Safe and sound

I jumped awake and sat straight up in bed. “Oh good,” I thought, “she’s here.”

Pippy was fast asleep at the end of my bed but just moments before she had been stuck down a rabbit hole. Or at least that’s where I saw her last during a dream that was more terror than fantasy. In my dream Pippy, leash-less on a walk through a meadow scene had discovered an open rabbit hold. In an Alice in Wonderland moment she slipped beneath the earth’s surface, the hole closed up and Pippy had disappeared. That dream seemed to last forever as I dug into the dirt, trying to reopen the hole and save my precious pet.

I’m not sure if Pippy barked in my dream or how I followed her movements below the earth but the next scene I remember is another rabbit hole opening and Pippy’s gray, dirt stained snout sticking up from below the surface, the hole too small for her to fit through yet large enough for me to see her desperate face.

That’s when I woke up. And there she was, alive and well.

Sometimes I wish that the critical, desperate moments in my life were all just a bad dream, like Pippy’s nightmare of an adventure, and that I would wake up to a soft bed and an hour left to sleep. But reality unfolds much differently than dream land. I end up in rabbit holes that seem endless, like I am trapped in the dark, uncertain of which way to go next.

Thankfully, God sees me and has my path established. In miraculous, marvelous ways He leads me out of the darkness and into His glorious light. Even when I cannot see a way forward and cannot comprehend how I will ever escape the confinement of the rabbit trail, God has already dug out the hole that will lead to my freedom.

In the end I know I will end up just like Pippy, safe and sound at the foot of Christ’s cross.

The card on the cross

"Love: Juju."

That simple salutation made my heart melt. Cards colored with love by little children’s hands have a way of producing that kind of emotion in sentimental recipients. On the outside of the hand made yellow paper card was a large pink decorated Easter egg drawing along side a "Happy Easter" greeting. But it was the love inside of the card that put a lump in my throat.

My Easter card came hand delivered from the three-year-old hands of Juliette, my pint-sized niece with bouncy blonde hair, boundless energy and a contagious smile. From my back row seat during the Easter morning church service, when the sermon was nearing its conclusion, I heard the door behind me open up followed by a scurry of little feet. A moment later Juju was at my side presenting me with her card created specially for me.

"I told her she could choose one person and write them a card for Easter," her older sister said. "And she choose you." 

Out of all the people in our family - her Mom, Dad, Grandparents and seven siblings - she chose me. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes. Love overwhelmed me. I gripped her card tightly in my hands, vowing to keep it forever. 

As I looked up from Juju's card my eyes landed on the cross. That Easter morning on that empty cross I saw a message penned just for me, signed by the blood of Christ and it read "Love: Jesus." 

God's love for me, a love that cannot be measured, was poured out for me on that cross. God choose to love me, flaws and all. While I was a sinner, separated from Him by my rebellion and blatant disobedience, God choose to send a rescue mission to save me and His name was Jesus. God chose to send His message of eternal love in the baby in the manger who would one day go to the cross as my Savior.

The one universal desire of all mankind is to be known for who we are, imperfections, flaws and shortcomings, and to be loved in spite of them. On the cross of Christ that love is found. The card that shares unmerited, unending love is signed by the precious Redeemer and King, Jesus. While I was still a sinner, while you were still separated from God, Jesus said, “I love you” and delivered the card with each of our names upon it.

While decorating eggs...

Theories abound as to why we color eggs every Easter. Mary, the mother of Jesus and Mary Magdalene are both credited with sparking the tradition along with the royals of England and the Orthodox Catholic church. Some people dye their eggs simply for the crafty fun of it while others use it as a teaching moment to share the good news of the resurrection. How a colored hard boiled egg displays Christ's rise from the dead is beyond me, but who am I to squelch the proclaiming of the Gospel? If a cooked egg does the trick then, by all means, get the water boiling.
As a child growing up I never contemplated the deep meaning of the traditional egg dying practice. Every Easter Mom boiled a dozen eggs and filled an assortment of bowls with pastel-hued dyes. I popped out the cardboard circles from the packaged egg-coloring kit purchased from the grocery store and set out spoons to assist in the dipping of the white egg into the colored water. I never was very skilled at using the flimsy egg dipper included in the kit's package.
After changing into a "messy" shirt destined to be splattered with various shades of spring, I would  sit myself at the kitchen counter ready to create a beautiful masterpiece on my white eggshell canvas. Well, "masterpiece" might be a bit of an exaggeration. Many of my attempts at originality resulted in the discovery of new hues that will never be featured on the PAAS egg coloring kit box. But I never let my lack of egg artistry deter me from enjoying the tradition. I colored as many eggs as I could get my hands on, down to the last cracked egg.
It never failed that the last egg in the bowl was always cracked. I would reach for the perfect eggs first, hoping someone else would end up with the white egg marred by the jagged grey lines, presumably the result of a hand a bit over-zealous at the initial stage of egg boiling. But the end of the bowl was an inevitable truth and the cracked egg awaited me. I never spent much time on that egg. It was already damaged goods. Sometimes I just plunked it in one bowl of bright pink water and let it sit there for an inordinately long period of time. Other experiments included multiple colors and a similar half-hearted effort. But amazingly enough, that one cracked egg always turned out beautifully. I could leave it in the water for a minute or for five and the shade would be just perfect. The crack in the shell added character to the design. The break in the surface would soak up the richness of the dyes color. The design left behind always created a visual image more pleasing than any I could have crafted by my own hand. The broken egg, once dyed and dried, was always my favorite out of the whole carton.
Isn't it funny how it is the broken that turns out most beautiful?
God uses the same design principle with me. He has broken me and let me crack so that in the end I can be more of a masterpiece. I may think that I want easy, bruise-free, crack-free living but God knows that, once painted, that kind of life won't produce stunning end results. So He brings about some bumps to let my shell split at the edges. He makes sure there are some jagged lines along my surface, leaving gaps for His goodness to seep into my heart. Every imperfection is another element of His design. Every perceived flaw a feature for His future glory.
As a young egg decorator I always thought that I wanted the perfect looking egg. As a young child of God I thought I wanted a perfectly paved life, smooth and steady, completely crack free. But I'm beginning to see things through a new set of eyes. God specializes in making brokenness utterly beautiful. He uses cracked canvases to create His greatest masterpieces.

Snow in spring

Spring has sprung.
Tell that to the snow.
Days after the official start of spring a snow flurry passed by my window. And then another. And then another. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was seeing straight but, to my dismay, my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. Freezing precipitation in the form of big white flakes were indeed cascading down from the sky, landing on my car's windshield.
Irrational annoyance immediately followed. All December long I had wanted to see snow for the Christmas season but, alas, it was a brown Christmas. Now all I wanted was to put away my furry boots, heavy coat and fuzzy hat but the never-ending snow and freezing temperatures keep forcing me to bundle up.
The weather is playing tricks on me. It isn't the way it is supposed to be; the way I expect it to be. I believe that Christmases are meant to be white and springs are supposed to bring sunshine. I've always believed that April brings showers that will turn into May flowers. But somehow the skies didn't get the memo.
Call it infantile, call it juvinille, call it absurd but I am am downright angry at the snow that shouldn't come in spring.
Driving down the road I reluctantly turned on my whipper blades that pushed the white dusting away from the glass, giving me a clearer view of the road and of my silly atmospheric irritation. So, the forecast isn't what I think it ought to be; who am I to say when it should snow or when it should rain? Who am I to dictate the sunshine or dismiss the clouds? Why should God be stopped from rearranging the seasons? His thoughts aren't my thoughts and His ways aren't my ways - not even His weather ways.
The snow that came on that spring day reminded me that God has His own agenda and I am simply along for the ride. I am along for the crazy, the confusing, the unpredictable and the utterly fabulous twists and turns. Traveling down God's road I get to experience the trying conditions of a winter blizzard, the random snow flakes in spring and even the blazing heat of an August afternoon. He exposes me to all the elements, showing me just how diverse He is in His creation and His plan.
With the unexpected and unwanted snow flakes in spring came a fundamental lesson of God's providence: He doesn't work the way I want Him to, He works the way I need Him to in order that I am prepared and readied for Heaven. He wants me alert and keen, able to stay stead and strong in the face of difficulties. He desires my attentive following that is unwavering in focus on Him even when things in my world go topsy-turvy and the seasons get all twisted.
One day I will get to Heaven and all will be set right. Snow will only fall at the perfect moment. All of the trials and tribulations I faced on this earth will be distant memories, only serving as reminders of God's steadfast faithfulness. Until then I'm going to put on my windshield whippers so I can see God's glorious plan more clearly. I'm going to enjoy this wild and crazy, unexpected, and unpredictable ride because it only happens once and if I don't pay attention I might miss out on how beautiful snow can be in spring.

The sweet scent of service

Thursday. The very name of the day on the calendar overwhelmed me with guilt. Tuesdays and Thursdays are always food pantry days where I help distribute food and necessities to the needy at the local Family Care Center. In the past I have always loved my time serving at the pantry. I used to look forward to Tuesdays and Thursdays with great anticipation and joy at the opportunity to interact with the community and serve the body of Christ but recently I lost my passion for the pantry.
It all started with the stench.
Over the past few months the crowds checking in to receive assistance have been growing in number and destitution. With rising unemployment and growing immigration the level of poverty has spiked sharply. The evidence of the epidemic wafts into the air on the skin and clothes of the homeless visitors who make their way through the door of the pantry. Their odor is a silent call of desperation for food and soap.
As I looked at the day on the calendar all I could think about was the dirt, grime and smell of the pantry. With childish determination and reluctance I decided not to go.
In my mind I did my best to rationalize my decision.... I'm just one person, they won't even notice if I'm not there. How many people would I really serve anyways? I'd have to drive downtown. And, look, I think I see a rain cloud, better stay home! My lame attempts at justification were downright silly and utterly feeble. I was being selfish in my heart of hearts and the pit in my stomach knew it.
Then, like a lightening bolt cutting through the night's black sky, a Word of truth flashed across my mind's eye. Don't think of yourself more highly than you ought. In the moments that followed a wave of shame and guilt flooded my heart and engulfed my spirit. How foolish I had been to judge the scent on my fellow brothers and sisters. In order to protect my own nose I had almost neglected to walk in the footsteps of Christ who, during His ministry, didn't just smell the foul odors of death and dirt but even washed the muddy feet of shoeless travelers. And I wanted to stay home and away from the off-putting scent of homelessness? I wanted to withhold the extending of a box of cereal to avoid an unpleasant odor?
An hour later I found myself standing in the center of the food pantry greeting visitors, loading up plastic bags and helping to unload big boxes of coveted toilet paper rolls. In my short visit to the pantry I met new friends, shook hands and exchanged countless smiles. The visitors received their food and even a little bit of friendly conversation. In return I was blessed beyond measure and filled with the joy that only God can give.
And do you want to know a secret? I didn't smell a thing.

Bunny blessings

I stood at the kitchen sink, looking out the window upon the vibrant green lawn illuminated by the early morning sun, the dew upon the blades of grass still fresh causing the landscape to appear as sparkling glass. My mind was transfixed by the simple beauty of day break when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement beneath a pine tree out on the perimeter of the yard. A moment later two small wild rabbits emerged.
The pair of bushy-tailed bunnies lingered beneath the branches of the trees before one of the cottontails began jumping and hoping with delight. The rambunctious rabbit scampered around his companion, taking an occasional leap towards the sky. He bolted one direction, did a little mid-air jump and then scurried back towards the pine trees. He ran around the stumps of the trees with a spring in his little rabbit steps. Then he went dashing back to his bunny companion who had yet to join in the fun.
From my perch at the window I wondered if the second bunny was hurt. That little rabbit wasn't running, jumping or leaping like the other bunny. I anxiously watched, waiting for a sign of movement that would put my concerns to rest.
The first bunny, full of vigor and life, went back to his lethargic friend with a burst of energy. He jumped in circles right around the idle rabbit, practically willing the tired hare to hop to it. In my vivid imagination I pictured the boisterous bunny encouraging his friend, "Just try a little leap in the air! It'll be fun! See, look how I'm doing it. Just spring straight up like this!"
It took a little convincing but the still, motionless rabbit began to move. First he hopped a few steps towards the trees, his furry friend right behind. Then he hopped a few circles around a tree stump. Before too long he was dashing about, jumping over his friend, leaping straight up into the sky in tandem with the first rabbit. The two rolled about, scampered in unison and chased each other across the yard. It was a scene of pure joy.
I can't help but believe that the second bunny was thankful for the persistence and prodding of his bunny friend. To think he could have missed out on the early morning frolicking fun! But his companion wouldn't relent. He knew that his lazy bunny buddy just needed some more encouragement and coaxing to wake up to the enjoyment he could be having if only he would take a romp around the yard.
Alone at the kitchen sink a smile spread across my face. Oh, God, how good you are to me. I had not realized that Jesus has been doing frolicking of His own in circles all around my life, urging me to join Him in His kind of fun, the best kind of fun. Jesus has been displaying His power and peace to show me what I'd been missing.
As I watched the reluctant rabbit become a rambunctious, full hearted participant in the fun, I saw Christ's offer of boundless, endless joy that could be mine if only I'd join in His energetic, full life. If I jump when he jumps and scamper in unison alongside my Companion and Lord, I too will come to enjoy a life full of glee and delight.
In Christ is true life, limitless joy and the very best kind of fun. I know because the bunnies showed me so.

What are you doing here?

"What are YOU doing here?!"
The question was posed with such force that it practically knocked me over. I was just standing in the gym locker room, minding my own business, readying my bag and coat to head out the door when the shock occurred. The questioner, a woman I'd never seen before, came bursting through the doorway huffing and puffing. One look at me and she came to a screeching halt. She stopped dead in her tracks, dropped her jaw and posed her question. "What are YOU doing here?"
This wasn't a case of mistaken identity or a curious joke. She was truly perplexed and startled by my presence in the gym locker room. She wouldn't be the first to ponder such a question. My severely thin body has raised the query in the minds of many onlookers. What am I doing in a gym? Why am I so underweight? Do I have a problem? And is it physical or could it be mental?
What the questioning woman couldn't know by simply looking upon my outward appearance is the inner war that has stripped my body of its weight and natural cushioning. Six years into my battle with multiple sclerosis has left me shockingly small in size yet strong in spirit.
As I stood in the locker room, feeling vulnerable and exposed by the inquiry of the stranger, I was paralyzed to answer her question. In my mind the past six years, the journey that led to my body's current condition, flashed through my mind but no words formed on my lips.
Thankfully the whirling dervish of a woman standing before me didn't wait long for me to formulate a coherent response. She was off and running about the various reasons people join a gym: lose weight, tone up, gain muscle, shed fat. Her chatter faded into the distance as she continued on into the back of the locker room, unfazed by the bewildered look on my face and my utter silence.
For the mystery woman in the gym locker room that strange encounter was nothing more than a passing moment but for me it posed a question I couldn't shake. What am I doing here? For years I've fought for my body's survival but that isn't really my purpose. That's not why I'm here.
The questioning woman was long gone when the answer came perfectly formed in my mind: to serve God and bring Him glory. Whether I eat or drink or workout or stay home, the purpose is always the same. The purpose of my everyday, everywhere existence and being is the same on Sunday morning as it is on Friday night. It is the same at a perfect weight or a weight that is too low. I am a messenger of the Lord, a mouthpiece for His goodness and a proclaimer of His power.
Should I ever happen to find myself again confronted with the mystery questioner from the gym locker room I'll know just what to say. "I'm here to honor God and bring Him glory. How about you?"