Battle Worn & In My Pajamas

 Okay.

The title may be a tad bit dramatic.

Still.

I found myself yesterday.

Home.

With a scheduled day off.

A bit.

Battle worn.

And in my pajamas.

All 

day.

I mean.

All day.

Sun up to sundown.

Can anyone else relate?

Now,

before anyone gets overly concerned.

I'm thankful I could take the day.

No responsibilities.

Or children to look after.

Just myself.

I probably needed the day.

To be idle.

And still.

Brought on by a season of life.

Not just unique to me.

The loss of a parent.

Moving.

Ending a long career.

All normal, life happenings.

But none the less.

A season of change and challenge.

Thankfully.

I gave myself some grace.

To sit.

Okay.

It was more like vegetate.

While the world passed me by yesterday.

Inside my house.

Eating only cereal and popsicles.

And dark chocolate.

Binge watching "Alias."

and "Fixer Upper."

But.

Sitting.

Resting.

Regrouping.

Journaling.

Praying.

Considering.

The day was likely coming for a while.

And it was what I needed.

Thankful.

That as a new day dawns.

I'll begin to feel stronger.

And find my way forward.

With His help and direction.

I sense there's a new season on the horizon.

And good that will come.

From where I've been.

And my day in my pajamas.

"When you feel flustered and frazzled on the outside,

do not feel upset with yourself.  You are only human,

and the swirl of events going on all around you will 

sometimes feel overwhelming.  Rather than scolding 

yourself for your humanness, remind yourself that I

am both with you and within you.  Slow down your

pace of living for a time.....peace be with you."

"Jesus Calling" Sarah Young

 

A Season of Change

 I've always thrived with change.

Most of my life, anyway.

Change has kept me challenged.

On my toes.

Engaged.

It's brought fresh starts.

New ways of looking at things.

Different perspectives.

That kind of change.

But I'm also learning.

There's different kinds of change.

Change that comes from moving on.

Closing one season or chapter of life.

Because it's the right time.

Or just the right thing to do.

My retirement is coming in about five months.

From a place that's brought me great friendships.

And the work is meaningful.

It's exciting.

And a bit terrifying.

But change is coming.

We've also been preparing for a change with where we live.

The choice to move from a big house.

To a smaller one.

Change that comes from simplifying and downsizing.

Letting go of space.

And what's familiar.

Letting go of things.

And where you've invested yourself.

There's that kind of change.

Change can also come from unplanned loss.

I've been learning about that too.

I lost my dad a few weeks ago.

My brothers and I walked through a short,

but terminal illness with him.

With hardly time to take it in.

The change of losing a parent.

Has shifted everything.

 In an unexpected way.

Ways I'm just beginning to see.

So.

Today.

With all the change around me.

Some brought on by my own devises.

Or timing.

Some not welcomed at all.

I step back.

Take some time off.

To work in my garden.

Talk to my mom.

Write.

Pray.

Get on the floor for yoga.

And stretching.

Maybe take a nap.

Love on my cats.

Slow down the day.

And the pace of things.

To be good to myself.

And take in.

This season of change.

"If He gave us no rough roads to walk, no mountains to climb and no battles to fight, we would not grow. He does not leave us alone with our challenges, however.  Instead he stands beside us, teaches us & strengthens us to face them."

(Read in my study notes from Psalm 18 this morning.)

Embracing the Sheep in Me

This is so me.

I've made a strong.

Personal connection to these faces.

And this creature.

I am so --- a sheep.

Especially when it comes to my faith.

A friend planted the idea in my mind a few weeks ago.

She heard a teacher describing our close connection to sheep.

As followers of Jesus.

I connected instantly to the comparison.

Because.

In my faith.

I've been.

Indecisive.

Helpless.

I've been frightened easily.

I've been.

Romantic.

Irresponsible.

Passive.

Emotional.

With no sense of direction.

Maybe not all the time.

But more times than I'd care to admit.

When it comes to spiritual matters.

I learned that sheep will often settle for less.

When they are thirsty.

They'll stop to drink from a dirty puddle right in front of them.

Instead of drinking from still waters.

Twenty feet ahead.

During this pandemic.

I've sorely missed fellowship.

And relationships outside of my workplace and my immediate family.

I've felt more vulnerable.

And more isolated.

As I've looked at this comparison more.

I learned something interesting.

Just about all domesticated animals.

Can be returned to the wild.

And have a decent chance of surviving.

But, not a sheep.

Without a shepherd,

Sheep are in trouble.

Easy prey.

They can't defend themselves very easily.

But.

They have a remarkable instinct.

For knowing the voice of the shepherd.

"I am the good shepherd.

The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.

The hired hand is not the shepherd.

And does not own the sheep.

So when he sees the wolf coming,

he abandons the sheep and runs away.

Then the wolf attacks the flock.

And scatters it.

The man runs away.

Because he is a hired hand.

And cares nothing for the sheep.

I am the good shepherd;

I know my sheep.

And my sheep know me -

just as the Father knows me

And I know the Father -

And l lay down my life for the sheep."    John 10: 11-15

So.

I'm trying to embrace.

The sheep in me.

Glancing Forward

It's been months now since I've written.

I've heard that creativity is one of the first things to go.

During seasons of stress.

And responsibility.

That's been so true for me these last months..

Maybe for you as well.

But.

I read something recently that I loved.

It came from my study notes in the book of Hebrews.


During a time when the rug has been pulled out from under

life as we know it -

It was simple.

And spoke to me.

"Love your family,

Your spouse

Your job

And your church,

but set your sights beyond the horizon.

You are an activist,

Invested in witnessing to a needy world,

but take frequent glances 

toward a promised community still to come.

You're a gardener,

And a builder,

shaping environments,

turning weeds into something beautiful,

painting

and patching

and clearing -

but,

you know God is building something 

far more beautiful

and breathtaking

just for you."

Thankful to be walking through

Not taking up permanent residence in this world.

Thankful for the future He has promised me.

The Best Moments

I led my very first team with 410 Bridge a month ago.

First time - solo leading - that is.

Eleven women and me.

And these women were.

Very strong.

Solid.

Good hearted.

Women who love Jesus.

We served in Chembulet.

A small farming community in western Kenya.

It was my first time there.

And it turned out to be.

One of the most impactful trips of my life.

Here are some of my favorite moments.


1)   Through Their Eyes

Seeing Kenya through the eyes of someone whose never been there before.

It's always so much fun for me!

It's almost like experiencing Kenya for the first time myself.

Just -- all over again.

I LOVE it!

These women left home over the Thanksgiving Holiday to serve with me.

They showed courage and hutzpah!

It was an amazing thing to behold.

I LOVED seeing this trip through their eyes!

2)  Meeting with Chembulet's widows


We took a message on prayer to share with the widows in this community.

I've seen close friends walk through the loss of a husband in this country.

It's no different there.

It's devastating.

And life changing.

But what is different,

Is the lack of a safety net for these women in Kenya.

Resources for them are limited - non-existent.

No life insurance.

No financial support for their children.

Most of them have never worked outside the home.

If they're part of a local church,

They do find spiritual and community support.

We saw that.

But it's obviously a very, very hard path.

It's hard to say this was a "best" moment.

But it will be one of my most memorable ones.

Looking into their faces.

And just seeing their pain.

One widow shared that her husband had cheated on her many times.

And infected her with AIDS.

He died.

Leaving her with six children to raise.

There was no light in her eyes at all.

Her eyes were completely vacant.

Devoid of any hope

I'll never forget her face.



We were told that Kenyans often think of Americans as having a perfect life.

Because of the transparency and courage of my teammates.

These widows learned differently.

One teammate shared her own experience with being abused.

Another shared her story of neglect and wrong choices.

Another described what it was like to lose her own husband just a few years ago.

Two others filled the meeting room with their powerful voices in song.

I watched the faces of the widows.

They must have been surprised.

That our stories often mirrored theirs.

One woman took her shawl and pulled it up to face.

Wiping tears from her eyes.

Others nodded.

In understanding.

I hope we encouraged them that day.

I think we did.

But they deeply impacted us.

It was a best moment of the trip.

3.    So welcomed

I've visited several communities in Kenya over the years.

None.

Were as welcoming as Chembulet.

Wherever we went.

On house to house visits.

Worshiping in the local churches on Sunday.

Spending "A Day in the Life" with families.

Learning how to cook traditional meals in their kitchens.

They welcomed us.

With open arms.

More than open arms.

With open souls and hearts.

On Sunday, we were made honorary elders in the church.

The women of the church wrapped our heads with special scarves.

Reserved for the honor.

During the community's welcoming ceremony,

We were all presented a hand carved stick.

Making us full members of Chembulet.

They told us the sticks represented authority.

And respect.

It was a symbolic and functional tool as well.

I went to Chembulet unsure how an all-women's team would be received.

I was blown away by their love for us.

It was quite an honor.

And definitely.

One of my best moments.

4.    The Courage of My Team

We did a lot of things in those 10 days.

We saw the beautiful vegetables and plants produced,

in 410 Bridge's  "Foundations for Farming" program.

We saw the drilling sites for fresh water,

where 410 Bridge is working to provide water for the community.

We toured a local health clinic.

And spent an afternoon with young girls in the area,

talking with them about being a woman of dignity.

We watched the mamas in the community laughing & competing in a game called "the Knot."

And witnessed giraffes and a herd of elephants walking feet from our vehicle on safari.

We got to put our feet in the compound where Danee & LJ Davis and their kids are serving

in Nairobi.

Living out their lives in one of the biggest slums of the country.

But nothing.

Nothing on this trip.

Impacted me more.

Than the courage I saw.

From the women I served with on this team.

It's always easier to just stay home.

Where it's safe.

And comfortable.

And predictable.

Where you generally know what to expect.

These eleven women didn't do that.

They got on a plane.

Flew over 18 hours.

To the other side of the world.

To serve in Chembulet, Kenya.

They said yes to doing the hard things.

For some.

The hard thing was just going.

For others.

It was sharing very painful and personal stories in their lives.

And singing.

Or leading team devotions.

Or sharing at evening debriefs.

But, they did it.

Sometimes, with trembling hands.

Sometimes, with shaky voices.

But, they did it.

I loved this group of women.

And I admired their courage.

They came home safe and sound.

But different.

That always happens.

And the process of how that happens.

Is always my best moments.

I'll be leading another team of women to Chembulet, Kenya with 410 Bridge in 2020.
If you'd like an amazing opportunity to grow in your faith and serve, reach out to me.   It could very well be one of the most memorable adventures of your life.  

Forfeiting Peace

God must look at me sometimes.

And shake His head.

I get that.

Because.

How many times.

Do I forfeit the peace.

He would love to give me.

Because of my own lack of trust.

In Him.


I've been reading this week in Genesis.

Sarah was told she would have a son.

But like me.

She doubted.

She worried.

She was afraid.

She forfeited the peace.

She could have felt.

She could have enjoyed.

If she had trusted Him to do what He said He would do.


I do the same thing.

During that space and time.

Between praying for something.

And seeing Him work it out.

I worry.

Like others in Genesis.

I take matters into my own hands.

Thinking He really must need my help.

I doubt.

I fear.

And I forfeit peace.




"....I look into your mind and see thoughts spinning round and round;

going no where, accomplishing nothing.

All the while, My peace hovers over you,

watching for a place to land.

Be still in My presence,

inviting Me to control your thoughts.

This is the most effective way to receive

My peace."       -- Sara Young

Buddy

He'd been hanging out in our neighborhood in Greenwood.

For weeks.

Shaggy.

Friendly.

Adorable.

All of our neighbors called him by name.

Buddy.

Even now as I think about that.

It's so weird.

Because.

As it turned out.

Buddy didn't belong to anyone in our neighborhood.

At first.

He drifted from house to house.

And then he settled in with us.

We started asking around.

Everybody in Fawnbrook said the same thing.

"He belongs to someone down the street."

But that didn't turn out to be quite true.

We walked our entire subdivision.

Door to door.

Asking if anyone knew who he belonged to.

No one knew.

We checked with the animal shelter.

But to no avail.

That "someone down the street."

Was never found.

That was 15 years ago.

Buddy joined our family.

We gave him a home.

And he gave us quite a lot more.

Love.

Loyalty.

Miles of walks together.

Gentleness.

Acceptance.

I think we came out ahead in the deal.

He was the best.

Buddy.

Loved mud puddles.

Drinking from them.

And walking through them.

He loved to chase squirrels.

And the freedom of a full out run.

He loved to go on walks around Due West.

And roll in the scent or remains of something dead.

He loved our neighbors, the Wilson's.

Cooler weather.

And rolling in the dirt.

While he tolerated our cats.

They adored him.

Which always made him a little nervous, lol.





This last year.

He started to decline.

At 17.

He was an old guy by dog years.

He became thinner.

His back legs grew weak.

His hearing was completely gone.

The light.

That was always in his eyes.

Was all but completely gone.

Scott was Buddy's favorite human.

And he took it hardest of all.

Friday.

We showed Buddy our last act of friendship and love.

In making the decision to put him down.

We said goodbye.

Rubbing his face and ears.

On the vet's table.

Telling him what a good boy he had always been.

Face to face.

Nose to nose.

Not ashamed of all the tears we shed.

As he fell asleep.

We brought Buddy home.

And buried him in a spot we can see from our kitchen window.

The rest of our animal family seemed to sense he was gone.

Gus especially.

He laid out in the middle of the back yard.

Inside Buddy's fence.

For a long time Friday night.

Lucy just watched.



What a sweet blessing he was.

I'm thankful for these years with you.


Sweet friend.