Prison Dreams

Every Monday night my husband and I  worship with prisoners. It takes the evening to drive an hour and a half there, spend an hour and a half inside the prison, then drive the hour and a half home. Usually we go alone. It's very difficult to find people willing to go to a prison.

Often I don't want to go either. I quote the Bible to myself: "I was in prison and you visited me. If you do it for the least of these you have done it for Me."

Sometimes, I don't want to be a person who does it for Him. We could go once a month and still be going more often than most people we know, I tell myself.  Come on, Lord, can't I have time off for good behavior? When I am so tired tears flow from a rebellious heart, I get a bad attitude. After a day crammed full of interruptions and the needs of others, I have self-absorbed "stinking thinking".

On those days I simply go because of what's in it for me. Seriously. When I am weak, running completely on empty, down in the dumps and losing my grip, that's when God has to do it all. His words come alive in my head, His love opens wide my heart and I become the feet and hands of Jesus. And that feels more amazing than anything else in my life.

The things you wish you had a camera for: Empty eyes lighting up with jaw dropping, heart stopping awestruck wonder. Hands held high, praising the God who has required complete sacrifice. Bitter meth-aged faces turned youthful and hopeful. Grace like rain falling down on captives making them free.

It's not like the movies of prison you watch from your easy chair. Indescribable amazing joy drips off the walls of heaven into the prison. Prisoners are people God is wooing to Him. When there is nothing left in me, I get to see the everything of what is Him. I want that for me. I want the insight, the strength, the wonder and the joy for me. It's a dream come true. A big dream.

 Being with Jesus in a broken place gets messy. It takes consistency and determination. It takes planning ahead. And I want that for you. No, most people don't want to go to the prison. But you could. You really could.

Roses Through the Window

A soft trail of rain dripping down the window pane this morning causes my bush to look distorted. The view from my window looks like an Impressionist has painted the bush. New growth is accented with a bold stroke of intense red.  Bright bold roses have faded into the background with a touch of pale pink. Though I daily examine this bush to enjoy the changes from bud to flower, I have seldom noticed the new growth until now.

The tiny leaves have been budding, multiplying, bringing nutrients and life every day. An incredible amount of work has gone unnoticed, unappreciated. Clear sunny skies and dark stormy nights have continued to take turns prodding the bush toward new growth, building strength, character and beauty. From the seedling first planted, the rose bush is becoming more beautiful and abundant season after season.

My life is full of roses. They are so charming, so encouraging, so much fun that they easily catch my eye. Peyton painted me a picture. Kerri wrote me a note. Hannah played Fur Elise. Steve gave me a song. Elizabeth fixed my computer. God and others tuck surprises and gifts into the corners of every day. Even during difficult times He is turning everything bad into good. I'm learning to enjoy my gifts, to live a more grateful life, to notice even the small buds and blossoms.

Like leaves on a plant spiritual disciplines are making me strong and creating character and beauty.  Steadfast prayer, memorization of Bible verses, ministering to the needs of others, fasting, loving the Word of God, faithfulness in meeting with other Christians train me to grow more beautiful and abundant season after season. God is doing an incredible amount of work in me whether I notice and appreciate it or not.  He is faithful even when I do not see it.

His delight is in the law of the Lord.  He meditates on it day and night. He will be like a tree, firmly planted by streams of water, which yields fruit and its leaf does not wither; and in whatever he does, he prospers. ~Psalm 1:2, 3  

Sunshine Through the Door

"We never have people over," Sheila said, surprising me because her house is much bigger and fancier than my own. "I'm too tired and busy and it's too expensive anyway. There's never enough babysitting and I get so completely bored listening to people whine and complain about life. Or just drinking and talking about stupid stuff."

Sunbeams stream through the open door. Simple but nutritious gingerbread steams on the counter alongside the fruit bowl. The full teapot is steeping. Coffee is brewing. Letters to be delivered by hand lay waiting on the table.  Flowers picked in the yard by children offer a cheery welcome. Guitars are tuning up, Legos are being dumped, games are being carted upstairs. My heart leaps with joy. It's Sunday night.

Weekly the friends who are my deepest relationships, my first line of defense in times of trouble stream into my house bringing sunshine and delight into my life.We choose to stay accountable to one another, to walk alongside one another as life witnesses, to enjoy one another and hurt with one another. Being tired and busy makes me want them more not less. It's not expensive and babysitting is not necessary. Sometimes we get out the good china and the cloth napkins. Once in awhile someone makes a fancy dessert. Usually we drink out of mason jars or coffee mugs and sprawl around the living room.

I thought about Sheila last night as I snuggled newborn Johnathan, blessed and cuddled a parade of small children stopping by my recliner to memorize his face, to love him...to memorize my face, to love me. For an evening we shut out the fast paced world. Conversation moseyed a trail through deep and spiritual to silly and whimsical to peaceful contentment. Out of nothingness God weekly creates energy, strength, fortitude, joy and abundance in my home, in our hearts.

 Does your church have life groups? If not, you could start one easily. It's light years away from boring.

For the Love of Flying

Strong hands grasp Maisy around the waist. Giggles burst forth as soon as my husband has lifted her as high as his knee. For a baby, that's flying.

Liam leaps from the sofa into my arms, laughing all the way.  For a small boy, that's as close to flying as Mommy allows in the living room.

We push the bicycle back to the beginning and Nathanael pumps the pedals.  He is confident that I will not let go until he is ready.  Frustration has begun to build, but trust makes him try again. I believe he can do it. He is not so sure. My steadying fingers let go and I yell, "You're doing it! You're doing it! Keep pedaling!" Face flushed pink with effort, he is breathing hard as he hugs tight. "It's like flying! Oh, wow. It's so great!" he marvels.

Little Hannah tightens her death grip on me as she cuddles closer on my lap. Soaring upward on our first ever jet, our hearts beat hard. Her head pops up with eyes widened in wonder. Why are the clouds below us?  I smile at her and laugh. We are flying.

Mark takes a deep breath. He is nervous, afraid. On the edge of his courage, determined, he jumps into the sunshine and pops open the parachute.  Laughing with joyful wonder he bursts into prayers of praise.  He is flying.

"Some glad morning when this life is o'er, I'll fly away. Like a bird from prison bars has flown, I'll fly away!"

Yoda Lessons

Do.  Or do not.  There is no try.
Photo by Niall Kennedy
(flickr.com)

I want to write a book. On my walks, in my heart, I am romancing the idea, settling into the dream.  I sense that it is a good dream, a worthwhile dream.  Fears and doubts fade to the background as my vision scopes wider and my "can-do" spirit builds momentum.  I am a beginner with a new dream.

My piano students are preparing for a recital.  The weight of performance weighs heavy on six year old Alex. I tell him what he can expect to see, to hear, to feel. I promise him once again that the only student I cannot teach to play piano is the one who quits. Some parts of achieving a dream are easy. Some are difficult. Difficult does not mean bad, I reassure him, but he is afraid.  He is a beginner with a new dream.

"But I am afraid!" he continues to argue.

I slide him away from his fear and onto my lap. "I know you are afraid. Everyone is afraid sometimes. You are ready to play your songs. You worked hard and now it is a time to be brave. Fear leads to the dark side, young Jedi. It is a time to fight the fear and make your dream come true. You can do this big important thing, Alex."

He pulls in a deep breath and straightens his back. He moves back to the keyboard. "I will be a brave young warrior," he tells me with a confident grin.  "I am a Jedi. The Force will be with me."

Even Yoda was a beginner once upon a time.

Maisy and Me

Mary Cassatt

"Maisy snuggled her newborn cheek against mine. Soft eyelashes fluttered as she was lulled into sleep by  tender voices. Tiny fingers wrapped around my thumb as if that was all she needed to securely ground her soul in peace. She squeezed my thumb tighter, pulsing in time with the rhythmic slurp of fist sucking.  Sure of my love, she slept in complete trust, no worries to mar her contentment."

Months have passed since I wrote that paragraph in my journal. Maisy still snuggles her cheek against mine. Soft eyelashes still flutter as she is lulled into sleep by tender voices. Tiny fingers wrap around my thumb...and then a little head pops up, eyes widen with disappointment and her head shakes off sleep. Strong little legs begin to bounce and eager-to-play-not-snuggle arms push me away to reach for my husband.

Usually I walk by faith not sight. I am lulled into peace by singing and moments of stillness in the presence of my heavenly Father. Complete trust softens my heart, no worries mar my contentment. I rest knowing I am loved. My soul is securely grounded in peace.

Then disappointment comes and I push Father away. I escape into play, avoiding His presence. Do I leave the loving Father to search out a better option? Is my way really the best way?

Like a child who has put off rest for too long, I discover my energy is spent, nothing else satisfies. I grumble, complain, succumb to tears of frustration and crash. Then I hear Him singing over me, quieting me with His love, wooing me back to His presence where He faithfully waits to give me exactly what I need.

But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child I am content. ~Psalm 131:2

Elevator Going UP

The elevator door closed and the man looked at Roy. "How far up are you going?" 

"All the way up," Roy replied, grasping the opportunity for conversation with a stranger. "All the way up and straight into heaven." 

Though Roy shared his evangelism story with me decades ago and today is indeed all the way up and into heaven, his example continues to provide encouragement, prodding me on to love and good works in every elevator I enter.  

"Are you going down?" the man asked me as the elevator door closed. 

I nodded. "On this elevator I am going down to the hospital lobby.  In my life, I'm going up. All the way up and straight into heaven."

"How do you know?" he asked, rubbing a feeble trembling hand over his scruffy beard. His dirty wrinkled clothes and posture spoke volumes of his fatigue, loss and discouragement. He couldn't accept my invitation to breakfast, but we did have a chance for encouragement and a short visit.

This morning I saw that man in my neighborhood and asked him about his life and his struggles with addiction. He remembered me, but more importantly he remembered my assurances that God is real, the Bible is true and Jesus is alive.  

He took a long drink of coffee and chuckled.  "You told me the elevator of life keeps going up as well as down and I can change my direction at any time. You told me I didn't need to ride it all the way until I hit bottom. It was a kindness to an old drunk."

Then he laughed out loud and strong. "And I ain't just an old drunk any more. And I speak up about where I'm headed every time I'm on an elevator. Now, girl. Do YOU have time for breakfast?"

Best slice of toast I ever had.