Steele (the Day)

Easter Reminder: How He Loves

// April 4th, 2010 // 2 Comments » // Faith

Have a blessed Easter, dear readers. May your faith be renewed on this glorious day.

Tea today: Chinese flower

Faithful Foundations

// March 23rd, 2010 // 20 Comments » // Faith

In high school, my youngest son sang in our tiny church’s even tinier choir. I’m not sure if he did it because I begged him to or because he really wanted to worship in song. I will always choose to believe it was both.

He went to practice on Wednesday evenings after grueling football or basketball workouts, and got up for church every Sunday to sing. It was much less of a production than I thought it would be, and he never complained. Yet it was with trepidation every week that I asked myself “Will this be the last time? Will he quit?” As a “jock” and a kid known to have more fun than a kid should be allowed to have, there was a good possibility he would bail on choir and not sing any more. That it would not be “cool” enough. That he would move on. I questioned his faithfulness to his commitment as a mother questions many things in a teen boy’s life.

Concluding. Assuming.

"Oh ye of little faith..."

My faith during that season was a conglomerate of desperate worry over things that might, did and didn’t happen. The sad and stark realization that my baby would be gone soon. The question of “Have I done enough?” hovered relentlessly. How could I be sure that he was leaving the nest with rock-like faith that would carry him and guide his decisions for the rest of his life? (Insert heavy sigh here – you’re never sure). At that time I felt like my own faith was doing a slow-motion erosion because worry would besiege me, often in the middle of the night. The worry was fueled by this wild and crazy teenager in the house. By wild and crazy, I mean wild and crazy.

Thankfully, he stayed in the choir. Faithfully.

"How's your faith now"

There was a song the choir sang, “Find Us Faithful, that always reduced me to tears. One line and one line only has become an earworm for me:

Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
May the fire of our devotion light their way..."

Every mother hopes and dreams that her children will follow the path of a faithful believer. Faithful to God, faithful to family, and faithful to self. More faithful and trusting than she was. It’s not an easy road, and some of the strongest, most faithful Christians and even pastors I know have expressed moments of doubt. I think God expects that, or at the very least, knows it.

There will be seasons of brokenness and weakened or shattered faith for all of us. Our pride, arrogance and determination to do things our way will always be trumped by God’s plans, and sometimes those plans break us. Much like a broken bone that heals stronger, a weakened spirit that has realized survival comes back with an even more resilient faith.

“We turn to God for help when our foundations are shaking only to learn that it is God shaking them.” – Charles West

This post is part of the “One Word at a Time” Blog Carnival hosted by Bridget Chumbley. Visit the other contributions here.

Tea today: Stash Green Ginger Peach

What are you up to, God?

// March 16th, 2010 // 13 Comments » // Faith, Family

Sunday at church, Pastor John talked about how God is always working around us, and sometimes we just miss Him. How do they always seem to know things like that about you? I miss most things, actually, as I take way too much for granted. I’m also sort of a Space Ranger, which doesn’t help the Kingdom much.

I resolved to pay more attention, starting with some spring cleaning. I wasn’t looking for God in a cluttered closet, but if He was there, I was determined not to miss Him. Since this was actually Spring cleaning, circa 1999, I had quite a job in front of me. Apparently it wasn’t the hill I wanted to die on for the last 11 years.

I gutted two closets filled with my trash and another’s treasure. Sheets for twin beds? Nope, none here.  Round tablecloths? I haven’t had a round table for 20 years. Rubber crib sheets? I think not.

Any other time, I would have thrown things in Goodwill bags and mindlessly sent them away. Not this time. Some precious kiddo memories were in that closet. Who saves those things? Apparently I do. Or did. Or still do because I took pictures of the things I pitched.

It wasn’t without a few tears that they went into the gifting pile, but I clung to memories of a tow headed boy reading his picture Bible at bedtime snuggled in those Sesame Street sheets.

Or a beautiful girl’s braided little head cozying in her animal sheets with Cheer Bear.

The kid with a mullet (because that’s what defined a real baseball player of the 80′s) and the innumerable boxes of baseball cards he so coveted.

Lest you think I threw those baseball cards in the bag, fear not (said the Lord). You can bid in the comments section below (the Lord didn’t say that part). Lots of rookie cards, including all the players before they got outted for steroids.

I somehow just strayed from my reminder that God is always working. Did I miss Him?

He apparently showed up in the garage as it got cleaned, too, because He placed on Ron Burgundy’s heart that clutter, grit, and winter sand are not my love language.

Shiny. Shiny is my love language.

Pastor left us with the question we’re to ask ourselves every day – if something good happens, something bad happens, or if nothing seems to be happening.

“What are you up to, God?”

He had been there providing me with a calm, peaceful day with great memories. No A-Ha moment, like I found a Jesus Cheeto lost in the back of the closet, or found Jesus’ face on my toast and went “Whoa, there He is!! He showed up!” I never understood that Jesus toast thing anyway, because I thought those discoveries were people who were seeing what they wanted to see, and quite frankly, the guy in the toast looked more like Fabio than Jesus.

That evening I flopped in the chair with my computer, TV was off, but Ron Burgundy came in and flipped it on to Iowa Public Television where there were having a benefit of sorts. They were playing old songs from the 60′s & 70′s – Herman’s Hermit’s, Tommy James, Beatles, Peaches and Herb, and others. Great music that I loved, my parents hated, and my own kids never knew. Or so I thought.

Peaches and Herb belted out Reunited just like I’d remembered. Not 5 minutes later my phone beeped. I glanced at it and see my Sesame Street sheet/Bible boy has updated his Facebook status. This boy, who over the years has had the lion’s share of my prayers and for good reason. Unbeknownst to me, he had traveled hundreds of miles to western Kansas to visit a friend and colleague over Spring break. His status indicated he had arrived.

“What are you up to, God?”

Tea today: China flower

So Long, Farewell, auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye…

// February 7th, 2010 // No Comments » // My Fabulous Life

We attended our last service today at the church we’ve attended and served for the past 20 years. For unnecessary reasons outside our four walls, our pastor retired and about half the congregation left as well. It was a sad day that never had to happen, but it is what it is.

It was always my pleasure to serve God and the people through this little church. Our kids were all confirmed there. RB and Luke sang in the choir. I can’t count how many times I made broccoli-grape salad for funerals, helped serve communion, and for the last 9 years I’ve prepped and run the projection for our contemporary service. It was a good place for me, up there in our make-shift “sound room.” I could cry my eyes out (I’m a well-known “church cryer”) without having everyone see me. The huge cross in the sanctuary is formed from three spikes, and is the same one tattooed on my son’s back (I’m over it). For the past 20 years, all of our family ushered at the 8 pm Christmas Eve service. It was such a blessed tradition, but one that is no longer. New people will replace us and new traditions will come into our lives.

Onward and upward.

We’re in the process of finding a new church home. I can’t wait to see what God has planned for us there. Our old church will remain in my prayers.

Our praise team sang together for the last time today. They did a beautiful job on “What Faith Can Do,” one of my favorite (tear-jerker) songs.

Wherein nothing has changed – or has it?

// January 23rd, 2010 // No Comments » // Faith, My Fabulous Life

The last half of 2009 defies description. Funky maybe?

I felt like a human casserole of worry, fear, and fog. It was just on the inside, but those close to me noticed. Those who cared, asked.

“I’m fine.”

The details of what I blame on getting me there are irrelevant, and to recite the ingredient list of my stew would serve no purpose. We all have things in our lives we want to be different. Suffice it to say that life happens, you take the good with the bad, and you wake up each morning asking yourself “Is this the day things will straighten out?” My heart would race (literally) and skip beats. I’d lay down at night with my fingers touching my pulsing carotid artery, counting the erratic lub-dubs, yet didn’t care enough to have the physical symptoms evaluated.

Because deep down I knew, they were not physical. I’ve seen it a thousand times before in the patients who have walked through my work life. That would never be me.

This blog sat in neutral and may still sit a while. Rare postings. I had nothing except an occasional 140 characters or less. It was like I was floating, watching someone else who looked somewhat like me move ghost-like from day to day.

I was uncomfortable. Uneasy. Totally disconnected.

I had only one way out of this drudgery, and I knew it. I’m well aware that God cares much less about my comfort than He does about my relationship with Him, and that being comfortable so often leads to complacency in mind, body, and spirit. So I dug a little deeper. OK, a lot deeper. I needed to be somewhere else – not physically, but emotionally and spiritually. I read my Bible with more intention. My dedicated time in the morning involved arising early and doing nothing for at least a full hour except reading Scripture, understanding the Word through God-breathed teachers and pastors, and being intentional about where my heart really is. Now. Today. I took friends’ prayer requests very seriously (wow, we’re a hurting bunch) and felt confident my prayers were being heard. If I told you I was praying for you, trust me when I say it was with fervor and intention. RB and I embarked on praying together. On purpose. Epic.

And I removed my selfish requests from those prayers.

“So what can I say

What can I do

But offer this heart O God

Completely to You.”

I realized last Saturday night at church when we sang this song that things have become gradually and gracefully different. I feel a sense of peace and calm, even in the midst of the Haiti heartache. The worry and fear are no longer off the charts, and I seem to have a lot more focus at work, with friends, and at home. I don’t feel like I’m floating anymore. It’s great not being in charge, or rather fully knowing that I’m not.

What changed? Every circumstance in my life has remained exactly the same. On the outside, nothing has changed. People. Places. Jobs. Relationships. Surroundings. Finances. I did get new tires, but other than that – nothing. has. changed.

God is the same. Everything is exactly the same.

Except me.

I hope I don’t stay comfortable with that.

“So I’ll stand

With arms high and heart abandoned

In awe of the One who gave it all

So I’ll stand

My soul Lord to You surrendered

All I am is Yours”

Here is the Church, Here is the Steeple…

// December 15th, 2009 // No Comments » // Faith

Gratitude

// November 26th, 2009 // No Comments » // Faith

Today I’m grateful for the fabulous colors of fall that will all-too-soon be covered with downy snow blankets.

The flowers fade.
Sometimes more than we like.

The Pomegranate Within

// November 23rd, 2009 // No Comments » // Faith, Functional Foodie

By now most of my friends know I’m ga-ga over pomegranates. I could go on and on about the nutritional benefits, the beauty of the fruit, the biblical references, and even where the best deals are in my town. I’ll spare you.

Most would choose a fruit that looks like these. Symmetrical, shiny, firm, heavy for it’s size, and of course, the POM Wonderful brand, which IMHO, is the only real pom there is in existence. No, POM didn’t pay me to say that. But I did win a free bottle of juice in their Twitter contest last week. That alone is enough to be on the Twitter bus. And I didn’t even sleep in a Holiday Inn Express. 

I got these a week or so ago. (The pom is the fruit on the left, for those of you who are produce-challenged). 

At the store Thursday night I saw the most shabby, pathetic bin of POMs I’ve ever laid eyes on. They were shriveled, had lost all roundness, were peppered with sunken, dark spots, and the rind was thin and hard. There was nothing pretty or appealing about them, other than I knew they had probably once looked more beautiful. Some of them were actually cracked open. I was, as usual, drawn to the bin. I looked them over, and thought that if I just bought one, I wouldn’t be out that much, there might be some decent arils deep into the fruit, and could have my pom fix for the day. Sucker, I know.

What a blessing that pitiful thing turned out to be! It was one of the most delicious, sweet poms I’d ever enjoyed, As I cut through the rind, a few squirts from the deep ruby-red arils greeted me. The juice was so dark, it was almost purple. There were maybe 10 bad arils in the entire fruit. Legend has it there are exactly 840 of them in every fruit. It was nearly perfect.

If one can have a spiritual, out-of-body experience eating a fruit, then I did. Or the crazies had struck. I’m going with the former.

Surely this is how God sees us. To others (and sometimes ourselves), we’re cracked, bruised, thin-skinned, and not so pretty. To Him, we are perfect, from the inside out. Fearfully and wonderfully made. And He longs for us to burst forth with the joy he has put deep inside of us, putting aside all the the things on the outside that cover us, haunt us, and keep us from living the life He designed us to live.

I just knew that pomegranate was destined for bigger things than the broken-down produce bin at Walmart. 

So am I. 

Tea tonight: Green with lemongrass

Giving credit where credit is due

// September 25th, 2009 // 6 Comments » // Faith

This is an apology of sorts. Or not.

I’ve been praying for something for several months now. Lots of things, actually, but also for, shall we say, a “situation.” Praying for something not to happen that I didn’t want to happen because I didn’t feel it was in the best interest of the parties involved. “Please Lord, don’t let…“

My prayer was answered – this time the answer was Yes. This “situation” went away. Apparently God felt the same way I did.

But in the process of my prayer being answered, a heart was broken. Or at the least, bruised. How could I humbly thank Him for answering my prayer when I was listening to someone tell me about their grief, their heartbreak, their lost hope? I really struggled with this one. Relieved, yet guilty.

Exchanging my relief and gratitude for the another’s heartbreak is not exactly fair trade.

At church last week Pastor talked about forgiveness. That’s it! God will forgive me that I had caused someone heartbreak. Whew. I knew there was some sort of biblical step I could take that could absolve me of my guilt. My confession commenced.

Then the booming voice from heaven said…ok, really, it was a whisper of the Holy Spirit…“Just who do you think you are that you were in control of this situation? I knew what you wanted. I knew what needed to happen for the good of all involved. It just so happens, young lady (yes, I do believe He called me that) that we were on the same page this time.”

Who am I to take credit for something that I never had control over in the first place?

God wants us to grow and become more like Him, and after my decades of experience, I know that this process most likely involves some pain, perhaps suffering, or at the very least an uncomfortable, restless heart. All of which are necessary for us to once again realize how much we really need Him to help us heal from the sometimes inevitable collateral damage.

And He gives us more resilient hearts for the next time.

Tea tonight: Tazo Zen

Faith, Hope, and Beaded Bracelets

// July 29th, 2009 // 13 Comments » // Faith

It had promise of being an exhausting weekend, starting with a high-anxiety work week. I lumbered home on Friday evening even later than usual to prepare food for Saturday’s family reunion.

Chop. Dice. Stir.

I come from a tomato and cucumber family, so artichokes, avocado, and palm hearts get picked out and shoved aside. Nothing says “It’s great to see you again” like pasta salad with vegetables that nobody recognizes.

The reunion was pleasant albeit not well attended, with merely an occasional mumbled snide remark. My 94 year-old aunt had moments of lucidity, but not too many. After visiting with my mother (her sister) for several minutes, Mom walked away and Aunt B said “Who was that woman, anyway?”

And twice she asked Ron Burgundy how long he’s worked at the TV station and twice he said “Over 35 years” to which she finally replied “How come they let you stay there that long?”

Out of the mouths of babes – and the elderly.

I attend these family gatherings to put a little “fun” in dysfunctional. I didn’t do such a bang-up job this time. The planets just weren’t lined up properly or something.

By Sunday I was spent. I was running on about 6 hours of sleep for the week, and had this creeping anxiety about the work week ahead. And my heart was aching a bit for various and sundry reasons that would be a whole other post that probably won’t be written.

I went to church alone on Sunday morning. Rather than my usual pre-claimed seat, I sat way back in the balcony. I’d never gone up there before, and I knew with my current state of exhaustion and emotion, the tears would flow with the first song. I really just wanted to sit alone and let the snot run. It’s one of my spiritual gifts.

A young family with three beautiful little girls came and sat next to me. I was fine with that. They were well-behaved and polite, and other than the fact the little one next to me had her Crocs on the wrong feet, they were quite Rockwellian. I love how little girls swing their legs incessantly when their feet don’t hit the floor.

Pastor gave a short spiel on the mission trips some of the congregants had taken, and at the end, the ushers passed pails of baggies containing a hemp string and two beads. We were to put together a bracelet this week, with the green bead representing Kenya and the blue bead representing the Czech Republic. It was a simple prayer reminder for our brothers and sisters who are being disciples to other nations.

But to the little 7 or 8ish year old girl next to me, it was craft time.

“Would you like me to tie your bracelet for you?”

By this time we’d been through 3 songs and I’d soaked as many kleenex. But I didn’t want to be rude.

“Sure,” I said. “You’ll be better at jewelry making than I am.” I’ll admit it. I faked being nice. I was too selfishly absorbed in my own thoughts & emotions to really feel like being nice.

“Well, we just can’t do these things by ourselves, you know. I’ll tie yours and you can tie mine on my wrist.”

I felt my heart soften. She had the most gorgeous long sable hair, and eyelashes with which you could sweep the kitchen floor.

She showed such innocence, such confidence, and her sweet little fingers swiftly tied the beads and knotted the string. It was apparent she had done this before.

I then proceeded to tie hers. She carefully directed my every move in the kindest of ways as my clumsy gnarly fingers tied her bracelet together. I resisted the urge to pull it tight using my teeth like I would have in private.

“Now we should wear these all week you know,” she instructed, “to remind us to pray for the mission people.”

She was so proud. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Candy.”

“That’s awesome! I don’t know anyone named Candy! I can’t wait to tell Mom but she wants me to be quiet in church.”

This little girl in the span of a half hour had given me such a lift, such a light to a dark week, that I couldn’t help but feel her genuine delight over simply my name, which when you think about it, is pretty silly for a mature woman. I was feeling a bit more hopeful about the rest of my day and the week ahead.

As the service ended and we started to depart, she grabbed her little sister’s hand and started walking out.

“You never told me your name,” I said.

“It’s Hope…..and this my little sister Faith.”

Somehow, in the midst of worship music and bracelet tying, I knew that.

Tea today: Snow Water Green Cloud