Goin' Down to Mama's

Sunday Morning Serenity

My friend Scott Jones recently posted this verse on Facebook:

In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God
in Christ Jesus concerning you.
Thessalonians I  5:18

And he pointed out that the Scripture doesn't say we should give thanks for everything but in everything because anything that we go through, good or bad, can teach us and strengthen us. Some versions of the Bible translate the beginning of that verse as in all circumstances. I've thought about that ever since I read Scott's post. We don't always feel thankful for challenges while they're happening to us. But almost always, we come through them with something to be thankful for—a lesson we've learned, new strength we've gained, more empathy and understanding for other people who might've come through the same fire. 

Lately, I've had cause to think about life in big chapters: childhood, college, Southern Living . . . Yesterday, Dave and I watched the Iron Bowl together (War Eagle, by the way). There was a time when that final score would've sent me to bed with dread for the ribbing I knew I was about to take from the Tide fans in the family. I won't name names. (Jimmy, Grey, Suzan, you know who you are:) I still wanted to win that game yesterday, but watching the camera pan the student section in Auburn's stadium, all I could think about was what an amazing time I had there—and how grateful I am for it. I'm grateful to my parents for making so many sacrifices to send me there.  I'm grateful to the professors who taught me how to open up my mind and think. I'm grateful for friends I cheered with in those stands—friends I still keep in touch with.

I also went to a reception this week honoring Philip Morris, who was the first Building Editor at Southern Living and has done so much to preserve Birmingham's historic architecture. The reception hall at Vulcan Park was packed with Southern Living and Southern Progress alumni. Looking around the room, I saw writers, artists, photographers, architects, landscape architects, designers, preservationists, business leaders, editors . . . and I thought, my goodness—how did I ever land in the middle of this group? We went through some amazing times together, and we went through some very hard times together. Looking back on it all now, I just see it as a gift. It was a gift to spend time with them and learn from them, to be guided and inspired by them every day.

And so . . . in everything give thanks. (Thank you again, Scott.) Now a word from the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir:)

 

 

 

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

Did I remember to buy everything I need to make the cornbread dressing? I wonder if I started thawing the turkey early enough. Did I leave my winter coat at the dry cleaners? Has it been there since last spring? Did I put gas in the car yesterday or do I need to allow time for that this morning? Am I making smart work decisions? Am I spending enough time with (my husband, my parents, our friends, our family)? What about the gym? Have we given up and surrendered to the scary number on the scale?

Welcome to the noisy din in my head. I woke up with a real swirl in there this morning. It's easy to do this time of year. But I'm fighting it with other things that are also easy to come by as Thanksgiving approaches. It's cold outside, and that crisp air has a way of distilling the outside world. The leaves fall off the trees so you can see their trunks and bark. (Thank you, Southern Living garden friends, for teaching me to appreciate that.)  The sky seems bigger and clearer. I've always been a summer person, but I like to bundle up and walk around outside on a chilly night, when the sky is covered with stars.  I like the quiet and the stillness of approaching winter.

When I let the noise in my mind take over, I feel anxious and stressed, but when I push it away and make room for stillness, I feel calm and peaceful. Sometimes we have to make room for peace. Sometimes we just have to be still and quiet to find the answers we need.

The fruit of righteousness will be peace;
the effect of righteousness will be quietness and
confidence forever.
Isaiah 32:17

Jesus said:

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.
I do not give to you as the world gives. 
Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
John 14:27

 [Image by Chance Agrella @ Freerangestock.com]

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

Sometimes a random verse leaps out at you, the minute you open your Bible. This one just leaped out at me:

"Their stronghold will fall because of terror;
At sight of the battle standard their commanders will panic," declares the Lord . . .
Isaiah 32:5

Through Isaiah, God was promising the Israelites what would happen to their enemy if they returned to Him instead of calling on neighboring nations for help—instead of putting their trust in all the wrong places. Isaiah's prophecy wasn't directed at little old me in Birmingham, Alabama, but it's speaking to me today because there are moments when I'm scared of a lot. Annual doctor's visits get a little more tense as you age and your medical team (I have a team now—internist, dermatologist, OBGYN) ALL start saying things like, "Now that you're over 50 . . . " This is often followed by recommendations for colonoscopies and other experiences that sound ever so icky. But I have designated 2016 as the year I will "back my ears and get it done" as Mama says. As a writer, I have periodic flashes of professional insecurity (which lead to flashes of financial insecurity). And that's just my personal universe. Five minutes of CNN, and  I'm horrified by what's happening in the Big World.

"Their stronghold will fall because of terror." Whenever my personal stronghold falls, it's because I've given in to fear and let my faith waver. And that creates a self-fueled, destructive fire because it's often not the actual scary things happening to or around us that are crippling, but the fear of them. We have nothing to fear but fear itself, as FDR famously said.

So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."
Isaiah 41:10

[Image by David Vidmar @ freerangestock.com]

Sunday Morning Serenity

The first time I journeyed all the way through the Bible, I read every single word, in order, from Genesis to Revelation. Now I can’t seem to stop skipping around. This morning, I deserted Joshua right after "the walls came a-tumblin' down" because my mind drifted to Isaiah, and before I knew it I had read nine chapters of his prophecy.

What I love about Isaiah is its head-on confrontation of human failing, coupled with a promise of divine hope. God warns His people that if they continue down the self-destructive path they have chosen, the consequences will be dire. They have already brought down upon themselves some serious suffering that cannot be reversed. And yet, God does not abandon them without hope. He promises a light to the people walking in darkness. They have only to follow it.

Here’s the first verse that caught my attention. It’s referencing the Hebrew people who had begun following the practices of their pagan neighbors and worshipping idols:

Their land is full of idols;
they bow down to the work of their hands,
to what their fingers have made.
Isaiah 2:8

Human nature hasn’t changed much since Isaiah’s time. I might not be worshipping pagan idols, but there are times when I absolutely “bow down” to what my fingers have made, getting too caught up in the work of my hands—more specifically, too caught up in making sure there’s enough work for my hands so that I can buy all the things I think I have to have. Little golden calves.

And then I read this:

I will not accuse forever,
nor will I always be angry,
for then the spirit of man would grow faint before me—
the breath of man that I have created.
I was enraged by his sinful greed;
I punished him, and hid my face in anger,
yet he kept on in his willful ways.
I have seen his ways, but I will heal him;
I will guide him and restore comfort to him,
creating praise on the lips of the mourners in Israel.
Isaiah 5:16-19

Have you ever heard a voice of hopeless condemnation in your head—the one that says, You’ve gone astray so many times and failed God so completely that you have no right to ask forgiveness AGAIN, so you should just give up and go your own way? I have. But you know what? That voice doesn’t come from God. It comes from a dark and deceitful source that wants to separate us from a life of love, light, and hope. No, we cannot willfully live contrary to God's teaching and expect an occasional, half-hearted "sorry about that" to make it right. But when we are truly repentant, we can be forgiven even though we don't deserve it. Even though we can't earn it. Grace is God's gift to us through Christ. Knowing who we are, knowing how we are, He still forgives.

So the next time you hear that voice of doom, gloom, and darkness, remember Isaiah: I have seen his ways, but I will heal him. 

Sunday Morning Serenity

Hank and Cheeto the Cats both developed mysterious limps this week. About the time Hank started getting better, Cheeto came hobbling in, unable to put any weight on one of his front legs. When I couldn't find any cuts, bruises, or bites, I waited and watched for a few days, hoping he would heal himself, as animals have a way of doing. Every time I saw  him coming, I'd pick him up and carry him wherever he seemed to be heading because it was just too pitiful a sight to watch him struggle. I fed him in his favorite chair so he wouldn't have to move on his sore leg. All the while, Dave watched the proceedings, occasionally asking me, "So are you thinking about the vet?"

I would (almost) rather go to the doctor myself than take Cheeto. He HATES the pet carrier. But I started worrying that he might've actually broken something and so had to face the ordeal. We won't talk about how much an X-ray, an antibiotic, and an anti-inflammatory pain med costs. We just won't. And I see no reason to trouble Dave with that information. Our vet thinks Cheeto got into a fight and developed an infection of some sort. (Aside: While Cheeto got his X-ray, I occupied myself with a chart that translated animal years into human ones. Turns out, Hank is 64, and Cheeto is 23. No wonder they get on each other's nerves. But I digress.)

Cheeto is slowly recovering, thank goodness. He's no longer giving me the sad stare that I translated as, "Can you see that I'm hurt, and can you help me?" (My cousin Kathy is rolling her eyes right now. She says I'm a little nuts when it comes to my pets, and she's right.:)

Even so, I think there's a life lesson in Cheeto's plight. People around us every day can give us that same sad stare. I can think of so many times when I've learned, after the fact, that a friend or coworker had suffered a loss or endured a hardship which I knew nothing about at the time. Some of us have injuries that aren't immediately apparent. We might even work hard to keep our disappointments and losses hidden. The next time a friend or relative or maybe even a casual acquaintance hints that they might be struggling, I hope I'm able to tune into what they're trying to tell me, what they need to say but maybe can't. I hope I'm able to be that kind of friend.

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved,
clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness,
humility, gentleness and patience.

Colossians  3:12