Real miracles

I am sick.

I am plagued by a disease which alters the way I view the world—the disease of perception.

God has provided me countless opportunities to feel better, to become whole, to heal. And yet the disease still rears its ugly head from time to time.

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Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com

One of the symptoms of my disease is self-pity. I’m not talking about going through five minutes of feeling sorry for yourself because the restaurant screws up your order, or even the healthy sort of grieving you do when feeling sorry for yourself after a legitimate loss of a dream, a person, an animal, or an opportunity.

Since I have the disease of perception, when I get into self-pity, I get INTO self-pity. I have vivid memories of wallowing on my ex-boyfriend’s deck in a quilt and bawling my eyes out because he admitted that he didn’t have the same overwhelming feelings for me that I had for him. A little over the top, eh? I remember writing sad poetry for hours while listening to “My Friends” on repeat by Red Hot Chili Peppers. I recall lying on my green couch during a tumultuous time in my first marriage, with a small knife and a bottle of painkillers hidden beneath the pillow, planning a route to end my own inner turmoil.

Do you get the picture? I didn’t just FEEL self-pity. I LIVED it.

Behaving this way today isn’t an option for me, but at the time, it was the only way I knew to soothe my sick soul. I did the best I could at the time with what I had.

Since I began working to take actions against my feelings, my perception has gradually changed. Most days, I don’t feel sorry for myself, reflect on my worst moments in life, or relive sad memories like a sick Siren. When I do slip into self-pity, the fastest way out is to get into gratitude. One way I do this is by recalling miracles.

I’ve heard that a miracle is simply a change in perception.

This morning during reading and reflection time with God, self-pity crept in. I found myself feeling guilty about poor choices I’d made, remembering losses I’ve endured, and missing people who are no longer in touch.

The difference between how I cope with moments like this now versus a decade ago is my response to self-pity. I’m more likely to recognize it when it hits, and I quickly do something different.

I began reflecting on instances in my past when I’ve experienced a change in perception.

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Hamming it up with my little red car

There was a time when I was filing bankruptcy while working two jobs. I was actually earning more than I’d ever earned in my life, but the debt I’d accrued from living above my means for so long smothered me. I was driving a flashy red car with three year-old tires. When I had my oil changed, the technician asked me to sign a document admitting that he’d advised me to change the tires because he didn’t want to be held accountable if I wrecked due to their poor condition. I signed the document because I just didn’t have the funds to replace the tires, so I kept driving to and from work (a 45-minute commute each way), squealing and sliding all the way.

My spiritual mentor encouraged me to pray and ask God to provide new tires. I did, but my prayers were flimsy.

One July afternoon, the owner of my company asked to borrow my car. I felt immediately ashamed because I knew my tires were about to shrivel or explode. I warned him about the tires, but I handed over the keys. His car was in the shop for the day, and he needed to run errands.

A few hours later, he handed me my keys and went upstairs to his office. A coworker asked if I’d seen my car. I felt a moment of panic, wondering if the owner had a fender bender and failed to tell me about it. I walked out to the parking lot and found my little red car atop four brand new tires, the best tires available for that make and model.

Tears.

I rushed back inside, up the stairs, and thanked the owner profusely while attempting to avoid wearing emotions on my face.

“There’s no way you could know this, but you have just been part of a miracle for me. Thank you.”

I’m not sure what he thought of my words, but his facial expression looked a little puzzled (and amused).

“Consider it a bonus. You’ve been working really hard.”

But I considered it a miracle, and I still do. God has repeatedly used people in my life (some of whom never know they’re being used) to reveal truth to me and to change my perception. And a miracle is just a change in perception.

Once in high school, while driving around late at night with a boy I loved, we diverted our course and decided to turn off the truck for an hour or so while talking, musing, and kissing—just two teenagers innocently loving each other in hands-free fashion. When my curfew neared, he turned the key to start the truck. Crickets. We both panicked.

But he stopped panicking, took my hands, and said, “Let’s pray about it.”

So we did. He tried to start it again. Still nothing.

We prayed again, and he said, “If it doesn’t start this time, I’ll have to find help.” It was cold and rainy, and walking to the nearest house didn’t sound enjoyable to me. We prayed again.

When he turned the key, it started. Magic. We ecstatically kissed.

This morning I remembered this moment. To me, it felt victorious. It felt genuine. And it felt beautiful to see someone I loved demonstrating faith in a crisis, stronger faith than I possessed. It changed my perception.

Remembering miracles—and expressing gratitude for them–IS a miracle for me; it changes my perception. When I see reality, I open my eyes anew, see my darling little girl wrapped up in a blanket watching Reading Rainbow, and hug my husband while we drink early morning coffee.

Embracing reality is the greatest miracle I’ve lived.

When will you be satisfied?

Martin Luther King, Jr., once said, in his infamous “I Have a Dream” speech, that people always asked him the question, “When will you be satisfied?” His response was “We can never be satisfied… no, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until ‘justice rolls down like mighty waters.”540503_531704289042_1276471307_n

A year ago, I met a student with tremendous financial need, matched only by his sheer determination to overcome his impoverished background and limited opportunities for advancement in life. He walked to campus four days a week to attend class without asking for rides, never playing the martyr. He applied himself academically in class, and when provided with the chance to work on campus, he jumped in with both feet even though the situation may have proved intimidating at first. He grew personally and professionally.

When it came time for this student to move on to his next big academic adventure at a four-year university, I learned of some obstacles in his path. Faculty and staff rallied together to help him overcome these obstacles. Still, there were some hang-ups and huge boulders that seemed insurmountable, expensive, and impassable.

I literally had a dream about this student in May. I woke up the next morning feeling a little silly about the dream and about what God had told me to do to help this student. Like Jacob in the Old Testament, I wrestled with God over the ins and outs. Surely you don’t want ME to do that. There has to be someone else on campus who knows this student better than I do who can do that. I am not really the best person for this task, and also, that’s a little extreme. Plus, I’ve never even taught this student. I’ve just casually mentored him on a few things here and there. Really, God? Come on.

For two months, God did not relent. The idea continued to haunt me each time I interacted with the student online. In God’s subtle but persistent manner—God is a gentleman, you know, and not a dictator—He didn’t let it go. God is a lot like Martin Luther King, Jr., too, I guess. He will not be satisfied until justice rolls like might waters.

One July morning, I woke up and took action. It worked.

Something you should know about me is once I decide I’m in, it’s over.

I’m in. There is no going back, and I will not stop until I believe I have accomplished whatever it is God has asked me to do.

In my spiritual life, I believe in the concept of doing some things for fun and for free—and doing things without the left hand knowing what the right hand is doing. So I won’t share with you details of the actions I’ve taken and am taking to advocate for this student.

I share the gist of this story with you because maybe my dream wasn’t as grand or world-changing as King’s. Perhaps it won’t change the course of history. But I’m hoping it will help change the course of a student’s life, a student who deserves a chance in this world, a student who’s already proven himself worthy of assistance, attention, and love.

We all have a miracle or two waiting for us—what if we quit before the miracle happens? What if all the people who have believed in me, encouraged me, and been God with skin on for me over the years had shirked that responsibility? Where might I be today? Certainly not writing this post, and not able to reach out to help someone else, I can promise you that.

“When will you be satisfied?”

When I die.

“For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” –Esther 4:14

Move

The good old college days

The good ole college days

One dark, starry, windy night—not unlike tonight, with temperatures drastically dropping, warning of winter storms approaching—I crouched alongside dozens of my campus ministry friends during the week of final exams as a college student, creating Christmas cards for shut-ins and hospital patients, humming along to familiar Christmas carols. Suddenly That Still Small Voice rang out clear as a bell.

“Go see her in her dorm room right now.”

I kept humming and coloring and designing my card. I also began arguing with That Still Small Voice. It made no sense to stop what I was doing—because what I was doing made perfect sense—to go make an unannounced visit to a fellow student whom I had barely befriended. This particular student knew my name, and we joined the same student organization simultaneously, but in truth, we barely knew one another. To show up at her apartment uninvited seemed not only rude but also a little nuts, quite frankly.

“Go see her right now, I said.”

I felt my heart pounding this time. I capped the Sharpies and stood up, pulling my best friend, Kelly, aside. I felt slightly irresponsible about leaving the card-making party since I helped plan it, but what could I do? When you get The Call, you answer.

“Kelly, I think God just told me to leave and go do something. I have to go.”

She looked at me quizzically but didn’t inquire about the details. Having lived with me for one year at that point, I guess she’d grown to accept that my brand of spirituality was untraditional, at best.

“Okay—is everything okay?”

“Yes. I’ll see you later.” I zipped up my grey wool car coat and headed in the direction of the student’s room, the wind whipping at my back.

When I arrived, I knocked on her door. A scruffy-looking male answered. I immediately attempted to bow out, apologizing and offering to come back another time, but she asked him to leave.

So there I was.

“I don’t know why I’m here. God just told me to come see you.”

And then her tears fell.

And her truth came rushing out in waves. And I listened.

Mostly, I cried. And we hugged one another.

And she told me that she felt she was on the verge of death, and that God must have sent me to her that night.

And ever since, we’ve remained friends, even when we aren’t able to see one another for long periods of time.

A few weeks ago, I reread 1 Samuel 3 in the Bible. It reminded me of my own life, of the many opportunities—just like this one moment in time when I made a choice to listen to That Still Small Voice—to either listen to God or to blow Him off. I wish I could say I’ve always listened, but I haven’t.

It reminded me that each time I’ve chosen to listen and take action—particularly when what I’ve heard from God requires me to take action—I have NEVER regretted it. I am always the beneficiary or witness of some type of miracle.

What if I had kept foolishly, stubbornly, and selfishly coloring Christmas cards that night? Well, I guess a few more shut-ins would have received Christmas cards that year.

But my friend—MY FRIEND—might be dead. Or she might have struggled for a longer period of time, feeling more isolated and alone, knowing that not one person understood or knew about her pain. My faith in That Still Small Voice would not have grown tenfold that night. I would not have shared in her sorrow and later in her joy when God renewed her spirit. I would have missed a miracle. I would have missed out on love.

Let me never refuse to move when That Voice moves me.

Best year ever

Tomorrow is my 33rd birthday. It’s not as significant as turning 16, 21, or 30, at least not in the eyes of the average American, but this is a huge year for me, maybe my best year ever.

Many of you read and commented on my 2012 bucket list. Amazingly, it seems that I might just accomplish every item on the list this year. When I wrote the list, I hoped to cross off as many of those items as possible, but realistically, I didn’t expect to accomplish everything. Turns out, I have exceeded my own expectations.

Well, I guess I haven’t.

But God has.

I have grown to believe that God always goes ahead and plans in love. Notice that I said that I’ve grown to believe this; I have spent the majority of my life seriously doubting, questioning, or tentatively hoping this were true. I’ve discovered that not only does God go before me and plan in love, but He also loves me more than I will ever comprehend. He answers my prayers in ways I find baffling and miraculous. And He brings clarity and light to the most confounded and darkest of times.

“Behold, I am making everything new.” –Revelations 21:5

He wasn’t joking. He’s doing this in my very life.

I will have completed all but two courses toward my Master’s degree by December. I’ve been getting more involved as a volunteer for the Ozark Foothills Literacy Project. My Daily Dose of Gratitude blog has given me an outlet to express my gratitude and has motivated me to maintain a thankful attitude despite shifting moods and changing circumstances. I’ve managed to keep walking and enjoying nature around me even though I’ve been battling multiple pregnancy symptoms that encourage me to park my butt on the couch.

And–I know you guys will be just as excited for me as I am for myself–I may even get to make my spinny truck dream come true this year! We’re hoping to add on to the house soon, and I am determined to pull the lever to release the concrete :).

Best of all, James and I got married April 14th, and we are expecting our brand new spanking new baby in November 2012.

The latter item was not on the list for 2012.

But the mysterious and wonderful thing about God is that He goes ahead and plans in love. He knows exactly what I need when I need it and ensures that I have it.

He really has made everything new for me–and some things from scratch, too :).

Can these dry bones live?

Tonight I got the news that my stepmom died after spending weeks in a coma. I feel a weight on my chest that might not be lifted for a while. No one needs to apologize or make light of it for me.

At the same time, today is the 5th birthday of my miniature miracle, my niece Victoria, who I refer to as “bunkin bear.” She just happens to be the cutest thing on two legs (in addition to the other nieces and nephews, of course). She also happens to be a medical miracle, born at 30 weeks, weighing 1 lb. 13 oz., to my sister who has a heart disease, during an incredibly traumatic childbirth experience which I won’t go into detail about right now.

The point is that I was there the day she was ripped from the womb. I saw her whisked away and immediately connected to tubes and wires and monitors. I watched her nearly die repeatedly. I drove to and from the hospital for months with my sister who wanted to take her home and raise her like a normal parent. I have been there for the past five years and watched my family encompass her with love, care, and support (and okay, a little spoiling from time to time). I’ve witnessed the miracle of her life.

For tonight, I’m just going to take a moment to focus on what is beautiful and alive. I’ll have to grieve the loss of my stepmom at another time, of course. God gives, and God takes away. It’s just part of life. And I still believe that life is beautiful.

I wrote this poem a few months after Victoria was born. Enjoy.

“The Valley”

When I sang your secret song tonight,
your long lashes curled themselves up to sleep.

I think you remembered the words
and the power they held for you in the beginning.

You were miniscule,
your less-than-two-pound flesh
pale, veined, wrinkled,
your head sunken in.

I sucked in cold, sterile air
when I saw you
gasping at the tube,
flailing for dear life.

How you made it through
the deep waters of those
pins and needles weeks,

the waves never overtaking you,
only God knows.

I remember staring through
the heated glass isolette
holding your miniature hand
through the barrier and hearing
His words from Ezekiel breathing
down my neck.

“Can these dry bones
breathe and live?”

Oh Sovereign Lord,
Only You know.

They did.