Heeding the road signs

Forgive me while I brag for a moment. I'm a good driver. Never-mind that one little run in with the college campus security guard. I can blame icy road conditions, right? And, besides, that was nearly eight years ago! My record has been spotless ever since. So, aside from that one brief mishap behind the wheel my driving is stellar. No speeding tickets. No accidents. I attribute my driving success to heeding the road signs and being gentle on my brakes (thanks be to my Dad for that valuable, and cost-saving, driving lesson). 

The road signs are my guide, alerting me to changes in the traffic patterns, varying speed limits and one-way streets. When traveling I make great time by avoiding "Dead End" and "No Outlet" streets. I'm intentional about which highway direction I choose in order to avoid going north when I should be traveling south. I'm especially attune to "Speed Strictly Enforced" signs and always on the look out for sneaky cop cars hidden in the brush. 

Now that I've bragged about my abilities behind the wheel of my car let me tell you that I'm not as confident about my driving when I get behind the wheel of my life. The signs are all there. God has laid them out in His Word yet I seem to completely ignore some of the biggest, most helpful of the warnings. 

Take, for example, "Forgive one another" and "Don't hate your brother - or your sister, or your enemy." God has tried to impress the right road on me by putting it in other terms such as "Love one another." God has even put the sign in big, bright red letters with a flashing border, "If you don't love other people I know you don't actually love me!" 

And yet I've traveled down roads such as, "Holding A Grudge," "Unforgiving," and "Resentful." Every one of these roads has been a no outlet, a complete dead end. I've wandered down their well-worn path, ignoring every notice directing me to choose a different route, and ended up going in circles with no way out. After wasting gas and time I've ended up back at that original road, faced with the decision to exit back out onto the road of grace and mercy, away from the impassable road of hard hearted hatred. 

God gave me the warnings of the dangers of hate and malice because He knows they won't lead to a place of beauty and peace. Holding a grudge and stewing in resentment will only produce frustration. Like driving down a dead end road, feelings rooted in hatred never lead anywhere worthwhile. 

Thankfully I have all I need to be just as skilled behind the wheel of life as I do behind the wheel of a car. God has created flawless signage and posted it in clear view. He hasn't made the directions complicated. They are really quite simple: love one another. That command is easier to understand than a Chevron sign. The challenge isn't understanding the meaning in the notices, it's heeding he warnings and following the directions.

In the end I'll always end up at the right destination if I follow God's signs, avoid the dead ends and go the right way on His highways. Frustration and endless circling about can be avoided if only I will stay alert and remain on God's route. His ways are good, clear, and pleasant. God's road always leads to peace and is always filled with grace. If I drive in accordance with God's Word I am sure to always have an impeccable record. 

The National Zoo Saga

"And then, of course, there's the zoo story."
The zoo story, one of my favorites. I've heard it a thousand times but every time my Mom recalls the National Zoo saga of 1991 it is as if it were brand new. I love it for the part it played in my life, the absurdity of its consequence and how it reminds me that God will use any means necessarily - from the silly to the sobering - to get me precisely where He wants me.
The zoo story dates back to 1991 when I was eighteen months old and, in my Mom's opinion, at the perfect age to enjoy a trip to the local zoo. Local at that time meant the National Zoo in Washington D.C. It was an hour drive from my family's home in Northern Virginia but it was the closest zoo and, despite terrible Saturday traffic, my Mom packed a diaper bag full of everything we would need for a day of animal exploration. With my brother's and I buckled into our seats we set off on my first zoo adventure.
Mom maneuvered her clunky blue Astro van along the interwoven highways of the I-95 corridor and through the congested beltway. Even on Saturdays Washington doesn't sleep. Downtown was a buzz with visitors, families and site-seeing buses. As she entered the parking lot of the Smithsonian Zoological Park she was greeted by sign after sign that stated, "LOT FULL." Determined to show her only daughter all of the sights of the zoo, from polar bears and to pandas, Mom weaved up and down every row. But not even my Mom, the woman with the God-given talent of happening upon primo parking spaces could find an empty spot to park the van. There was no room in the inn. Or should I say, no space for the Astro van in the lot.
Over an hour later, fuming with frustration, Mom gave up. All she had wanted to do was show her daughter some animals and share a photo-worthy memory with all three of her kids. Instead she ended up spending her afternoon in jam packed parking lots and over crowded highways.
Once home Mom had made up her mind. She was moving. Back in Northern Pennsylvania, in Mom's hometown, was a small zoo that never ran out of parking spots. A city small enough that the zoo could be reached in under twenty minutes from practically anywhere in the county. There were no beltways to contend with and not a single site-seeing tour bus company. Mom decided that day that she was going to go back to that town with her kids and her Astro van.
At first Dad was reluctant. He couldn't see a future in Pennsylvania that would support his family and he didn't want to leave his business in Virginia. But when he looked into the eyes of my Mom and heard the passion in her voice he knew this wasn't a passing phase. So Dad made Mom a proposal. "You find a buyer for my business and a new business to start in Pennsylvania and I'll move."
Piece of cake.
Within two months Mom had that business sold, another one found and half of her boxes packed. The little family of five who had yet to go to the zoo with their youngest child moved to Northern Pennsylvania. And the rest is history.
Dad has had a thriving business ever since. Mom took me, her daughter, to the zoo regularly with the yearly membership she purchased and cherished. All three of her kids graduated from the same high school she attended. Both of her sons live in that same Northern Pennsylvania town where they are raising their kids and taking them to that same local, parking-friendly zoo.
If ever you wonder how God is going to write your story, just hold on. He isn't going to do it in the way you anticipate. God uses the most unlikely of events to write the story of our lives. The plots He creates are creative and unique. He infuses each chapter with unlikely occurrences and surprising twists. God can turn a storyline upside down with something as silly as a trip to the zoo.
Whenever I doubt that God has a plan all I need to remember is the 1991 zoo saga. It changed the whole course of my life. Where I grew up, who I became friends with, where I went to college. Who I've become can all be traced back to a frustrating trip around a Washington D.C. parking lot.
God is still writing my story and as I travel through each page of His book for my life and enter each new chapter I do so with great anticipation and absolutely no idea where the twists and turns will take me. Life is a real page-turner and I can't wait to see where God takes it next.

Healing to-dos

I have a to-do list. Well, it isn't my to-do. And it isn't a "honey to-do list." This girl doesn't have a honey but if she did she may make him a list. She is, after all, a list-maker so why not share the love with a significant other? If you love lists and have a love life, pair the two. It only makes sense.
But back to my current to-do list. The list is for God and it outlines, in order of importance, the healing agenda I have for Him. Like any good to-do list it begins with the most pressing needs. For me need number one is digestive. That is such a big to-do I have it written in big red letters complete with many exclamation points. A few words such as "discomfort," "absorption," and "bloating" have been underlined just in case God misses my not-so-sublte memo to get on this task - and quickly, please.
The next few lines on the list are filled with needs such as the alleviating of heat intolerance, the restoration of energy and the elimination of spasticity. I've turned the list over to God because it is a list too daunting for me to handle. I've tried to complete the tasks on my own and failed miserably. So I've turned the list over to the expert trusting that God, being the ultimate Man of His Word, will surely take up my list in a timely fashion and complete the to-dos lickety-split.
Time has passed and God has had the list in His possession for weeks, months...years. This is starting to sound like the saga of an old married couple, don't you think? The wife tells the husband the bathtub needs caulked and instead of the husband running out to Lowes to gather supplies he leaves the list on the kitchen table, causing the exasperated wife to wonder why she even make a list in the first place.
When I gave my list to God I trusted He would pick it up and get to crossing off each need. I thought He'd treat my list as a "rush order." Isn't that what a red pen and capital letters are meant to communicate? But it feels like God has left my list on the kitchen table while He's gone to the fridge to find a snack. I've even suggested I give Him a ride to Lowes but He has yet to take me up on my offer.
So I've spent some time waiting for God to get around to my to-dos. I've become exasperated like the wife with a leaky bathtub. God hasn't been following my order on my time-table and He hasn't been meeting my to-dos.
Or has He?
If I take my eyes and my fixation off of my own to-do list and get back to God's Word I'm not left wondering very long what God has been up to in the kitchen. He hasn't been neglecting my list. He's been rewriting it. The "needs" I had listed that had to be met in my order, in my timing have been moved down the page. New priorities have taken their place. God's to-do list of healing begins with my heart.
God sees my needs and He knows each one intimately. Not only does He know what they are, He knows what's causing them. The symptoms that baffle me are understood to God. In the blink of an eye, with the snap of a finger He could heal them all. But first He has to start with my heart. He has to bind up my broken heart and restore my shattered soul before He will touch my physical wounds.
God is the Master Physician and the faithful fulfiller of to-do lists. He hasn't thrown my list in the trash or ignored the pleading heart that filled its lines with hopes and desires. God has my list safely in His pocket - my rewritten list.
On the to-do list that once prioritized my physical body God has made my spiritual health His priority. God knows that what is truly best for me is a vital heart that beats for eternity and a soul that sings praises forever. Reduced spasticity and perfect digestion may come but they don't top God's list. He is binding up my broken heart, polishing it to a lustrous shine and making my spirit a Masterpiece for His glory. The to-dos that top God's list are the ones that will outlast the paper they are written on and the body they restore. God's list is the list of eternal importance and He always fulfills it in His perfect timing.

Me and my claw

In recent years my trips to the ocean have been limited to the shoreline. The creatures great and small that reside beneath the water's surface have relegated my beach enjoyment to the sand and knee-high waters. I prefer to have a clear view of any threatening marine life.
Sharks aren't what scare me about the ocean. I've seen the statistics. The likelihood that I'll be bitten by a shark is miniscule. The stress over an attack has a greater chance at harming me than the shark itself. It's the smaller, less intimidating sea life that causes me concern - the sting of a jelly fish, the spikes of the sea urchin or the back of a slippery stingray. There are an array of creatures in the ocean I'd rather not meet or step on. To protect my toes from harm and my heart from a shock I stay safe near the sea shore.
But all of the caution in the world hasn't kept me from the pain of the claw. No, not the crab's claw. The foot claw.
The claw first took hold of my pinky toe. That little baby toe bent into a rigid position and stayed that way. I looked around for a crab to blame but the nearest crab in my northern location was on the plate of a diner at Red Lobster. A crab was obviously not the culprit.
After examining my deformed toe I came to a final conclusion. The claw was caused by me. More specifically, my brain and my MS.
MS, my chronic illness companion, has presented itself in a variety of ways. Spasticity, heat intolerance, vision loss...the list could go on but it had never come by way of a claw. After five years of an array of symptoms the claw foot was a new addition. And a painful one at that.
Throughout my days the claw foot came and went. Then it expanded its territory all the way to the middle toe. I became a pro at walking on a claw foot - an achievement that, as far as I know, does not qualify me for any awards.
After months of the claw foot I traveled to Florida. No, not to meet a real crab and give my foot an excuse for its behavior. I went for my scheduled stem cell treatment. With high hopes and many prayers the doctor extracted what little fat he could find, harvested my stem cells and pumped them back into my blood stream. The next morning I woke up without a claw foot. It was a miracle.

The blessed day the invisible crab was extracted from my foot was over six months ago now. The claw didn't return and I thought it never would. Until last week.
When my pinky toe seized up I thought it was just a cramp. An hour later I feared it was the return of the claw. A week later my fear has been replaced by acceptance. The claw is back and, once again, it has grown and flourished. The claw is having a party on my left foot with toes three, four and five.
I'll admit it. When the claw first came back I was downright angry. First I was angry at the invisible crab. Then I grew angry at my lousy stem cells. How dare they abandon my left foot! I called it righteous indignation but it was more irrational than justified and more silly than sane.
As I silently cursed my pinky toe and its clawed companions I thought back to the Bible and the beach. Then I thought back to Paul. He had a thorn in his flesh that he couldn't extract. Paul got the jellyfish; I got the crab.
When Paul was writing to the churches he told them about this thorn. He didn't deny its existence. How could he? It hurt! But Paul saw the thorn's purpose. Paul needed to be taken down a few pegs and made dependent on God in the face of temptation. So God gave him this thorn, a sting, a perpetual torment that Paul couldn't escape even when he begged God for relief. God wanted Paul to have that thorn. The thorn was actually a tool for Paul to use as a testimony to God's glory.
Just like at the beach, in life I've tried to avoid pain and suffering. When God hasn't miraculously healed me I've tried doctors, supplements and stem cells. When those haven't worked I've become frustrated and disheartened. I haven't wanted the pain of my symptoms and I certainly haven't wanted the constant presence of a claw foot.
But, like Paul, God has a purpose for my crab. And the purpose isn't a unique excuse to be crabby. The purpose is His glory. I have this crab on my foot as a constant reminder that I am captured and held in the grips of the Holy Spirit. The very being of Christ compels me and overwhelms me. God is my constant companion who has taken up residence in my heart all the way down to my toes.
So you see, this claw foot of mine isn't so crabby after all.

Choosing to be like Charles

For fifteen years Charles had nearly perfect attendance at church yet he never said a word. It wasn't for lack of desire. Charles wanted desperately to speak and converse but the college professor, down hill skier, and music lover couldn't form a single syllable.
Charles was born healthy, vibrant and full of promise. With his sharp mind it was no surprise when he went on to become a college professor. He married his college sweetheart and faithful dancing partner. The two shared an impeccable sense of rhythm, a love for music and a thirst for adventure. It was on one such adventure to the ski slopes that changed Charles' life forever. On the way home from their favorite mountain Charles sat behind the wheel of their station wagon, zipping along the highway late at night while his wife slept in the seat beside him. Charles' eyes were groggy. The long day on the slopes had exhausted him. Tragedy struck when Charles fell asleep at the wheel and the car went careening off the side of the road, stopped by the impact of a tree.
When Charles woke up from a lengthy coma his life looked drastically different. His wife soon left him, overwhelmed by the burden of her husband's future life burdened by disability. Charles was unable to walk or feed himself. His vocal chords had been crushed in the accident, shattering his dreams of returning to the college lectern. Charles, the brilliant professor, would be mute for the rest of his life.
That was in 1978. Charles was only 36 years old.
Twenty years later I met Charles at church. He lived in a rehabilitation facility, walked with a cane, ate food pureed in a blender and couldn't say a word. But he could smile wide, dance in his seat and remember everyone's names. Charles was limited but he was alive.
After recovering from his injuries and regaining more mobility and independence then doctors believed possible, Charles determined to learn sign language. If he couldn't speak with his mouth he would sign with his hands. Charles' mind was still sharp and he quickly learned the ins and outs of the language. Soon a dream formed in his mind to become a sign language professor. Although his vocal box was crushed in the accident, Charles' teacher spirit was alive and well. He had new hope and a dream.
For years Charles worked towards seeing that dream become a reality. He contacted schools and other sign language teachers. He wrote countless letters and petitions to come on staff at colleges and training facilities. As the years ticked by the possibility of Charles' dream ever coming true became more remote. Family members tried to discourage him from even hoping any longer. When they realized they couldn't squelch his dream they simply stopped listening.
When Charles passed away just a few years ago he still resided in the same rehab facility he had lived in since I met him. He never did become a professor again. The dream of teaching sign language went unfilled but the hope never died. Even nearing death Charles still dictated letters of appeal to community colleges and still planned for his future as a teacher.
Some might say that the story of Charles is depressing and disheartening. He never saw his dream come true. His story didn't have a storybook happy ending. But I disagree.
Charles was determined to enjoy life in spite of unfilled dreams. He had little reason to hope yet he never let that stop him from living with great expectation for the future. In the meantime, he took pleasure in what life he had - no matter how limited. He danced in his seat. He sipped on his favorite chocolate milkshakes. He gave gigantic bear hugs at church. Charles enjoyed whooping his opponents in cribbage and playing lighthearted tricks on his visitors. To look at Charles' life you might think he had every reason to be discouraged, depressed and downtrodden but he lived with the joy of hope even in the face of adversity.
I don't know if the dreams I have for my life will come true. Maybe God has different plans. Only time will tell. While I wait to see what future God has in store for me I can follow in the example of Charles and determine to live fully in the life I have now. I can decide to be content in the capabilities I have today and find enjoyment in the simple pleasures that bless my day-to-day existence.
Right here and right now I can choose to be filled with joy no matter why the future holds for my hopes and dreams.

Blue skies and birthdays

Birthdays are supposed to be happy occasions but sometimes birthdays end up being blue, melancholy days of remembrance. More funeral than party. More lament than celebration.
Today is my birthday. My twenty-sixth blue birthday to be exact. I requested a cake-less day without a party or the traditional, rhythmically challenged birthday song. For days leading up to this April the twelfth I have tried to forget that the day was even approaching. Twenty-six sounds dangerously close to thirty. A step into the later half of the twenties. It is a gigantic reminder that my life is at one big loose-end. My only birthday wish has been that somehow I could sleep through the day in a butterflies cocoon, hidden away from the reality of my unchanging circumstances.
This birthday has serviced as a reminder that my past six years have been pure turmoil. Six years of ill-health, fighting to hang on to my weight and my equilibrium. These years have been filled with more unknowns than sure-things. The mystery of it all has taken its toll.
When I fall on my humanness I become hopeless. The only way I've made it through has been choosing to fall on the grace of God. Not to say I always fall perfectly in His direction. Often times I find that I've fallen flat on my face and my knees before I've realized I need to collapse once again in the arms of my Abba, Father. He's brought me this far for a reason and although sometimes I question His intent, timing and purpose, I have found in the past six years that I have no other safe, soft place to land. I have to fall on God. Where else can I go?
This morning, on my twenty-sixth birthday, I found myself once again on my knees and in His arms, sobbing, chocking on my tears. As I laid there at a loss for a reason to pull myself up off the ground, a single phrase came pouring from my lips. It was as if the words themselves were spoken through Jesus Christ, right into this broken vessel: I can go on spiritually. As the words flowed from me I didn't even know if I could believe them or fulfill them. But the more I said it the truer the proclamation became. I can go on spiritually. I don't need to go on physically. I don't even need to worry about my physical body. The hope I have in my heart will keep me going. It has for all six years of my multiple sclerosis. God has kept me going spiritually, filling me with hope and endurance to carry on, bringing me to the age of twenty-six and He will not abandon me now.
With that promise hidden in my heart and those words propelling me forward I rose up off the floor and remembered the scene twenty-six years ago. A rainbow formed across the sky, painting a picture for drivers on the I-81 coordinator in Virginia. As my Father sped up the interstate on his way to join his laboring wife he looked up and saw that perfectly formed rainbow. In that rainbow He saw the promises of God - the same promises that, twenty-six years later, I still rest upon.
God made me twenty-six years ago this day. He has carried me through the ups and downs. He has sustained my physical body but more importantly He has rescued my spirit and given it the strength to go on.
On April twelfth I have every reason in the world to celebrate because I am my beloveds and my beloved is mine. In Christ I have received abundant, endless life. In Christ I have everlasting hope that speaks to my soul, carries my spirit and assures me that this precious child can and will go on.

Truly thriving

Oh, the allure of online marketing. The aesthetically pleasing banners, the eye-catching graphics, the email bombardment and the promise of a "free trial." What internet surfer hasn't been tempted to try a new body lotion, order the latest fitness tracker or, if you're like me, subscribe to the internet food-service fad? The blogosphere is all abuzz about ordering organic, sustainable, healthy groceries online. The promise is lower prices and convenience, not to mention outstanding quality. Become a subscriber, pick your products and track your package. Before you know it a box will show up on your doorstep containing organic goodness.
After receiving my fair share of emails enticing me with promises of the best in cereals, spices and even beauty products. I finally took the bait. The offer from Thrive Market sounded practically life changing. This was about more than food, it was a mission to change the world. And they wanted to give it to me for free! Well at least the bone broth.
So I placed my order and filled in all of the boxes. Name. Address. Credit card information. Wait, what? Credit card information? I thought this was free? As in, you keep your money and get the goods. I read on to discover that this flavorful, life-giving bone broth would be my free introductory item welcoming me into the Thrive family. Once I got my broth, fell in love and became a bone broth addict I wouldn't mind the $59.00 yearly fee automatically deducted from my bank account. Of course, I could always log onto my account and cancel at anytime, even before the first year's dues. I gave my information and made a mental note to cut bait within thirty days if this broth didn't change my life. And honestly, who believes broth is going to change their life?
With the note made and the order placed I awaited the arrival of my box.
A few afternoons later I arrived home to find my delivery from Thrive Market. I opened it up and pulled out a box of bone broth. The box was small, smaller than I had anticipated. I poured its contents into a pot. The color was foggy and off-putting. The smell was worse. Convinced that the five star reviewers must have been raving about the taste I heated up the broth and took my first sip and recoiled. The broth was inedible.
Needless to say the rest of the pot ended up in the sink and the automatic subscription was cancelled. So much for the promise of boxed and door-step delivered thriving.
What did I expect? A bone broth to change my life, how I shop and what I eat? Did I actually believe that a product could hold such power?
Although the Thrive Market couldn't deliver on a life change it did provide an attitude change. The world and its schemes will never cease to tempt me with products and promises that will make me happier, healthier and more fulfilled. The ploys dangle trips to exotic locations in front of my eyes offering me the experience of a lifetime. Commercials with the latest in health and beauty products guarantee my satisfaction. Boxes and bows entice me to purchase, spend and be changed!
But I'm on to their tricks and tactics. A product can't change my life. A trip won't transform me. Only Christ has that power. And He isn't charging me a cent. In fact, He's already paid the full price without asking for my credit card number. He wants to change me free of charge. All He asks is that I give Him total and complete control. The results, He promises, will be truly awe-inspiring.
The deal God has made with me is better than any internet offer. I was in desperate need of being saved from eternal separation from perfection. God sent the ultimate delivery in Jesus to clean me up and get me ready for the gates of Heaven.
What do I need to do? Sign up. Give Him my contact information and the right to my life. What do I get in return in the here and now, you may be asking? The gift of thriving. Flourishing. Prospering in peace, grace and love.
It is the greatest offer you and I could ever receive and I promise, it truly is life-transforming.