Category: Inspirational

Inspirational

All About the Ride – Lessons from an Elderly Dog

Jana Greene9 Comments
My girl, Emmie

By: Jana Greene

I took Emmie the Elderly Golden Retriever to the vet this morning. It’s only for a nail-trim, I told her when she balked a bit about getting into the back-seat. It was cold outside, and her old bones don’t like the cold. Finally she did her best to jump into the car, her posterior getting a little boost from me.

Along the way,  I rolled down the window so that my rearview mirror was filled with the vision of Emmie’s face behind me – full splendor, tufts of golden fur and a wide smile of teeth and gums (okay, mostly gums) and eyes squinting in the cold sunlight. She had forgotten that there was a destination involved. She was all about the ride.

When we arrived at the vet’s office, she remembered, of course. The last time we’d been here, she was extremely sick. She had suddenly developed a violent gastrointestinal issue and fever, and lost an alarming amount of weight as a result. At fifty-two pounds, she seemed all ribs and misery and the vet was not hopeful for her recovery. She was tested for all manner of parasites and disease, only to come up empty.

“She is nearly fourteen years old,” the Vet had said. As this that explained everything.

“I know,” I said in return, trying not to bawl. I know that some day, it will explain everything. But not that day.

Some people think it’s ridiculous to pray for dogs, but I disagree. As it happened, Emmie’s illness went away as suddenly as it had begun, and she rallied mystifying vigor. Within days of special food and treats, extra rubbing and loving, she perked right up. Once again, she was my shadow, following me around from room to room as I worked around the house even though it meant constant motion and achy joints. That girl is a trooper.

So, the last time we were at the vet’s office, Emmie had been poked and prodded, her old bones jostled about. She has a pretty good memory for an old lady. I had to coax her out of the car with extra-syrupy sweet talk and skritches behind the ears. She walked slowly to the door, like I’m not buying it, Mom, but I’ll follow you because I love you.

We went into the Dog Door, because our vet has a Cat Section and a Dog Section and ideally, never the twain should meet. Emmie has two brothers that just happen to be cats, cool characters the total opposite of her loopy, goofy, people-pleasingness. Two feline brothers who she is still adjusting to after five years of grafting into the family. So I think she especially appreciates the Dog Door. I know I do.

Upon setting paw inside, she developed the shakes – all over. Nervy, full-body shakes that shiver her bones (which I am pleased to report, are getting some meat on them finally). I’m too old for this crap, she is thinking.

I whispered comforts to her. But she doesn’t speak the King’s English, so she’s still not buying it.

A very nice lady in scrubs covered with a collage of cats came out to gather her. She took her leash and gently encouraged Emmie to follow. Emmie declined by digging her dragon-lady nails into the tile until ever so slowly, she disappeared into the grooming room. She turned around before the door was closed and looked at me with giant, chocolate drop eyes slightly milky with age to say, “You’re giving me to a stranger wearing cat-covered scrubs?”

But one of the amazing things about Emmie is her rally-ability. Within minutes, she was finished, neatly tapping her new mani-pedi on the same tiles she had tried digging into and with the same semi-toothless grin she displays with her head out the window.  Emmie the Elderly Golden Retriever inspires me with her trust.

She just wants to be wherever I am. When I shut the door and she happens to be on the other side of it, she lays against the crack like a live draft-catcher, just to be as close as possible to her master – no matter what.

Emmie the Elderly Dog reminds me about trust and unconditional love a lot these days. I have a tendency to dig in when having to face an old obstacle; I have a pretty good memory, too.  Oh, no. I’ve been here before! Or simply, I’m too old for this crap.

But do I want to be as close as possible to The Master, no matter what? He always takes me gently by the lead. That’s the only way to keep rallying, in my experience.  Okay, Father. I’m not seeing the point in this, but I’ll follow you because I love you. And God whispers comforts, too, when I listen.

I want so badly to be loopy and goofy with God-pleasingness, following Him around even though it requires constant motion (and achyness of the soul, on occasion) – a Trooper. Sometimes I try to have my own way – to be a cool character grafted awkwardly into a family that takes some adjusting to. But other times, I can channel my inner Golden Retriever, with the Father’s help. Those are the best times, spiritually.

All about the ride.

Inspirational

As the Leaves Turn, Perfectly

Jana Greene7 Comments

 

Blue Ridge Mountains, October 2012

 

“Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn.” – Elizabeth Lawrence

By: Jana Greene

Last week, I watched the leaves turn with my husband.

Tired of waiting to be given the extra time to spend, we took it ourselves… stealing away to the mountains of North Carolina for a few days together.

We rented a tiny cabin, after choosing it on merit of standing far away from all other dwellings and people. When we arrived, the steps down the hill to the cabin were clear, and our little fortress surrounded by trees in every stage of turning – greens and yellows, but reds and oranges, too. Like a picture postcard.

He and I set up house in a hurry to sit on the back porch, which overlooked a short but steep mountain valley and wide creek at the bottom. All we could see from our balcony was leaves and water. All we could hear from our balcony was the rustling and rushing of leaves and water, and the occasional birdsong from the canopy above.

Decompressing from the stressors of being full-time grown-ups with concerns for jobs, kids and the political climate, we spent days reveling in the promise of cool autumn air instead. Together, my husband and I explored the creek and the hills nearby. For a few days, we fished and we feasted. We did nothing at all for great lengths of time on the back porch of our little cabin.

And we didn’t miss the grown-up world, because it didn’t occur to us to stress out about the jobs, kids or concerns for our country. It seems obvious enough – if you took the time to look at the trees – that God was still in control and didn’t need our help to work things out.

No internet. No television. No constant feedback and validation from the world-at-large. Political seasons are ugly and corrupt, but God’s seasons are perfect. Out there where creation is pure and heavenly, you would never know all “hell” was breaking loose.  I needed to be reminded that the harmony of nature is what the Creator intended for His world. It is the created that distort it.

By the time of our departure, the steps up the hill to our car were littered with color – crispy greens and yellows, and reds and oranges turned up at the corners. They crunched as we loaded up and readied ourselves for re-entry into the “real” world. As we drove away, we rolled down the windows to hear rustling leaves and rushing water, and the occasional birdsong from the canopy above.

God is not in a hurry for the leaves to fall, they break from the trees one at a time, floating to the ground in perfect order to that He can begin creating more abundance at just the right time.  And after stealing away to the reality He intended, I have a better sense of peace that He still has good and perfect plans for His children.

Even in this political climate (maybe especially during it) take the time to sit and watch the leaves turn wherever you are. It seems obvious enough – if you take the time to look at the trees – that God is still in control.

 

Inspirational

Daddy’s Girls – The Healing

Jana Greene7 Comments

By: Jana Greene

Little girls….they are so full of themselves!

I never really got to know my father. He was disinterested in me when I was born.  As a very small girl, I remember jumping and dancing and shouting for him, wanting him to pick me up.

Look at me!

I can still see him now, coolly smoking a cigarette looking through me. How do I get my Daddy’s attention? Little girls crave that attention. They feel deficient if they cannot obtain it.

Then, I had a step-father. When he came into my life I was five years old. I was  both jealous of his attention for my mother and hopeful that he might show some for me. I became his adopted child, losing my identity as the daughter of one disinterested. But that didn’t really make me a beloved daughter. There are worse things than parental indifference, I would find out. There could be malevolence and maltreatment.

Years after the damage had been done, God healed my heart. He is still healing my heart. I trust Him daily, but it is an ongoing process to give up the hurt.

For years, I tried to fill up instead of give up. Fill up that space with attention from men. Fill up shame with alcohol. Fill up neediness with accolades. Fill up deficiency with a pouring into various meaningless pursuits. It’s a lot harder to give up expectations and surrender wholly. Giving up pain requires a kind of filling up faith…and trust.

It is said that we model our idea of who God is by our experience with our earthly fathers, and that is true, because we have no other measure to go by.  But then, what is a father? My maternal grandfather was a loving influence on my life, and my husband shows me what the most noble human fathering looks like in the way he cares for his daughter (and my daughters, too). But for the most accurate picture, I have to go to the Bible instead of looking to personal experience:

A father doesn’t ignore the needs of his child; he provides more than enough for her.

“Tell them to go after God, who piles on all the riches we could ever manage—to do good, to be rich in helping others, to be extravagantly generous. If they do that, they’ll build a treasury that will last, gaining life that is truly life.” – 1 Timothy 6:17

A father isn’t irritated by the presence of his daughter, but delights in her with pride.

“Cultivate inner beauty, the gentle, gracious kind that God delights in.” – 1 Peter 4:3-6

A father doesn’t betray his daughter’s trust, but honors it.

“I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.” – Jeremiah 29:11 (MSG)

A father doesn’t abuse and neglect his girl, but protects her from harm.

“Every promise of God proves true; he protects everyone who runs to him for help.” – Proverbs 30:5-6 (MSG)

A father is not detached, but involved.

“What’s the price of a pet canary? Some loose change, right? And God cares what happens to it even more than you do. He pays even greater attention to you, down to the last detail—even numbering the hairs on your head! So don’t be intimidated by all this bully talk. You’re worth more than a million canaries.” – Matthew 10:29-30 (MSG)

A  Father is not waiting to reject his child, but welcomes her with open arms regardless of her deeds.

“Now God has us where he wants us, with all the time in this world and the next to shower grace and kindness upon us in Christ Jesus. Saving is all his idea, and all his work. All we do is trust him enough to let him do it. It’s God’s gift from start to finish!” – Ephesians 2:8-9 (MSG)

So, how do I get my Father’s attention? That pure adoration that little girls crave from their Fathers? I don’t have to jump and dance and shout Look at me! He is already looking, already getting a kick out me….just because I’m His kid.

In the spiritual realm, he is my Daddy by adoption because His son grafted me into his family.  He is my Creator, the one who used love to make me family.

Getting to know God for The Perfect Father is an adventure in loving and being loved. I wish I could say that I don’t ever struggle with abandonment, rejection or trust issues, but that wouldn’t be true. I am learning to accept that My True Father loves me even though sometimes I misbehave. He is teaching me to accept that he forgives me, even when it is difficult for me to forgive myself.  And He doesn’t instruct me with the iron fist or shaming ways of the fathers I have known on Earth, but with the gentlest correction reminding me to focus on His grace instead.

Maybe so many of us women are attention-seekers because we’re designed to be. Perhaps we are created that way  in order to seek our Father’s love. To  give up on being perfect to earn a Father’s love,  in order to fill up on the love of a Perfect Father.

To be Daddy’s Girls in the purest sense…not so much “full of ourselves”, but FULL of our Father.

Inspirational · Recovery

Playing the cards you’re dealt

Jana Greene4 Comments

By: Jana Greene

Seven UNO cards were spread out like a fan in my hand. There were four greens, two reds and one blue. The card facing upward on the table was yellow, emblazoned with the number “5”…just about the only number and color not represented in my hand.

Anyone who has ever played the card game could see that this was an unlucky grouping. My daughter, who was nine years old at the time, smiled like the cat that ate the canary. Never one to present a poker face, she picked the last of her own seven cards from the thick, worn pile.

“Hmmmm,” she said. “Another wild card.”

I looked down at my cards again, knowing I would have to pick yet another in a game that required losing all to win.

“Skip me?” I asked.

“You know the rules, Mom,” she chided. “You have to pick another card until you get a match for the yellow or the five.”

She was right, of course. So I picked the first card lying face down in the pile. It was a blue eight. The next was a green “skip” card and the one under it was another green three.

“Dos, tres, cuatro,” I counted, my hand becoming heavier with the losing cards.

“You will have catorce soon!” laughed my opponent. “Catorce” is the Spanish word for fourteen.

“I must not have shuffled them well,” I grumped.

“Maybe not,” she said. “But you have to play the cards you’re dealt.”  How many times had I told her that?

It was not, in fact, until I did have fourteen cards that I was able to get rid of even one of them. By the time I chose a winning card, there were too many to hold in fan formation so they fell about in a messy heap that allowed my opponent to see which colors and numbers I held.

Miraculously, though, I won the game that day. I kept choosing and she kept laying down her cards until she was forced to play a green one. She had been holding on to not one, but FOUR wild cards – pieces that entitled her to change-up the game in her own favor all along. Somehow, using all of her good cards had resulted in her ending up with green cards.

And green cards I had!

It seems to me that many people are dealt unfair cards in this life. Some are given wild cards in abundance, while others have a handful of “fives” without any apparent significance.

I didn’t mean to choose the hand of proverbial cards that I had to play in the darkest times in my life, but I did pick many of them myself.

I hadn’t wanted to grow up to be an alcoholic.

I don’t remember picking the card for divorce that showed up in my deck.

And single motherhood? I’d have just as soon left that one out, too.

Chronic pain, financial struggle, surviving abuse….I’d never have asked for them. So many issues  – more than catorce! – that my hand could not hold them all, spilling out of formation and into a messy heap.  And when you have a big enough pile, you can’t hold them close to your chest and they fall about you for all the world to see. For your opponent to see.

I didn’t ask for that messy pile. Even though I often contributed to the disorder with my own actions, it still seemed unfair. Sometimes I’d done all the right things – shuffled well. Still, bad things happened, things that made me hurt deeply.

“Skip me!” I’ve begged the Lord on numerous occasions. “God, please….”

But He had purpose all the while.  I found out that there is a huge difference between perceived unfairness and purposeless-ness.  All of the losing cards I’ve held have  played pivotal roles in making me understand what God’s grace is all about. I wouldn’t trade that card for anything.

We all have to play the cards we are dealt – in a game that often requires losing all of self to win.

Keep picking up the next card, believing that God will work it to the good. Believe it, and ask him to fill in the gaps where you do not believe it yet.

And lay them down; keep laying your cards on the table – on the altar.

At the cross.

Inspirational · Spiritual

Picking up Rocks on a Walk with God

Jana Greene9 Comments

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” – Matthew 11:28 (The Message)

Crispy.

Fried.

Burned out.

These are not amongst the niceties exchanged between friends as we pass in the street.

“How are you?”

“Parched.  Just really heavy-laden lately. You?”

“Weary and burdened, actually.”

The truth is that we do become those things, regularly. Or at least I do. A praising heart becomes a languid spirit far too easily.

I will be walking alongside Jesus, matching my footsteps to his, and enjoying the journey. And then I see something up ahead and forget to keep pace with him, racing toward what I assume is our mutual destination. Every footfall becomes heavier, until it feels I am stepping through jelly.

Or, as often happens, I will head off toward somewhere He never planned to go, figuring that I will on meet up with Him later. My steps are intentional in keeping His steady pace, but in another direction entirely.  Forcing my own awkward gait,  I lose sight of the unforced rhythms that are His grace.

And still….I am always surprised by the result from either choice: weariness. A tiredness that originates from the soul.

“Walk with me and work with me,” implores the God of the universe. “My ways are not your ways, you have no clue about which route to take. And for crying out loud, stop picking up rocks to carry around on the way! No wonder you’re tired!”

I have to stop and remember to read His love letter to me, to take hold of his hand for the same reason that I held my children’s’ hands when they were small.  Because although they truly believed they knew better, I had the power to keep them safe on busy streets and complicated intersections.  It really is that simple – stay in the Word, love God, love others, serve.

“To care for the needs of all who mourn in Zion,
give them bouquets of roses instead of ashes,
Messages of joy instead of news of doom,
a praising heart instead of a languid spirit.” – Isaiah 61:7

It turns from praise to languish when I make it about religion instead of relationship.

I’m fried, Lord, I tell him when I get worn-out. And he always collects the burned-out bits and pieces  together, brushing the “me-dust” back into a pile and transforms it again.

Beauty from ashes.

Devotional · Inspirational · Spiritual

Meditation, Rumination and Prayer

Jana Greene3 Comments
By: Jana Greene
What is the difference between prayer and meditation?
The other day, while  sitting on the beach at sunset,  I felt God’s presence in an especially tangible way. Almost automatically, little kernels of prayer started expanding in my mind until each exploded like popcorn – all competing to fill that beautiful space with request.
 Quiet your mind, I felt The Father tell my spirit. And I realized the difference between prayer and meditation (to my heart):
Prayer is making request to God while I have his attention.
Meditation is making my spirit quiet enough for Him to have my full attention. And that isn’t easy.
Of course, we always have the ear and heart of the Lord; sometimes we feel it more acutely. I’m reminded of the scripture about being still and knowing I am not God:
“Attention, all! See the marvels of God! He plants flowers and trees all over the earth, Bans war from pole to pole, breaks all the weapons across his knee. “Step out of the traffic! Take a long, loving look at me, your High God, above politics, above everything.” – Psalm 46:10 (The Message)
I really needed to read that, because in this political season my emotions are popping as well.
Above everything, I have to deliberately turn my attention to God; take a long, loving look at Him above everything else. Meditate on His goodness, which is overflowing….He is good ALL the time.
Inspirational

Kinked Links and God’s Messy, Knotted up Favorites

Jana Greene6 Comments

By: Jana Greene

Having just finished a fantastic book that talked about – among many other things – whether Christians should “keep it real” with the world, I felt as though I should blog about my entanglement. Not because it’s so interesting that a middle-aged woman would get so worked up about what amounts to normal, first-world problems, but because I wanted to share a vision that God is giving me to deal with feeling this way. (Spoiler: it isn’t His magically making things perfect….that miracle is for the next world, not this one).

When I went to bed last night, my More Spiritual Self was kinked up.

After instigating a mild argument with my husband, I had tried to sleep. When that failed, I tried to pray. Fitfully, I asked God would He please give me a break here?  I know we are not supposed to let the sun go down on our anger, but I am clearly in the right!

That small, still voice didn’t chastise me anymore. Still, I quit trying to pray because I was so out-of-sorts and jumbled up, I couldn’t tell where one request started and another whiny demand ended.  Frustrated, I tossed and turned all night. Tomorrow will be better, I told myself.

But this morning, nothing in my closet fit me – The Fat Fairy neglected to visit me during the night to relieve the body-issue angst that is the hallmark of my Selfish Self. (If she would only come and take my fat away while I was sleeping and leave money in it’s place, it would solve TWO problems simultaneously!) All day, worry entangled me. Issues big and small (and all out of my control) tormented me and I walked around in a cloud of menopausal grump.

By noon, I had myself so knotted up with stress that I broke out in tears at Costco while waiting to purchase toilet paper and cat food. The check-out girl was very friendly, in a “I’ve no idea what to do about this” way, which made me cry harder because I felt sorry for her. She didn’t tell me to have a nice day.

But on the way home from Costco, I had a random memory about a short exchange between my daughter and I earlier.  When I had taken her to school that morning, I complimented her on her outfit (which really was lovely) and she held out her necklace for me to see and said, “It’s my favorite.”

I also remembered that it was the same gold-toned necklace with beads and feathers on it  that sat on our kitchen table for a week, knotted up in a ball. My daughter had gotten it tangled up at the bottom of a bag and asked me to unravel it, which I’d tried to do several times.

“You should really take better care of your stuff,” I had told her, when she’d given it to me and asked me to fix it.

And each time I would try to untangle it, the frustration mounted. Within minutes of not being able to tell where one link started and another began, I’d leave the project out of sorts, the necklace jumbled up worse than before. She’s just going to have to throw it out…it’s unsalvageable.

As a last resort,  I enlisted the help of my husband, who patiently untangled the entire chain and left it for my daughter to find on the kitchen table. He didn’t fuss at her for letting it get that way, he just solved the problem behind the scenes.  Which brings me back to today, when she wore her favorite piece of jewelry restored to it’s former glory.

I’m trying to untangle my chain, I realized. I’m knotted in a ball and don’t even know what to pray for.

“Perhaps,” said my More Spiritual Self. “You should give the big ball of it to God and let him untangle it.” And my Selfish Self, after reeling from the sting that my husband would be God in this analogy, had to concur that I have to bring my anxiety, pain and restlessness while I am still frustrated. Nothing is unsalvageable to God, but when I try to untangle myself, I make the knot bigger. He will be untangling  my messes  all the days of my life, but I have to leave it on the kitchen table, so to speak – and not as a last resort.

Sometimes I fail to take my issues to Him because I know He has every right to say, “You should take better care of your stuff” and I’m afraid He will.

But He never does, He just loves.

I’d like to say that VOILA! I am in a fantastic mood now that I had an epiphany, but I’m trying to “keep it real” here.  I can tell you that this afternoon, I’m not crying anymore and that when I got home from Costco, I broke down and changed into sweatpants with an elastic waistband. I texted my awesome husband that I love him twice today and I am still sober, which doesn’t seem like it should be a big deal after eleven and a half years of not drinking, but trust me – sometimes it still is. All of these things (yes, even elastic waistbands!) are blessings.

And God is still on the throne and loves us even though we are messy, knotted-up things.

We’re His favorites.

Inspirational

The Last First Day of School – a minor motherhood identity crisis

Jana Greene11 Comments

By: Jana Greene

Today is the last “first day of school” for my youngest child.  She is nearly seventeen now – a senior in high school.  Before I dropped her off, she and I said a quick prayer together – Dear Jesus, please give her a great first day and a great school year.  Now that she is in 12th grade, she has a lot to look forward to.

But as it is the last day I will ever drop a daughter off for her first day of the new school year, it’s a little bittersweet. As I watched her walk into the building, my eyes stung for a moment. Wasn’t she only a kindergartener clinging to my legs a couple of years ago? Now, she is a beautiful young lady carrying herself with confidence. I am so very proud of her.

Driving my kids to school in the morning is one ritual I’ve tried to keep constant through the years. They rode the bus home in the afternoons, but morning trips were mine. It usually felt like quality time (in 20 minutes or less), except for when they were thirteen and fourteen, and then it sometimes felt like a root canal (what with snarky attitudes and slammed car doors).  But mostly I remember a lot of laughter, and singing to the radio, and really good talks about the deep and the trivial.

A happy morning ride to school made me feel as though my kids would be okay. I would remind them to “make good choices” and get a feel for what was going on in their little worlds. On the mornings all went well, I felt born to be a mom. I didn’t know that they would grow up so fast.

You hear a lot about empty nests but my husband and I can’t really relate to that concept yet.  In our blended family, the children are twenty, twenty and seventeen respectively and all three are still living at home. None of them seem in a particular hurry to fly into the world without us.  He and I often groan about not having FIVE MINUTES alone in the house; we joke that we will have to move to an island in the middle of the night and leave no forwarding address, just to get five minutes alone. We have a bit of empty-nest-envy sometimes, in truth, because I was also born to be his wife and now in our mid-lives, he deserves to be the center of my attention as well.

This morning, the milestone of my youngest daughter’s last first day of school generated a tiny little identity crisis panic attack in my heart. I think that’s normal, but then I remind myself that “normal” is just a setting on the washing machine.

The truth of the matter is that we Moms – having devoted ourselves to our kids – have to learn what makes us “tick” all over again when they grow up. There is so much purpose in motherhood that I forgot it might not be my sole purpose. I’m still figuring out where God’s plan places me in the scheme of my identity, but many times His plan places me nowhere near who I’ve understood myself to be. He knows I will always be “Mom” to my beloved daughters, but His plans for HIS children are grander still.

Enjoy the full nest! my empty-nester friends tell me. Enjoy your kids…they fly away soon enough!  And it’s true – mine is a SENIOR now! If I get teary now thinking about her being in 12th grade, how will I fare when the kids really DO move out?  If I worry about them so much now while they are still under our roof, how much more will I worry when they are out? What will I fill the space with – the space that is feathered now with clutter and noise and drama?

And the small, still voice that I recognize as family, too, says “Trust. Fill it with trust in me. I’ve got them now.” So I have to try, because my Father knows best.

For her last year in high school, I hope circumstances allow me to take my youngest to school each day.  We will laugh and sing to the radio and talk about subjects deep and trivial in twenty precious moments or less, and pray together quickly before she leaves for class. God has fresh ideas for her life, and she has the whole journey ahead of her.

Born to be God’s child, too….

Inspirational

To Carry a Tune (or: There’s a hole in my bucket)

Jana Greene2 Comments
Beach Buckets (photo by Jana Greene)

By: Jana Greene

The speakers on stage – as big as house doors – pump the baseline so hard that I can feel my ribs vibrate with each beat.  Always a sucker for percussion, I am bouncing slightly with each perfect, deliberate fall of the sticks upon snare. Melodies, streaming from the lead guitar, make me move against my will in the way that only a middle-aged white woman can manage; with certain awkwardness, but I don’t care. Move anyway, my spirit tells me, and I obey because sometimes my spirit knows what to do.

And then she sings.

Her voice, raised in worship, is flawless. It rises and falls in perfect synchronization with the music and it doesn’t struggle with highs or lows but surfs on the notes, catching the perfect wave every time.  She is worshiping God with all she has and I know that He is pleased.  He created her ability to sing with seeming ease and share it with the world, and she has mesmerized us all with her gifts.  With her obedience.

My voice has the potential to traumatize…not mesmerize.

When I get to heaven, I want to be able to sing like she does. Or like Queen Latifa.  Or maybe Joss Stone.  But who knows? Perhaps  by that time I’ll be at enough peace with my own gifts to keep from envying those of others. I’m not proud that I sometimes covet the talents of others, but hat covetness burrows into my mind  before I have the chance to rebuke it at times.

Music is one of my very favorite ways in which God spoils us all. It was created by Him to give us another tool of praise  (and sometimes just to get jiggy with it) and I wish I was as good at making it as I am to listening to it. I know God doesn’t mind that I sing off-key, but I do.

Sharing our talents can be a daunting task. We don’t get to choose the gifts we are given, but we do have the choice to use what we have – or to keep it to ourselves.  I know he truth: that the Singer at my church works on her music often, that her synchronization is perfected not only by gifting, but by practice. Effortlessness is not what she strives for; worship is.  Each of the musicians in our church’s worship band has mind-blowing talent, which they each use every week to bless others.  After Sunday services,  I have to fight the urge to corner each of them and say, “Do you have any IDEA how AMAZING you are?”  (I don’t want to be creepy about it.  Just appreciative.)

We all have different gifting, different processes. God is pleased when we use our talents to bring other hurting people to Him, no matter what that talent may be.  And those “what if’s”?

What if I use my talents and fail, and make a fool of myself?

What if it’s just too hard?

Move anyway, my spirit tells me.  You’ve been a fool for much lesser things. And I listen.

Because even though I cannot carry a tune in a bucket, sometimes my spirit really does know what to do.

Inspirational

The Church in Us

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Wall painting at Lifepoint Church, Wilmington, NC

By: Jana Greene

“And though it is true that the church must always disassociate itself from sin, it can never have any excuse for keeping any sinners at a distance. If the church remains self-righteously aloof from failures, irreligious and immoral people, it cannot enter justified into God’s kingdom. But if it is constantly aware of its guilt and sin, it can live in joyous awareness of forgiveness. The promise has been given to it that anyone who humbles himself will be exalted.” – Brennan Manning

Church.

It is a place and a people, both.

My earliest exposure to church was as a small child in my grandparent’s Baptist congregation in Houston, Texas.  I remember my grandmother carrying me on her vast hip down the aisle, introducing me to other congregants as we passed.  When I sat down next to her for the service, I was surprised to see that everywhere was red.   Inside the proud brick building, pews were deep red velvet, as was the carpet.  Shiny Baptist hymnals were red as well, although many had faded to pink from the sun through stained glass.

“This is God’s house,” I remember her whispering to me.

I had heard about him before – God – in the stories that my grandparents read about all of the animals being crowded into a boat because water was filling up the world,  and about his talking to a man in the belly of a fish.   I told my grandmother that filling the world with water didn’t seem like a very nice thing to do, and she’d chuckled.  She explained that God sent a rainbow as a promise that he would never do it again, and that the flood seemed bad but was really good.  “Noah’s flood meant that God’s people could start all over again.”

She also told me about God’s Son, the Teacher. He lived a long time ago and loved all the people. She said that even though this Teacher was in Heaven with God, He would live in me, too, if I asked.

At thirteen years of age, I asked.

Since that time, I have experienced the Spirit of God many times in churches – and also the stinging judgment of my fellow humans there. So long as services are held on this planet, there will be issues in the churches.  As is true with most tangible things, the church itself is imperfect. It is a divinely touched organic thing, subject to troubles when people forget to offer up Self as a living sacrifice to him.  Sometimes even good people forget.  The church should disassociate itself with sin by virtue of it’s holiness….but there is always hope for sinners.  God’s son, the Teacher, said so.

He has  called us to gather and fellowship anyway.  We need each other. He also said to welcome others into his church just as they are, and to do so with love, to point people to Jesus.

The “place” of church has changed through the years.  Today, services are just as likely to be held in a building that shares walls with a grocery store, or on the sea-side, or in the auditorium of a middle school. Some have sleek décor and play rock music, some deliver messages by simulcast, some are still in proud brick buildings with stained glass and hymnals faded pink by the sun.   There is a church for every taste nowadays, for every spiritual leaning.

But the God of the people in his church is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.  His church seems to be growing in passion for the lost ones, those Christ was so passionate about.  Many followers of Jesus  are constantly aware of their guilt and sin in order to spread the awareness of joyous forgiveness.

God’s house should be the perfect place people to start over again, not for keeping sinners at a distance. God’s people should be the loving extension of his grace, a people whose souls are stained a deep, crimson red with his blood.

A place and people full of grace.

Inspirational

Grace Train Sounding Louder – thoughts on writing the tough chapters

Jana Greene10 Comments

By: Jana Greene

“But how can people call for help if they don’t know who to trust? And how can they know who to trust if they haven’t heard of the One who can be trusted? And how can they hear if nobody tells them? And how is anyone going to tell them, unless someone is sent to do it? That’s why Scripture exclaims,  A sight to take your breath away!  Grand processions of people  telling all the good things of God!  But not everybody is ready for this, ready to see and hear and act. Isaiah asked what we all ask at one time or another: “Does anyone care, God? Is anyone listening and believing a word of it?” The point is: Before you trust, you have to listen. But unless Christ’s Word is preached, there’s nothing to listen to.” – Romans 10:14-17 (The Message)

When I first read this scripture,  I thought about a locomotive. The image came to my mind of a train making stops in all kinds of places and picking up wayward people of all walks of life before continuing down the track.  I don’t know why.  Writers are a peculiar bunch when it comes to thinking (and everything else).

Another  line of thought  kept me active in my alcoholism for many years:  Nobody knows how I feel.  As long as I fed that train on the black coals of Terminal Uniqueness, the faster it gained speed for the inevitable train wreck.  Since no one else has had the exact  same life experiences that I have, I felt justified in drinking – and so I drank more and felt sorrier for myself and entered a tunnel of dark denial, and well….enough of the locomotive metaphors.  The result was disaster that I might not have survived.

I might not have.  But I did, because God is real and because surrender is an option.

The book I’m working on writing is about the ways that I’m not unique, which is most ways.  It is about life happening to a person who lost control; about that loss of control being the best thing that ever happened to her because it set the trajectory for letting go and letting God do His work.  There are elements of comedy, because so much in life is absurd, and musings about getting older, raising kids, and the like. Also along the storyline, there are many dark tunnels,  experiences that may speak to others who have lost control, these are the the parts that are difficult to write. Painful to write.  I would rather not include some experiences in the book  because they are embarrassing and shameful.

But they are the very same things that made me feel as though nobody knew how I felt when I first tried to get sober. They are universal, really – just as much as getting older and raising kids. Everyone hurts.  I think it’s important that others know they are not alone, not “too bad” for God to love, not a train wreck waiting to happen. Unless there is a Grand Procession of Christ-followers willing to be honest, who will help? God has given me a beautiful, awful, honorable burden to write about my recovery so that maybe someone with similar uniqueness will know that God can be trusted.

Or as Isaiah said in scripture, “Does anyone care? Is anyone listening and believing a word of it?”

I care. I believe.

As I relinquish the engine to God and ride in the boxcar, barefoot and vulnerable with my legs dangling over the passing tracks – watching the world and enjoying the view, and grabbing ahold of other wayward sinners on the way, pulling them up to ride along side me. There are bumps in the track and the car rattles at times, and we are not certain where it is headed.  But it’s okay because we are confident that the Engineer knows what He’s doing.

It is a sight to take your breath away.  And breathe life into your soul.

Inspirational

Inspiration, Freestyle

Jana Greene2 Comments

By: Jana Greene

My husband makes me want to be a better woman…a better version of myself. He usually sees the best in me and overlooks the worst, which is an awesome courtesy for married people to extend to one another.

Because he lives with integrity, humor and generous love, he inspires me every day.

One of the cool things about aging, if we do it right, is that what we find inspiring changes. What I found inspirational ten or fifteen years ago does not “wow” me in quite the same way anymore. Olympic medals are amazing, no doubt – signifying the overcoming of unimaginable odds, hard work and achievement.  But the people who inspire me most these days overcome on a less-flashy scale.

Inspiring is:

A pastor who is real with his congregation week after week.

A new mom who sacrifices to be home with her baby.

A man driving a big pick-up truck with a “I ❤ My Wife” sticker.

A volunteer who gets up early Saturday mornings to make pancakes for the homeless.

An alcoholic picking up her “one year” chip at a meeting.  Or her “one day” chip.

An elderly couple who still hold hands.

A teenager who apologizes to a parent after an ugly fight.

A spouse who makes the effort to keep the spark alive in a marriage.

A person who remembers to be thankful, daily.

An old woman who forgets how old she is, and believes that she is beautiful because God said so.

A friend who prays for you every day.

A veteran.

An owner of a large company who stays true to his values, even when unpopular.

A single mother working hard to raise children by herself.

A father who makes the time for his kids and wife.

A wife who still enjoys spoiling her husband.

A person who knows brokenness and trusts God to put the pieces back together.

No gold medals. No cereal boxes emblazoned with faces. No household names.

Just someone who sees the best in people and overlooks the worst, which is an awesome courtesy for all people to extend one another.

Inspiring.

Inspirational

Bumping into the Light (Prayer, Awkwardness and the Wildest Love)

Jana Greene8 Comments

By: Jana Greene

I’m not sure if God is moving me slightly out of my comfort zone, or if he just keeps changing where “comfortable” abides in me, but He has been manifesting His love in the wildest ways lately.  Like standing under a blackening sky, I find myself a bit afraid of the darkness in the world until….Look! A tiny star appears, and then another, and another.  He keeps bringing points of undeniable light all around me until I am so surrounded by his obvious love, and the darkness is overpowered.  I just keep bumping into light and love, utterly grateful.

One of the areas becoming new to me is praying aloud with others.  Strangers.  I am perfectly comfortable writing to God, writing about God, writing with the Holy Spirit guiding me.   But verbally, I am not eloquent in the least.  I stumble over my words and stutter in making my request. Complicating the matter is that I don’t do so well in large groups, or in public speaking, and the role I’m stepping into requires both.   But still, I’ve felt the tugging at my spirit to step out of what is comfortable in order to plead on behalf of others in front of the father.  So, I’m trying to be obedient in that.

I am blessed that one of my closest friends, Melissa, is a gifted pray-er. The first time I prayed for others with her, I was humbled immensely.  She and I were huddled together with a couple of people who were hurting and needed prayer, all of us crying, and my friend’s words were cascading into the small, intimate space between our faces.  She first invited God to our circle, and then her words just knew what to ask Him for.  And as she made petition to the Lord to heal the hurts, she praised him for meeting us in that place and for all that He was already at work doing.

Request and praise.

Make vulnerable and give glory.

Ask and trust.

Afterward, I thought about her glorious prayer, which was not stumbled over, but straight from her heart to God’s in the most raw and holy way.

“You are such a good pray-er,” I told her, and hugged her tight.  But later on, I wondered if “pray-er” is even a word found in the dictionary.  As it turns out, it is not.

Prayer is defined as an address (as a petition) to God in word or thought, or a set order of words used in praying.  But in doing a little research, I found out that “one who prays” is called: a “Supplicant” -one who makes humble petition. My friend, Melissa, is an excellent Supplicant.

We, in relationship to God our Father, are all Supplicants – whether our set of words flows easily or with struggle.  Perhaps when we link hands with a stranger and petition God to hear us, our willingness to act with supplication is part of our prayer.  I’m trying to learn this when I pray with others, not to worry about presentation, but presence.

Last Sunday after church, I went up front to pray for others with my Supplicant friend.  We held hands as we waited for others to come forward for prayer, and I peered out into the congregation.  The lighting in our sanctuary is kept very low during this time, so that worshipers might concentrate more fully on God instead of worrying what others might think.  I’ve always appreciated this twilight-prayer time personally because I get so easily distracted, but today, it looked dark out there in the crowd.

Until a young lady and her friend came up for prayer- two tiny stars of light until they were in our arms and under Melissa’s fervent prayer. I allowed myself to stop nervously formulating prayers for my time aloud, and melted into the pleads and tears and worship that was spreading throughout the entire sanctuary like wildfire.  I was the “amen” section for this prayer-time, which was just fine with me.  All of us – we prayed in agreement – and  Jesus, huddled up with us, delighting in  Melissa’s beautiful words of supplication, through her gifting – music to His ears.

On the walk back to our seats, we could not move without bouncing into light and love, and I wondered….

Is it possible  my stumbling on words is of no consequence to God, who considers the heart even in silent prayers?  If He can read my thoughts, he knows my gifting and lack thereof, He can translate my awkward out-loud requests. Perhaps the word ‘prayer’ is both a noun to describe words that petition and a noun that describes the humbled person doing the petitioning.   Maybe we are walking, breathing prayers – going about the daily business of living in constant pleading and praising.  Continual requests and praise as we make ourselves vulnerable, asking and trusting and giving Him glory throughout.

And He answers, overpowering darkness….manifesting His love in the wildest ways.

Inspirational

Why Jesus is my Sponsor

Jana Greene8 Comments
Sculpture at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, NYC (photo by Jana Greene)

One of the first things that one is encouraged to do in Alcoholics Anonymous is to get a sponsor.  Webster’s dictionary describes a sponsor as:

a)      A person who vouches or is responsible for a person or thing.  Or…

b)      A person who makes a pledge or promise on behalf of another.

Although I attended many meetings, I never did find a sponsor in the halls of AA.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want one initially, but asking someone to sponsor me seemed a cruel thing to ask of anyone in those early days.  Kind of like asking a stranger to donate a kidney.  And I surely didn’t want to sponsor someone else, even after some time in recovery, because I am a messy and flawed human being.  Being responsible for myself is about all I can handle (and some days that’s a stretch).

At one of the first meetings I went to, one member told the group that your “higher power” could be just about anything.

“It could be a lampshade,” she said, nodding toward the light in the corner of the room.  “As long as you admit that believing in it can restore you to sanity.”

I looked at the lampshade, which admittedly appeared to be more sane than I at that moment.  But it was not a “higher power” and I didn’t believe in its holiness. I didn’t believe that I could save myself, or that Buddha could save me or nature or another person.  I believed in Jesus Christ and His power to get me through this thing called sobriety.  It would have to be an act of God for me to stop drinking.

You see, for three days prior I had been on my knees, sick and begging for help.  Three days of detoxifying sweats, shakes, and hallucinations – the penalty of denying my body alcohol.  In my weak and lonely state, I had called out to Jesus Christ.  A fill-in-the-blank deity did not carry me through that – it was nothing short of supernatural.

When I was at my worst, sprawled out on the bathroom floor heaving and shaking, I screamed at the Lord and called him to the mat.

“You said your grace is sufficient,” I yelled, fist punching at air.  “Well, where are you?  Help me!”

Help me.  Help me. Please help me.  You SAID you WOULD!

And he did, moment by moment, bit by bit, comforting my sick body and tortured mind.  In that dark time, he became my closest friend.  The kind of friend you would give you a kidney.  The kind of friend that would give up his life for me.  Because you see, he did that, too.

Ever since that day, I have felt that I HAVE to tell other people about him, that he is still in the miracle business.  I have to show other “beggars” where I found bread.

I love the 12-steps and believe in the practicality that they offer.  I pull them out of the “toolbox” constantly, because they help me to do life on life’s terms instead of my own.  In the rooms of AA meetings and Celebrate Recovery gatherings, I have met the bravest people on earth.  Every person in recovery has something to bring to the table that another person in recovery needs to know or hear.  But for me, the program itself and the wonderful people I met at the meetings were just not enough to maintain sobriety.  They could not save my soul.

Life kept happening…the good and the bad, and all along, Jesus stayed. Jesus made the pledge, the promise – and he is still vouching for me today.  Any sanity I have had restored in these past eleven years of sobriety?

Given to me by my Sponsor, Jesus Christ.  He is the Highest Power of all.

Inspirational · Spiritual

“What’s Next, Papa?” A Control Freak looks at the REAL Adventureland

Jana Greene4 Comments

By: Jana Greene

Many years ago, my family enjoyed taking a vacation to Walt Disney World about every two years.   After a few trips, I came to learn the” lay of the land” and decided that I would create an itinerary in advance of each vacation in order that we might enjoy the maximum amount of fun mathematically possible in ten or so exhausting hours in the parks.

Never mind that my children (and budget) were small; there were exciting adventures happening everywhere in that place and dadgummit – we weren’t going to miss a thing!

Crafting each itinerary in advance was a lot of work, what with the hours of research spent analyzing the historical crowd levels, taking our favorite restaurants into account and studying the parade schedules

I am not an analytical person normally, but I’m very prone to addictive behavior, and I took each Pilgrimage seriously.   My itineraries became so neurotically detailed (each activity on each day down to a half-hour margin of error) that my family became unwilling to follow my plans.

One day on vacation, we walked into the Magic Kingdom at 9:00 a.m. as scheduled  and my family informed me that they would not be following the plan for today.  Even though the plan clearly indicated that we would visit Tomorrowland first, they started to head to Adventureland, dragging me by the hand.  The itinerary ended up in a wastebasket somewhere near Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

My family’s mutinous rebellion resulted in two things:  everyone had a much better time when NOT following a strict schedule and it became apparent that I am a CONTROL FREAK.

It took the intervention of a cartoon mouse to make me see it.

Knowing the “next cool thing” we were going to do actually had the opposite effect on the Fun Factor.  It was hard to get excited about the next activity when you already knew what to expect.  There was no room for the wonderment of what delightful thing you might just happen across.

As a general rule, I like knowing what is going to happen ahead of time, and I’m happy to help the process along by making lists/itineraries when applicable.  This season in my life is no exception.

This might be especially true when it comes to time and money – the two things that seem to run out the fastest.   I am all too happy to make suggestions to God about what might be the next big step (with subtlety, of course) but I suspect He sees right through me and knows that my suggestions are really just prayerful efforts to control.  I don’t know what is going to happen next, and anytime I think I do – it turns out to have been pure delusion.

But delusion trumps uncertainty in my primal brain quite frequently.  So I pray.    “Help me, God….whatever is next!  And help me to stop trying to help you decide what that is!”

This morning I read something in the Bible that stopped my worry-wart, hand-wringing prayer time today with its simplicity.

“This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life.  It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a child-like “What’s next, Papa?”  God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are.  We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children.  And we know we are going to get what’s coming to us – an unbelievable inheritance.  If we go through the hard times with him, then we’re certainly going to go through the good times with him!” – Romans 8 15:17 (MSG)

Could it be that I am missing the wonderment of delightful things because I’m too busy tending to the “grave” thoughts?  Tending to the thoughts of an empty grave at that?  Time, money, the actions of other people – all out of my control, all distractions from the rich destiny intended for me.  What about the Fun Factor?

I’m starting to figure out that it isn’t knowing the next cool thing that’s important; it is trusting that God has my best interests in His plan. It’s “What’s next, Papa?” in genuine adventurous expectancy.

Without knowing the “lay of the land”, without making suggestions to my Father.

And without missing a thing, except for the illusion of control.

 

Inspirational

In With the Out Crowd

Jana Greene5 Comments

 

By: Jana Greene

“There’s trouble ahead when you live only for the approval of others, saying what flatters them, doing what indulges them.  Popularity contests are not truth contests – look how many scoundrel preachers were approved by your ancestors!  Your task is to be true, not popular.” –  Luke 6:26 (The Message)

It was the first day of fifth grade at Quail Valley Elementary School.   First and second period had been rough already; none of my friends were in my class.

I had chosen the all-important “first day of school” outfit carefully.  I wore the very latest Jordache jeans (win) but had paired them with a shirt that featured an American flag on gold, metallic fabric (fail).   I loved it, felt unique in it.  But the snickers and glares of my “friends” at my choice of clothing conveyed disapproval in the extreme.

My attempt to shine just ended up shining a big, twirling 1979 disco light on my awkwardness.

And now….the lunch bell.   The. Lunch. Bell!

I’d brought my lunch in a new K.C. and the Sunshine Band lunch box, and all of the other fifth graders brought brown bags (lunch boxes were for babies and I hadn’t gotten the memo).

When we entered the cafeteria, all of my classmates fell into some kind of socially pre-determined seating arrangement as if they had rehearsed it – which of course, they had.  I circled the table like a lost, pubescent Solid Gold reject for what seemed like an eternity.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.   My teacher gently touched me and whispered “Why don’t you come sit with me?  We can eat lunch together.”

If my social fate hadn’t been sealed by that moment, it was done then.  Eating with the teacher. 

Many days during fifth grade, I ate lunch with Mrs. Sewell.   But the funny thing was that I came to enjoy it, to choose sitting with her.  She planted little seeds of affirmation into my spirit with offhand comments at the table:  I’m glad you’re in my class.  I like the story you wrote about the leprechaun.  Gold is my favorite color, too.  I like eating lunch with you.  Don’t believe the junk other kids say about you – none of it matters!   Words carry such power.

I vowed that next year, Junior High School would be different!   I had no idea how true that statement would be, nor how exponentially more awkward it would prove.

Middle school is its own special kind of adolescent hell.  It was when our peers started the process of labeling others in earnest, and all it took to become that labeled entity was for enough people to say you were, believe you were – that thing:  Prep, Jock, Nerd, Loser, Slut, Prude, Stoner –all sub-headings for “Popular” or “Unpopular”.

I guess you realize by now, I was not popular.

By early adulthood, long after high school, I came to realize that all of the socially tormented moments growing up did not destroy you but only (warning: cliché ahead) made you a stronger person.  I tried to tell my daughters that same thing all throughout their middle and high school years.

“You will not even remember the people whom you are giving this power to!” I would say.

But of course – they responded as if their mother were telling them something clichéd.

We adults figure out that the approval of others isn’t important.

Right?

Until someone says something to us or excludes us in a school or workplace function.

Or criticizes a project we’ve poured our heart into.

Until somebody spreads a rumor about us, and we are hurt by it.

Until society demands that accept a certain set of beliefs, lest we be labeled intolerant.

Until we cannot afford to keep up with the neighbors, or the standards we used to consider “comfortable”.

Or until we feel out of place at  church, God forbid.

Until someone makes us feel “less than” or labels us with their incomplete assessment of our talent or time or ability.

Or worse, until we label ourselves.

Fifth grade lunch table all over again.

In Author Joyce Meyer’s book Approval Addiction, she concludes:

“We suffer much agony because we try to get from people what only God can give us, which is a sense of worth and value.  Look to God for what you need, not to people.”

People will always, always disappoint you.   I tell my kids that, too, but I’m not sure they believe me yet.

Because other people don’t have the answer about what is true about us.   They don’t know what God sees in us.

Jesus chose the crowd He ran with during his ministry here on earth, and the “in” crowd of His day had a lot to say about his choices.  He saw beyond the labels that society had so generously doled out on his followers and gave them a new label altogether:  HIS.

I am still a little socially awkward, messy, and well….unique.  But I am His.

Regardless of whom we are or what we’ve done, no matter what we have or what we don’t have, Jesus says, “Why don’t you come sit with me?  You’re welcome at my table.”

In His love letter, the Bible, He affirms:

I’m glad you’re my follower.  I love that you’re using your gifts and talents in fellowship with my other kids.  If I had any use for a refrigerator, your picture would be on it.   I like spending time with you.  You are mine forever.  Don’t believe the junk others say about you – it doesn’t matter!  Your task is to be true, not popular.

Words carry such power.

 

 

 

 

 

Inspirational

Unhinged

Jana Greene15 Comments

By:  Jana Greene

Yesterday wasn’t one of my best days.

I woke up with a headache and other tell-tale signs that it was “that time” of the month.  Granted, I’ve had a hysterectomy – but the one remaining ovary I own is in total denial and tries to “keep up with the Joneses” – the Joneses being the three other young women I live with.

Grumph, I thought, getting out of bed.

Somehow, mysteriously, all of my pants and jeans had shrunk two sizes over the course of a few days, so that nothing would fasten.  Pulling on sweatpants, the waistband felt tight.  I would feel like the magician’s assistant all day long – the one for whom being cut in half at the midsection was a paying gig.  Except for me, it isn’t.

I looked in the mirror to find that my face had become an obstacle course or sorts, with wrinkles and zits competing for the gold medal.  Team Zit was winning.  I dotted some foundation over them, which managed to magnify the blemishes and settle into the wrinkles.  I felt myself starting to cry, but decided to be angry instead.

Sometimes you have decide to be one or another.

At lunchtime, I enjoyed a perfectly lovely meal with some ladies whom I am getting to know in a business capacity and maybe even a friend capacity.  One of the topics of discussion had been meditation, which to me – is finding a Happy Place in your mind and hanging out there for a while.  Ironic subject today.   My Happy Place is in the presence of God, which honestly – in my mood – I didn’t think I could find on a map.  I felt like God was avoiding me, and I didn’t much blame him.

Later, while driving my 20-year old daughter home from work, she started an argument, which I was happy to keep going.  Living with grown kids is its own special brand of challenge, since they have had longer to become proficient at pushing  buttons.   Normally, I like to fancy myself a loving mama bird gently nudging my babies toward the edge of the nest, where they will spread their wings and soar into the wild blue yonder.

Today, I was more like a cranky public transportation driver who wanted to shove her out of the bus (destination: Independence) and yell – while waving my fist in a very non-nurturing way:  “Oh yeah?  Well you can walk the rest of the way to adulthood, Missy!”

I felt myself becoming more and more….well, unhinged.

“You act like your estrogen will never run out,” I actually said to her, menacingly.  “It will, I tell you!  It willlll……”

Making me even grumpier is that on some level, I realize how trivial all of these problems are.  They are First World Problems.  Middle-age problems.  Bad economy problems.  They are not the biggest issues I face, but they all conspired to storm the castle of my spirit at once and my defenses were down.

I hadn’t spent much time with God in prayer that morning; my defenses were not what they should have been. I hadn’t read his word at all – I hadn’t armored up with the belt of truth described in scripture –

Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, 15 and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. 16 In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17 Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. –  Ephesians 6:14 (NIV)

Today, I felt armed with only  The Sweatpants of Bloatedness and the Pimple of Doom.  How could I fight this mood without even dressing for battle?

I had been in a rush to accomplish a dozen meaningless little things – straightening up the house, running mindless errands – to try to distract myself from myself.  Thinking maybe if I ran around enough, I could outrun the little black cloud of hormones and the grumph. 

At the end of the day, I finished up some work and ate some chocolate (detrimental to the waist and the face, but good for the soul).  I talked to my husband for a time and did some writing and felt just a little better.  And I read some scripture, because I remembered it hinges me back together.

I felt better because I gratefully remembered that God is present in my unhingedness, too.  I don’t have to go looking for his presence on a map.  He is omnipresent, and he gives grace big enough to handle me on my ugliest days.  He doesn’t mind hanging out, even when I finally allowed myself to cry.  Sometimes you have to decide to accept grace.

And that’s something to meditate on.

Inspirational · Spiritual

Big Fish in a Little Pond

Jana Greene6 Comments

By:  Jana Greene / thebeggarsbakery.net

You might be a big fish
In a little pond Doesn’t mean you’ve won
‘Cause along may come
A bigger one –  Coldplay, Lost

Fill in the blank:  When I finally achieve ______________, I will be_____________.

Accomplishment…it is a slippery little sucker.  Once you catch it, it tends to wriggle free.  I think I know what success is, but the definition keeps changing. But I’m learning not to compare myself to others.  If God doesn’t compare us to one another, why do I?

My “fill-in-the-blanks” have changed many times:

When I finally achieve career success, I will  fit in.

In the business world, while others were striving to reach the next rung on the ladder, I was just trying to keep from tripping over myself on the ground.  The message at the office is: the work world is how you measure your success – and a large portion of society  confirms that it must be true.  But there is very little requirement in corporate America for creativity.  While others were making money and enjoying the fruits of their labor, I felt like my fruits were dying on the vine. I was such a square peg forced into a round hole even my successes weren’t really mine.  They were the achievements of a round-shaped square peg, whittled down to conformity in order to fit.

When I finally achieve my ideal weight, I will be happy with myself.

This is a biggie (no pun intended) with most women I know.  At different stages of my life, I have been heavy and I have been thin.  Here in the middle (and middle-aged) is not where consider my body ideal, but I have to be honest with myself.  In the skinny years, I found a myriad of other ways to be unhappy with my body.  Fitting into size six jeans was nice, but all the while I was thinking, “Another gray hair!” while hating this feature or another.  Those goals I set for myself that seem so important often fail to satisfy.

When I finally achieve organization, I will be a better writer.

Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I’ve decided that I will one day become an organized person.  I will sit at my desk, which will have all of my resources handy (dictionary, thesaurus, extra printer paper, highlighters) and utilize Microsoft Outlook’s calendar and scheduling features.  My desk would not appear to be the workplace of a mad scientist who decided to take up writing Haiku…..half-drunk cups of coffee, sharpies missing lids, a random cat wandering across the keyboard.  But as it is, my desk is never clean and orderly.  It is covered in yellow post-it notes that proclaim messages like “Next Tuesday” and “Why snails have strong faith” or “7”…things that I am sure will later jog a writing idea but usually don’t, because I’ve forgotten why I wrote them down in the first place.  I’m not even sure my computer has Outlook.

So, I keep asking God, what can I achieve for you?  What can I accomplish as Your child? 

After all, he knows me best.  He knows that I am no businesswoman.  He knows that I carry a little fluff around, that I am messy and disorganized.  He is ok with these and a million other personality and character attributes belonging only to me, and the defects?  He is helping me work through those.

He always finds me, even under the striving to please others – even in my most vain and selfish pursuits.  I sense my Creator saying often to my spirit, “Little fish….how did you get in there?  No wonder you are miserable – you are in the wrong pond!”

He created me.  He should know!  The definition of the true measure of success in Christ is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.

When I achieve surrender to God I will be successful.  Accomplished. And most likely, covered in yellow sticky notes.

Inspirational

I Triple-Dad-Dare You….Happy Father’s Day!

Jana GreeneLeave a comment

I Triple-Dad-Dare You….Happy Father’s Day!.

Inspirational

I Triple-Dad-Dare You….Happy Father’s Day!

Jana Greene6 Comments

 

When I met my husband six years ago, it was – as they say – love at first sight.  I was a single mother of two adolescent daughters, and he was a single father to one.  His girl was the same age as my oldest, who was about to turn 14.

If you know anything about teenage girls, you know about fourteen.  Brutal on both child and parent….fourteen is parental boot camp.

While we were dating, my Beloved swept me off my feet with romance – but really wowed me with his fathering abilities.   His daughter was his heart….and because she was – he melted mine.  He was so committed to her and to the job at hand – being the best dad he could be.

A little over a year later, he and I took “love at first sight” to “I thee wed”.   With our vows, he went above and beyond in assuming the daily fathering duties of his new wife’s daughters. The carpooling,  trips to the dentist’s office, and buying the school supplies.   This previously single father  of an only child tripled his “dad-ness” factor practically overnight.

He is the bravest man I know.

The adjustment was not easy or seamless.  All three daughters lived with us in our “blended” family (which at times was more of a pureeing than a blending).  After all, our daughters hadn’t fallen in love with one another; they were at the mercy my husband and I – and our commitment.

If parenting teenagers is walking through a minefield, step-parenting is navigating a minefield during a hurricane while under nuclear attack, without even having had the benefit of boot camp.   It’s intense.

Yet he stayed present, committed to the job….

He has been through fourteen three times over now.  Our daughters, now 17, 19 and 20, still all live at home.  Our little pureed family is strong because my husband is strong, and committed to the job.

Through the usual growing pains of our daughters’ having boyfriends, breakups and broken hearts (and yet more boyfriends) – he offers advice and more importantly, sets the bar for how they should expect to be treated by the way he treats me.  Through graduations and awards, he lets them all know he is proud.  He has sat through three times more middle school band concerts, chorus performances and class plays than he ever imagined when he was the father of one child.

He doesn’t flinch when buying Midol, knows what time of the month  to bring home extra chocolate and doles out the best hugs in the household.  He knows all the little things that make the girls unique…his daughter, who is still his heart, and both of mine, whom have come to love him deeply.

And he makes me a better mother, because I know that he and I don’t just ‘present a united front’ to the girls.  We are united.

The bravest man I know.

To my husband, you are truly, the most amazing husband and father in the world.  The girls love you, and I love you.  Happy Father’s Day!