Catch a Wave

Summer is here and its time to play. One of the great things about living 45 miles from the Gulf Coast is living so close to the Gulf Coast. The beach, the sand, the surf, the sun – there is so much to do. It’s hard to pack all the fun into just 3 months of summer.

One of the greatest things to do at the beach is surf. Wax up the board, paddle out, pick out the perfect wave and then ride high and tall on a wild one. Well, I guess that’s how it’s done. I’ve never actually surfed.

For starters, surfing around these parts is really quite laughable. The waves are small – unless of course a hurricane is stirring up the Gulf. The water is a milky brown so it’s hard to see anything – even your feet in ankle deep water – and really unappealing. So the whole surfing experience never really called to me growing up.

I have seen real surfers in action though and it does look like a blast. A couple of years ago I was in Hawaii, heaven for surfer types. I happened to be on a bluff which looked out over an area where the currents came together and created these massive waves.

There were surfers all over the place. I could see beginner surfers just trying to get their balance and old pros that could take a wave as small as a ripple and make a ride out of it.

What a joy it was to watch. Everyone at the mercy of the ocean and what she had to offer. And as soon as a surfer rode a wave in or crashed out on one too early they all turned their boards back out to sea to try to catch the next big wave.

It is interesting to watch the anatomy of a wave. I have always thought of waves as something that begins out at sea and comes crashing into land. But high atop my bluff with the surfers participating as unwitting dancers in the sea’s waltz I noticed something new. The wave actually begins near shore and heads out before circling back in.

As I watched one surfer paddle out, the water he was paddling through suddenly got very still and shallow. It looked as though nothing was happening and this would be a dry spell for him. Actually, the water was being pulled out to sea instead of pushed to shore. Beneath him was created a trough; he was in a valley of water.

What was happening was the water that had been below him rushed out and became part of the wave forming slowly in front of him. But as he sat on his board he could not see this happening. This water helped create and build the high mountain of a wave that he so desired to climb. The lower his valley was, the higher and bigger his wave was going to be. And the bigger the rush he was about to experience once he stood atop his board and rode his wave back in.

So, as he sat there thinking nothing was happening a lot was happening – his glorious trophy wave was being created by the water that had also created his still valley.

The surfer’s deep valley made his best wave possible.

I can learn a lot from that surfer. He didn't give up when the water got still. He didn't paddle back in when the tide got low and it looked like the waves would not come. He stuck it out. He stayed with his board and with the gifts, talents and skills that brought him to that point. He had the patience to see it through. He may have gotten a little sunburned but in the end his perseverance was rewarded. And he got the ride of his life at the top of his mountain.

The top of the mountain is where I always want to be – whether that mountain is made of water or my wildest dreams. And with that mountain there will always be a valley. I can’t let the valley keep me from my mountain because the valley is part of the mountain.

I have never surfed but I feel a mountainous wave dead ahead. I am going to catch it and ride it high. And with all the joy and freedom that riding it is going to bring.

Are you waxed up and ready for a ride?

~

Thought for the Day

"If you want to make God laugh, tell Him what your plans are."
- Lou Holtz

~

Map Quest

I don’t like to brag but I am an expert map folder. (folderer? I fold them, I don’t file them.) Anyway, I can put the map back together in correct folded-order on the first try. Even while driving. Please don’t tell the DPS.

This used to be quite a handy skill in the days before GPS navigation systems. Now, it seems paper maps are headed the way of Polaroid film. I love maps. Spread one out on a table and you can see the whole city or state at one time. Can’t do that with the fancy, schmancy GPS navigation system.

Maps also are a great way to look into the past. The world is constantly changing. It has been for, well always, so maps have been updated for the same length of time. Antique maps are a wonderful way to see how our world used to look before we “improved” upon it.

I love looking at old maps of Texas. Did you know that Texas was originally so awesomely big that part of Colorado actually was apart of the State of Texas. Can’t get that kind of history with a GPS navigation system.

But what I like most about maps is that they show the world as it is. They mark the intersections, the valleys, the mountain peaks, the dead ends and the straight-away highways.

Whenever I drive on a long trip I like to get my maps, lay them out and highlight my route. That way I know where I’m going, how long it will take, what cities I should get gas in, where I think I will be by nightfall, and what sights I might pass along my way. (I am a sucker for historical markers and small town museums.) I have never had a boring journey.

Never, in all the many times I have mapped out my routes, have I ever highlighted a straight line. Can’t be done. No road, even when planned by the best city, state, civil planners or corps of engineers goes straight forever. Eventually, it will run into a rock formation, a canyon, a river, a housing complex, a forest, an ocean, a lake, a mole hill. There will be detours.

Maps are great and all when I’m driving but what I really need right now is life-map. They don’t sell life-maps at the gas-station. And there is for sure no GPS navigation system to help me. What in the world am I going to spread across my dining room table? Sure there are actual maps in the bible but really those are of no help here. (Well maybe if I’m going to the Dead Sea on vacation but I’ve no plans for that.) So, how do I get to where I need to go?

So? So, I'll follow the One who has the map.

I went on a trip once to a friend’s river cabin. A whole group of us went. Several carloads of people. We all followed each other. I didn’t know how to get there on my own. I followed the one who knew the way. And I got there safe and sound.

That’s what I’ll do now. I’m going to follow the One who knows the way.

I know that I won’t know what’s up ahead because I’m not the one holding the map. I won’t see that valley coming or that big, fabulous mountain peak either. I’ll just have to be surprised. The path is sure to have lots of twists and turns and probably even a few round-a-bouts I'll get stuck in (ever driven in Europe?). And I imagine there might be a few versions of the map in use, afterall the Map Reader knows my history and I do keep changing. But I know if I keep my eyes straight ahead on Him I will not get lost.

Jesus has the map and He’s been interpreting them a lot longer than I have. He will help me with the dangers and pitfalls I’ll encounter. And He will be with me when there is more joy than my heart can hold. I have every confidence that if I follow Him I will complete my journey and reach my destination safe and sound. And I know it will not be boring.

I just hope He likes to stop off at the historical markers and museums.

~

Roadkill

Roadkill – the remains of an animal that has been killed on a road. Dead, done, flat out gone, expired, Elvis has left the building. The longer the animal lies dead in the roadway the flatter, deader and less identifiable the animal becomes due to repeatedly being run over. You’ve seen them and may have even run over the remains of one a time or two.

Poor little animal. All it was doing was crossing the road on its journey when Wham! before it could even react it was all over but the crying. And now there it lies lifeless and alone. There are people whose job it is to drive around our highways and byways and do nothing but pick up roadkill. Can you imagine such a job? (I guess you really have to be the outdoorsy type).

I can’t imagine being in the roadkill-cleanup business but I can tell you it is a nasty job. And it is not for the faint of heart. In fact, I recently met someone who has this job. And I can tell you they are indeed very special and have been endowed with skills just for this type of job. You should see him cleanup roadkill; it’s an experience like no other.

While animals are the most visible and easily identifiable, animals are not the only creatures to become roadkill victims. I know because I am roadkill.

I am roadkill in every sense of the word. I am done, expired, laid out flat, completely run over - dead. The only thing alive about me at all, literally, is the beating muscle of my heart. That is all that has been left for the buzzards to pick over.

There is simply nothing left of me. Life has been beat out of me and I do not have the strength to get it back. I cannot pull oxygen into my lungs – that would require use of muscles that I do not have strength to work. I cannot smile or laugh – that would require joy that is too heavy to carry.

I try to think and focus on what to do next but there is no wisdom or discernment left to help me figure out my way and get up off the road. The only thing I have an over abundance of are tears – those I have in never-ending supply.

Sometimes death comes quickly to roadkill, sometimes the creature lingers, hanging on to life, struggling to live only to be hit repeatedly before dyeing. My death was like that. I didn’t know I had been hit at first, I only knew I was wounded. It was only after repeated trouncings did my body, soul and spirit expire. I have been down so long I no longer recognize myself.

How did I get like this? I always look both ways before crossing the street. As I lay here prostrate to the world I told God it was over. I told Him I was done. I was roadkill on the road of life and I, most seriously and literally, had no strength or way of going on.

I told God that if He had a plan for my life, if He had somewhere He wanted me to go or wanted me to see then He was going to have to get inside my body and be me and take me there. I surrender.

I told God He was/is going to have to be my muscles and my strength, He will have to be my wisdom, my joy, my love, my creativity, my energy, my will, my grace, my discernment. He will have to be all these things in me, with me, for me. He cannot just give these things to me because I no longer have the strength to hold them or receive them myself. His are much better than mine ever were anyway.

And that’s when I met the roadkill-cleanup specialist. God sent His Specialist to clean me up, restore me and bring me back to life. I am still by the roadside but I am able to sit up and breathe.

I am only able to write these words – tear free! – because I believe God is rebuilding me through His Holy Spirit. No other way to explain the difference in the last few days, not one thing has changed in my outward life. But really, I don’t need a worldly explanation, God already gave me His - He said He will always be with me in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. (Ps. 23) "Shadow of Death" - never really paid attention to that part of the Psalm before. I have now. (I sure am ready for those Still Waters).

Please remember to look both ways before crossing the street but if you happen to become a roadkill victim, don’t worry I know a great cleanup guy.

Sometimes death comes as a hit and run but sometimes death comes as a hit and restore.

~

Thought for the Day

The greatest hitters in the baseball Hall of Fame failed 7 out of every 10 times they batted.

"The Favor of Your Reply is Requested..."

What if one day you accomplished something really cool you had always wanted to do? And what if you decided to throw a party to celebrate? What if you threw the party in your parents' house because it could hold more people than your own?

What if you sat down and wrote out your guest list? What if you personally selected each person on the invitation list? What if you made sure your dearest, closest, oldest friends were included in your celebration?

What if you went out and bought decorations, food, and beverages for your fabulous celebration? What if you prepared the home so that your friends would have a marvelous time and feel warm and welcome?

What if all your friends called and said “Yes” they would love to come celebrate your big accomplishment with you? What if they said they could not wait; the party was going to be such fun?

What if on the day of the party you looked great, the house looked great and the food looked great? What if all that was needed was your friends to make your celebration really great?

What if at the time the party was to start the door bell didn’t ring? What if an hour after that there was still no knock on the door? What if an hour after that the phone rang and one friend was running late but soon would be there? What if that friend never would actually be there? What if the house stood empty and silent?

What if you threw a party and nobody came?

You might think back on it some twenty years later and though you laugh it off when you tell the story, somewhere deep in your solar-plexus it still smarts. You still love your friends all the same but the memory of THE party is still there. But, I tell you what, you learned a mighty big lesson that night.

You learned that invitations are important. Very important. They may not be all that important to you; in fact from time to time you might even seem a little burdened or weary of getting them. You learned they are important to the one who sent them.

You learned how rude it is to just brush off an invitation after someone went to all the trouble to include you in their party. For all you know they had to exclude someone else to include you. No, invitations should not be taken for granted.

That is not to say that you have to accept all invitations. For the sociable types they would never get a day’s rest, poor dears. But you learned if you do accept an invitation to a party then good manners dictates that you go.

What you want to know now is how well have you been putting these lessons to actual use in the intervening twenty years. So you apply it to any current invitations:

In fact, you have been invited to a party – a daily party. Well, a lifetime party actually. And you for one admit that you have been most inconsistent in your RSVPing. Some days you say “Yes” and show up, some days you say “Yes” and don’t show up. And then there are the days when you flat out RSVP with a big fat “No Thank You.” Turns out you're human.

You know what I’ve learned from your little no-one-came-to-my-party debacle? You are not the only one who is hurt by your not showing up to God’s party. Sure, you hurt yourself. You miss out on all the blessings God had in store for you that day. But God is just as hurt – if not more so – by your refusal to honor Him and your relationship. Just like you were, the host, when no one came to your party.

Everyday God offers us a richness of Himself that includes (but is not limited to) His love, mercy, protection, blessings and life everlasting. When that is turned down, even for a brief moment, He is hurt so deeply. When we don't show up and receive Him He is hurt.

We feel because God feels. He is not some mystical being that exists in the ether that has no tactile connection to us. We are created in His likeness, His image. We are creative because He is creative. We are joyous because He is joyous. And we get our feelings hurt because He gets His feelings hurt. Whatever happens to us - happens to our Heavenly Father first.

And that includes getting bummed out 'cuz no one came to the party.

The thing about parties is there’re easy. All a guest has to do is show up. Nothing else is required but mere attendance.

What if even one friend would have come to your party? What if just one person had shown up? My guess is you would not be reliving this nightmare scenario right now. Your feelings would not have been hurt. You would have had twenty years of joyous memories instead of twenty years of hurt.

What a difference showing up makes. Just showing up. How easy is that? There’s an invitation in the mailbox, will you be showing up to the party?

Hope to see you there. (I'll be the one near the queso dip, with the smarting solar-plexus.)

~

Halfway There

I am weary. Dead-dog, bone-weary tired. Putting that thought on paper and articulating it “out loud” seems only to increase my weariness.

I have been so busy lately focusing on the lives of others that it has been conveniently easy to overlook that I have been overlooking myself. But my world of duties has quieted overnight. That months’ long do-to list is done. And now I am left with me.

I have been looking so forward to this day; to the time when I could focus on my creative pursuits and my future. Engines revved and ready to go. What I didn’t plan on was the silence, the emptiness, the stillness. I stand at the door and look around and see a vast vastness.

Is the direction I’m heading the correct course? I think so but I keep travelling it and seem to be getting nowhere fast. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know which way to turn. But I know I can’t stop. This is exhausting. And I don’t have the energy to do whatever it is I am supposed to do. I need some help here.

One of my favorite movies is Where the Red Fern Grows from 1974. In it a young boy Billy saves up his money for two years and buys 2 coon-hounds. He loves these hounds. And these hounds love him and each other. He trains them from pups to track and “tree” raccoons.

One night Billy goes out hunting with his dogs – Old Dan and Little Ann. The dogs pick up the scent of a ‘coon and track it all throughout the woods until they “tree” it in the tallest sycamore tree in the woods. The only way for Billy to get the ‘coon is to chop the giant tree down.

It takes young Billy two days to chop down the tree with his ax. His family comes looking for him in the woods thinking something has happened to him. The family tries to get him to give-up, to find a smaller tree to cut down. He says “no.” His father offers to help him chop but he says “no.” He made a promise to his dogs that if they tree’d a ‘coon he would chop the tree down and that is exactly what he is going to do even if it takes him a year.

Billy is exhausted. Two days of chopping have him worn-out and bone-dead tired. The tree has a big chunk missing and it will eventually die and fall from the wound but it is clear that the tree is far from falling anytime soon. The ‘coon is safe.

Then Billy has a chat with God. He recalls something his Grandpa told him when he was working hard to save his money for two years to buy the dogs. That if Billy did what he could do, God would meet him halfway and do the rest.

Billy tells God that he has done his best. He has chopped as much as he can. He has kept his promise to his dogs. He has met God halfway. But he needs God’s help to bring the tree down; he cannot do it on his own. Billy needs God to meet him halfway.

Then suddenly a big wind stirs up. The tall sycamore starts waving in the wind and finally falls down, killing the ‘coon. The first thing Billy did when he got home with his prize and was asked how he did it was tell his Grandpa that he met God halfway.

Am I there? Have I tree’d my ‘coon? Have I chopped my tree halfway? I don’t know. I surely feel as though I have. I’m tired enough to have chopped a forest of trees. But as I stand here waiting to find out I will continue to chop. Like Billy, I will keep chopping even if it takes me a year. Through the weariness, through the tiredness and vast stillness I will chop.

Because one day God will meet me halfway and His wind will blow for me.

~

Awakening

I’m not much of a gardener. Plants do not last long in my care. My yard, small as it is, is a hodge-podge of errant weeds, patchy grass and hearty greenery that thrives on in spite of my best efforts to ignore it into oblivion.

Every so often I forget to remember my lack of Mr. Green Jeans’s talent and take a field trip to the local nursery. I always buy way too much more than I have the ability, strength or knowledge how to plant and care for. It’s like what happens when I go the cafeteria; I see all that delicious food. It looks so pretty I order a little bit of each dish. I’ll never eat it all – what was my stomach thinking?

Same deal at the nursery. My eyes glaze at the sight of all those lustrous flowers and bedding plants. The thought of my yard as only Martha Stewart could do it is too over powering. Soon I’m up to my arm pits in soil, flowers and fresh shrubbery – which will all die a slow and unceremonious death in the weeks to come despite my best efforts to keep it all alive.

This is back breaking work – no wonder I only do it during leap years, and happily 2009 is not a leap year. I love all that beauty but I want instant gratification. Patience is required for a gardener and that I have on short supply most days.

My paternal grandmother, from whom I received my middle name, was a fierce gardener. My grandparents lived on seven wooded acres in the heart of the city and she diligently maintained the gardens of about half of them - herself, with just one wonderful helper. I cannot begin to tell you the work that was.

Every fall she planted thousands of tulip bulbs all over the property. Tulips are my favorite. They are so delicate and so beautiful. And they require the utmost skill and dedication to grow.

My grandmother would gather her bulbs months in advance of planting and store them in a refrigerator. At just the right day and time in autumn before the first frost she would plant them. And planting the little brown rock like thing is not easy. The hole has to be dug just so deep, add at little fertilizer, cover with good soil, water and wait for spring. This is back-breaking work when you are planting thousands.

But the result was amazing. Each spring my grandparents’ backyard was a showplace. Tulips of all colors and variety bursting from everywhere. Acres of them – around trees, down in ravines, in every bed and along every walkway. I can’t see one today without thinking of her – and smiling.

I tried it once – planting tulip bulbs. Disaster. About 17 years ago (the shame has prevented me from trying again) I wanted that same look and feel in the spring at my home so I asked her advice and set about my task. I bought the bulbs early – 100 bulbs to be exact. I stored them in the fridge for the requisite amount of time. I prepared my bed and soil. I dug my holes and put in nitrogen-rich fertilizer. Covered them and watered them well and cared for them all autumn and winter long.

I could not wait for Spring and the first signs of the tell-tale green shoots sprouting forth from the bed signaling the tulips were awakening. But something was wrong. Spring arrived with no tell-tale green shoots. Weeks went by and still no signs of life from the bed. Neighbor’s tulips were blooming but mine were still in hibernation.

Finally, life! One yellow tulip sprouted in the dead-center of the bed. One. Out of 100 bulbs planted, one awakened and became a tulip. Crest-fallen I dug up its sister bulbs to see the problem. It appears that I had planted the other 99 upside down. Several showed signs of life – little green shoots came out but could not make the 180-degree turn north towards the sky. Tulip bulbs are indeed expert territory.

That’s the thing I find so amazing about them. Hold one in your hands. It looks like nothing special. Just this little brown lump. It looks dead. And in fact, it is dead or rather it is dormant with its life waiting to be released. Who would ever think by looking at it that if given just the right amount of preparation, care, attention, patience and love by an expert gardener that an odd looking little nothing could grow into the most beautiful thing in the world in a matter of months?

We can learn a lot from a tulip bulb, especially at Easter. The Master Gardener has taken what was dead and made it alive again. And I think it is not coincidence that we celebrate Jesus awakening and re-birth in Spring.

What God does for the tulip bulb and what He did for His son Jesus He does for each and every one of us. We may look like a little brown lump on the outside but God sees the beautiful tulip we are on the inside.

He makes us alive again. He makes us beautiful.

Happy Easter and may God Bless you and your family.

~

The Postcard

It all began so innocuously. I was just going through the mail. I almost didn’t read it, it looked like junk mail. It was a little white postcard no bigger than a 3x5 card. No fancy writing. No four-color graphics. But read it I did and things have never been the same.

We all have dreams and desires for our lives. We make plans when we are young and pursue certain paths that we think will get us to where our passion tells us we have to be. But like life does for most the path diverges, distractions come, reality sets in and passion gets put in a box, on top of a shelf, in the back of a closet.

I was blessed enough to pursue my passion in college and then continue the exploration of my dream after graduation. My path even took me out of my home town and to Tinseltown where I was going to set the world on fire. My life on the dream scale was squarely a 7-8.

Soon enough reality, distractions and diverges beset me. I still wanted my dreams to come true but they were not as visible as they once were. There was too much noise, too much confusion, chaos, and fear. Always that dreaded fear was tapping on my shoulder.

The thing about walking on our passionate path as opposed to the average, everyday path is that the passionate path cannot be walked alone. It is too fraught with danger. There are those who do not want us to live passionate lives and will throw all the fear, insecurity, guilt, shame, anxiety, you name it at us to stop us. Because with passion comes joy.

I was trying to live passionately but I was alone. And it was not working. So after a couple of years I decided I had a new dream and passion and I moved home. I packed up the old dreams and put them in that box, on the shelf, in the back of my closet. I never thought of them again. And I was fine with that - for the next 12 years. Really I was.

Or so I thought.

Here’s the thing about our dreams. We don’t put them in our hearts. They do not originate in us. They are created by God. And because that is so, dreams will not die no matter how much we try to ignore them, bury them, replace them, drown them or do any other of the myriad things we conjure up to kill them.

In the intervening 12 years God got a hold of me in a deeper way than He ever had before. It started slowly. He slipped in when I was looking the other way but once He was in my heart He was not giving up His ground and He was staking claim to more. I was no longer alone. Whatever path I walk for the rest of my life God will be with me. And that makes all the difference.

Apparently, during the summer of 2007 God decided that I had forgotten about that box in my closet long enough. It was time for a nudge. The postcard went to my parents’ house. It didn’t even come to mine. They were out of town I and was sorting their mail, otherwise they would have thrown it out with the junk mail. God is clever.

The card was an invitation to a meeting from an actor’s union I belong to but had long since put my membership on hold. I no longer received correspondence from them. Why this? Why now? God says my heart was strong enough now.

In the past, I would never have gone to the meeting - too insecure to walk into a meeting where everyone knew everyone and I knew no one. So, I put the postcard aside and went about my day. But I couldn’t. That card kept nudging me from my purse. That’s the thing about God; He’s rather relentless when He wants to be. The meeting did sound interesting. It was during my lunch hour. Why not just check it out? What could it hurt? I might meet some interesting people.

Boom. Box off shelf, out of closet, lid blown off and passion all over my heart. I had forgotten what true passion feels like. No matter where my life takes me I will never be able to get this back into a box again.

I walked into that meeting in the summer of 2007 and I have not missed one since. They embraced me, I embraced them and my path has changed forever. I made more money in 2008 following my first passion than I did my replacement passion. (I hope to write that sentence every year for the rest of my life.)

What’s the difference this time? I did not walk into that meeting alone. Now make no mistake, attempts to thwart me are being made. There are evil-doers (sorry about the Bush reference) at every turn trying to fill me with fear, insecurity, etc. But things are different as I pursue my dream this time. I am not walking my passionate path alone.

We are built to live with passion and pursue our dreams. God does not gives us dreams to have us ignore them. They are given to us for His glory. He wants us to live with a passionate heart for Him. The heart is a muscle for a reason and it needs to be vigorously exercised. What is God nudging you about?

Check your mail carefully. You never know what your heart might find.

~

Thought For The Day

"You haven't seen the last part of the best of me."
~ Serena Ryder

I'm riding these words all around my world today, and probably for some time to come.

How about you?

~