Toddler Jesus

December 15, 2015December 15, 2015 ~ Deb Foster ~ 4 Comments

‘Tis the season…

For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given; and the government will be upon his shoulders. And His name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace… Isaiah 9:6

I was recently blessed by the sights and sounds of the season as singing shepherds and wise men, toddling sheep and donkeys, and handcrafted garments and props presented the Christmas story in living color right before my wondering eyes. Dozens of voices sang and fingers signed the good news, heralding the announcement of the birth of Jesus.

Low in budget but rich in warmth, heart, and expression, the Advent message was presented as concisely and clearly as I’ve ever seen or heard. It wasn’t the lighting, the music, the stable, or the shining star of Bethlehem. It wasn’t the hand-sewn costumes, the fuzzy sheep, or the dynamic solos. Those were all great: well-presented, appropriate, and effective in painting a clear picture and promise of the coming Messiah. It wasn’t even in the plastic baby Jesus that sweet Mary, stroking his head and holding him close to her heart, lifted from the humble wooden manger. Fast forward past the angelic announcement, the trek to Bethlehem, the King-sized manger bed, and the humble shepherds’ visits. Fast forward to toddler Jesus:

Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end…

The lights in the center aisle shown on the faces and lit the paths of the wise old men of about 6-7 years old who had just received word of the long awaited Messiah. They journeyed the long aisle to the stage, front and center, where toddler Jesus stood waiting. His real name was Lincoln but for that few moments he was Jesus incarnate. Nestled between Mary and Joseph, he stood about three feet tall. His traditional robe hung loosely off his small frame and belted around his waist. From beneath his head covering, his eyes sparkled wide with wonder as he considered the gifts laid at his feet. His face, perfectly angelic, studied the young wise men. That was the moment that toddler Jesus became more tangibly real and larger than life. That was the moment his humanity shouted louder than his divinity. There, boldly noticeable from my third row seat, just below his left eye, toddler Jesus humbly wore a timeless mark of humanity and fragility: a cut just above his delicate cheek. A thin line, more than a simple scratch: tender, swollen, bruised. Toddler Jesus was hurt. My eyes fixed on Jesus but my mind fled to scripture.

The music, the celebration, and all the various sights and sounds faded into the background. Why now, in the midst of all the Advent promises that offered hope, joy, love, and peace, did one seemingly unrelated verse repeatedly echo in my ears?

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses..

Jesus had actually been a helpless baby and toddler. So obvious but so new to my mind. I had raised two toddlers. I had taught toddlers, examined toddlers, chased toddlers, wrestled with toddlers. I love toddlers. Toddlers are busy and active, exciting and inquisitive…often challenging. Jesus was a toddler who loved and laughed and ran and blessed and probably challenged. To deny it or to sanitize it is to lessen the truth of his humanity. Did He ever plant his foot in the dirt and sound off a resounding No! or Mine!? How did He feel about sharing his toys or his time in the workshop? Did He ever complain about chores? How did He act when He was hungry and tired? Did He cry easily or often? Did He run and play until He staggered or collapsed from exhaustion? Did He ever toddle too close to the fire? Cry from the unexpected pain of scraped knees or splinters in his tiny fingers? What was his favorite snack? What was his first word? Mama? Daddy? Abba?

…but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. Hebrews 4:15

I didn’t ask Lincoln’s mom how he injured his face. I doubt she was concerned about how he would look as toddler Jesus in the children’s program at the moment he actually cut his face and blacked his eye. I imagine that she hugged him, calmed him, and was thankful that it wasn’t more serious. He is fine. He is active and healthy and perfect. But in that injury God gave me an image..a deeper realization. Maybe for the very first time, I saw his humanity as fragile. He hurt. He was bruised. He cried real tears and bled real blood. Yes, everyone knows that. It just looked very different on the face of a child.

A baby…a toddler…a carpenter…a shepherd…a king.

He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. Isaiah 9:7

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

When Holidays Hurt

November 26, 2015December 10, 2019 ~ Deb Foster ~ 7 Comments

I’ve been feeling it in the air for awhile now… Days are shorter, nights are longer. Skies are darker and breezes are colder. Changing seasons and impending holidays are often harsh, stinging reminders of loss and loneliness.

The evening grows long as I look out across the waiting room and see the many sad or sick faces waiting patiently…or not. Some fidget, sigh, and look at invisible watches on their wrists. Some stare blankly into the unreachable distance or at the monotonous pattern of the enclosing four walls, perhaps replaying old scenes or longed-for visions. Some stare absently into their phones for distraction, relief, or escape. Still they wait. I know many of their stories before they utter a word. I know their history or I read their eyes. I watch their shoulders slump, their hands fidget, their lips frown or faintly quiver. I feel the weight and the want and the weariness.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year!” plays through the overhead speaker, piped in like a merry elf entertaining ideas of fun, frivolity, and lightheartedness, in denial of the pain, the longing, and the loss that the season brings to so many people.

The door opens and closes. Another name, another face, another story. There’s the familiar cloak of usual sickness: flu, sore throat, bumps, and bruises. Those are easy. Passing pain, sickness, or inconvenience that at least offers the hope of speedy relief and healing. But hanging heavy on the heads and shoulders of many are weightier garments: coverings made of death, disease, dysfunction. There’s divorce, abandonment, rejection, loss of dreams and other not-so-merry reminders in every piped in song, well-placed decoration, and carefully thought out department store diorama.

His wife was just found dead. Her husband lost a long battle with cancer. Children’s Services is involved. Her dad kicked her and told her not to tell. Her daughter has run away. Her son is in jail. It’s two weeks before Thanksgiving. He just lost his job. Their house burned to the ground. The Alzheimer’s is so much worse. Hospice has been called in.Third DUI. Arrested for heroin. Suicide. It’s almost Christmas.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Matt 11:28

I’ve been told it’s like a walking a treadmill…walking and climbing and struggling but never getting anywhere. Three steps forward and two steps back. But still they put one foot in front of the other. Some days are harder. Holidays are harder: days meant to gather and celebrate with people you love and people who love you. A time to reflect on blessings and health, the past and the future. So much to celebrate and be thankful for. But there are some who sit in quiet rooms all alone. There are some who sit in loud, clamorous rooms with many others, but are still alone. There are some who sit facing those who have mistreated, rejected, abused, or betrayed them. There are some who sit facing empty chairs of those who have left them through death or abandonment.

When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Matt 9:36

What does it look like to offer hope to the hopeless, rest for the weary, compassion for the hurting, and comfort for the grieving? Is there ministry in hearing, caring, and simply being present? What do you do when there’s no written prescription to ease the pain of heartbreak and loss and devastation? No first aid kit to stop the bleeding or cover the wound? No tender kiss to make it all better?

From the end of the earth I call to You, when my heart is overwhelmed and weak; Lead me to the rock that is higher than I. Psalm 61:2

It has been a slow, humbling process…the realization that I don’t have all the answers. The fixer in me can’t fix all the hurt, restore all the loss, patch all the holes, or fill the empty seats. I can’t and I’m not meant to. And with that, another realization… that it’s okay. I don’t have to be the great fixer, the final answer, a redemptive savior. I can’t be.

But what can I do? What can anyone do to make a difference in a world with so much hurt and loss and fear and hopelessness and uncertainty? Is it enough to have eyes that see and ears that hear? To give a gift that is both free and priceless: to be seen and heard, recognized, and acknowledged? Validated and assured that they matter, that their struggles are real, that their hearts and lives are important, that someone cares, and more importantly, that there is hope? Yes, it matters. It all matters. I can be a hand to hold. I can choose to extend a hand that reaches, lifts, holds, supports, gives. A hand to guide, to direct, to point to the truth that they are fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of a God that loves them and wants to fill the empty places and the empty seats. I can be a voice. A voice that speaks truth and dispels lies and speaks words of encouragement and validation. And I can just be. I can sit in the ashes, care in the silence, be light in the darkness, and warmth in the cold season of the soul. I can offer hope in the simple ministry of being present and attentive. I can care.

I can love. ❤

Books and Bombs

November 12, 2015November 12, 2015 ~ Deb Foster ~ 1 Comment

I like to read. And I like to write. So when I was offered an opportunity to read and review Elisa Pulliam’s soon to be released book, Meet the New You, I jumped on board expectantly and wholeheartedly.

But this is not a review. I actually haven’t started it yet…at least not on a page one, left to right continuum like a compliant, conformist reader. I did, however, skim the chapter titles, speed read the planner, and glance over pertinent quotes.

By ” pertinent quotes” I actually mean words that pierced the heart, stung the conscience, opened the eyes, and fell in my face like a cold, drenching rain. Why did I read those particular words on that specific day at the precise hard place I had just found myself sitting in anger and frustration? I don’t believe in coincidence, happenstance, or luck. I choose to see “coincidences” as divine appointments, purposeful encounters, connecting crossroads, or meaningful words and events in due season.

“Forgiveness Frees Us from the Chains of Pain” -Elisa Pulliam

That was the first quotation from the book that jumped off the page and into my conscience. A few months ago I wrote a blog post about forgiveness…about turning the other cheek and going the extra mile. Back then it was merely a little obstacle, a tiny bump in the road, but the struggle this week had been very different: deeper, more hurtful, less easily released. Okay…not released at all, but held firmly between fingers clinched so tightly, for so long, that I couldn’t remember how to open them. Just as old friends, old songs, and old photos often bring back the warmest feelings and happiest memories, old hurts and offenses are often embedded in the deepest, darkest places and forge the most pain, anger, and confusion. They inflict invisible wounds to the heart and soul.

This isn’t about confession. Or scandal. Or grungy details of sin or hurt or loss or betrayal. It’s just about humanity. About feeling. About living, loving, hating, and believing. It’s about guilt and regret and confusion and trying and succeeding and failing. About falling down and getting back up. It’s about emotion and expression and repression…and sometimes even a little regression. At its core, it’s about struggle and chains and wires and bombs…and freedom.

“Unforgiveness wires our soul to the past yet causes explosions in the present.” -Elisa Pulliam

That was it! That one sentence explained the pressure that had been building in my mind and body until I thought I might explode. It was linked and wired and crisscrossed like a complex circuit board. Or maybe it was more like a pile of dynamite. I’ve heard that one potential sign of harboring unhealed hurts or unforgiveness is having an unusally tender spot that we hide and cover and push people away from. I’ve also heard it compared to a thorn that we adapt to, wrap scar tissue around, and sometimes forget it’s there…until someone or something touches it and then we recoil in pain, confusion, or shame. So…unforgiveness may manifest as a tender, unhealed wound? Makes sense. But a bomb?

This really isn’t all about me. I talk to lots of people. It’s what I do and I love it. But I frequently witness the consequences of unhealed hurts, repressed feelings, and unforgiveness. I counsel people who are confused about seemingly unexplainable anger, frustration, depression, anxiety, tension, and lashing out: “I just snap.” “I can’t control it.” “Something just comes over me.” Sometimes there really is no obvious present-day trigger. Sometimes it’s not situational or chemical or hormonal. Sometimes it seems as if a hidden remote control or detonator button is pushed and they have very little control.

But what is about me is this: I had a bad day. I snapped at someone for no legitimate reason. Snapped? Okay…I exploded all over someone. Not just any someone, but someone I have a long, deep, hard history with. I said very hurtful things…words and expressions and tones that I didn’t like and don’t typically use. It was hurtful. It was hateful. There was no love, no grace, no mercy. Truthfully, the worst was not even said to the person directly, but to the four walls of the room I retreated to as a private sanctuary…an asylum. But I heard my tone, my words, my intent, my heart. Who walked away with the greatest pain and regret? I have no doubt that I did. I was the bomb. Unresolved conflict was the detonator. Unforgiveness was the catalyst. Explosion was inevitable.

“It is only through forgiving others that we become unchained and able to really move on.” -Elisa Pulliam

Does knowing that there’s a distant, remote trigger for what we say, do, or feel today make all the hurt, struggle, and guilt disappear? Probably not, but it does give more focus, direction and new weapons to engage in the battle. It’s difficult to fight an unknown, unnamed enemy. What will you call it? Anger? Hurt? Bitterness? Unforgiveness? By naming it, we see the potential battle lines, mine fields, and obstacles and will be better equipped to grab hold of a live wire and trace it back its point of origin and unplug it. Diffuse it. Disconnect it. Purposefully. Prayerfully. Vigilantly. Is it easy? No, but we walk it out one step, one breath at a time. Pray for wisdom, patience, guidance, discernment, and willingness. Pray, cry, talk to someone, learn and speak truth. Fall and then get back up. And be willing. Willing to love, willing to share, willing to forgive or at least willing to be willing to forgive. And then forgive. And forgive. And forgive. Forgive those who hurt you and forgive yourself. In doing these things, we snuff out one fuse, one fire at a time; and we snip one link in the chain….and then another, and another, until the chain snaps and falls and we are finally loosed.

“Forgiving is not the same as forgetting. Forgiving is about remembering and releasing.” -Elisa Pulliam

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” -Jesus, John 8:36

For more information and encouragement, please visit http://www.thenewyou.elisapulliam.com #theNEWyou

Swords, Shields, and Stretchers

October 18, 2015October 18, 2015 ~ Deb Foster ~ 4 Comments

It’s Thankful Thursday…actually it’s slow-down Sunday. 😉 There’s always so much to be thankful for… including the job, family, bible study, and busyness that demanded my time and attention on Thursday; so I’m taking the time today to be thankful and to reflect on a retreat I attended a few weeks ago.

I don’t usually like women’s retreats. They can feel heavy, weighted, sad… Rehearsed or complicated. I’m not sure why, but I imagine drama, complaining, comparison, and superficial conversation. I expect everyone to smile and say they’re fine. I project answers assuring that their faith is strong, their walks are straight, their thoughts are pure, their pasts are blameless, and their kids don’t talk back.

But what happens when the masks come off, the pretense falls away, and the reality of struggle and pain and loss and abuse and addiction and lack of faith surge to the surface to gasp a drowning breath of air and hope?

“…we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged.” Heb 6:18

The evening started with anonymous hand-written words, two words, to describe the condition of our hearts as we pried ourselves away from routine, repetition, and responsibility to participate in a group that had the potential to be threatening and exposing, or accepting and healing. Some words were expected and encouraging: hopeful, excited, needs refreshing. Others were raw and revealing: sad, guarded, uncertain, unknown, vulnerable, needy, weary.

weary

[weer-ee] adjective

physically or mentally exhausted by hard work, exertion, strain, etc.; fatigued; tired
impatient or dissatisfied with something.

“Weary” seemed to be the condition of most hearts. What an unexpected, yet eye-opening introduction to the weekend and to dozens of women I had never met. The honesty and admission of brokenness and need seemed to “level the playing field” and put us all on the same team. The theme of the weekend was hope: hope in the struggle and brokenness, hope in the shattered dreams and unmet expectations.

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. Heb 6:19

As the weekend unfolded, there were cleansing tears, joyous laughter, and reverent quiet; but also the realization and revelation of unmet expectations, hidden pain, and unresolved grief. There were testimonies of loneliness, sickness, struggle, and darkness, but ultimate victory and healing…at least the promise of ultimate victory and healing. There was hope, like an anchor…not preventing raging storms or rushing waters, but holding firm, steady, and secure in the midst of struggle, shattered dreams, grief, and unmet needs.

So why the title? What do swords, shields, and stretchers have to do with hope? A sword is a tool, a weapon…a symbol of power, justice, and authority. The sword of the Spirit is the word of God. The Truth. Is it possible to cling to hope in the midst of tragedy, brokenness, and unfulfilled longing if your life and beliefs are built on untruths and unknowns? Or do we construct a house of cards or a wobbly shack on shifting sands and live in fear of strong winds, unforeseen storms, and uncertainty? A question was offered to weary hearts late that evening: “Where does hope begin?” Two suggested answers:

Knowing we are loved and pursued
Confessing, coming before God in humility and naming what is true

“The truest thing about you is not your pain or your disappointment. The truest thing about you is who you are in relationship with Christ.” Beth Wayland

Ultimately truth was proclaimed, eyes and ears were opened, and light was shed on who we are in Christ and in relation to one another. Honesty and transparency were modeled and encouraged. Walking and sharing and struggling together in community were presented as healthy and expected privileges and responsibilities of Christian life and sisterhood.

“In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.” Eph 6:16

Not sure how many times I heard the phrase “lock shields with one another.” It painted a picture of unity, of protection, of warfare, of standing side by side and fighting our battles together. Stories of deep roots, strong bonds, and unconditional love and support made me painfully aware of gaping holes in my self-built defenses and weak spots in relationships where I had failed to unite, to stand side by side, and to know and be known. I knew there was something missing and it left me recognizably hurt and grieving.

“Find people willing to walk in the darkness with you. Choose community. Break your independent spirit and make your needs known. Find people to lock shields and walk with you.” Jenny Rone

When you intentionally seek to know and are willingly, freely known, you make yourself available to both give and to receive love, care, assistance, and presence. In the story from Luke 5, the paralytic was unable to stand, to walk, to get to Jesus. His companions lifted him and bore his stretcher, his load, his weight, and brought him, weak and helpless, to Jesus. He may have had good intentions. He may have had great self-discipline and solid determination, but in his own power he was simply unable to bear his own weight, make his own path, see above the crowd and confusion, and find his healing.

Again, what do swords, shields, and stretchers have to do with hope? What exactly is hope? Is it simply a feeling? Is it crossing fingers and wishing for the best? Or is it more? Could it be steadfast confidence that is anchored in the Truth of God’s word, his character, and his promises? Might it also be a refuge, a place of calm security, knowledge, and peace that is fostered, encouraged, and protected in a community of warriors that will not only stand and fight, but will also kneel in quiet strength and humility in the midst of sickness, helplessness, or pain.

As the retreat drew to a close, I recalled a question the speaker had asked earlier in the weekend: “Will you turn your chair to another?”

“For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” Matt 18:20

It wasn’t a question of position or convenience. It was a picture of a willful, voluntary choice to see and be seen, to hear and be heard, to know and be known. It represented a meeting of souls: “an intentional intersection of who I am with who someone else is…at the level of the soul.” (Beth Wayland) While I can’t honestly say that I’m comfortable with the idea of complete transparency and vulnerability, I did walk away with questions, longings, empty places, a new awareness of needs and vulnerabilities, and, more importantly, a recognition and desire to fill the empty spaces.

I continue to see images of swords and battles, of standing together, of linking shields and bearing stretchers. I can even imagine myself on a stretcher, being humble and receptive to being lifted or lowered. I also walked away realizing that maybe I do like women’s retreats…even with the uncomfortable closeness and the inevitable messiness. Next time I wont imagine, expect, or project anything. Next time I will just hope…and maybe even turn my chair to face another.

Paws and Purpose

October 1, 2015April 12, 2021 ~ Deb Foster ~ Leave a comment

The question is not what we intended ourselves to be, but what He intended us to be when He made us.” C.S. Lewis

I was deep in the midst of a hectic day at work when the phone in my pocket announced the arrival of a new picture message… Sneaking a quick peek, I glimpsed an image that was instantly familiar, but definitely out of place. There in the midst of wrinkled sheets and crumpled pillows lay a warmly familiar fuzzy bear. Face down, paws outstretched, in comfort or in reverence, I don’t know. Relaxed. At home. Comfortable.

A thousand images of dimpled cheeks, chubby fingers, and cozy bear hugs flashed through my mind and heart. It was my son’s bear. Was. Years ago. He had long left behind his fuzzy friend for the world of video games, high school, and cars. He no longer needed the presence, friendship, or comfort of Little Bear. Bittersweet, it took me a moment to fully recognize the importance of the candid photo my daughter had just snapped. Little Bear left us several months ago. My daughter works at an assisted living facility and had recently devised a creative, thoughtful idea: outgrown childhood stuffed animals may find new purpose in the faithful, tired arms of her elderly residents. It had been less traumatic for me to release Little Bear knowing that he would find a new home, a fresh start, and a renewed purpose. This was my first glimpse into his new life.

The following day I received a second Little Bear photo with the caption: “He got the place of honor today.” There he lay atop the pillow of a worn soul, young yet old, offering comfort and companionship, love and acceptance.

I doubt Little Bear is really aware that he is loved and wanted and fulfilling his purpose… Walking out his calling as a companion and a comfort. He wasn’t knit together with a heart and soul longing for acceptance and communion. A place to belong and a purpose to fulfill. A calling. A knowing of who he is, why he is here, and how he can make a difference. A need to love and be loved. To comfort and be comforted.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Is everyone created with a need to feel that they belong and are loved? That they have a purpose? An inner knowing that they can make a difference?

I started a new bible study this week. The promise and encouragement for today: Philippians 1:6 says “…He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Okay, so maybe the verse doesn’t exactly reference teddy bears or life goals and purpose but it does point back to a past, a beginning, as well as project forward to a process, and finally to an end. A completion. A purpose. It’s a promise. It doesn’t guarantee an easy journey and doesn’t say we won’t be repurposed along the way. But it says He knows, He plans, He gives, He completes. When there is confusion, loss, or lack of direction along the way, there is promise of presence, purpose and completion. And for that I am thankful.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. Ecc 3:11

Rescue

September 10, 2015September 10, 2015 ~ Deb Foster ~ 3 Comments

rescue

[res-kyoo] verb
to free or deliver from confinement, violence, danger, or evil.

“All I want for my birthday is a cat.” That’s how it all started. So simple, yet so complicated.

We spent the weeks leading up to his birthday visiting pet stores, animal shelters and various rescue sites. He wanted them all. He loved them all. He explored aisle after aisle, inspecting cage after cage with mixed emotions: excitement to find the perfect companion, mixed with the weighty sadness of looking into the eyes of caged, abandoned animals. Some knew no other life. They had been born into bondage. Others had been helpless victims of life situations they didn’t understand: health crisis, death, family move, divorce, new relationship, tiredness, or simply inconvenience and lack of commitment.

Then he saw her.

She was a skinny, sad looking ball of uneven, not-sure-what-color fur. The hand-scribbled tag attached to her cage listed her color as “diluted” but I thought she just looked tired and faded..worn and sad, maybe even hopeless; but he reached down and chose her, lifting her out of her caged despair, abandonment, and neglect and into a new world of light and love and life. She leaned into his chest and enfolded herself in his arms and held on. Very close. Very still. She could hear his heartbeat and he could hear the revving of her hope and contentment as she purred like the sound of a thousand well-tuned engines. That’s all it took: leaning in, hearing his heartbeat, trusting his hold and his love for her.

Why did he choose her? Nothing special, she did nothing to earn his love. There were more attractive, well-groomed cats. Cats who jumped, played, made noise, and vied for attention. She was sick, imperfect: fleas, watery eyes, and a little off balance…not very pretty or desired by most standards, but he loved her. He reached in and pulled her close. He wiped her eyes, held her tight, and took her home. She was perfect.

I won’t suggest that animal neglect or abandonment should be weighed on the same scale as human suffering. There are greater, more urgent crises: orphans, slavery, addiction, oppression, starvation, victimization. I won’t offer suggestions or supposed remedies. I will just simply reflect on how one small act can make a difference in a very small corner of a great big world. One choice, one rescue at a time.

I will also remember what it means to be chosen: to be set free, to be held, nurtured, and loved. To be fed, provided for, trained. I will remember that regardless of the situation, the bondage, or the cage, I can lean in, be still, and be rescued. And for that, I am thankful.

The Other Cheek and an Extra Mile

August 27, 2015August 27, 2015 ~ Deb Foster ~ 4 Comments

But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Matt 5:39-41

A paradox really… Those don’t seem to be especially cheerful, encouraging words, and it’s definitely an awkward introduction to a Thankful Thursday post; but with the right word in due season comes peace and burdens are lifted. For that I am thankful.

In many ways this feels like an extension of the “Friends in Low Places” piece I wrote a few weeks ago. Like so many others, I recently walked through a shadowed valley, a weary season, a time of struggle; and just as “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks,” out of the pen, or keyboard, the soul speaks, crafting words of hurt and offense or of hope and reconciliation.

“Forgiveness is the key that unlocks the door of resentment and the handcuffs of hatred. It is a power that breaks the chains of bitterness and the shackles of selfishness.” Corrie Ten Boom

I recently found myself rehearsing offenses, playing back hurtful tapes, and blatantly vowing to disconnect or to payback hurt for hurt. Is it human nature to respond defensively when we’ve been hurt, rejected, misunderstood, or subtly “victimized”? Is it a natural reflex to lash out or, conversely, to withdraw? Who then do we really hurt? Is it a shallow, veiled attempt at self-protection or is it actually a catalyst for isolation and self-condemnation? Who feels the heaviest, constraining weight of the chains? The claustrophobic, choking effects as the feelings of anger and injustice close in like a vice? In my futile attempt to protect my own feelings or perceived “rights”, I found myself feeling imprisoned behind iron bars and dark clouds.

That’s when I finally heard the words, roaring like a drenching rain from a darkened sky blowing against my face. Should I lean into it turn away? It has been said in so many different ways: Forgive, let it go, turn the other cheek. That’s what I heard: turn the other cheek and go the extra mile. Consider the consequences: a sore cheek, no coat, sore feet, humility, and quiet strength. Or…binding chains, clinched fists, heavy heart, frown lines, dark thoughts, sleepless nights, and slow steady poison coursing through every cell, every vein, every tissue, every thought, every plan.

Well…maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but it still wasn’t very pleasant, life-giving, or peace-making. Simply put: I chose forgiveness. I let it go. I turned the other cheek and vowed to walk the extra mile. And then…the sun shone brighter, the fog lifted, and my heart was no longer heavy. So I am thankful for ancient words of advice, for freedom, and also thankful that at some point someone turned the other cheek and walked the extra mile for me.

Friends In Low Places

August 14, 2015August 14, 2015 ~ Deb Foster ~ 3 Comments

Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! Ecc 4:9-10

It’s inevitable… We will all have a day, a week, a month, or an entire season when we hit a wall…experience discouragement… walk through the valley…shoulder the weight of the world. Not necessarily a dark night of the soul, but a dark cloud of the head and heart. A place where life and liberty and estrogen and serotonin collide. In the midst of trials, conflict, confusion, and darkness, today I am thankful for friends who walk the path, sit in the ashes, and travel though the valleys: friends in low places.

I suspect that the low, surly rumblings of the old, well-known country song are resonating in some ears right now. In the song, the “Friends in Low Places” were the people who were accepting, fun, welcoming …not necessarily wealthy and accomplished, but familiar and trusted. Elements of loss and rejection rang familiar…and maybe even a little retaliation for the hurt; but those are not the “low places” or the friends I have in mind. What about the friends who bend low, stoop, crawl, or just sit? The friends with big ears and big hearts and comfortable sofas and hot coffee? Those with wise words, bowed heads, outstretched arms, and knowing eyes?

The road to a friend's house is never long... — The road to a friend’s house is never long…

The world often measures success by material gain, social status, and ability to achieve. We’re encouraged, often feeling entitled, to do what we want to do, when we want to do it, regardless of consequences…to not be concerned with others’ opinions of us because we have”rights” and expectations; but with all this increasing independence, self-sufficiency, and self-focus often come disconnection and loneliness. We’re encouraged to do it our way, on our own, with no help or advice. Yes, I’ve been guilty. I’ve been prone to isolate, to keep silent, to smile and say everything is fine…and it is. But I’m learning to admit when it’s not: when life is hard, I’m struggling, or I’m just tired, discouraged, weary.

How about you? Do you have friends in low places? Brothers or sisters to shoulder the load, bear the weight, be the hands and feet of Jesus?

The group Need To Breathe has a popular song out right now: “Brother.”

Let the lyrics fall on open ears and a receptive, teachable heart. Today I am thankful for friends in low places.

“Brother”

Ramblers in the wilderness, we can’t find what we need
Get a little restless from the searching
Get a little worn down in between
Like a bull chasing the matador is the man left to his own schemes
Everybody needs someone beside em’ shining like a lighthouse from the sea

Brother let me be your shelter
I’ll never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call
When you’re low
Brother let me be your fortress
When the night winds are driving on
Be the one to light the way
Bring you home

Face down in the desert now there’s a cage locked around my heart
I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were
Now my hands can’t reach that far
I ain’t made for a rivalry I could never take the world alone
I know that in my weakness I am strong, but
It’s your love that brings me home

And when you call and need me near
Sayin’ where’d you go?
Brother I’m right here
And on those days when the sky begins to fall
You’re the blood of my blood
We can get through it all

Visit http://www.marshasmusings.com to share thankfulness. You will be blessed. (Even though it’s Friday 🙂 )

A Time For Everything

August 6, 2015August 6, 2015 ~ Deb Foster ~ 3 Comments

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: (Ecc 3:1)

I’m getting a late start on this thankful Thursday…too busy sitting on the porch sipping tea and watching the birds, butterflies, and falling leaves. This is probably my favorite time of year. As the long, oppressive “dog days” of Summer are retreating to their quiet slumber, 😉 the days eagerly offer warmth and sunshine while the nights have began hinting at the cooler, more refreshing time to come. The blooms of Spring are still painting a vivid tapestry in my back yard while the leaves on the trees are showing signs of becoming weary and worn. Today I am thankful for the continuing faithfulness of changing seasons.

A refreshing Summer storm blew through this week and dotted my porch with splotches of brown and yellow and green. There was a distinctly different feeling in the air: crisp, light, refreshing. Birds and butterflies were alive with the busyness of living and enjoying the dampness of the air and the coolness of the breeze. The sky seemed brighter, the grass seemed greener, the sun seemed friendlier, and even the moon seemed larger and more mysterious. I’m continually amazed at the marvel of creation when I simply take the time to stop and see, feel and breathe.

It’s mesmerizing to watch leaves twirl and drift to the earth, butterflies explore the intricacies of wildflowers, and hummingbirds dart and dance. I marvel at the sight of sunflowers stretching for the sun and crepe myrtles exploding in color. I bask in the the warmth of sunshine and wind on my face. Thankfulness comes with remembrance. I’m reminded that today is a gift and this moment, this season, is fleeting. There will come a season when the leaves have fallen and the butterflies are stilled, the
sun will seem distant and the wind bitter and cruel. So today I will sit, stop, and be still in this moment..thankful for a lingering moment in this season.

Small Town, USA

July 30, 2015July 30, 2015 ~ Deb Foster ~ 1 Comment

My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest. Isaiah 32:18

My family and I recently helmeted up, refreshed our water bottles, and hit the trails: the wooded trails, outstretched bridges, and intersecting pathways of our very own hometown. While some may prefer the lights, sounds, and bustle of a larger, busier city, today I’m thankful for life and love and liberty in a small Southern town. Small Town, USA is the only town my children know… “born and bred” as the local farmers and horse breeders might say. We’ve traveled and stayed and seen and felt bigger, more populated and sophisticated venues, but there’s nothing quite like the fit and feel of our small Southern town. Well…maybe it isn’t exactly small. We do have four Walmarts and eight Starbucks. Eight! People around here like their coffee. 🙂 So maybe I’m actually thankful for the blessing of living in a medium-sized town, or using Starbucks terminology, grande-town, USA. But the feel is the same: warm, inviting, friendly…always somewhere to go, something to do, someone to see.

The flag still flies high at the town square. Benches are scattered, welcoming and offering rest. A bible sits encased, open, inviting. There’s a city cafe, a coffee shop, a hardware store. A very traditional, welcoming, historical area rejuvenated by small business and specialty shops, it still hosts jazz festivals, farmers’ markets, and various community activities. We biked right up to the local ice cream shop and enjoyed cold homemade treats as we sat outside, watching the traffic lights turn and neighbors stroll by. We explored the sidewalks and storefronts: window shopping, talking to fellow sojourners, and admiring history and the beauty of the sun setting over our quiet little town. Statues, monuments, and other historical markers dot the square and provide admiration and recollection of the history and privilege offered to our generation from those who lived, fought, and died before us. Did I mention it’s a Civil War town? Constantly changing and growing, it is progressive and contemporary, offering adult and family activities, shopping, and restaurants, yet quaint and comfortable enough that we still run into friends when we’re out on the town. It is steeped in history, agriculture, education, and great economic development, but also strife, sickness, and civil war. It is both small but large, new but old.

The final trail in our journey led us through the Stones River Battlefield where our footsteps and tire tracks retraced the steps and the lives of soldiers, generals, and giants. Larger than pages from a history book, we heard the very echoes of history and smelled the gunpowder signaling strife and division as the cannons fired in reenactment of the tragic battles. I won’t lie… My eyes were misty and my heart heavy as the smoke cleared and the echoes faded. Such a strange combination of pride, sadness, relief, and thankfulness. From the carefree refreshment of bike trails and ice cream to the heaviness of reflection at the tales of war, it’s still home.

Yes, I’m thankful to be a part of small town life, work, and worship; but I’m also thankful to be connected to the big world of others living and loving through thankfulness at http://www.marshasmusings.com. Come visit and give thanks. 🙂

mysteriesofgrace

Grace is free. But it’s not cheap.