Why Do You Look For the Living Among the Dead?

     The dead. Stuff. Trinkets. Cars. Rituals. Inanimate. All worthwhile things, but dead. We look for security and meaning from the touchable, where dead things lie. When, instead, the place where the fully alive resides, is in the intangible One, Jesus. He is alive.

Fate, and Good Friday

     Fate. It is a curious thing. Who will ever know the number of times we are unknowingly spared? One never knows how many times we leave our homes early or late and miss being in a serious or fatal accident. And, what are the odds?

     "What-if" in 2010 the forever long cashier lines had not caused two of us to wait outside of the store to notice others slipping on a rain-drizzled, undetectable and slicker-than-snot sheet of ice-lined Chicago pavement? A vulnerable, off-balance, 9-months pregnant mother-to-be could have experienced a devastating fall with residual complications. That protected mother-to-be was my daughter.

    "What-if"… after years of not seeing the gyno because of foolish gyno-phobia (when trying to schedule the needed appointment for our daughter) I had failed to heed the receptionist's urging to schedule my own appointment? Two months later I would have ignored a fast-appearing lump. Even after my gyno's stern heed for a first-ever mammo, I still delayed, for a precious 3 months. Denial is powerful. That lump was aggressive, but it could have had more time to become even deadlier. Whoa.

     And then there is the complex twist of fate. Walking a very short distance, at end-of-the-workday 5:00 p.m., across a seemingly rain-drizzled pavement, to the passenger’s side of the car. But, wait. It is not rain-drizzled pavement after all. Deja-vu. There is an undetectable, slicker-than-you-know-what sheet of ice-lined Ozarks pavement. The first person to face the ice misjudges it and literally falls victim to its deception. Hard. Everyone exiting that door wobbles and slides, for their bone-loving lives, except for the one co-worker who experienced a shattered hip.

     We all have “If-only’s” and “What-if’s” in our lives. If-only the ice started falling 5 minutes later. If-only the boots gripped better. If-only the planned 3:00 p.m. departure time was met. There was no ice at that time. But then again, the twist sees “what-if” the fall had happened a week earlier? or instead months later? Different timing would have sadly overshadowed a one-time-only event or future fleeting family experiences. That co-worker fell the week after her first grandchild's birth, and she realized the fortuitous timing of her fall. She was there for the birth, and months later, after a lengthy recovery, was whole enough to lift her precious crawler.

     A solemn Good Friday helps us to remember a fate that changed the course of history. Fate that allowed grief and tragedy. "If-only" Judas had not chosen to betray Jesus. "If-only" the Jews had realized Jesus’ divinity. What were the odds?

     "If-only’s." They twist to two unthinkable questions… "What-if" events had unfolded differently that first Good Friday? "What-if" spotless Jesus had not died for my sins?!?

...to give His life, for me...

     Fate. Over 2,000 years ago it played out in a gruesome and complicated way. But a twist of fate was on our side. God's twist was unbeknownst to most. Jesus was sent to this earth for an undercover, and, in a way, fatal or fateful mission. To earn the keys of death, hell, and the grave. 

    Fate sadly mourns, "Woe is me." But, spirit-eyes, open to twists of fate, see the fortuitous silver lining. A twist that motivates the subdued "wow" whisper: "God's only Son died for me. His body cannot be found among the decomposing and rotting. He is timeless. He arose. He is Savior, and I am saved!"

For God so loved the world he gave
his only begotten son, that whosoever believes in him shall not perish
but have eternal life (John 3:16).

     Jesus is compelling. He is alive. May I walk surrendered. Transformed. And, most importantly, walk humbly before my God... 

     ...The humble-factor, for certain, is a daily, ever-wobbly and sliding feat.

     

Perfection, Shapes-Fail, & Beyond Love

     Perfectionists. We strive for an uncanny order and a controlled world. Disorder creates an inordinate and unmanageable "disturbance in the force." We avoid flustering disturbance because it feels like touching a burning hot oven, and why would anyone want to do it twice? That is the way disorder feels. Sometimes, perfection can be directed toward just one narrow area, with all other areas in total disarray.
     The overall nature of a true perfectionist differs from a flexible, risk-taking entrepreneur. Entrepreneurs might have perfectionist tendencies, but on their road to success, they generally fail, one or more times, and they try, try again. They seem to be more tolerant of temporary disorder, and they doggedly maneuver through hot stove experiences. They see beyond failure and create work-arounds. And that leads this inquiring mind to wonder:

     Can a shapes puzzle predict a 1-year-young's ability to see beyond failure? That they press on? To experiment and courageously live?

      If one had never before attempted a basic shapes puzzle, even a 5-year-old could easily ace the challenge. Finding the right hole for the circle, the square, the rectangle, the star, the heart, and the triangle would be a cinch. But, that would prove little. That 5-year-old would have missed practicing so many other important character-shaping qualities. Unlimited, intangible other skills are acquired during the process of a 1-year-old's shapes-fail.

A shapes puzzle on the notepad reinforces to an eager 1.5-year-young:
Learn by trusted observation, and try, try again
(No, the dotted leggings are not a shapes puzzle)

     Imagine the varied things a 1-year-young can safely practice and learn when working a shapes puzzle. At that age, learning-to-learn is the invaluable return. Diverse and beneficial by-product skills include:

• Comfort facing the unknown
• Hard work and willpower
• Try, try again. Failing does not equal failure
• Being flexible while cooperating with the shapes system
• Learning through trusted observation
• The intrinsic joy of accomplishment, and, 
• The obvious skill of visual recognition and acuity.

      And thinking ahead into adulthood? Going to college. Opening that new business venture (if the risk appears worth it). Learning a new skill.
   
     The values of failing and willpower remind me of a harrowing scene in the unusual and primitively-set movie, The Village. A small community of people a decade prior chose to live separate from society, isolated and free of technology and medical advancements. Everything about modern society was determined to be dangerous and unnecessary. They were frightened of its evil.
      Then, a young man in the village clan is seriously injured and needs life-saving medicine, which they do not have. The medicine can only be obtained by walking, through miles of dark woods, potentially facing ominous creatures that for a decade have haunted the villagers. The mere mention of the creatures sends shivers up and down spines and makes neck hairs stand on end.
     Who in the village volunteers to face frightening creatures as well as the ominous woods to reach civilization? Not the able-bodied, and not the teen boys. Instead, the young man's fiance. She is brave. She is bold. She is in love. And, she is physically blind. She is most vulnerable of all others in the village, yet she daily practices "shapes-fail" and going beyond.
     Though her vision fails, other keen senses take over. With walking stick in hand, she faces the unseen, solo. After a lifetime of facing daring challenges with bumps, bruises, and shapes-fail... and maybe receiving a stove burn or two... she utilizes survival work-arounds. Lacking physical sight, she successfully weaves through trees and brush. And then, being stalked, avoids and utilizes a perilous pit, facing life-threatening danger. Beyond love, she courageously lives.

On a practical note---
     Our lives are a work-around. God through his Son Jesus saved us from certain eternal death: He faced Satan, and won. He loves us...beyond. And one day we will see our Savior in Heaven. And that's not all. In "the day of salvation" He.Immensely.Helped.Us. and His help continues. We still live on this earth, and we press on, in training.

    " '...and in the day of salvation I helped you.' I tell you, now is the time of God's favor, now is the day of salvation..." (2 Corinthians 6).

     "Put your blinders on and run your race, and don't compare yourself to the other horses... focus on your own race and just do your best, the prize often goes to the person who tries the hardest" (Leeza Gibbons).
     We are thoroughbreds in training.

And, on a personal note--
      My most recent and basic personal training opportunity (or shapes-fail): A 10-day "home missions"-trip and its return drive. Chicago-to-homeward-bound in my car, I miss a turn on the overwhelming St. Louis bridge, at Busch Stadium heading to 44. Feeling a considerable "disturbance in the force," I fail; fill up with gas; unearth a needed laugh; and follow my GPS's work-around instructions. What's the worst that could happen? and I ask, "Was the road trip necessary? did my pregnant daughter need my assistance during her husband's lengthy business trip? Yes."
     This unconventional, selectively perfectionistic writer-who-photobombs also employs the storybomb. The Bible employs storybombs. Every day that we live and breathe, storybombs happen, and they provide tangible learning.
     I will embrace highway failure, lovable "Grands" chaos, an ever-continuing stomach bug, feline dander, a 16-inch snow blizzard's shoveling aftermath (great cardio), AND, I will laugh through it all. And, less than a month from now, face it all again, including the solo, 16-hour round-trip drive... over the harrowing St. Louis Mississippi River and through the woods... beyond love, for a special granddaughter's birth. The experiences strengthen my (aging) persistence and love muscles.
     In closing, a segue, which for me is most important: Failing.to.write.is.failure. Keep observing, and for Heaven's sake, keep on writing... God is shaping me. To see the immeasurable.
     February's road trip take-away: Beyond love, courageously living... the Voice of Heart-Truth.

The powerful play goes on, and you can contribute a verse
(Walt Whitman)

Cancer, Thru the Eyes of Fickle Hair

     Something about the experiences of cancer, chemo, and 150-mile-an-hour onset menopause have forever changed me. Nine years ago, at the age of 50, I faced death, and helplessness, and the fragility of life. The fixer became the being-fixed; the nurturer, the nurtured; the know-it-all, bamboozled; the perfectionist, glaringly imperfect. I now tend to see things differently. Eclectic. Varied. With a sense for the unseen; sometimes 20/20, other times, not.
     On a temporal note, I define life lessons in the decade of my 50s through the fickle eyes of an ever-changing coiffure. Rather than having a bad hair day, try having a bad hair decade. Every day of adulthood, my hair was there. I almost took it for granted. ~ Just as (in adulthood) my husband and children were always... nearby, anyway. 

• I faced serious denial. I knew that cancer and chemo for me would be different. My physcal agility and thick hair would never leave. But, alas, they both temporarily departed. It seemed like forever. ~ I felt the sting of expectations denied. Chemo’s fire disturbingly caused hair clumps to fall to the shower floor. Those unfaithful locks left me for the dirty sewer. "You're.Cheating. On.Me!" I vented, by chopping it all off, with my own two hands.
• Recently-discovered, never-before-viewed Christmas 2006 family footage shocked me. Sporting a shiny chemo wig, covering that shiny cue ball head... I felt vulnerable and awkwardly fake, but covered nonetheless. ~ I was oh so vulnerable; but, fortunately, my life was sovereignly covered. The shine of that holiday could have instead been quite dim.
• Our distraught children’s tears and prayers for healing, and today seeing my daughter’s 2007 courtship and wedding photos. Oh, that kinky, short hair. ~ New and different emotional growth was occurring during that chapter of our family's life, which could have played out oh so ghastly.
• And then, hair shafts grew. I learned to appreciate the kinky curls, as well as its body. But, hair being fickle as fairy tales. Psyche! it reverted back to its pre-cancer, cowlicky and thick with fine strands texture. I had to re-adjust, to dance with its adulterous return.  ~ Psyche! Learning to dance with fickle, rapid-fire-onset menopausal emotions, as well as the empty nest, was fickle, too. Our adult children were fleeing to marriage and long-distance moves. Learning a new relational dance with them required mental and emotional re-adjustments, too.
• What to do with a flourishing coiffure? Its wild and woolly nature has always been a struggle. “Let your hair grow longer,” implored one dear friend. So, it is longer and the hair straightener-turned-waver is my friend. ~ What to do with a flourishing, long-distance family, with grandchild number three, and the wild and woolly future? Both opportunities are intriguing, wavy ventures as well.
• And now, 9 undeserved-and-extra years later, stubborn, kinky gray hairs intersperse the natural brown. How much longer will I apply Clairol’s Nice & Easy? When will au naturale gray be accepted? ~ Nevertheless, I am infinitely agreeable to assuage disposition changes. And my family appears to be embracing the au naturale, genuine, authentic, possibly eccentric... 59-and-holding, me. 

     Heaven is a good place, to which I aspire to inhabit. But being alive and tenaciously present on this earth are positive and good things for which I and my family are grateful.

Even so, come, senior discount offers.  ~  "Even so, come, Lord Jesus" (Revelations 22:20). 

     And, even so, (what else could I embrace but)... composing and composure.

Tenacity: Communiqué, Revisited

The date is December 23. The setting is Bass Pro Shop. The event is Santa's Wonderland. There are endless lines for Santa photos and indoor rides. Delirious children are everywhere. 

Strategic working moms are wise. They have impassioned direction. They forge a path to reach for the golden ring; the treasured picture of their adorable child with Santa Claus. A limited number of no-wait picture passes are available at 7:00 a.m., and by 7:10 a.m. every pass is given out.

Those who desire to see Santa, but are less strategic, require a special chutzpah. A persistence combined with spunk. The element of tenacity. Obstacles don't hinder their goal. They walk by faith and not by sight. They will somehow reach the prize.

Our 4-year-old could be described as tenacious, but he lacks insight and communication skills. I doubt that he tangibly grasps his passionate desires, but at that ripe moment when he finally does, he is not easily distracted or swayed. He is unwavering. Especially when he's the birthday boy, and especially when just 2 days prior at an amusement park he unknowingly forfeited... a Santa opportunity.

On Sunday at Silver Dollar City, he was in line to see the man in the red suit. His interest was stirred. He wanted to experience the curious individual of whom his favorite cartoon characters and pre-school classmates have talked about, all of December. "The line to see Santa is too long. Let's go on your favorite ride instead."

The confused pre-schooler was easily re-directed that day; but, between Silver Dollar City and Bass Pro, just 2 days later, unbeknownst to us, the Santa craving has had time to pique and intensify. He will not easily be re-directed again.

As we circle on the Bass Pro carousel ride, what does our birthday boy do? He cries. He calls for Mama. He is delirious, and we are now confused. "We thought you'd like to ride the carousel for your birthday. Since you're not happy, let's go back to DeDe's house."

Mama to the rescue. She senses her boy's tenacious confusion. They head to a quiet corner, for garbled communication, and then comes the "aha" moment. Just left of the carousel ride he spotted the man he missed, just 2 days ago. Santa. And he desperately wants his first-ever Santa view... from a safe distance. No picture necessary. We wait as he gives St. Nick a thumbs-up, and contentment is achieved.

I hope I am as passionate about an even more important entity. The stars in the sky and the meteors communicate His beauty. It is God. Many Bible verses were written to prepare humanity for Savior God's (Jesus') first coming. His special birth, life, and death. To save us. But twice as many Bible verses point to His return.

The Bible is a communiqué, specially sent to help humanity experience a savory taste of God and his Son Jesus. Hopefully my taste buds are piqued. Hopefully I am tenacious, like a 4-year-old whose delayed Santa-desire passionately intensifies. One day. Sooner now than any time in history. I know my direction. I will see Jesus.

Note to self:  Be tenacious. Communicate. And be ready.

In a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed (I Corinthians 15:52).

Lila C -Cam, Cool Colors