The Gentle Nudging for a Thanksgiving Blessing and a Dance

I hadn't been in over a year. Goodness, that's hard to believe. 

My dad goes up there sometimes, and he always assures me that I'm welcome. But I've been so busy--same ol' song and dance, you know. And well, it's just not the same since my grandmother passed away. 

When my grandmother was living, I'd go visit her as often as possible. And well, with my uncle living down the road, he was a package deal. My dad might come up sometimes, and I'd see him, too. 

When my grandmother was ill, we three spent much time together, on her behalf. And well, I just got to missing those two something awful. I'd heard my uncle had been sick with pneumonia recently. 

My uncle on the left, who spent all morning cooking for us,
and my dad on the right who'd spend all morning doing 

Elvis impersonations if a knee weren't bothering him. 
He's good, too. 

I've learned to listen to that gentle nudging. I always know the Lord is speaking to my heart.

My dad tells me a date that's good for him. We'll all go out to eat, we plan. Make a day of it. My heart's already leaping.

The day arrives, and we leave fairly early ... the girls and I venture out to go the distance--2-1/2 hours there. 

I call my dad when I'm an hour away, and he sounds like a little kid. He's so excited to see us. "I can't wait for y'all to get here," he says.

I miss her road. Her Texas county road. I chastise myself for letting a year go by. How could I miss her road? I pull off and turn around, heading the right direction now.

My grandmother's house is near this little city of Antioch, Texas. Antioch ... the first recorded place in the Bible that I've been taught where the word "Christian" was used ... it meant "Little Christs" ... it was often used in a derogatory way. Am I living my life in a way that others would call me "Christian"?

And there's her driveway. The long windy, sandy driveway trimmed with pines. Yeah. I played on that road a ton when I was a kid. My toes burrowed through that sand.

My heart pumps with ingrained excitement, as I turn onto her drive. In my younger days, that's when I'd bring out the hairbrush and dab on a little make-up--prepare to see my family. Like I'd looked that way all along. Just my casual self. 

Before I even get to the house, my dad is outside waiting, pacing. Just like my grandmother used to do. He's holding a camera. The minute we step out, he says, "I want to get a picture of y'all." I've never danced with my dad, but this moment was right up there. O Soul Within, he loves you.

We hug. He says my uncle is making dinner for us. 

"But he's been so sick," I say.

"He really wanted to cook for you," my dad says. O Soul Within, he loves you, too.

Noon finally arrives, and we head over to his Texas country house. I climb the steps and knock.

"Come in."

He's cooking. Doing the shuffle throughout his kitchen, he's made a Thanksgiving feast--a whole turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, some casserole, rolls, cherry pie. Like my grandmother used to do. Evidence covers the front of his shirt--flour, splotches of grease. He looks exhausted. He's sweaty. Clearly, his strength hasn't returned and may never. Other health issues. 

I start sweating too because his blood is thinner now, and he keeps his house warm. And I'm having power-surges (ABS!). And I'm imagining cracking open a window for fresh air. 

My mouth gapes open, with a smile. He's twirled my heart right in. I know my eyes are glowing with a slight hint of confusion. "What have you done?" I ask. "You've been sick."

"I wanted to do this for my baby."

My uncle put me first, grateful that I'd come the distance. For him. For my dad. Regardless of how he felt.

***

O Soul Within, it's not easy to honor the One who went the distance for us when you are sick, hurting, struggling ... 

To put Him first ... to treat Him like the love of your life ...

It's tempting to settle for Kentucky Fried Chicken, the quick and easy.

But you'll always be blessed for the effort. Allow the evidence to cover you and others. Don't let too much time go by. Don't miss the road. Take His hand and do the dance ... waltz the floor ...

one, two, three, one two, three ...

Because He loves you.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

When you're tired and struggling, is it tempting to push the very One Who can strengthen you to the back burner? How do you ensure God comes first?

Uh-oh! My Red Lipstick Got on Your Red Cup

It's raining, flooding actually. I've been known to hydroplane even in my tennis shoes with all the rain we've received. And I thought one could only hydroplane in a car. What did I know?

And I just dropped my oldest off at her volunteer job. I've got one other young lady who just hopped up front with me. And it's turned cold. We push those seat-warmer buttons.

"Do you want to get a latte?" I ask, smiling.

Her smile greets mine. "Yeah."

"Do you want to try the peppermint mocha?" 

"Yeah." She'll try anything. Any flavor, any color. She's brave. I'm not. I stick to the same ol', same ol'.

"One white chocolate mocha and one peppermint mocha, please."

Just what we needed to warm our insides.

"Can I try your peppermint?" I ask.

"Sure." She's so giving. I'm surprised she didn't ask me first.

"Oh, that's a bit too minty for me." I can't believe I hear myself say that. I love mint. My young lady wipes my red lipstick off her cup. Now, I know quite possibly why she didn't ask.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to get my lipstick on your cup."

O Soul Within, I know you didn't mean to infringe. Sometimes people don't want your blood spilled on them. 

Back up. Hands off. Let them clean it off. Don't touch their cup again. Unless you are invited.

It's probably tempting to think it's because they're so white and clean. And clearly, you're not. Never have been, never will be. Or maybe, quite possibly, there has been miscommunication, and they think you're so white and clean, or claim to be.

Oh, don't take offense, O Soul Within. 

Sometimes people don't want to jump on your bandwagon. Because they have their own bandwagon. Maybe they're comfortable with theirs. And maybe they're not quite ready to shift. And sometimes folks ride stealth bandwagons--invisible to you and sometimes themselves.

And sometimes blood carries germs and diseases, and people have enough of their own germs and diseases ... and they don't need yours. Stop trying to share.

And well, sometimes people just need to warm up to you.

And don't lose hope. Because O Soul Within, there are people who have your blood type. With your very same germs. They are just like you, and they don't mind your blood spilled on them. Not one bit. Or maybe they like studying your type--the work in progress that you are. And they'll open their very hearts to fit yours in. Come alongside you. They'll join your bandwagon or motion for you to jump on theirs. What a hayride!

And don't lose focus. O Soul Within, let it be a lesson to you. Don't worry about spilled blood. Don't worry about germs. Ditch the Germ-X. Let them pour down over you. 

Be brave. 

Don't stick to the same ol', same ol'. Ride out of your comfort zone. Hydroplane into others' lives. Because you were made for community, for fellowship, to share one another's burdens. Why, if you worried about that, you'd have missed out on the Lamb of God, the ultimate offering ... 

the One who took the cup upon Himself, who spilled His blood, letting it trickle down on you ...

so that you could be new ...

so that you could be clean.

***

Have you ever expected others to understand your situation and felt disappointed when they didn't? Or have you ever been afraid of someone different from you? Maybe someone suffering differently than you? Maybe you didn't know how to help or quite what to say, so you turned the other way? How can we love others when we struggle with fear? Any advice?

When You Don't Know How to Walk in Someone Else's Shoes

It's a beautiful day, and we are in comfort mode. I'm all slumped down in the comfy chair, relaxed and calm, delving into a really good book. When out of the blue, my toes take on a mind of their own and begin to curl inward, sending me running around the house like a crazy woman. Have you ever seen someone talk to their toes? Begging and pleading?

Dr. Pepper goes down, popcorn suspends in mid-air, TV pauses, and everyone looks at me like I'm a crazy woman. Eyebrows raise. "What are you doing, Mom?"

I want to say, "Don't you know by now?"

I laugh and want to cry all at the same time. 

It's hard for anyone else to understand. Unless you've experienced it.

"My toes are cramping again." I can't stop walking, running, dancing around until they relax. It's the silly sandals I've been wearing. That's my assumption. They're just as darling as can be, but they are too wide for my feet. And I have to scrunch my toes with each step to keep them on, or else I'll walk right out of them in public. And I've been known to do that. I smile, when others see my mishap, misstep. 

I shouldn't wear them, and I have been wearing tennis shoes more often, but the sandals ... well, they are really cute. 

Everyone thinks so.

We get in the car, my girl and me, heading to the store. We're on this old windy county road with bumps and bruises. A trailer hauling horses or cows leads the way, oh some quarter mile ahead. My daughter says, "What on earth are they doing? They are driving drunk." Swerving in and out. Looked a bit dangerous for that trailer.

I say, "Well,"—and I milk this out a bit, southern style—"they might just be avoiding ..."—we swerve to the left—"that big hole"—we swerve to the right—"and this big hole." Yeah. Our road is full of holes. If you don't avoid them as best you can, your tire alignment will never be the same and neither will your insides. 

We laugh. My girl says, "I spoke too soon. I shouldn't have judged them. I had no idea."

I say, "Yeah, it's hard to understand until you walk in someone else's shoes."

We sit there silent for a few moments, soaking in that truth.

And I remember just a few weeks ago when I stood before this beautiful group of women. I was there to share my heart. And I know some of their stories, and some of their stories, I don't know. But there are stories. That I know. We all have them. 

Because we live in a world full of bumps, bruises, holes .... One minute we're slumped cozy on the couch, and the next, we are in crisis mode. Swerving to the left. Swerving to the right. 

Deer on the left. Deer on the right.

And I ask the Lord, "How? How do I stand before these beautiful women and even attempt to open my mouth? You know me."

You see, I've not walked in their shoes. Who am I? What can I do? What can I say? I don't even want to walk in my own shoes. Because sometimes these shoes are painful. They hurt, they cramp, and sometimes I want to walk right out of them.

How on earth can I walk in someone else's shoes until I fling my own painful shoes off my feet?

I hear my Lord softly say ...

O Soul Within, you just share your heart. It's a beautiful thing called a testimony. It's yours, unique, and distinct, like you. You allow those knees to softly cap the ground, glide your hands forward, letting that dirty-blond-hair-turning-gray, that I made, touch the ground, right alongside your face. 

When your heart is cramping right alongside everyone else's ... when you can't stand on your own two feet ... you slide prostrate until your heart hits the ground, level with your face, and you lift your eyes, with those tears that continually pool, to see my feet ... the feet of Jesus.

The feet that were punctured, scarred, cramped, and bruised.

And then something beautiful happens, O Soul Within, you pour out your heart, only to find that others are filling yours. 

At the foot of the cross.

Have you ever had a hard time walking in someone else's shoes? Did God show you how to walk forward?

And I want to thank the sweet Cornerstone ladies for loving on me, setting up all my equipment and all theirs, lugging in my boxes and bags before I could even blink, and for sharing their champion stories with me on this bumpy road called life. I'll love you forever.

The Heart of the Sanctuary

Maybe you have chairs. We have pews. In the sanctuary.

Maybe your rows are wide allowing easy access, to enter or leave.

Our rows are narrow. Once you get inside, you might as well get comfortable.

O Soul Within, where do you sit? I see you, you know. You sit in the far back like a good back-row Baptist. And you grasp the pew's edge like your life depends on it. Beads of perspiration overtake you when you have to release your good grip. I see you. And your heart feels a little put-out when you have to bend your legs for others to move past you, to the inside. I know, you had gotten comfortable, seat warmed, you didn't want your pants to twist. I know it. I see you. 

O Soul Within, are you in the way?

And as I became self-aware, from my outside seat on the back row, in the balcony, I saw all the edges filled and the middle left sparsely occupied.

The heart of the sanctuary seemed empty.

My thoughts hovered over it for a time.

It's easier to sit on the outside, isn't it, O Soul Within? It calls us to bend a bit, for others to pass through, and sometimes our toes get stepped on. But we can come and go as we please. With ease. We can slip out to the bathroom. We can bolt. We don't get trapped.

If some can't sit on the outside, they'll get up and go. And that could possibly require you to bend again. O Soul Within, you feel conviction, don't you?

Moving into the heart of the sanctuary is a bit inconvenient. We have to step over people, be cautious not to step on toes. We accept the risk of getting trapped there.

Why are we afraid to move in? To move close? Are we afraid to come alongside other Believers? Are we afraid for others to know us too well? Really know us. Are we afraid for others to know when we're absent? Or present? Are we afraid of what it might demand of us?

How close are you willing to get, O Soul Within?

Are we outsiders or insiders?

O Soul Within, Sunday morning is often a reflection of you—who you are. Yeah, your very soul. It stings, doesn't it? Just let it sting.

Because if you'd just move in—sit in the seat prepared for you, live the life God called you to—you wouldn't be called to bend, or move, or feel the press of your toes, and there'd be room for others to conveniently move in, too. 

When you move, your children move.

The heart of the sanctuary would be overflowing. Because where two or more or gathered, the Lord is doubly attractive. And visitors or late-arrivals would always have a place, enough space.

Yeah, it's sweet to see that those on the pew rose to the occasion. And it's doubly sweeter to see the rows become endless, without edges, the growth so exponential that no one can fall off and hit the ground. Can you just see it? 

And the view will always be perfect. Because the view is Jesus.

The inside more crowded than the outside—what a concept.

O Soul Within, peel away from the edge. Don't be afraid to move into the heart of the sanctuary, to come alongside fellow Believers, because that's where you'll meet God. On the inside. In the heart. The inner circle. 

Have you ever felt God calling you to more? Relinquishing your very self? Have you had to push past fear, like me?