It’s that time of year again for those of us who live in certain climate zones: the season of heavy dew that can border on frost and the time when early morning drives may require use of defrost for a moment, to keep that film of mist on the inside of the windshield from temporarily blocking our view of the road.

While I thought about that this morning, I began to imagine that mist as a representation of all that holds us back and burdens us in life. For the person who only has him/herself to rely upon, internal angst over the areas where we feel afraid or inadequate can certainly and understandably be daunting. But if a person believes that Providence will provide needed strength, protection, and life-foundation, what’s there to truly worry over or be lacking in? 

In this society of ours, it seems: a great many things, areas, reasons.

That’s because we dwell in a world where imperfection, fear, selfishness, and pain temporarily have the upper hand. And while we live here, we will always have to wrestle, to grow and learn repeatedly how to lean if we want to find and maintain a true sense of security.

And finding that true sense of security means the foundation of my soul-house must be on the rock of God’s faithfulness. And the framework of my soul-house must be nailed together with the iron of His unchanging truth.

If that’s the case, the windy days will certainly come, and hurricanes are bound to hit in their season, but though a window may crack or some shingles come loose, the soul-house will still be left standing in the end. In other words, the temporary circumstances that lead me to question my identity and sense of security will eventually clear away, repairs will be made, and peace will flow from the center of the soul-house again.

Through all of these musings, I ultimately came to this conclusive prayer: “Blown upon by the security of my Father’s-child identity, may my morning-mist insecurities evaporate day by day.”

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Last week, students in my Business English course were required to come to my office for one-on-one conferences. Since it was just the second week of the semester and nearly all of them only recently arrived in the States, this was my first time to really talk with most of them extensively. To a person, I was struck by how sweet and thoughtful they are…and by how unique each of them is.

I thought I would be worn out by the long day of intensive communication, but it didn’t drain me nearly as much as I’d expected. At first I thought this was because we’d found lots of areas for connection: similar hobbies or interests, places we had both traveled to or places we both dreamed of visiting, special needs or questions they had that I felt very comfortable in discussing…

Later, however, I realized it was more than that. There came a moment in each meeting when I looked into a student’s eyes and the beauty – the gift – of their most basic being hit me. 

I’d like to call this a “heartbeat moment”: the instant (whether we grasp it consciously or not) when we look at a person near us and we acknowledge that they are a person, that they are living, breathing, feeling, and deserving of basic respect and in need of love.

I reflected further on those encounters and smiled at the thought of how meaningful our next class session will likely feel for me. It may not be that much different for the students, but when I look out at their faces, I will see individual marvels with individual stories that I now know more of.

This thought also comes with a challenge: to keep that heartbeat moment alive through the term and remember the humanity of these students when making various planning and grading decisions later. And it comes with a jolt of responsibility: to keep tender eyes open so that I am primed for more “heartbeat moments” with those I encounter daily – especially those I am more likely to overlook when life gets busy and distractions (and prejudices) might cloud my heart vision.

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This Labor Day, I pause to reflect for a few moments. And if I’m honest, I will confess that I struggle to maintain a balance between two extremes: working my heart to the bone to try please those I work for or with versus not really caring about work and wanting to somehow escape its responsibilities.

The first extreme springs from a fear that the work I’ve done and all the work I’ve yet to do will somehow never really be good enough. The second has roots in the over-exhaustion that comes when I find myself trying to recover from the backlash of the first.

And somehow, I have a feeling I’m not the only one out there who has found him/herself in this boat, caught in this cycle.

So my mind floats to those old, wise words telling me not to worry, not to fear. “Look at the birds and the flowers – they don’t worry and all is provided for them…” And yet, I see members of the natural world also doing their “work” and receiving the gifts provided for them, gathering and storing for the winter ahead. Noticing one of my bushy-tailed little neighbors yesterday inspired me to write this poem:

Instincts sharp

and shiny

eyes vigilant

enough to

steer clear

of my

careening tires–

even though

that mouthful

surely outweighs

your head.

Bounding gracefully

over blades,

launching expertly

onto bark…

I instinctively

want to

hear if

you fear

the knowns–

and unknowns–

of winter?

Then I ask myself – what’s the difference between worry and fear? And how are humans different than animals with our given ability to make choices — choices that include one to trust the Creator when fear or worry (or both) would threaten to drain the joy from work that we should be reaping along with a salary (as Solomon suggested in Ecclesiastes 3:12-13)?

My head tells me that the contented and peaceful trusting-middle is the place where I should dwell, and my heart cries with the need to comply. But every day, as I face the winter of the world, I, the human, must make a very real choice: to be a little bit more like the lily, the sparrow, the squirrel.

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While reflecting a lot recently on the life of an ancient prophet named Elijah, I found I could identify with him closely – a nearly-impossible success finally achieved…but coming down off the “high” to find an exhausted body and soul in a desert (of sorts). 

After reading Psalm 9:9-10 and chewing more on the aforementioned thoughts, I crafted the following short poem. If you or someone you care about is going through a trying or dry time right now, I hope the words might bring some comfort to your heart, and that you might find (or rediscover) the water that will truly fill you up again.

See how a river, mighty once, now runs: a fragile stream instead,

Enough to feed a single tree — to shade my drooping, sun-brunt head,

Inviting, careless: death, sleep, end — this sandy shelf becomes a bed.

Now comes a hand to pierce my dreams, a voice to rouse my weary soul,

Coals near my face releasing smoke, burned for the bread to make me whole, 

And water sweet to quench this thirst, to make both gut and spirit full.

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Oh, the joys and trials of being a homeowner!

When I did a final walk-through of the place I was signing on nearly one year ago, my realtor gave me several great pieces of advice. Among them she admonished, “And it’s a good idea to seal your basement floor, to keep cracks from forming and to prevent foundation damage.” A good idea indeed…though, I confess, the past year has gotten away from me.

Early last week, I made a trip to the basement for clean laundry and promptly ran back upstairs to call a local plumbing business. Turns out the hot water heater was dying. And though they replaced it, related issues brought them back three more times throughout the week. After half the basement floor was covered in water for many hours, places that had previously been completely smooth began to show small but steadily spreading cracks.

(The realtor had told me I could do the sealing work myself, but though I have happily done several small home repairs, I was nervous to take on a task of this size with such materials all alone.)

Enter handymen Rick Sr. and Rick Jr.

They came in to fill the cracks and seal the entire basement and garage floors, leaving both solid and beautiful. Saved me a ton of money over hiring a big company…and saved me a bunch of stress in figuring out how to use the various products and apply them all myself.

After I recommended the two of them to other folks on social media, the younger Rick told me, “You are a blessing in disguise.”

That made me think and chuckle. If we notice something good or redeemed and are thankful for it, doesn’t it cease to be a blessing “in disguise” and become, instead, a blessing plain as day? And if there are truly good things around us all the time, every day, how can we develop eyes and hearts that notice them more automatically?

Maybe it starts with a simple prayer, lifted up every time it comes to mind: “Help me be the blessing, see the blessing, pass the blessing on. Amen.”

 

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Last week I began teaching a new group of Asian students – those who were fresh off the plane and fighting jet lag to stay awake in class.

From the first day, I have tried to draw them out to actively participate, think critically, and ask responsive questions. Anyone who has worked with Asian students trying to adjust to American academic expectations knows all of this is quite counter-cultural.

At one point on that first day, a young man in the front row mumbled under his breath, “We have questions. But we don’t know how to ask them.”

How ironic: earlier in the same lesson I’d been trying to explain a new word – appropriate. And this student’s barely-verbalized thoughts so appropriately described the feelings of every person in the room.

This made me think about all the questions at every level that my students carry and may want to ask (from the meaning of an unknown word to things that run far deeper)…and even all the questions that average people around me want to ask – or don’t even know they have. Even my own questions: am I asking the right ones, seeing them clearly, speaking them aloud when necessary?

Ultimately, where will the answers to all these questions come from? Who is trustworthy to answer them? And Who is worthy of trust to lean on even when answers are illusive or beyond grasping?

That last question is, perhaps, the one that trumps all others.

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At the start of the year, I wrote about wanting to show more compassion to others in 2018. It is no coincidence, then, that on this birthday morning, God led me to a key verse for my new birth year.

In Luke 6, Jesus teaches, “Be merciful, just as your Heavenly Father is merciful.”

In honor of the Father who is merciful and who has given me both birth and rebirth plus a million second chances, I now pen this short poem-prayer as His gift on my birthday:

Kindly lead me in the paths of goodness

And show me more of Your ways

So that I may kindly be

Example after example, Day after day,

Though never perfect on my own,

A fingerprint-reflection of Your grace

In a world that needs more truth-filled mercy

Like the night

Needs daybreak.

 

Note: In order to focus on other projects, I am taking a break from blogging for the next several weeks. I plan to return with weekly posts in early August. Happy Summer!

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I stand on the threshold of my thirty-ninth year, but my earliest memory still remains clear in my mind. Daddy scoops me up in his arms and takes a seat in his worn living room chair. He drapes me on my tummy across the soft cotton of his shirt, my little arms and legs relaxing over his then-smaller belly, my cheek and ear pressed just so over his heart. And I fade to sleep while that beat resounds through the deepest parts of me.

My dad is a saint because he is redeemed, but he is not perfect. Yet, through the course of my life, from birth until now, he has stood by me or held me through a hundred sorrows and smiled with me through a thousand joys.

Funny, how both of us are creative introverts. This is a strange combination, because we are always seeking and appreciating good words, and trying our best to aptly describe what we are thinking. And yet, in our quietness, there are things we have never said to each other, other things we rarely talk about, and still other things we can never repeat often enough.

This weekend, I find myself at a point of frustration. I know that the small gifts and card I’ve prepared are a pathetic shadow of how I proud I am to be his daughter and how blessed we are to have each other. And even in writing those words, I know they are not enough to fully express my feelings.

So, I will tell my dad how I feel about him in another language – the language of music.

When I think of all the ways Dad blessed me in my early childhood, this is what my heart says: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2a20VuIecgM

And when I think of how dear his love and support have been to me through all the additional years of my life, this is how deep and sweet my echoing gratitude sounds: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lS7iU8vXWc

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. This weekend and every day: thank you for cherishing me.

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Tracy Tyner-Padilla passed away a couple of days ago; she suffered from a brain aneurysm about a week before and never regained consciousness. She leaves behind a mother, two sisters, and a thirteen-year-old daughter. She also leaves behind many friends and colleagues who are thankful for the opportunity to have known her.

I am one of those colleagues.

Tracy was a bright light in my working life. Among the hundreds of employees who work for our university, she is/was definitely one of my favorite people.

She wasn’t just a “nice” person, she was a self-sacrificing person. She wasn’t just a “good” person, she was a quiet and beautiful example of a Christ-follower. She wasn’t just an able woman, she was incredibly intelligent and articulate, and she was a great mom and example for her sweet daughter. She wasn’t just another name and face in the world, she was a treasure – whose memory is to be cherished now even as she was appreciated while she walked this earth.

Waiting for updates on her condition over the last week, I was reminded of how suddenly death can often come. Suddenly for us who live in time, anyway.

And I pause now to reflect and be grateful.

Grateful for the legacy each of us can leave behind by our words and deeds, grateful for Tracy’s life specifically, and grateful for the reminder of what a precious gift we have been given with every breath we take.

Enjoy the arms of Jesus, dear sister.

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What do I believe I deserve?

In the grand scheme of things, most people seem naturally disposed to assume that “good” people deserve good things and “bad” people deserve bad things – or at least they deserve less than their “good” counterparts.

A Jesus-centered view of the world sees things in a different light. In the light of His holiness, every single person has done things to distance him/herself from God, and therefore, on our own, we can never truly be good again – we are all correctly labeled as bad, marred, or undeserving. And the only thing we have really earned or deserved is punishment for the laws of God and man we have broken. Ironically, it is also in the light of His holiness, and His blood, that we can be made good again in the eyes of God, and filled with the desire to do good. And so, we acutely feel our struggle against the old wrong while we continue to reach for what is better.

Yet, even such redeemed hearts can sometimes struggle to know what to do with the undeserved. Every day – a hundred blessings are poured out on us. Some seem tiny and others are huge. If we have eyes and hearts to see them, it can still be hard to accept them. We sink back to thinking of what it was to depend solely on self, and we steep our minds in worries over our unworthiness.

But the Bible shows in more than one place that blessings and opportunities are poured on each person, no matter whether we would judge them “worthy” or not. For example, Ecclesiastes 9:11 (NIV) says, “I have seen something else under the sun: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.”

In The Voice of Melody, there is a point when Owen is acutely reminded of what a treasure he’s been given in his wife, Peggy. And in his words to her, we see the bottom line of our choice for how we will respond to all the blessings we don’t feel we deserve…

We can either deface God’s gifts to us, refusing them or snatching them from His hand with grumbling in our souls.

Or we can open our hearts to let them be poured in by the Blessing Giver, and echo back goodness with words of humble gratitude.

 

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