Too Close to Home, but Still I Have Peace

 

When we spot any similar image on a TV screen, we tend to briefly stop what we're doing. We look to see if it's something important to us, or just some random item from across the country. Sometimes we shake our heads, and sometimes we are stunned. 

Today, I was stunned.

But I didn't hear about it from the television news team. My phone rang.

My daughter was crying.

She said, "I need you to..." I don't remember the words she chose…

Help me focus? No. Talk me down? Maybe. Perhaps. Doesn't matter. She was in reaction mode

and needed to hear something that would make her feel better about her world at that moment.

There had been another school shooting.

Three of her children--my grandchildren--were in lock down.

My first reaction was what is always my first reaction—
God.

He is my strength in times of trouble.

After culling all the information she had on the situation—it happened at a school next to her district; she knows some of the kids there; so far there were no fatalities being reported; two people had been care-flighted to a hospital; they have the shooter—I let God’s peace speak through me. I calmly reminded her that they don’t take dead people to the hospital by helicopter. I asked her if she remembered the school shooting where all the schools nearby got shot up, too. No. I told her she didn’t remember because it didn’t happen. Never (thank you, Jesus) has that happened. I reminded her that Satan loves it when we worry, and what the Bible says about worry. I told her that she needed to stay focused on what was real, and not what she could imagine. 

We talked until she felt a fraction of my peace. Our girls were safe. Today. I reminded her of the temporariness of this world, and that eternity is waiting and Jesus is still Lord. And I meant it.

I did cry today. Once. After I knew the injuries weren’t life-threatening, after my daughter knew her babies were safe and sound, after all was well with our world again… I began praising God with song. Alone in the room, I sang, ‘Praise Him, praise Him, Jesus our blessed Redeemer…’ and the flood gates opened. Happy tears. Rejoicing in the faithfulness of our Lord. I was thankful for being able to remain calm and show that calmness to my daughter. 

It’s because I practice.

The schools have to practice for these kinds of incidents to be prepared. Our armed forces practice to be prepared. Even public speakers practice to be prepared. We also must practice to be prepared. We practice by daily allowing God to be our strength. 

If you practice something often enough,

it becomes your in-the-heat-of-the-moment gut reaction,

instead of the when-all-else-fails reaction.

No, I haven’t perfected it. I could still get caught off-guard by some extreme circumstance, and crumble to the helplessness of this human experience. But my odds are better. Odds are I will call upon the Name above all names. 

Because I have practiced.

How do I practice? In my relationship with Jesus Christ, I talk to Him daily—pray without ceasing. I study His Word. I do not forsake meeting with my sisters and brothers in Christ—especially my sisters! I don’t know what I’d do some days without my great church friends. If ever I have a time of weakness, falling away from that gut reaction to take it to the Lord, I know they will pull me back.

We practice our faith. And practice makes perfect. Perfect peace in the storm.

Holding Back the Claws

I want to always trust God the way my mama cat trusts me. My best friend has commented more than once about how tame my cats are. Her cats are tame, too. They are loving. They purr when petted. What's so different about mine? Trust... Total trust.


I thought about it this morning when I cradled Little Bear. She is a farm cat and lives outside, hunting mice and other varmints while escaping whatever larger predators may lurk in the darkness. Yet, with all the natural instinct a cat can possess, she is not the tiniest bit 'cat' when I hold her in my arms. A lot of cats won't let you turn them upside down (especially if they grew up with little kids!), but that's how I always hold Little Bear. I lift her with one hand under her belly and roll her into my waiting cradle. She falls back into the comfort of my arms peacefully and begins to purr. She doesn't struggle to upright herself. She doesn't reach out with her claws to secure a hold on my shirt. I can walk around with her, bend over, stoop... It doesn't matter what I do; she purrs with contentment for she is in her mommy's arms.


She was days old and orphaned when we found her. She was one of a litter of five – one dead, four barely alive, crying, their bodies cold, their eyes barely open. We took the four sickly kittens home, stopping along the way for kitten formula and the other necessities. Don King (should have seen his hair) was the worst. He survived a few days, but never seemed likely to make it. The other three flourished. Chubbers, with his unquenchable appetite, appeared to have swallowed two ping-pong balls. Paint Girl’s fur looked as if a loaded brush had touched her in places on her back. And Little Bear… so deep black, with golden eyes, claws that always seemed too long to withdraw into their hidden place. (see photo) And we became their parents.

Before the DOG came along, the three of them walked the lane with us to the mailbox and back. They followed our lead everywhere. They were devoted to us because we saved them! We saved them from death. We saved them from a hard life with no one to guide them. We provided them with everything they needed. We loved them and nurtured them. They know the sound of our voices.

I was barely alive when Jesus found me. My heart was cold. My eyes were not open. I faced certain death. I was struggling to survive. I needed His guidance and His love. God is now my Father. He saved me from certain death. He guides me daily, giving me wisdom to make the right choices. He provides me with everything I need and more. He loves me and nurtures me. And I know the sound of His voice.

He tries to pick me up, to cradle me, to give me comfort. Sometimes I let Him. Sometimes I bring out the claws. I reach to cling to something… control. I am afraid to let go. Why? Has He not always cared for me with the greatest tenderness? Don’t I trust Him with my life? Of course I do! But instinct tells me to bring out the claws, at least until my reasoning takes over.

Little Bear knows that she doesn’t need her instinct with me. I don’t know how she turns it off, but I’m going to learn. It will probably take a lot of practice and patience, but, hopefully, with time I too will no longer pull out the claws when my Father takes me into His arms.

My Patina

I was reading through my morning e-mails and came to the one from the Presidential Prayer Team. It's a good way to start the day! Today's daily compared the rich patina of a well cared for antique table to the rich 'patina' a follower of God will achieve through years of a well cared for relationship with God.

Through daily prayer, scripture study and constantly walking in the path, we will achieve that patina that so pleases God. It is not only visible to God, but to all that cross our paths. A deep relationship with God improves all our other relationships; even those we pass as strangers.

When I further pondered that train of thought, I contemplated what else might contribute to my personal patina... The years of abusive relationships surely left me with those nicks and gouges that only add to the beauty of a treasured heirloom. The wisdom I continue to gain gives me that soft sheen that cannot be achieved with a quick polish.

Even the arthritis has its place. Have you ever noticed on a very old piece of furniture, the places that were constantly touched or rubbed? The finish is worn thin, paint rubbed away, exposing the bare wood. Yet, we would not think of touching it up! No, those spots are evidence of its history... Grampa rested his hand there; Mom opened that drawer the most.

Yes, some days I wish for that shiny new polyurethane exterior. It sure was easier to get chores done. But then I realize the value I place on those 'chores' now and I treasure my patina.

I'm not judging you, but...

Today was magnificent! I made it to church for the most wonderful service. Still celebrating the upcoming birth of Grand #5 (or should it be #B1, with A1,2,3,4 the others? IDK) it brought me to tears to witness the special events today. Four graduates were honored before the congregation. All four were read to as they stood near the alter. The youth pastor read letters written by their fathers... Words like, "...when we first found out you..." and "...our little bean!" Thanks what Tim & Jessica call their long-awaited. And if that wasn't enough? Following the grads was a family for a baby dedication. The baby's name? Brody! Close enough to Brady to make me grab my next-to-last tissue!

Oh well... I know you're all ready to O.D. on my baby babblings. Back to the point of my post...

[Warning: If Jesus offends you, click the little x in the upper, right-hand corner. Or better yet, read on anyway...]

Friday, after Jessica 'delivered' (I love that word) the news, we were talking about church. I commented about some of the people that are there whenever the doors are open. (no names, not a gossip session - just opinions) Yes, we do need those dedicated people to keep things in order. But, (and again, I'm not judging) that's not what it's about folks! Remember the Great Commission? Did Jesus spend his every waking hour inside a synagogue? No! He went out! Out to where they needed HIM!

I am being judged. I don't know by whom, but I know it's happening. People know us. They look around at the small group gatherings and miss our faces. They have a BBQ and we're not there. They have the ladies lunch bunch. I made one. Men do a Saturday breakfast. I don't think Hubby's ever been. We've missed numerous prayer meetings and special events. I'm not saying we never go to them. We do. Some. Want to know the most horrible thing about me? I've skipped church because of reasons other than death. I KNOW!

Yes, Jesus clearly directs us to gather together. It is important to strengthen our faith. Our church family upholds us. They pray with us. They are so very important to me. It is hard to grow our faith in the world without a strong bond with our Christian sisters and brothers. 'Nuff said.

Pastor's sermon today said it all. He reminded us that, yeah it's great to come here, but that's not what it's all about. We come to be equipped... to go. On the Day of Pentecost, the followers waited. The Spirit came and filled them, giving them the ability to speak in all the tongues of the people gathered in the city. Not to communicate with each other, but to go out.

Now, I'm not bragging that I'm this 'pounding on doors, bringing people to the Lord' person. Far from it. I fall miserably short. I've missed many opportunities to witness about what God has done for me. But I've shared a lot. When I was a MySpace addict, many of my posts shared how God was moving in my life.

Our church purpose: "To turn people into passionate followers of Christ" Pastor reminded us this morning that we can't do that sitting in the sanctuary. And Pastor, if you're reading... "HONK, HONK!"