Nestor and the Skim-boarders

Tropical Storm Nestor popped up out of nowhere, an aberration for this late in hurricane season, and last weekend his appearance threatened my plans to attend a Christian writer’s workshop I’d eagerly anticipated for two months. So, every day I checked the weather forecast for Orange Beach as Nestor drifted towards the Panhandle. And every night I read emails from the workshop coordinator, eager to see whether the event was going to be canceled. Thankfully, the weather cleared and that Saturday morning I only had to battle a little drizzle during the 64-mile trip to the coast. I even made it to the church with 15 minutes to spare.

When I walked in, I was met with excited voices and friendly faces and as I expected, the all-day workshop was an enormous blessing. One of the main ideas that stuck with me was whether as a writer I am a planner or someone who flies by the seat of her pants. The speaker also reiterated the idea that we need to make a commitment to our writing in order to succeed. Once the conference ended and I exchanged hugs and contact info with some new friends, I drove to my favorite beach. As soon as I cut off the car engine and hopped out, I yanked off my good shoes and threw on my flip-flops. Standing there still wearing my dress clothes, I scanned the horizon where the afternoon sunshine played freeze tag with a sky full of fluffy gray clouds. Inhaling the salty air, I smiled and hustled down the weathered boardwalk that dropped me into soft piles of sugar-white sand. Almost as soon as my toes -which were sporting ocean blue nail polish- hit the sand, I could hear the waves roar. As I trudged further toward the shore, the sound grew and I spied huge rolling waves crashing one on top of another. The unusually high surf was the only evidence that overnight Nestor had brushed past the Alabama coast dropping off rain and stirring up the gulf. 

I stared past the breaking waves to a smattering of surfers who were patiently waiting for the chance to ride into shore. Then another group on the beach caught my attention and I walked over to speak to some board-short-wearing fellas. Each loosely held on to a short board that was propped on the sand in front him like a fiberglass shield. When I asked them about surfing, one guy politely explained they were skim-boarding and then told me the difference. I quickly caught on as I watched him and his friends run pall-mall into the surf, throw down their boards and skim the wave as they drifted back into shore. Amazed, I commented to the first guy that I could never be brave enough to do what they did. Without missing a beat his friend glanced at me and said, “You just need a plan. And then you need to make a commitment to it.” I nodded in agreement. That’s good advice for skim-boarding, for writing, and for life.

11 on the 15th

I think subconsciously I’ve been waiting on the clock to roll over to midnight. Then it won’t be August 15 anymore. But then…it won’t be August15 anymore. Today marked the 11^th anniversary of Mom’s passing and as the clock marks the end of this day, it also reminds me that another entire year full of griefs and challenges, joys and accomplishments has slipped past since I last paused to remember her anniversary. 

I think of Mom every day, many times a day, and she still worms her way into conversations with those in my life who knew her and loved her. But August 15 is separate. A dividing line: life with Mom/ life without Mom. I wouldn’t wish for her to come back. Not now that she is safe and healthy and whole. But there are days I’d love to hear her laugh or sing or to hear her tell one of the stories that could make me laugh until tears rolled down my face. And so many times I would welcome a chance to glean a word of wisdom from her, especially when I have some sort of medical crisis and desperately need her advice. I miss Mom's wit, her charm, and all the love she poured out not just on me, but on so many people in our lives. Despite years of poor health and a life filled with monstrously abusive relatives, Mom was so vibrant, such a bright star and it was devastating to watch that light get snuffed out.

So, no matter how many years pass, August 15 will always be the day Death stole my sweet Mom from us. Until one day, there will be no more August or January or June. And once again, I’ll get to hear her sing the hymns she so loved, this time for all eternity. Until then, I’ll keep trying my best to honor her memory by living out the lessons of love and faith and joy that her life taught me.

Dogwood Sanctuary

"The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land." -- Song of Solomon 2:12

In January delicate clusters of bright pink blossoms appeared on my neighborhood’s redbud trees. In February, Japanese magnolias offered their sleek, lavender tulip-shaped blooms. Then March enticed the dogwood, my favorite blooming tree, to share its creamy cross-shaped blossoms with their distinct rust “stains” on their tips and their “crown of thorns” in their centers. The trees’ shallow roots make them easy prey to hurricanes here in my adopted hometown, so few have survived and not too many folks choose to plant them. But in Birmingham, where I grew up, the tree adorned nearly everybody’s yards. 

One dogwood in particular, though, holds a special place in my heart. It grew in our front yard beside a lovely ornamental peach tree that bloomed at the same time as the dogwood each spring, its tiny pale pink flowers a beautiful contrast to the dogwood’s larger white ones. When I was about eight, every afternoon I would expertly shimmy up the lone dogwood. Its angled trunk led to a bough that resembled an open hand with the fingers cupped upward. It made the perfect seat for me and over the years, I spent hours perched there, half-hidden behind my fragrant curtain of white flowers. It was as if God had designed the hiding place just for me and with a glorious blue sky as its backdrop and the pretty peach tree as its neighbor, the dogwood made an ideal sanctuary. 

Often, I would go there to spend time with God, but sometimes I would simply watch the clouds go by with birdsong as my anthem. When I was ten, we moved across town and I was sad to leave behind my favorite tree. I was thrilled to learn there were about a half-dozen dogwoods in the yard at our new house. While none were suitable for climbing, each spring their showy profusion of blossoms reminded me of God’s faithfulness. His goodness, kindness and generosity. And the many hours I had spent enjoying fellowship with Him in my dogwood sanctuary.  

Lord, I Need You

“Without you, I fall apart. 

You’re the One that guides my heart. 

Lord, I need You, Oh, I need You,

Every hour I need You.

My one defense, my righteousness,

Oh, God, how I need You.”

--“Lord, I Need You” by Matt Maher

This morning every time I stopped to look at the clock, I felt sick, so I decided to write instead. Then before I could finish this post, I just got the phone call I needed: my friend’s husband called to say her surgery went well and she was in recovery. Sadly, though, the surgery was a foot amputation. We found out two weeks ago today that she’d have to have this surgery. We just didn’t know when. Until yesterday afternoon when the doctor told her it would be this morning. Somehow that just didn’t seem long enough to come to terms with something this monumental.

As I tried to support my friend over the last two weeks, I spent more time in deep prayer and scripture meditation than I had in a while. Pain and suffering will take you there. The needs of someone you love deeply will drive you to your knees, seeking God’s grace and mercy. I didn’t want her to have to endure one more surgery, one more loss, so I begged God for a miracle. But He didn’t provide one in the way I intended. 

I wanted Him to save her foot and leg. Instead, He filled her so full of His spirit and strength, I could hear it and feel it, even from 200 miles away, when we talked on the phone. Despite some moments of fear and grief, my friend had such a positive outlook. There was no hint of bitterness or self-pity. Instead, she simply exuded the peace of God, the peace that passes all understanding. Walking through this ordeal with my sweet friend, I’ve been reminded that not only do I need the Lord every day, but I need Him every hour of every day. And when challenges threaten to overwhelm me, like Matt Maher, I can say that “when I cannot stand, I’ll fall on You, Jesus You’re my hope and stay.”

A Season of Joy

“Joy to the World, the Lord is come!

Let earth receive her King!

Let every heart prepare Him room

And heaven and nature sing,

And heaven and nature sing.”

--“Joy to the World,” Isaac Watts

I remember the year Santa brought me a Scottish Cabbage Patch Kid doll. And the year I got my very own roller skates. And the year Mom and Dad gave me a French racing bike they had spent months refurbishing. Of course, I no longer own any of those items, but I remember how happy I was the Christmas mornings I found them by the tree. But like all material possessions, even my favorite things could only bring me temporary contentment and pleasure. Mom taught me and my sister that lesson many years ago when she made the distinction between happiness and joy. She told us happiness is temporary and based on our feelings, but joy is eternal and springs from God’s spirit and His promises.

Every Christmas I feel that deep joy when I read Luke’s account of the angel messengers who jubilantly declared the news of Jesus’ birth 2,000 years ago.

“Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. And behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. Then the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.’ ” (Luke 2: 8-11, emphasis mine).

For thousands of years Israel had waited for God to send a deliverer to their nation. But instead, due to His expansive and inclusive vision, God sent a Savior for not only Israel, but the entire world. There can be no greater “good tidings” at Christmas  than the message that God loves each of us so much He became Emmanuel, “God with us,” and entered our world so that ultimately through His sacrifice, we can enter His.

A Season of Wonder

A year ago we had an unexpected snow shower. All day I had waited, watching the sky and the weather reports, hoping we’d get an early Christmas gift. And that night when the big fat flakes kept falling and falling, I ran around outside like a child. I grinned and giggled for hours. But my delight in nature doesn’t stop with remarkable winter weather events. In fact, sunsets and rainbows still captivate me. Butterflies, birds, and flowers all charm me. I’m also a real sucker for Christmas lights, and the more, the better. To a casual observer, it may seem as though I’ve never grown up. Maybe I haven’t. For to me, an integral part of faith is responding to God’s creation, His majesty, and ultimately His sacrificial love, with the awe and wonder of a child. 

The 18^th chapter of Matthew’s gospel records an incident that reveals how Jesus feels about adults having childlike qualities. “At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.’” (verses 1-5) Jesus said those who wish to live with Him must retain the purity of heart, openness of mind, and simplicity of faith epitomized by children. Perhaps that’s why so many Christmas songs—“Away in a Manger,” “What Child Is This?”, “Silent Night”—all focus on the baby Jesus who, though in all ways God, chose to come to us and show us how to live and how to love. With childlike faith.

A Season of Light

“We are waiting on the promise

For the One who lights the darkness

Bending low to be among us

Bring Your glory in the highest, Jesus”

-“Hope for Everyone” Matt Maher

At the time, traveling over 1,100 feet straight down under a mountain seemed like a good idea. Then I realized the only way out was the one ancient elevator that had just deposited me into a dark maze. As I glanced around the dim, stifling cavern, I felt a little panic bubble up into my chest. Since I’d already paid for this torture, though, I continued to follow my friend, our tour group, and the guide who had the only flashlight among us. As we wound through the caverns, our end goal was Ruby Falls, a beautiful 145-foot underground waterfall. To heighten the drama though before we actually rounded a corner to view the magnificent falls, the guides turned out all the lights. I’m not sure I have ever felt such oppressive darkness. It seemed as if I could feel the weight of every ounce of the tons of earth above me pressing down on my body. And the few seconds before they turned on the multicolored spotlights felt like an eternity. I might have oohed and aahed at the big reveal. I can’t remember. What I can remember is wanting to kiss the ground when I finally made it to the surface and back out into the sunlight.

Scripture talks about people who walk in darkness that is far more oppressive than what you can find in an underground cavern. It is a spiritual darkness that separates people from God and one another. But the prophet Isaiah proclaimed there would be a cure, that “[t]he people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.” (9:2) This Light dawned 2,000 years ago when Jesus was born in a stable in Bethlehem, an event marked by angel choirs and a mysterious star. In his gospel Matthew tells us, “After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.” (2:1-2) Some scholars believe the star that led the magi to Jesus was actually the Shekinah Glory, a manifestation of God’s presence like the one He used to guide Israel in the wilderness. Regardless of the true nature of the Christmas star, God used the unique celestial sign to underscore the fact that Jesus is indeed the “Light of the world.”  (John 8:12)