Pressing Into Jesus

I fondly remember how during my stay-at-home years, the girls would pull out their own mini-ironing boards and ‘iron’ with me. Beside stacks of warm, neatly folded t-shirts and their dad’s freshly pressed work uniforms they would arrange their own piles of miniature doll clothes. Kiddie cartoons would be playing in the background as we all worked diligently. It was my wonderful, albeit temporary era as a domestic diva. (Now that I work in an office full-time, my iron has not seen the light of day in over a decade; I figure the huge wrinkles in my clothes help to make the ones on my face appear smaller.)

But, back during our little house on the prairie days, impressionable eyes would study my every move . . . as I shook out a dress shirt; they would fastidiously dig in their water baby’s wardrobe and do the same. It was all serious business; it was Monday morning and this was what we did.

During their formative years we really did have a lot of structure to our days. In order to keep my sanity, I would rise before everyone and sit in the semi-dark living room with my Bible. If the girls snuck out of bed before I came to get them, they would peer around the corner, somehow thinking I could not see them. Depending on where my study was taking me, I sometimes ignored their presence but if I was being moved and wanted privacy, I would whisper, ‘I serve a jealous God,’ and they would take off down the hall back to their room.

One of our other precious rituals was our ‘Girls’ God time’. The three of us would read from a popular bible study and share. I looked so forward to hearing their take on the different topics. By the time they approached their tween years, we had worked our way through quite a few different books. One day, however, I caught them giving each other that sister look—you know, the one that silently says, ‘Are you going to tell her or am I?’

“Mom, can we both have our own devotions and journals to do our God time alone . . . like you do? It’s kind of personal.”

My heart broke—and grew—at their declaration of independence.

To have your children push away and establish their own walk of faith is wonderful—when they choose wisely—the hard part was respecting their wishes. Some would say I was wrong, that I should have forced family devotions, but I disagree. Our daily walk with the Lord should be personal, and intimate . . . if they desired time alone with Him, who was I to hoard in? After all, they chose to serve a jealous God!

As parents, along the way we have to let out the leash; letting our children make decisions according to their maturity. When they were preschoolers, I used to allow them do their own hair most days, and choose their outfits. More often than not they would combine prints with plaids, clash colours and break every fashion rule. They felt very grown up taking on this responsibility and I let them run with it . . . proud that at least their mismatched clothes were properly pressed.

Having made good choices—not counting the fashion ones—my now sixteen and twenty-year-old ironing princesses have earned fairly long ‘trust leashes’.

We are never done teaching however and God continues to give us fabulous opportunities to drill home the odd life lesson now and then. Like the other day, when I was heading out the door and they were both looking at old photos. Groaning, they asked what I was thinking, letting them dress themselves the way they did.

Pulling down on the wrinkles in my skirt, I absentminded replied as I rushed off to work, “I pray those pictures are a reminder to you both that the decisions you make will follow you. Ten years ago you chose cow print leggings with 100 Dalmatian tops; be sure that the choices you make today won’t make you cringe when you’re in your thirties.”

I guess it’s safe to say that if they choose to continue to follow my example, when they hit their forties, they will love the Lord, cherish their private time with Him . . . and be running out the door for work in matched but wrinkled outfits.

Yeah, Yeah . . . In a Second

Nothing drives a parent more crazy than when they ask their child to do something and they respond with a slightly bored and definitely irritated response of, ‘Yeah, yeah, in a second.’

Often I will go check to see what they are doing that is so ground-breakingly important that it makes my task delay-worthy.

Nine times out of ten, they are doing nothing. Nada. Zip. Just sitting watching the dust layer on the side table in our living room. (That being said, our house was chosen by the local university archaeology department for a student excavation program. Years of soil accumulation allowed them to experience the Law of Superposition in the safety and warmth of my home. Unfortunately, the program was abandoned after the first project was started. It appeared that the dust was the only thing holding my archaic furniture together. Sorry about your hutch, Grandma!).

I am mulling this as recently I started to redo the book, ‘Crazy Love’ by Francis Chan. I say ‘redo’ and not ‘read’ as it’s to be experienced and applied, not just skimmed through. (Hmmmm, kind of reminds me of another book). Chapter 1 is about prayer. Well, it’s really about God. If you ‘do’ this chapter correctly, prepare to have your mind stretched and convictions magnified.

As I reflected on the accounts of John and Isaiah being brought before the throne of God, I closed my eyes and imagined being grabbed by the scruff of my neck and dropped at the foot of His throne. Whoa. God help me. There is no ‘down’ that would be deep enough for me to bow in humble adoration. Compared to His greatness and holiness, the awareness of my own sinful nature and unworthiness makes hot coals to the lips seem not nearly extreme enough.

Yet, Hebrews 4:16 tells us that in Christ we can boldly approach the throne of God. This is the verse I guess I’ve focused on throughout my whole life of prayer. I clearly have no problem doing that. He is my friend and He walks with me and He talks with me. I love and chatter at Him often throughout the day. But . . . do I fully grasp to whom I am speaking?

You see, often . . . and I mean OFTEN, the Lord has nudged me to do something. Not always in subtle ways either. And here’s the thing, sometimes it’s easy for me to be obedient and jump to the task. Kind of like when I ask one of my teenage daughters to go fetch some chocolate out off the fridge. On it!

Other times I respond with, ‘Yeah, yeah, in a second’. You know, like when you ask your child to go clean their room or pick up the poop in the backyard. Some jobs do not promise us any immediate earthly rewards.

And so we brush Him off with a ‘Later, Dad’. Ouch.

Having reapplied the study of the throne of God, His vastness and His Holiness, I am regrettably aware of my brashness as His child. Of my lack of respect for Him.

The Lord has called me to do something and I know the only way I am going to follow through is to spend time boldly approaching the throne of God but now with full awareness of Who exactly is seated on that throne. To bow down in worship is so much more than posture or emotion; it involves mind, body and spirit.

Father, forgive us for being such lazy, disrespectful kids. Help us all to see You as you really are. . . and out of loving fear answer without delay when you call . . .

‘Here I am, Lord . . . send me!’ 

Faithful Companion

“I love those who love me, and those who seek me diligently find me.” Proverbs 8:17 (ESV ©2001)

I am not a morning person but do my best to carve out a few moments to spend with the Lord before I start my busy day. Sometimes, however, I wake up before sunrise and sneak down to my chair to spread out my Bible and be still. 

Within minutes, our little terrier—noticing my absence from the bedroom—comes downstairs and begins to search for me. Shocked to find me in my favorite overstuffed chair, (a dog of very little brain) she gallops towards me and sits at my feet . . . where she will continue to sit and stare, anxiously waiting for recognition and affection.

And she won’t leave until she gets it.

As I give in and rub her head with one hand, balancing my Bible in the other, I sigh. It never ceases to amaze me the lessons this little mutt can teach. 

Our Lord loves it when we seek him; when we sit and wait for His touch. And more than just loving our search, He loves us! Some mornings as I look down into her eyes, I wonder if my pathetic needy look makes Him sigh as well.

Bungee Run

As I leaned forward to switch off the stereo, the van crossed over the center line just enough to startle me. Navigating through bitter, angry tears, I slowly meandered my way to work. 

“I don’t want to be fettered or tethered or whatever that word was,” I said, crying out to the one I was desperately trying to avoid. “Can’t you just leave me alone?” 

I don’t know what I was thinking when I put in the old CD I found in the backseat that morning. No, that wasn’t true, I did know why. I was grieving for my mother who loved traditional hymns and I thought it would bring me comfort.

The song was turned off, but the words still hung in my head, beckoning to be addressed:

‘O to grace how great a debtorDaily I’m constrained to be!Let that grace now like a fetter,Bind my wandering heart to Thee.Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,Prone to leave the God I love;Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,Seal it for Thy courts above.’

At this point in my life, it wasn’t so much about wandering as it was a flat-out-full-on run. I did not want to be bound or tied to a God who allowed so much hurt and disappointment. I wanted to be free. To be free to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. My mother had served God her whole life and was now wasting away from Alzheimer’s. I had no use for Him.

For months I had been avoiding church and most of my Christian friends. God and I were in a tug-of-war and I didn’t need anyone else pulling on His side. I began to hang out more and more with the girls at work who sympathized with my predicament and soothed me with their non-confrontational attitudes. But now that darn song was pounding on my head and heart, demanding to be played again. 

To be considered.

Gravel sprayed up as I pulled off the side of the road. Putting the car in park, I rubbed my throbbing hands together, suddenly aware of the death grip I must have had on the steering wheel for the last few miles.

I switched on the car stereo . . .

Once again it was the third verse that got to me. It made so much sense. As I mulled over the word, ‘fetter’, I pictured my daughters at the school fair only a few weeks previous. There was an inflatable bungee run that had belts that were tied around the girls’ waists. They would run as fast as they could towards the end of the bouncy lane but just when they would almost reach the finish line, the springy tether would pull on them and they would go flying backwards to where they started.

God had a bungee cord around me. I could feel it. The faster I ran, the more tension I could feel and the harder I would fall. He was not letting go.

Turning the sound up to a near deafening level, I put the song on repeat and let the words wash over me again and again.

Who was I kidding? My wandering heart was fettered, and I did love Him. 

Finally surrendered, my shoulders dropped as my hands raised . . .

“Here’s my heart, Lord, Take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.”

Super Bowl Sex

(Disclaimer: the following is a true story but contains mature subject matter and may be disturbing to some readers)

Our eyes met and in a brief, half second glance, I knew she was in trouble. Car still in motion, without any thought of my own safety, I opened the door and beckoned her to come to safety. She jumped in, only to be attacked seconds later by a previously rescued girl in the seat next to her. Throwing the car into park, I leapt from my seat to separate them as they were now duking it out on the pavement. Suddenly my forehead came into contact with God only knows what. Stars floated before my eyes and I could feel a lump expanding along my hair line.

Gathering my wits, I stood and looked up and down the road. In a split second, the terrified girl was gone. I searched for hours but the opportunity to rescue her from the street was lost. It happened so quickly, I was merely a bystander in the girl on girl drama. I cried out. People stared but I did not care. She clearly communicated she wanted to be rescued, and I let her down. I was devastated.

I had been reading on Fox News just that morning about sex traffic victims that had been rescued in New Orleans. They had been brought into town to meet the higher demand that so often occurs at events like the Super Bowl. Encouraged to hear that people were making a difference, I posted a few educational posts on Facebook and determined to do whatever I could to help as well.

Truth be told, my story took place in my own suburban hometown, not New Orleans. And, the damsel in distress was not a sex traffic victim, but rather a lost, scared puppy.  The dark antagonist . . . my territorial terrier.

The whole ordeal got to me though. The look in the lost dog’s eyes would not leave me. They haunted me as I tried to get my Saturday chores done, sending me out again and again, leash in hand, to walk up and down the road searching for her. I imagined her huddled beneath a bush, cold and scared . . . or worse, a victim of the busy street.

Finally letting go and allowing myself a much needed shower, I cringed when my hand brushed up against my forehead. The bump was in full form now and too tender to even approach with shampoo. I allowed myself a few tears for the mangy mutt that stole my heart.

“God, why? Why would you allow me to grab her, only to have her run? Where IS she? Please let me know she is safe. ” As I often do when I pray in the shower, I leaned forward to press my forehead against the tile, only to have the tiny, tender lump send me recoiling back. “Ouch! God, seriously? Why?”

And then, as only can happen when you’re truly broken before the Lord, He answered, “The girls in New Orleans."

If I was upset before, I was now crushed beyond what I could bare. The eyes of that sad, scared pooch and my irrational, instant decision to risk all to reach out to her. The pain I was feeling for one small hit when sex trafficked girls get viciously beaten regularly.  God took this whole puppy interlude to show me His love for these girls. To remind me how desperate and scared they are. How he wants us to care. To take action. To reach out. To pray!

Before my brief dog encounter, I had planned to be involved in spiritual warfare all weekend. But, in typical ‘busy Lori’ fashion, instead I got distracted by a messy basement and was only half-heartedly praying for the 2013 Super Bowl city and all the darkness surrounding it.

But, He used the heart-wrenching eyes of a stray to compel me to truly intercede in prayer.  

Please join me! Pray for the victims, those who are out trying to rescue them, and lastly, pray for the men who drive the demand. Jesus died for them too. 

Bubble Wrap and Airbags

Mercy. Anyone know where I can buy Loreal Excellence in bulk? 

My youngest daughter, Mia, is walking on air, and I’m walking on pins and needles.

She got her learner’s license this past week. I got a whole new patch of grey.

Four years ago I went through this with her older sister and knew the day would come when I would have both of them on the road. Somehow I thought it would be easier the second time around. Not so.

Now my anxiety is doubled as I wait in a state of stupor, exhausted but keenly listening to hear the tell-tale sound of the garage door opening. They love to take the car and do late night coffee drive throughs. What fun . . . for them.

If you recall, I am a tad bit overprotective. A few months before Tia got her license I went on the search for a car equipped with the most airbags I could afford.  (An airbag is an occupant restraint system consisting of a flexible fabric envelope or cushion designed to inflate rapidly during an accident - see blog below on bubble wrap and you’ll see a pattern here).

Several car lots, and a half a dozen salesmen later, I arrived home with a shiny red Rondo which boasts twelve different restraining systems. Mia promptly climbed on the roof and secured a pink crown to the antennae, marking it as their own.

Four years and two drivers later, I realize that I was duped into putting my trust in technology instead of the Creator of force and nature. That I should have trusted in Him rather than inflatable cushions. I have since confessed and repented from my dependency on bubble wrap and am currently working on setting up a support group to see me through recovery.

In the meantime, instead of staying up late at night waiting for my girls to come home, I commit them to the Lord and roll over. And, ‘He who sits in the heavens and laughs’ chuckles I’m sure as I pray:

Lord, watch over your princesses, Tia and Mia,

As they drive their little crowned Kia,

Out far too late I fear-ah,

Along with their little friend, Leah.