstrous building, I would say, “See ya on Wednesday, God!”

I suppose I should mention that my dad was a preacher. Not the kind that has a church, but one that travels around speaking. Dad knew what was up and was more of a seeker than an organizer. What I mean by that is, there are those who seek Christ and there are those who organize religion. He is a seeker.

We would travel all summer to different conferences where he was speaking. Even as a very young child I can remember feeling a completely different presence in the auditoriums than what was felt in that big white building with the steeple on top.

I could not recite a catechism today if my life depended on it. Which begs the question, “Why did I spend all of that time learning Christian precepts instead of discovering who God really is? As anyone who has begun that pursuit knows, it takes a lifetime.

Well…because…I saw it as something else to check off my “see what a good christian I am?!” list. We “Christians” tend to do that. We put God on our “ways I get to heaven” to-do list along with things like, “Build up the courage to talk to that guy with all the tattoo’s. I could probably get bonus points for saving someone who has marked their body!” Or “Find a person who is living in a known sin and pretend to care long enough to ‘save’ them.”

Unfortunately many of us grew up with religious to-do lists, attending a church that was beautiful to look at, but left us starving spiritually.

What do we do with all of that? We put it in our “spiritual baggage” UHaul and take it with us into every relationship, every experience, every new perception of Jesus.

God doesn’t wait for me to show up on Sunday. He is wherever I am (and I have been in some pretty questionable places). I won’t find Jesus standing outside a building with a perfectly manicured lawn telling the homeless man, “We don’t need ‘your kind’ here.”

If you are like I was, hauling a bunch of misconceptions around everywhere you go, find the nearest cliff and throw it down, set it on fire, submerge it in the ocean, but don’t keep hauling it around. You don’t have to unpack it and sort through the reasons why. Just rid yourself of it and set out on your journey. You may be surprised who you meet along the way.

Five Minute Friday: Loud

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GO:

My Children
The Past
My Thoughts
Deadlines
Discouragement
Time
Ideas
Technology
My desire to be more
Things that I have yet to do
Words that need to be said
My Insecurities
My Tears
The Monster Within

These are the things that are screaming at me right now, in this moment, making me want to give up… run away… sit with my back against a corner.

Seasons like this have me asking God to speak louder than a whisper.

STOP

Does this make me look fat?

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Ladies, why do we even ask this question? We know when we look fat. We are setting the recipient of our insecurity, up for a no win situation.

Here’s the deal, I’m tired of feeling things jiggle when I walk.
I have been bartering with myself for the last year when it comes to dropping some lbs.

It sounds something like this. I will pay closer attention to what I eat and don’t eat…
If I have to go up another pants size
If I have a roll under my bra
If I ever have a “gut”
If I’m uncomfortable naked
If one of my children ever says, “Am I having a baby brother or baby sister?

The list goes on, but that’s the gist.

Well, today was the day. I stopped making excuses. I decided to make a change. I dusted off the shake mix that I bought last year for this very reason and I made a shake as a meal replacement.

Doesn’t sound like a big deal, does it?

Well for someone who has never had a “working relationship” with food, it’s a very…big deal.

I have never thought of food in a positive way. In fact I rarely think of food at all. Which sounds funny coming from someone who is as big as she’s ever been.

For 12 years I had a condition called bulimarexia. Weird huh? I always liked being unique. I couldn’t just have your ole run-of-the-mill bulimia or anorexia, I had to have a combination of the two. I think it’s the bipolar of eating disorders.

Sometimes I would restrict for days eating a mere 165 calories and then I would switch it up by binging anywhere from 2,500-5,000 calories in one sitting and then stick my finger down my throat until there was nothing left but stomach acid. When I was feeling extra bold I would throw down a few boxes of laxatives (30-75 pills.) I still remember the way the pink candy coating tasted, especially when I would take too many and forcefully vomit.

BUT, I was skinny.

My family would say things like, “You’re killing yourself. You know that, right?”
“Well, at least I’ll die skinny.” I would say.
Talk about shallow, insecure and egotistical all wrapped into one dysfunctional package!

Without turning this post into a share at a support group and in an effort to shine light on this that I like to keep hidden, I wanted to be forthcoming about the monster within who rears its ugly head any time I consider focusing on the daily ins and outs of eating.

If I’m being completely honest, I’m scared.
Scared that I’ll fail. Scared that I’ll return to old habits that show results more quickly than doing it the right way. Scared that I have screwed up my metabolism so much that there’s no going back. Scared that I will become obsessed with the calories, portions and fat grams again.

So here, in the quiet of morning, when it’s only God and me. I ask Him to whisper His promises when I need them most. I ask for His protection from the monster within. I ask for His guidance as I walk this road to a healthier me. I ask for His grace when I am frustrated and want to quit.

This is a lifestyle that I am learning. Not a diet, or the newest craze. It’s a way to live in harmony with something that I need to sustain me.

In case you’re wondering, I gave up the eating disorders when I put down the booze. That was October 19, 2002.

Why did it take me so long to embark on this challenge to have a positive relationship with food? It’s like any other toxic relationship. I never wanted to return to the place of making an effort to control my weight.

The difference is, I don’t need alcohol to live, but I need food to survive. So, here I am…at the beginning…looking ahead, not behind. It’s going to be hard for me. The discipline to be healthy and not cut corners, will be difficult.

I’m ready. Today, I begin a new life.

If you or someone you love is struggling with an eating disorder, please, please, get help. It is serious and it wants to take your life. You can start by visiting the National Eating Disorders Association.

A Mother’s Venom

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Cue circus music…. I envision myself balancing these long poles with plates spinning on each. Lately I have picked up a couple more plates. They are good plates. Plates that I have been working towards adding. So up they go onto the pole, spinning.
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Today I dropped a plate (metaphorically speaking). It was one of the most beautiful and valuable. It was the mother plate.

I unleashed my toxic mom venom through my attitude, words and actions with my boys.
I hate when I willingly choose to give them the leftovers of my day.

I yelled at them to “STOP YELLING!” I sighed a lot. I snapped a reply when asked a question. I treated my most precious treasures as if they were an inconvenience.

“So what now?” You ask.
How do I right my wrong?

~ I acknowledge that my behavior is unacceptable.
~ I abandon all expectations of how they will respond. I am responsible for how I respond and communicate, not how another person receives and communicates back.

I ask for forgiveness, I cut myself some slack.

Tomorrow is a new day. A fresh start. A clean beginning. That is grace. Grace so undeserving that it can only come from our Creator and the author of our story.

Here’s the deal, I am going to have to put down at least one plate. Which one? How do you choose?!

I invite God in to the process and simply say, “Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” More will be revealed as I seek His will, His face and His heart.

How many plates are you spinning? Ever dropped one?

What Matters Now?

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Luca Hill Cemetery 1816

My grandfather passed away when I was 7 yrs. old. That is the first memory that I have of losing someone close to me. I remember where I was sitting when my dad called to tell my mom of his passing. I don’t remember anything after that. The details of the funeral, my father’s immediate state of mind, my grandmother’s period of mourning…nothing.

From that time on, my dad has taken me to the old graveyard in a small town in Henry County, Alabama. There is a path leading straight through the middle and we would walk down the path, my hand in his, with a silence that was an unspoken understanding of reverence.

If I noticed a fresh mound of dirt I would say, “Who was that, Daddy?”
Dad would always know who it was and be able to share a brief history about them.

Before arriving at the plot where my grandfather was laid to rest, my dad would say in a loud voice while lifting his arms to the sky, “What matters now?!”

He would then turn and face the other direction while again exclaiming, “What matters now?!”

He then would turn to me and say, “My Joy, did you hear anything?”

“No, sir.” was my response.

“Do you know why?” he would ask.

“…Well…yes dad. They’re all dead.” was my reply.

What he would say next is what has been burned into my memory. And that was this…

“Right! They are all dead. What lay beneath the ground is rot and decay. What do you think matters to them now?”

“Well, nothin’… I guess?…”

“Nothing! Not their job, car, house, salary, weight, bank account balance, wardrobe… all of that is left behind for someone else to worry about. They’ve gone on to see about it. (This is a southern expression for someone’s passing.) What matters is the time before physical death. What you do with your life, resources, time... and where you put your faith. How you prepare for eternity. For these folks, it’s too late to plan.”

He would then take my little hand in his big hand as we walked to my grandfather’s headstone and removed the weeds or any ant beds that had taken up residence.

After that we would walk across the path to the headstone of a 13 yr. old girl who had died from leukemia. There were always flowers and the area was well maintained. Probably by her mother.

I would read the inscription out loud, but in a whisper, as I ran my hand across the marble, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7.”

“Dad, she was prepared for eternity, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, Angel. She was.”

As I grew older and learned what stress felt like, dad would remind me of our walks through the cemetery. He would reiterate that whatever was happening would pass and as time went by, it wouldn’t have as much power as it seemingly had in the moment.

“Maybe you should take a walk through the cemetery?” he would say.

Though my hand was no longer securely in his, I would find a cemetery, walk somewhere close to the middle and say as loudly as I could, sometimes with tears, “WHAT MATTERS NOW?!” The only thing heard would be the echo of my own voice.

I would then answer my own question, “Nothing.”

Have you ever walked through a cemetery while talking to the tombstones? Maybe you should try it. You just might find that it is capable of bringing things into perspective that nothing else can.

2 Corinthians 4:16-18

“So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.”

The Ultimate Exchange

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As human beings, we want to be heard, noticed and affirmed. We want to know that we matter. There are multiple opportunities throughout the day to connect with strangers in a way that says, “I understand.” without using words.

At times I am blind to those right in front me… within arms reach. When I begin to view myself through the distorted lens of my ego, I will quickly think myself “better than.” I must thoroughly and swiftly diffuse this misconception.

When I come to the end of myself is when my eyes are opened and I can readily relate to the pain of another. “God, open my eyes to see what you see.”

By asking God to direct my thinking, the simple, seemingly mundane, happenings throughout the day take on new form. Instead of judgement, I can see myself…

~ In the eyes of the elderly lady in the check out line trying to separate her coupons one by one with shaking hands, as the line behind her grows longer and the faces appear more agitated while the exaggerated sighs confirm disapproval.
~ In the little boy on the corner awkwardly waiting alone for his bus.
~ In the driver with aggravated hands in the air and a marred expression on her face, showing her disdain for the fact that the person in front of her is turning left when she needs to go straight.
~ In the expression of the little girl, just scolded by her mother, with tears running down her cheeks.
~ In the suit walking across the street falsely exuding the confidence that he so desperately wishes he had.
~ In the cashier at the deli with diamond earrings too big to be real, red fingernails and enough makeup to think she’s hiding how desperately she wants someone to see her for who she really is.
~ In the lady pumping $4.39 worth of gas into her car, praying that it’s enough to last at least a couple of days.

Throughout my day, I am capable of relating, encouraging and projecting light onto others. Isn’t that what God called me to do as a follower of Christ? After all, it wasn’t that long ago when I was the one sending silent screams of desperation to anyone who would notice.

I assess my day on the drive home. What could I have done better? Where could I have chosen compassion? How will I live tomorrow differently?

On this particular day, my heart is heavy and my thoughts are many. I pull into the garage, walk into the house, slip my shoes off at the door and head up the stairs.

There it is.

I pick it up and run my finger along the intricate work in the beautiful silver adorning the wood. I can remember when I saved enough money to buy this cross. I had been eyeing it for weeks.

Today, I see myself in it as well.

This cross was bought with a price. I cherish it. It is strategically placed in a part of our room where I see it multiple times a day. A visual reminder of the beautiful gift that Christ gave, in giving His life for mine all those years ago and then saving me again not so very long ago.

It all comes back to the cross.

As I rest the beautiful symbol back in it’s place, I smile, exhale, and bask in the eternal security of the ultimate sacrifice of my Savior. His crucifixion on a cross (made from a tree that His Father created), stained with His blood (that sanctifies my sin), displaying His body (naked and vulnerable), beaten beyond recognition… for me… and for all of those I see throughout the day, coming and going.

We were all bought with a price, much too high for my earthly mind to comprehend. Imagine the possibilities if we were able to fully absorb and then exemplify to others the meaning of the cross.

It changes everything.