Bringing Faith to Life
Archive for July, 2013
My dot-to-dot life
211 years
I jump from moment to moment, flying, arching through death-defying leaps. Often landing just short of my target and kicking furiously to hoist myself onto it. Onto the lily pad, floating in welcome.
Is life just a series of these landing pads? Mere dots? Seen from God’s vantage point, the distance between them diminishes. Closer and closer together they come until they are indistinguishable from a line.
A life line. Starting and ending by the Hand holding the pen. Shaping the letters of my name.
I see you
0I feel like a Mother Confessor. From my vantage point overlooking the trail of people sauntering up the hill to the the stop sign where Castlevine Court meets Richland Lane. They wave and, without prodding, offer their confession:
“This is my cool down; I ran four miles,” says the Mom who competed in the Tough Mudder this year.
“Hope you’re not watching how slow I make it up the hill,” says the husband who still toils at the work that inclines much travel even after he suffered through cancer treatment.
“Brought plenty of joggers with me this morning,” says the early morning solo runner. This weekend he has a houseful of guests in town for a family wedding.
Funny how the stories of these neighbors come clear in their greeting.
‘Am I enough?’ says the first.
‘I’m not what I used to be,’ says the next.
‘Oh, where is my serenity?’ says the last.
They greet me as a neighbor and a fellow runner. I, too, am no longer fast, no longer young, and still inclined toward solo running. From my vantage point as friend and fellow fitness compatriot, I see more and hear more than I am meant to, perhaps. There is a sharing beyond sharing. And a fellowship, unspoken.
Does God see me like I see them? Is He poised at the intersection of steep climb and level ground? Will I indict myself when I see Him looking on? Will I suppose that He is not satisfied with my distance or my pace or my selfishness?
Or will I remember this day when I saw my neighbors and was delighted just to have them wave and greet me? Amazing how we indict ourselves.
Righting practices: Channeling my inner weeble
211 years
Do you remember Weebles? They wobble but they don’t fall down. I loved those. Somehow, no matter how hard you shoved them in any direction, they managed to spring back into upright. I wanna be a bit more weeble.
Folks will tell you they’re stable. They are staunch supporters of this or firm believers in that. They are grounded. Founded. Staying put. Not going anywhere. Often, from their place of firmness they wave their arms to orchestrate or advise. And if they see you running to and fro they’ll tell you to relax. Just be still. Like they are.
I wonder. Are they stable? Or are they stuck?
The test of stability is whether, when something collides with you like a runner coming down the 3rd base line while you block home plate, you stand your ground or get thrown out of the way. The most stable have a bit of give to them. They absorb the shock of the incoming force, cushion it, and then spring back. Like weebles. 
When I seem to be standing still, how do you know if I’m stable or I’m stuck? Easy. You apply some force. Give a shove. See how I respond. If I tense and defend or deflect, I’m stuck. If I wobble and right myself, I’m balanced.
By the power of give and take, I find my center. Again. Perhaps God rounded our bottoms so we could discover our inner weebles. And the confidence to listen and respond to all that differs from us and then to right ourselves. Centered, grounded and maybe even a bit more rounded.
Of course, I am a contemporary weeble; I have hands and feet. I can use them to move in any direction I choose. To reach as far as my center will allow, as long as I am willing to absorb the recoil.
Smell those petunias!
012 years
So, inspired by the beauty of Lake Junaluska, I determined to sample some beauty each day. To intentionally go out of my way to beautify a bit. But, creature of habit that I am, I didn’t dash off to the nearby nature trail, I ran the same route today that I have been running for years.
Took my camera along, just in case some beauty happened by. I got all the way home, and there were the petunias, lovingly planted by my husband in a pot atop our mailbox. Aha! Beauty. I’ll take a picture.
I bent close and then closer. Close didn’t make them any more lovely. So I stuck my nose in the middle of one and inhaled its perfume. And then I saw the small caterpillar, inching his way up the pot. Perfectly inclined to make the journey.
Now (s)he was beautiful!
Sometimes you see it. Sometimes you have to smell it first.
God looks for us where He’ll find us
0Lots of people tell me God is pursuing me. He’s after me. He wants me. He’ll find me. This presumes that I am running away.
I am not running away. I am doing what comes naturally. I hang out in places that I like to be. Places that welcome me, feed me, comfort me. God knows where I hang out; that’s where He’ll come looking.
If I like the good conversation and strong coffee at Starbucks, He’ll find me there.If I like to write in my journal about the thoughts before the day, he’ll find me there.If I like to walk my dog after dinner, He’ll find me there.
If I like to coach the same team season after season, he’ll find me there.
I think we get it wrong when we think we have to go looking for God.
Isn’t it funny that when I connect with old friends – folks who knew me from my younger days – they aren’t surprised where I have ended up? In fact, they would have predicted that teaching and coaching and athletics done with a bit of science thrown in is just where I would land. Kind of like a well-written mystery novel. When it wraps up, you say, of course that’s how it all turned out. All the clues were right there!
Oh, sometimes we get it out of order. The skill comes before the practice. The teaching comes before the teacher. The message comes before the understanding. But this is hopping. Hopping over and back. Beyond and then before. But when we land in just the right place at just the right time, we gasp and say, “Of course, that’s how it was supposed to come out. It’s the only logical conclusion.”
That’s what happens when someone holds the rope of your life from its end and gives it a tug. It straightens.
God is the only one who can see us from around the curves. He knows where to look. Wherever He’ll find us.
Run the lake but walk the bridges
1I’ve just returned from time away at a place that is full of beauty. I’ve been there before, but it was not full of last year’s beauty. It was newly lovely. In fact, daily lovely. Each day, it was filled with a new beautiful. A new personality.
It felt effortless to run around this lake. Perhaps because I took my camera, ready to stop for a photo. Beauty does that. It stops you. Gets your attention. Insists you tarry for a while. I even let that guy with the knee brace on one knee pass me (several times). He was going places. I was meandering.
And so it was. I ambled along the path, jogging, stopping, walking, looking. I even threw in a bit of note-taking in my phone’s notebook app. Because beauty does that. It inspires ideas and notions. It puts them together in a way that is new and lovely and clear. And worth sharing. Perhaps blogging.
One notion said, “Run the lake, but walk the bridges.”
So I ran. And as I approached the bridge over the dam, two walkers noticed my approach and moved to the right to let me pass.
“I don’t usually think of myself as a fast lane kind of person,” I called on the way by.
“Today is your day! Revel in the glory!”
And for a moment it was okay to do just that. Perhaps even for a whole day. Tomorrow will be new. And newly beautiful.
Funny how people tell you to “just be still.” My mind is never more stilled on God than when I am moving. Perhaps God runs along or within. Revs up the Him in me.
Traditional stillness is way too distracting for me.
Motion activated
012 years
How can you prepare to be surprised by God?
My way, truthfully, is to pack every possible option. To bring every book I might need, every piece of equipment I might demonstrate, and more. I prepare and work out the details, sketching and outlining and scratching in more notes in the margin. I prepare out of my fear of failing those who have come expectantly for help, or healing, or direction.
No one can prepare to offer those. There is only One I know who offers those. But still, I prepare. And then I come to Junaluska and I’m bowled over by the change in plan. God says, “Wendy, thank you for your preparations. Now let me just add these few things.” Which change the whole game.
God knows I am not the kind to come empty-handed. He expects me to prepare my heart and my mind. But then to pray, “Lord, help me love these as you love them.” And in rushes surprise. You can’t help but smile at the joy that comes with it.
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,
I have been surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. People on a journey of faith, come to dive deeper. What do I have to offer them?
…fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
I am not naturally caring and serving by nature. I know this. I wake before 5am, according to the illuminated digital display across the room. All else is dark, the fog out my window so dense that nothing but the cross glowing high on the hillside appears through the sliver in my drapes.
Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. ~ Hebrews 12:1-3
“Just keep looking to the center,” it seems to say. “To your center. I am in the midst of this.”
Our core must be strong. That’s what I teach and show my athletes. And around that strength your joints may move, smoothly, through their full range of motion. The motion they were designed for. I show this to my friends who have come for the workshop:
“Hold yourself, just so. And pull, just so. But keep your core strong, as you strengthen your triceps,” I say. And I am grateful they have “stretchy bands” and are trying it for themselves. My words are completely inept. But they try it. They move it. Then one observes, “Ah, you’ve said something very important: your core must be strong so you can move.” That’s a very familiar message.
A cloud of witnesses. They start with faith and land in fitness. I start with fitness and land in faith. We have taken many roads to get here but have landed in the same place. What a surprise.
Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. Make level paths for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed. ~ Hebrews 12: 12-13
I think God may have been trying to get my attention in the ladies restroom before the session. When I stood with dripping hands in search of a paper towel. The dispenser had printed directions: “motion activated.”
Surprising the places God will speak a word to you.
A Working Retreat?
0Oxymorons…you gotta love them. Verbally puzzling expressions that stop and make you think, because they just don’t go together.
- Great Depression
- Jumbo shrimp
- Act naturally
- Deafening silence
- Definite maybe
- Virtual reality
- Random order
Today, I am headed 8 hours south into the mountains of North Carolina to a retreat center at Lake Junaluska. There may be more beautiful and restful places than this, but I don’t know them.
Alas, as I prepare to depart many things clamber for my attention: things from home, things from work, things with a deadline. As I load up the car I ponder the oxymoron I am currently embarking upon: a working retreat.
I heft the last bag of provisions for the week onto the floor of the back seat. In it are my bottle of wine, two cups, and the old bread I have been saving to feed the ducks who are sure to greet us upon our arrival.
“Bread and wine?” my daughter says smugly from the passenger seat.
All I need.
A give-away a day
1What’s left? After you’re gone, after you leave, after you go home…everything you gave away during the time you were there. If you stunk, the stench stays behind. But if you were gracious, it’s the fragrance that remains.
We gathered to remember our friend Callista who died much too young and shared stories and lore of days gone by. Memories are some of what remains. Feelings are some of what remains. But those things fade. Hate to admit that, but I know it’s true.
When I returned from the funeral I looked at the tea towel I had magnet-clipped to my refrigerator. On it is a recipe for citrus fruit tarts. Callista gave me this. But not just me. She had decorated dozens of tea towels with different recipes so we could choose a party favor to take home from the ladies tea she hosted last summer.
I chose this one. Made the recipe this winter and invited neighbors to enjoy the fruits of my labor on the day of the “big snow that wasn’t.” It’s really a summer recipe, but I had just gotten news of Callista’s significant illness. She hadn’t been able to host her usual New Year’s brunch this year, and now I knew why. So this was a tribute of sorts. A thanks, really. And it inspired me to invite friends over, just like she was so good at doing.
Now, I look at it on my refrigerator. Callista is gone. And what is left? Besides memories and feelings there is this. What she gave away.
I expect that heap, the one made of things given away, is what we stand on when we stand before the Lord on entering eternity. And somehow, in a way only God knows, that podium hovers on the unseen gifts. The blessings beyond what we’ve given. The reverberations of love we can’t see but He can.