Bringing Faith to Life
Archive for January, 2014
Created lopsided
211 years
Have you ever noticed that the “come to me” motion (internal rotation at the elbow) is easier than the “you go ahead” motion (external rotation at the elbow)?
I did this morning as I was using my rubber tubing to strengthen the muscles of my rotator cuff. (around the shoulder) Turn sideways, hold the handles to the tubing anchored in the door, lock your elbow at your side and press the back of the hand away from your body like you’re opening a door or a drawer. Why, when my body seems so symmetrically designed, so parallel and balanced, are rotational motions so lop-sided?
Perhaps because the gathering to ourselves happens and will happen over and over again. The gimme. The I’ve got this. The No, I know the way, follow me. We strengthen that over time by using it again and again. But the “Please, you go ahead” need happen only once. Once we give way to follow, we open a door that turns us away from the gimme’s. It’s a simple act of respect.
It would be polite, I guess, to hold the door open for others coming behind. But I’m not sure we’re meant to. Perhaps, if people behind us know us well and respect us enough they’ll be curious about the door we just disappeared behind. Maybe, if they’re close enough, they’ll catch a quick glimpse as we pass through and hurry to investigate.
Perhaps if I close the door carefully and quietly behind me, don’t let it slam, leave it slightly ajar…
But no, close it does. Now I’m hoping my continually strong internal rotators aren’t evidence that I keep trying to pry that door back open to go back to the gimme’s and the follow me’s.
Perhaps if I turn the other way and work on external rotation from both sides, I’ll be balanced.
Aha! God wants me to be ambidextrous!
Looking at life through reading glasses
1Opened the front door to let the dog in and I took a deep breath of the fresh air. Ahhh. Just look at… Ugh. I forgot I had my reading glasses on. The distance is a muddle of light and color. One thing indistinguishable from another.
But up close, now that I can see clear as a bell. Guess that means I am supposed to attend to that which is right before me. Right here. Right now.
Leave the distance to someone with perfect vision. Way better than 20/20.
January 26, 2014 is all I see clearly.
The OMG Moment of Epiphany
2Have you ever had one of those moments? When you got THE news you had been waiting for? THE opportunity you had worked long and hard toward? THE break of a lifetime?
I have recently, and it caught me totally by surprise. It’s the oddest thing. You believed in the promise, but now that you’re holding the confirmation, it doesn’t quite seem real. You look again, just for confirmation. Yep, it’s real.
What do you do? Well, you smile and your heart races and you have the sudden urge to tell your friends. If no one is around, you post it on Facebook. Lotsa friends there. People are happy for you. They congratulate you.
But after the moment of initial elation, things start to settle. You hold the thing just a little bit closer, feel its warmth, it’s life. It looks up at you as if to say, “I’m yours. Now what?”
This moment is especially vivid for me having just been mesmerized by the cover art on this month’s (the January-February 2014 edition) of the Upper Room Magazine. It literally stopped me in my tracks. A bearded man clutching a small, swaddled child to his breast. The two are awash in a map of the world. Beaming from the child’s blanket is a point of light.
The look on the man’s face, is it joy or is it pain? The artist himself calls it “ecstasy.” This is Simeon, the priest in the temple when Mary and Joseph brought their baby boy to “do what was customary under the law.”
What must that moment have looked like? What does it feel like to hold the Son of God in your arms? The second chapter of Luke tells us…
Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying:
“Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
Luke 2:29-32
you may now dismiss your servant in peace.
For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all nations:
a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and the glory of your people Israel.”
Complete and utter joy. Simeon had waited his whole life for this moment. But, the look on his face, is it joy or pain? Because these moments are just that, moments. You can only stand and revel in your Facebook congratulations so long, then you have to do something.
Simeon told the child’s parents what he knew of what was ahead for this child. That was both good news and bad. And that’s the way with moving ahead into whatever comes. It’s not all good. But you can’t stay in the glory. You’ve got to get to work. This gift is not for holding or hoarding, it’s for using and sharing.
So, you take a step. Perhaps a tiny step. Or maybe in your enthusiasm you take a giant leap, waving your new book contract above your head screaming, “Lookie here! I’m gonna be published!”
Some people dance and sing for you, saying, “Now you made it! Congratulations, I knew you could do it!” They figure that all that’s left is the coasting. Sit back and let the royalties roll on in. Not so fast.
Other people, those more in the know, look you straight in the eye and say, “Now that the miracle has been delivered, what will you do with it?”
Holding a miracle flings open every door in the house. The wind howls in the hallway. The curtains start flapping. Everything that’s not nailed down takes flight. God’s that big. You are that fortunate. The weight of that moment is huge. Good thing, because otherwise you would be swept up in the whirlwind, too.
Instead, you hold it close, feel it nestle against you, it’s heart beating strong and true. It looks up at you in total trust. The eyes look back at you, big and brown and soft and somehow intense. You look down, trying to reassure it, reassure him, even as all around you the ideas and the opportunities spin. Dizzying, if it weren’t for your focus. Hold on!
What do you do when you’ve been given the one thing you’ve always wanted – a crowning achievement, glory itself?
Embrace it. Nurture it. Go for it.
“Use what you have in your hands. It’s mine. It’s me. It’s ours.”
What is a Kinesthetic Christian, please?
3How do you describe who you are?
What you do…okay. Where you came from, where you live, what you produce, who’s in your family…all okay. But who you are gets to the root of things. It forces you to assess the why and the how and to reflect on what makes you tick and what gives you energy. Most of all, it makes you boil down your meaning and connection with the world.
I am a kinesthetic Christian. I can define the words:
- Kinesthetics learn best by moving and touching and applying their senses.
- Christians follow Christ.
But put the two together and they don’t make sense to people. How can you touch Christ? How can moving help you experience God?
What they don’t understand is, I don’t move in order to connect with God. When I move God connects with me.
I am not one of those people who raises my arms and sways back and forth and jumps and dances in worship. Perhaps I would be if I was raised in a different tradition or a different culture, but I wasn’t. I admire those people, but they are not me. Honestly, I’m physically inhibited in worship, definitely not prone to demonstration. I don’t even clap along with the songs all that often. It feels forced and stilted. That’s not worship.
I am not ADD, as the common term has it. I don’t fidget or need to move around in order to keep from losing focus. In fact, I am satisfied to stay put, take notes, sing along, and let my mind wander. I don’t need to move to worship or praise.
Instead, it’s in my moving through my day, and especially in the things I do physically, that God gets my attention. It’s sort of an on-going conversation.
I lift the weight. God says, “Hey Wendy, this is just like…”
I climb the stairs. God says, “Hey Wendy, feel that…”
I scrub the floor. God says, “Hey Wendy, did you know…”
I walk the dog. God says, “Hey Wendy, remember when…”
I walk lazily on the treadmill reading a book I need to finish and God says, “Hey Wendy, I’m trying to get your attention here!” And then I accidentally pull the stop key and my whole workout record is dissolved in a moment. “Ugh,” I say, putting the book down on the table next to the treadmill. First lap. 0 miles. 0 seconds. Go. Suddenly, my brain is flooded with solutions to every project that is on every burner. I put the thing on pause, run to get my notebook, jump back on and hit START.
Then we’re cooking.
What is a Kinesthetic Christian? It’s how I’m made. Not how I respond to God-filled rooms or God-filled spaces or God-filled conversations. It’s just the ordinary me, doing what I do, because I’m made that way. Lifting, climbing, scrubbing, walking. God settles on me – that’s the best way to describe it. God fills the space with Himself and I am connected in a new way.
And when, on occasion, I get lazy, He sits on me. “Hey Wendy, I’m trying to talk to you here!”
It seems the natural way of things. Not that we meet God just in the worship space, but that He meets us in our daily space. On our home turf, so to speak. Why wouldn’t He? He knows where we like to hang out and what we like to do. He made us that way.
Before we were born He described us just so, then He made us to be just that. I can’t describe it, but I can live it. Perhaps that’s why Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do you say that I am?”
I am a Kinesthetic Christian. I read. I write. I pray. I play. I worship. I relate to my world as a Kinesthetic Christian. It’s the only path I know to follow the Lord of my life.
The high fly ball of Inspiration
0The deadline for the Lenten Devotional looms. The editors are EXPECTing my submission. But inspiration just won’t come. That’s the thing about inspiration…you just can’t force it. In fact, the harder I try, the less of it I seem to have.
Still, it doesn’t seem right to just sit here. Waiting. As if a lightning bolt is going to descend and write itself upon my paper in perfect insights, with perfect grammar and legible penmanship. There are plenty of sitters out there. Waiting. I am not good at either.
I need to DO something to hurry the inspiration along! I cut and paste a few verses of my chosen scripture (Song of Songs 2:8-13) onto the computer screen. A few different translations. Why not? I pour over them. Read and re-read. I take notes, look for connections, let my wander to visual imagery. I respond to the verses – in writing! – but to no avail. Everything lies flat upon the page. A day passes. Another. The deadline is mere days away.
And then suddenly a phrase enters my mind: No really, I love you. And I begin…”A man I love side-stepped death.” The scripture sends an image of lattice-work and the loved one calling. An image of the mullions on my very own windows. The lover looks in. I look out. What do I see? What would another see who stood here? Do they hear Him saying, “No really, I love you”?
The experience is powerfully crafting the writing as I wait on the images. Sitting and waiting, here I am after all. But the waiting is expectant. I am the fielder and it is the fly ball. I have heard the crack of the bat. I’ve got a line on it as it soars high in the sky. I try to gauge its descent, tending first right and then a bit left. I see it beginning to drop. I reach out my hand and open my glove wide. It is coming; I am ready to catch it. 
Fielding inspiration when it falls is not easy. It takes practice and preparation. One must be ready. But sometimes the ball seems forever in the coming down. Those editors, after all, are waiting.
I type the last and hit submit. Then my friend emails to share that her dearest childhood friend had just succumbed to cancer. It was a long battle, but she still is not sure whether the departed came to know how much God loved her during her lifetime. Surely a God of mercy understands.
This is when I realize that the piece I had written was intended for a different deadline. It was meant to comfort a grieving friend and landed right on time.
My job is simply to settle under the fly ball of grace and catch inspiration as it comes down. Then, to prepare for the next. Kind of ridiculous to think I could force the ball to fall faster into my glove.
Can I have your autograph?
0I have been walking among giants this week. Literally.
Just shouldered past Michelle Akers, FIFA female player of the century.
There goes Amanda Cromwell, had coach of the 2014 NCAA national women’s soccer champions. Someone just shouted “Hey, Anson,” and I turned to see the legendary UNC Women’s coach walking behind me. 
Outside the exhibit hall I shuffle past a young woman posing for a photo with US National team legend, Kristine Lilly. 
I am surrounded by fame. The funny thing is, I don’t have the urge to run and get its autograph. In fact, I keep my distance. Here, at the national soccer coaching convention, everyone knows who these people are, but they’re revered for their contributions, not just their accomplishments. People follow them, but from a respectful distance.
What is it that compels us to swarm famous people to get their autograph? We want “our moment” with them and we want to prove that it happened. So we can show people that greatness paused to attend to us. We were right there with them. Perhaps we want to suspend that moment in time, hold onto it longer, remind ourselves that it happened.
Somehow this has me thinking of James, John and especially, poor Peter, the disciples invited into the moment we call “transfiguration.” When an illuminated Jesus met up with pals Moses and Elijah on a mountaintop Peter, dumb-founded but ever action-oriented, offers to build dwellings for the three. Why not help them get cozy and stay a while?
Peter did what we do when dazzled by the brilliance of the moment in the presence of magnificence, we act stupid. We can’t help it; our brain takes a break and leaves us fumbling for words.
Which has me wondering if, now knowing that I can resist the urge to accost celebrities in the halls of the convention, I could apply my new found discipline if Jesus strolled my way. Am I over that need to prove that I met him by trying to suspend the moment? Would I ask for an autograph? I sure hope not. I’m pretty sure He wouldn’t be giving them out, but still. So what would I do?
Well, the last day of the convention, I couldn’t help myself. As I exit my session I see Tony DiCicco, head coach of the 99ers, the women’s world cup winners that inspired millions of girls onto soccer pitches all over the country, walking down the main hallway. He’s dressed in suit and tie, probably headed to teach a lecture session. No one else is with him, and he doesn’t seem hurried, so I did it. I crossed the main hall, and he stopped and looked at me.
He was smaller than I thought. Fit and handsome, but aged as I am. I touched his arm. “Thank you,” I told him, “Catch Them Being Good (his book about the women he coached to a world cup championship in 1999) has inspired everything I do.” It has.
He smiled, nodded his thanks, and went on his way. Humble man, that one. Huge legacy. Not really suited for fame. More for followers.
If I met Jesus, perhaps that would be a reasonable strategy: touch his arm and say, “Thank you. The Bible (that book about living a victorious life) has inspired everything I do.” It has.
Perhaps He’d smile His acknowledgement and go on His way. Humble man. Huge legacy. Not really suited for fame, more for followers.
I wonder if people ask for His autograph.
Born to Cheat
0
Photo credit: Roger MayI always look for the shortcut. You know, the easy way. The way around. Why would I bother taking the long road when there is a perfectly good way to cut the corner that would make it so much easier? And quicker. I am just being efficient here. Blazing a new trail that, perhaps, will become the way everyone does this. Just come on, follow me.
Is that cheating?
This occurs to me as I watch the young athletes who are growing into newly elongated bodies. Awkward and unbalanced, the old rules of movement no longer apply. They tip and topple. Embarrassed, they try again and the same thing happens. Down they go. Something’s got to change.
They don’t plan this. Their body does it on its own. It modifies the movement in a way that accomplishes success. Instead of pushing off straight ahead, the foot turns outward to broaden its base of support. Voila! Balance. They blast off with their teammates, just like before. Except now, their push off recruits fewer muscle fibers to do the work and is activated at an oblique angle. It works, but it’s inefficient. They tire sooner, get sore, and often end up injured.
Who’s to blame? Their bodies? They were just compensating. Taking a short cut in order to remain effective. Growth is hard. In order to keep going the body does what is necessary to meet the demands. It cuts corners…naturally.
Isn’t that interesting? A built-in cheating mechanism, through no fault of my own. Inborn. Adaptive. Effective. Until it injures. Sounds a bit like “sin,” in the way I have had it explained to me. Something we’re born with that takes us off track. A condition we’re in. Indeed, a condition the whole world is in. One look at any days’ headlines will convince you of that.
But the experience of this in myself is harder. I feel responsible for it. I know it’s there, but somehow it’s hard to avoid. When conditions change or things get hard or growth is necessary and patience required, I default to the easy way. It’s sort of a knee jerk reflex. A compensation. A short cut. Done over and over, it becomes my new go-to. Soon, my muscles memorize it and it becomes my natural way. All without my conscious awareness, until someone points it out.
Then, I can justify it. It makes sense to do it this way, I convince myself. Why make things harder than they have to be? Certainly God understands. And God does. He knows our natural tendency to sin, to separateness, to self-sufficiency.
Perhaps the tiredness is meant to get our attention. If not that then the soreness. But if we persist, the injuries stop us for sure. It’s our Father’s 1-2-3 admonition. You have till the count of three. One…two…
What grace to be given the warning. And to be shown the reality:
- it’s in us
- it’s natural
- it’s modifiable
If we pay attention, there is wisdom that says, “This is a temptation for you. Slow down. Take your time. Do it right. Do it well. At the right time, your body will respond as it’s meant to. As I meant it to. Follow me.”
When I insist on going my own way, I avoid the whole conversation. I start bush-whacking through uncharted territory, and soon I am out of earshot. Then I grow tired and sore and begin to limp. Probably better to turn back before I injure myself.
Dream Big
1Child’s play.
An innocent toss turns to intentional heft.
Land it just so.
Not in, but on.
Along.
The smooth, flattened stones go further —
touching, touching, touching…gone.
one…two…three..four.five.
Five! I got five!
I can do better,
Hand me another.
Where? Where are the better stones?
Which? Which are the best stones?
Weight. Trajectory. Angle.
Calculations are for the cautious.
I am armed.
My heart pounds,
My head whirs,
My breath grows short.
…….
Loving God, help me to throw pebbles of love into the still waters of the world.
Starting at the Finish is Cheating
0Pardon me, dear friends of the Kinesthetic Christian. I have been traveling with my family and then came home to a whirlwind of preparation for a call scheduled with a book publisher. He is interested.
I fear I must shift my time a bit from the regular KC posting. This is hard because I love it here, among the sound bytes and digital images. But the decision is made. I will dive into this one very big project and, potentially, the 2 month sprint ahead to give my book a chance to succeed and my business, Fit2Finish, a huge boost.
Then I see this in the Parade Magazine this morning. Marilyn vos Savant has published the question I sent in eons ago. My question, why are mazes easier if you start at the finish? Her answer: because you have broken the one rule of mazes, start at start.
Life can only be lived in one direction. We don’t get the answers first. We get the questions, then we work our way to the answers. Just like books. If you read the last page first, you ruin it. Just like book projects, you have to start at the beginning and fill in the chapters.
But then the real work begins: convincing people to come along for the ride. My project? Making people Fit to Finish before the final whistle blows. We must all start at start. Starting at the finish is breaking the only rule.
I’m guilty of trying to make it easier by starting at the finish and working backwards. It’s easier that way! Marilyn vos Savant says that’s cheating.
God occupies that spot. God is finishing each of us by drawing us toward Himself. All He requires? Full effort. I’m willing; He’s able. Here goes!!