Playing the Palace

How does a small town host blessings so bountiful?  We arrived on a Monday and found the Palace staff so welcoming and kind.  Situating sound equipment and unloading props and costumes was much less a burden because of how friendly and helpful they were.  Playing piano would be a new role for me on this trip, and in asking the Lord to lead me through, I soon saw Him using this sweet setting to help ease my nerves.  With the piano staying at the edge of the stage, I loved seeing up-close how intently children interacted with the whole performance, answering the story characters and pursuing the chase.  I heard their depth of laughter as if sitting in the seat next to them.  And I love to remember this little boy who threw his jacket over this face when he laughed so hard!  Even when children exited toward their buses, new amazement came for how they recited our songs with hand motions and all.  What a blessed 6 performances.  Simply my heart runneth over.  But how does this blessing in smallness happen when most of our world looks more toward the big lights and the big stage?  It’s the presence of the Lord showing up as He sees fit.  Maybe I've never heard anyone speak of Corsicana, Texas, as a hotly sought vacation spot.  Yet the Lord decided to bless us here, and we loved it.  What a pleasure to ask my fellow performers to join me in thanking Him.  Jesus says in Matthew 11:28, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  Such utter contentment we find nowhere else.  May He satisfy your heart today.

Intimacy of December

Is latest always greatest?  Is bigger always better? Here’s a story.  Last month we went to some friends’ house on a Saturday afternoon.  Their home was a new music venue for us, yet it was a long-awaited and exciting occasion of joining their fellowship of musicians.  The sun shone, the air was crisp, and the drive held a serenity we loved.  On their porch sat a chiminea that softly slowed our pace from the city, much like a campfire seems to bring time to think.  My husband and I were among the first to arrive, and as everyone soon filed through the door, we discovered much in common beyond music.  We had shared neighborhoods and traversed the same roads near and far.  We spoke English and Spanish and had attended the same churches without knowing the other was there.  I must've donned a permanent smile from all the laughing and amazement, knowing little about the best part still to come.  Then I heard our friend announce that music would begin.  People stirred.  Guitar cases opened.  The djembe took prominent position.  Uncapping my little film bottle of water to soak my oboe reed, I sensed a tinge of nervousness beginning to creep.  Yet we set out in music to worship the Lord.  How would we experience Him?  How would He touch us and impact the moment?  The songwriting, the instrumentals, the storytelling, the prayer—it all came so sweetly.  Such an abundant presence of God inhabited the room, both for us as individuals and as a group.  Neither was it a big church service nor any high-tech event.  On this little parcel of land outside San Antonio, a small group of Believers was given a hugely amazing experience of the Lord transcending the day.  Covered softly in stillness and calm, my heart was full.  The gift was supernatural, like when the priests of the Old Testament couldn’t enter the temple because the glory of the Lord filled it so completely (2 Chronicles 7).  Fast-forward to 2014, and the Lord filled my heart so full that no want for anything more could enter.  For days and weeks, this aura of peace held.  I write here now to offer encouragement for those times when we’re restless.  We try the pretty things like shopping, we follow the flashy ads for movies, and we tout food as if it quells our unrest.  In actuality our solution lies in pausing to worship the One who created us.  The peace comes first through Him.  Consider the intimacy the Lord can bring to the smaller moment, for the most treasured gifts aren’t always in the biggest boxes.

For nail-biters & hair-twirlers

Do you have any fingernail-biters in your house?  Any hair-twirlers?  You know anybody who opens a bag of chips at the slightest hint of stress?  This week the Lord gave me new perspective on nervousness.  It seems our hands tend to toil when we’re uneasy.  We start to fidget.  We make ourselves busy to mask the tension.  Yet there’s remedy in simply separating the hands.  Those schoolteachers who tell their students to sit on their hands aren’t altogether wrong.  And hence the posture of prayer and worship.  When I’m prostrate, my hands don’t touch.  Hands cannot twist and twirl hair.  Hands can’t pop knuckles either.  When hands raise in worship of the Lord, hands are apart.  Thumbs can’t twiddle themselves into knots.  Hands can’t open the pantry door to search out the Oreos.  To find rest is to finally quit stirring.  To find rest is to quit biting fingernails, quit trying to fix everything on our own, and quit avoiding being still with the Lord.  With hands apart, we eliminate some of those worrisome energy-wasters.  And I thank the Lord for teaching this week with simple pictures.

A duet of three

A new harmony rang out.  The new sound was all the more sweet because of how harried our road had been.  Parenting problems.  Piano logistics problems.  Computer problems.  The list went on and on, and suffice it to say, we were strapped in stress.  My friend stood at the piano, and I sat to play, and somewhere in the mix of our singing, this new harmony blossomed, and we savored it from the very first moment.  Without stopping to acknowledge it, we found nourishment in it and cleansing.  “Lord, I need You, oh I need You.  Every hour I need You.”  How perfectly the lyrics fit our depth of fatigue, and so we sang and sang more and repeated and repeated again.  When the song quit singing, the piano kept playing.  When the piano quit playing, the Spirit still hovered, almost as if my sustain pedal on the piano sustained the Holy Spirit’s presence.  My friend and I stayed motionless and realized our streams and rivers of tears.  Beyond musical pitches, beyond any great set of lyrics, in a different realm our duet had become a trio, and we didn't want the experience to release.  In this flourish of harmony, blessing had entered the air, and we simply delighted to breathe.

Battleground: deer, water, bones

My bones hurt.  I'm on edge.  I leave the room because the noise of the TV stirs my stomach.  The other day I was close to crying just driving down the road.  I’ve wondered about arthritis and fibromyalgia, but even more so I’ve considered these aches to evidence the throes of spiritual battle.  Certainly the story of Job shows that faith can lead us to encounter physical pain.  Now in recent weeks I have called on the Lord to carry me through.  And then came last Sunday.  I simply walked into church and heard 3 particular words.  Deer.  Water.  Bones.  Each spoke uniquely to me.  Our pastor talked of his trip to Montana and his view of some deer walking up to the water.  That water, he said, was a fountain of life for these animals.  That water led to a whole experience of replenishment.  Much more than a short sip of anything wet, that water nourished the depth of the animal’s whole existence.  Yet when the pastor initially uttered deer and water in the same sentence, my brain froze because I first thought of a song.  I'd been rehearsing some music with a friend, and one set of our lyrics sings, “As the deer panteth for the water, so my soul longeth after Thee.”  Our road to rehearsing this music had encountered a very steep uphill climb.  It was a battle, it had been painful, pressure was tight, and so this Sunday in church my ears stood desperately attentive.  Next came the pastor saying, “The Lord can be health to our bones.”  And therein sat my third word.  God was using the pastor to speak into the aches of my body that felt more loudly pronounced every day.  All morning I kept hearing people speak words and ideas that I identified with.  River.  Thirst.  Running water that flows even where the land is parched.  With each new mention, I felt refreshed and immensely loved by the Lord that He would speak so specifically into my circumstances and let me know He knew what I was enduring and that He was with me.  This pain I withstood was of a different realm.  A different category.  People tell me I have a high tolerance for pain, yet my usual large doses of ibuprofen wouldn’t touch this.  The tension began to cleanse through my eyes, saturating one Kleenex after another to realize how each new conversation added into the blessing.  Jesus says in John 7:38, “Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.”  This was my real life and my real streams of tears flowing.  And by the time I heard my Spanish friend say the word alfarero, which only a couple days prior I had learned means “potter,” I could picture the Lord molding me at the potter’s wheel, moistening the clay along the way to stretch, reshape, and smooth out my edges.  And as my tears released, my fragility faded.  Though the pain would return later in the week, this Sunday the Lord had relieved and replenished to the depths of my soul.  Where I had struggled for words to explain to my husband, the Lord had reassured that He knew all the ins and outs of every inch of my pain.  Satan could fight all he wanted, but the Lord had given me rest and had held up the fight on my behalf.  To know Him in these moments was sufficient for me.  The Lord is enough.

Hurricanes of Santo Domingo

Did I hear her right?  “I can handle hurricanes,” she said.  But is that possible?  I looked back over my shoulder to watch her lips reiterate the words.  In my mind, hurricanes are these ominously powerful things that only God can tame.  Yet my friend explained her childhood in the Dominican Republic.  Pointing midway up on the calf of her leg, she talked about the water level in her house.  Such was common occurrence after hurricanes in her city of Santo Domingo.  She remembers making paper boats with her brother and floating them inside the house, as her parents engaged the children in games to stave off any fear.  And it was at that point in her story that my brain froze because I couldn’t fathom playing games in the midst of a hurricane.  How would the emotions relax enough to actually play a game?  But then the idea translated in my head, and I remembered how the Lord calmed me one day in the midst of a dangerously heated argument.  Witnessing the abusive nature of one particular person, my body began to tremble, yet the Lord directed me and gave presence of mind to lead people away from the danger.  Though I trembled, I didn’t fear.  So perhaps I can imagine games and toys after all.  My friend said hurricanes come with warning, whereas tornadoes may not, and that's why she can “handle” hurricanes.  She's familiar with their approach and the aftermath for those living in concrete houses.  Still for me, I contemplated issues of contentment in this world.  In Philippians 4:12-13, Paul correlates contentment with finding strength in the Lord, regardless of situation, whether hungry or well-fed, whether living in plenty or in want.  Given Paul’s many shipwrecks and imprisonments and all the stones, rods, and lashings he withstood, surely he knows about finding strength in the Lord.  And I ask the Lord to give you peace today, that in contentment we may float paper boats amidst our storms.

Along a Certain Road

Think for a minute:  Who is your favorite person to call?  Who do you celebrate with?  Who listens when you cry deep?  This week I studied the word call in Greek, particularly the verb used in John 10:3, which says, “. . . He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.”  My dictionary offered a new tinge on the word PHONEO, which is the verb in this particular verse, saying that it implies a pleasure in the calling of each individual name.  It’s not a dutiful calling in anger like “Go clean your room!”  Neither is it a calling to reprimand for having done harm.  Here it is the sounding of a call that’s spoken with delight.  Sometimes I try to imagine hearing the Lord utter my name, and then I realize I have heard Him speak it already.  He has garnered my attention and conveyed different messages for different tasks, yet I don’t remember His pronunciation of the English spelling of L-i-n-d-a.  He understands my English when I pray, yet certainly at His disposal are ways for calling me outside the English language.  The point here is that He takes pleasure in calling us, and however it is that He pronounces our names, we can hear and choose to listen with pleasure as well.  In work, and in rest, and in intrigue and wonder, I worship Him in my decision to follow.  Today I share with you a video I created upon the Lord’s prompting.  I hope it testifies to the blessings of wanting to make my desires secondary to His.  He calls us to travel along His certain road, and I pray you know first-hand the blessings of letting Him lead.  Click Along a Certain Road or search it on YouTube.

Narrowly & theatrically timed

Last week I witnessed an amazing feat.  Still today I shake my head to recount how close I came to performing a new theater script without any semblance of rehearsal.  Our group had met all kinds of complications.  We encountered a medical emergency, a legal emergency, and somehow a variety of non-emergencies that kept disallowing all 3 of us to meet.  The circumstances didn’t even make sense sometimes, yet they kept happening.  Put it all together, and we were in a tight spot.  Actually I was in a tight spot.  My fellow actresses had been performing this script for lots of years, and they knew every inch of it very well.  I was the only newbie.  I felt certain all along that the Lord would provide, but anxiety crept in as I didn’t know how He would provide.  If all my lines fell perfectly in place, it would be by His provision.  If I fell on my face and loused up everything, I felt the Lord would somehow use that for His glory as well.  Still I read the Bible because I wanted to hear the Lord's voice and sit in His company.  Certain emails seemed so wonderfully comforting and perfectly tailored for my situation.  And I kept hearing encouraging songs on KLOVE that spoke into my circumstances.  Each time my heart raced in panic, the Lord gave me new calm, and I loved many family and friends for praying.  Finally our days were running out.  Weeks of interferences had left us with only a narrow window of possibility.  It was less than 24 hours before our performances, and amazingly all 3 of us could rehearse.  Such timeframe could appear last-minute to us humans, but if God put our rehearsal on His calendar for that Thursday afternoon, then it wasn’t last-minute at all.  And when our director told me we could finally rehearse, I sat motionless for a while.  I held utmost amazement for the Lord because only He had known the depth of my anxiety, and only He could make possible what had been impossible for weeks.  To say I was immensely thankful would be an understatement.  Actually I need to underscore the word immensely and draw it in bright colors with curlicues and stars and add the shiniest glitter on top.  The message in our play had touched on character traits and obedience, and here I was in the middle of living out my obedience to the Lord.  Just because the winds blow strong in life doesn’t mean I automatically abandon ship.  Right there in my anguish, the Lord swooped in for the rescue.  As He says in Matthew 28:20, He is with us always.  And that notion of falling on my face did come true, for in my desperation, He led me wonderfully to fall into prayer.

Dancing at Christmas inside my shoe

As I sat in the dining hall of an assisted living center last week, two ideas came to light.  First, the Lord does give rest to the restless.  Second, we never know exactly how our connections will connect.  Last Thursday, in the midst of a Christmas dinner that hosted all ages and all makes and models of dress, hairstyle, and humor, my role was simply to play oboe.  I had been invited by some friends who play violin and guitar, and every moment of the evening proved to be blessing.  We saw a little girl in a red velvety dress and white ruffly socks and chuckled over her constant voice that wouldn’t relent on seeing Santa.  I met a resident there who retold with fondness the story of her daughter playing oboe decades ago.  We smiled to reminisce with a man who wanted to talk '70s music and Jethro Tull and all his flute-playing.  And from across the room, I fell in love with a lady who paused from some scrumptious-looking potatoes on her plate in order to gladly give the singing of “Auld Lang Syne” her full cooperation.  Indeed it was a privilege to serve.  And though many thanked us for playing, I in turn was thanking the Lord.  The blessings were especially sweet because lately I’ve been a bit puzzled regarding some issues of music.  Bunches of ideas have bounced around in my head.  Yet in the midst of playing these Christmas carols, my heart held no room for anxiety.  No room for “Why this?” or “Why that?”  No room for question or doubt or any of those negatives that creep in and tilt us off-center.  Simply it was a fullness of heart that felt pure and right and of God.  And I was reassured and blessed.  And then came that second idea.  When recounting the steps that led up to my playing that night, I was humbled.  I first met my violinist friend more than 5 years ago through our previous Sunday congregation.  I met our guitarist friend a couple of years later while playing a Christmas Eve service.  Since then, we’ve played and sung a variety of weddings, receptions, and coffeehouses.  Yet in the beginning I didn't know we would ever connect beyond church.  It’s a reminder to take great care in the way we relate to people.  Don’t overlook anyone.  Could the new person I meet at the dentist office become a wonderful friend?  Could the Wal-Mart cashier become a ministry co-worker?  What about the lady at the bus stop?  The man on the street?  This whole evening, my heart brimmed with joy for having gained a fresh glimpse of the Lord’s larger view.  To ponder how intricately He orchestrates our comings and goings, my heart was content.  And though I stayed seated to finish playing the carols, a party of streamers and confetti was showering down inside my heart, and my big toe danced one of those quiet celebrations inside my shoe.

Not a Sunday stage

The big stage doesn’t always attract.  People exit the building dissatisfied.  Some wonder why life feels flat.  They become angry and critical, and soon the whole subject of church has grown sour.  So we ask, “What are we looking for on Sundays?”  Perhaps consider blessings of a different size and shape.  Not all God's gifts are wrapped tall and pretty in the main sanctuary.  Consider the parking lot.  For me it’s been a wonderful place of prayer.  Last Sunday someone new inquired about piano lessons, and the inquiry sent me back to that hot, sweaty day in the parking lot a year ago when multiple people offered prayers on my behalf for this issue of piano lessons.  How I've been blessed to relive those initial prayers.  I stand in amazement to look upon the Lord’s blessings since then.  The parking lot has been a place I’ve found people needing physical help, such as the lady who fell between the street curb and the concrete steps.  Sometimes it’s opportunity to offer someone a ride to the bus stop or invite them to lunch.  Also reconsider maybe an unlikely place—the women’s restroom.  Sometimes the restroom serves as its name implies, as actually a place of rest.  Girls go there to find a tissue when they’re crying.  They go there to see if the crying made their mascara run.  Women go there to regain composure when the antics of their children have tested their last nerve.  Sometimes they’re there because the music is too loud or the seating is too crowded.  Basically there’s something uncomfortable for them, and they’re seeking respite.  It’s opportunity to offer help.  It's opportunity to listen, maybe talk, and see the Lord at work.  The point being that church is more than any single event in a single room on any given day.  The platform at the front of the room is not a stage.  It's not a concert.  Church is people.  We love as the Lord first loved us, and we look to know Him in whatever circumstances He brings.  May He give us joy for opening those packages that deliver to side doors and parking lots.

The openness of the 119th

I ask for many things.  The other day, it was for help while phone shopping among too many bundle choices.  A few minutes ago, it was for wasp-killing in the kitchen.  Somehow every time I wanted to swat the wasp, the cat was in the way, and we provided each other frustration and comic relief both.  The point being that I’m often asking the Lord for something specific, whether help with a phone purchase or a job or health or something else.  Yet I read Psalm 119 and see something different.  The psalmist speaks of praise and rejoicing and meditating on precepts, of delighting in the Lord and guarding against deceit.  Lots of whole-being things rather than specifics.  Lots of declaring His righteousness, obeying His statutes, and finding good in affliction, which are much bigger aspects of living than any single pesky wasp in the kitchen.  This psalm models for us a wonderfully open time with the Lord.  Enjoy letting Him mold our thought patterns overall.  Savor the openness of not knowing how exactly He will enter our lives each day.  Leave the ball in His park, so to say, to amaze us and grow us, without our always dictating a laundry list of “Help me with this” and “May I have that?”  Even my encounter with this psalm was by His orchestration. 

Children of the NICU

Think hospital.  Think needles and probes.  Think what it’s like for the youngest.  They’ve hardly entered this world, and already their bodies struggle.  Yet there’s a song that comforts them.  My friend sings, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.”  She sings of how precious they are to Him, and she sees a little crease forming at the side of their small mouths, lifting into a smile.  She cuddles these young ones who often haven’t known life outside their hospital incubator.  No puffy white clouds in a blue sky.  No sunshine or fresh outside air.  They live among beeps and blinking lights and sterilized equipment.  My friend initiates some of their first conversations, introducing them to the scenery of their future walks in the park.  Some endure the loss of their twin who is healthy and already at home.  Many love the quiet, exhibiting a cringe at any loud clanking.  They enjoy the comfort of the Cuddler’s heartbeat that follows the rocking motion of her chair.  The sense of touch is a wonderful blessing.  My friend sees their tensions soften, and their reaction compares to the gentle release of air from a balloon, in that their little arms and legs finally realize a way to relax.  She often rests a baby on her shoulder or nestles one in her forearm, blessed also to meet many moms and dads who talk of their own side of the trauma.  It’s an opportunity to lessen the burden of a scenario that's difficult for many.  I think of her soft voice singing the name of Jesus to each little ear, resting in each little bed, being blessed by the only perfect Love that knows the intricacies of their medical situations.  Inside the walls of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, the Lord is present, bringing us to the aid of each other.

To repair William Tell's overture

No time to lament.  Our initial shock came backstage, and we scrambled to consider options.  It was time for the chase scene, and should we attempt it without our usual William Tell overture?  Our sound system had crashed.  And what about our individual microphones and the rest of the music?  It was only Monday, and we had 6 more performances that week.  What to do for a trio of actors from out of town?  Imagine gyms full of kids, and would anybody be able to hear anything without the sound system?  That afternoon ushered us through a host of phone calls, some in search of a repairperson, some to touch base with the rest of our schools, and one to call in a lunch order for fast pick-up.  All the while, we asked the Lord to guide our path.  A trip to Guitar Center introduced us to a very kind staff who sympathized and quite generously offered their time.  A recommendation to Guitar and Banjo Studio connected us with an electrician who diagnosed our transistor problem.  Even reaching that point was mentally taxing, given our narrow timeframes and the miles that separated the stores.  Through all our phone calls and jaunts on the road, and amidst our regular loading and unloading of stage equipment and even the basics of locating the different schools and driving to each one, the Lord's timing did prove impeccable.  At each school, He brought together an in-house sound system, whether using clip-on mics or hand-held or stand-alone ones, each occasion being accompanied by a new amazement for the sufficiency of His provision.  From the children came wonderful levels of attentiveness as well as lively participation and hearty laughter, lending us to realize the Lord's blessing upon them as well.  And we did pick up our sound system from the electrician in perfect time for our last performance of the week.  All along the way, the Lord tossed in reminders of His presence.  One afternoon, having collected our to-go lunchboxes from McAlister’s Deli, I opened my horseradish roast beef and did munch to my heart’s delight, just so thankful for some nourishment in the quick recess between venues.  But then I saw a sheet tucked behind the sandwich, and in it was a pickle.  Something so simple brought an escape for me.  It seemed each bite of that pickle was flavorful enough to lift me out of our hectic pace.  As long as I ate that pickle, my backache disappeared, my heart quit racing, and my mind was quiet, except to tell my fellow actors how freshly I was blessed by that pickle.  I remember our director telling us ahead of time, “Oh, Monday afternoon should be leisurely.  Maybe we can go to the hotel pool.”  The closest we came to the pool was to peer at it through a window on our way to collapsing on our beds at night.  But we left town having seen the Lord at work.  And that's exciting indeed.

A bundle of nerves

Ibuprofen didn’t help. The pain in my shoulders would not relent. From the moment I awoke, my legs ached as well, and only when the ibuprofen proved ineffective did I realize it was anxiety that sat deep in my bones. My first performance with this children's theater was weeks down the road. Theater in general was still relatively new for me, and quite possibly I could have these aches and pains for a good while, though I knew the Lord would be with me. One morning I arrived to volunteer at the hospital and quickly found myself in the grip of a gigantic hug. It was the kind that holds for a long time, leaving no room for my anxieties to tremble. What a pleasure to tell my friend how the Lord used her snug arms to bless me. Along the way too, the Lord was with me at the piano. I sat down one day to play “Breath of Heaven,” yet before too long, the Lord took my fingers on a mesmerizing path that melted the tensions in my shoulders. I remember neither the individual keys my fingers played nor the sequences of the notes. The experience enveloped me completely, lifting me into a protected, cushioned world, free of anxiety. I sought to relive the escape many times, finding its replication unattainable, yet its memory providing remarkable peace.  One afternoon, the Lord gave me a lunchtime with friends that brought great laughter, letting my eyes cry away the day's tension. Still another day, my heart leaped when I walked into Bible study and was asked to facilitate the group. Maybe no one knew how sweetly the occasion touched my heart, as I’d reminisced this year for no longer hosting a group in my home. The Lord continued the string of blessings right up to the day of our theater performances, which interestingly left me more concerned that our props wouldn't fly away with the gusts of wind outside, and more distracted by the drips of sweat running underneath my rabbit costume. All the while I had kept working to memorize my theater lines, and all the while the Lord calmed each day's circumstances. My nervous aches and pains had reminded me to seek Him. The pain I didn’t want, He turned into blessing.

Rest & retreat

A friend held an envelope that I assumed was last night’s dinner invitation.  “Oh, I see you brought your official invite.”  She opened the envelope to show that actually it was information on the women’s retreat.  I’d never attended a retreat here, so my sweet friend enlightened me a bit.  In the meantime, two more girls joined our dinner table and tossed in their two cents, and amongst their reflections on retreat, my heart seemed to lighten, though I wasn't aware it had felt heavy.  What’s noteworthy here is not that I entertained a new thought but rather that I felt something lifting in me in the process.  The purpose of our dinner was to appreciate those who volunteer.  Sunday mornings for my husband and me are full, yet we are blessed to give our time.  Still in the moments of this unexpected retreat discussion, the Lord put me on the receiving end with a reminder to just enjoy the company, to take a break from preparing music and trying to speak Spanish, and simply be encouraged through the table of friendship He provided.  Rest, and be refreshed.  And there's a retreat yet to come.

Being – with the little church

It’s my one-month anniversary for attending a weekday group with a nearby church.  My schedule is different right now.  I’ve been asking the Lord where I should be, and turns out I’ve been spending one morning each week with some women of this little church.  It’s a situation of being rather than doing.  I don’t know ahead what our weekly sessions will bring.  Maybe prayer, maybe journaling, maybe Bible study.  Maybe reflecting on the Lord’s provision.  Without a prescribed list of what to do, our little group is simply available to each other.  It’s quite refreshing.  We sit in the foyer of the building, and I often have a picturesque view.  Big windows that let me touch inside and outside together.  Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God . . .”  Here serenity is held in a soft blue sky, a slight breeze, and the sound of the Lord’s name. 

Beyond the anxiety

It’s too much.  Suddenly we feel crazy, having been unaware of how high the anxiety was mounting.  Neither a resounding scream nor a prolonged cry resolves anything anymore.  I watched a movie about a girl who bore the brunt of her mother’s anxieties.  From 10 years old, this girl with a sweet little freckled face endured criticisms that slowly crushed her.  Because the mom regretted her own childhood obesity, she criticized her daughter’s slight chubbiness and continued to hound her through high school and college.  Along the way, the daughter became anorexic, eventually committing suicide.  In real life, I think of one friend who has dealt with an eating disorder.  I think of friends who struggle with depression that has led them to attempt suicide.  God has connected me with these friends as blessings, as I have studied the Bible with each one.  At times they’ve wanted to crawl off the planet.  Yet in the midst of their pain, they have come to know Jesus, who lifts and replenishes them over and over.  There is hope in the name of Jesus Christ, who knows the depth of our every hurt.  When we feel swallowed by the world, we can call out to Him for help.

Prayers in the parking lot

One friend prayed for me through the open window of our car.  Another friend prayed as we stood in the parking lot.  Still another friend persevered to pray as we dripped in the sweat of 100^o heat.  Suddenly I realized the presence of God.  My brain had been on overload for days and weeks.  Too many ideas tossing around.  I was on the edge of crying and possibly erupting.  “Lord, help me see Your path clearly.  Put my feet in place.”  The where, when, and how of multiple who’s and what’s were all jumbled in my head.  Work, music, Bible study.  Hospitals, shelters, coffeehouses.  Buses, magazines, bookstores, blog, old video, and new video.  Storytelling and speaking, and oboe, piano, and singing.  Current book, new book, and flitting notions of theater.  And none of these things were bad.  They were just all firing at the same time, and it felt frantic.  In the onslaught of ideas, I was too scattered even to decide whether to have turkey or ham for lunch. Very unusually, I had opted out of the sermon that morning in favor of reading the Bible outside, as even amidst the church setting I typically love, I somehow wanted some one-on-one time with God.  I sought the purity of His voice uninterrupted.  I had prayed.  I had asked others to pray.  And now I stood in the midst of blessing.  The Lord had sent comfort in the form of friends.  He enlisted power in the form of prayer—both in English and in Spanish.  I soon also read some of John MacArthur’s Anxious for Nothing, which is unusual because I ordinarily go straight to the Bible, but I assume the Lord had an intermediary in mind this time.  MacArthur pointed me to the Psalms and Hebrews 11, which continues to ease my heart days later with the reminder that God does reward when we earnestly seek Him.  To find calm within a storm is no small feat, and I give thanks.

Unseen

Morphine did not erase the underlying anxiety from her surgical complication.  I visited my friend in the hospital.  As I sat on the side of her bed, this sweet friend asked me to pray.  I held her hand and asked for the Lord’s presence ultimately.  Beeping sounds and blinking lights don’t make for calmness.  Even the dings of the elevators remind us something’s wrong and we’re not at home.  I hoped for the peace of prayer to ease my friend’s mind, and indeed she said later that she felt the Lord’s peace.  Yet when opening my eyes after our prayer, I noticed someone standing beyond my right shoulder.  A member of the surgical team had been waiting while we prayed.  Her presence was unanticipated by us, yet I was happy she was there for however long.  Then the opportunity to pray broadened to include blessings upon this surgical team member.  The Lord’s orchestration again.  We simply go about living as He teaches, and He handles the connecting of people.  Unseen at first.

Fifteen miles

I knew something was different when I saw the list of emergency numbers.  I had expected blood and guts on this trip.  I knew South Texas was hunting ground for deer and hogs.  I knew we had driven south for hours.  Yet only when I saw the phone number for the Border Patrol at the top of the emergency list, did our proximity to the Mexico border finally register in my brain.  I thought of all the news reports of people trying to illegally cross the border.  What’s it like to run for your life?  Fast.  Panicked.  Maybe in the dark of night.  And maybe running without shoes, as our friends told stories of finding stray shoes out amongst the cactus-filled, arid land, now 15 miles from the border.  I imagined the faces of exhausted people, probably scratched and bloodied and burned.  Whom had they trusted?  Who would deliver them?  I have never physically run for my life, but I have endured days when the walls of life seemed to cave in on me.  Trusting the Lord for a way out is not a loose trust.  The Lord provides the most reliable trust.  He is omniscient.  He loves His children and answers their prayers.