Until Thursday Morning

My faith walk isn't always pretty. It's landscape is by turn, desolate, lushly abundant, wide flat prairie or mountain top high.  I journey it along with adventured awe, wide smiles, pensive pursuit and downright ugly cries. Sometimes, each step is battle weary.

It's been a tough week at work.

When I say tough week, I mean that it's almost as if someone is trying to drive me out of my job.

I've been getting it from every direction. Equipment malfunctions, a variety of errors in completed work that my department is responsible for, inventory counts that won't reconcile, disgruntled people going over my head, unmet, undefined and moving target expectations, too many meetings, listening to closed door complaining and having to look people in the eye and let them know that I've let them down.

Every single day.

It took until Thursday for me to recognize what was going on...

Prayers were being answered. My prayers.

I've enjoyed a season of great professional success. Much of what is required is very innate to who I am. A result of how God formed me and who He has created me to be. I manage people and things and I take my job very seriously. I make ongoing effort to steward the gift of my work well and I've come to a place in my position where I'm aware that my natural skills and talents aren't always enough to tackle the challenge of the day. I need to be more than I currently am. As I've recognized this, I've been praying over the ground I've been given, out loud, every morning as I'm about to begin the work day. I've petitioned growth and strength in those prayers. 

The one that hates me is moved to action as well. He whispers fervently the call to surrender the ground and move on from it. This enemy strikes keenly in difficult moments, attempting to drive me from the opportunities to grow and become stronger.

To become more than I am.

Then, in a quiet moment, I was reminded how answered prayers sometimes happen in tandem with the lessons learned in battle. War has a way of striking the roots of growth deep into the soul. Broad and bulky strength is forged there too.

I had forgotten...until Thursday morning.

Once reminded that I had prayed for this, I planted my feet firmly once again.

On holding grief...and Redemption

This past summer we took a few adventures in our teardrop trailer. Her name is "Ventana Grande". How she came to be and how we named her is a story for another time, but one such galavant is how I ended up with a glimpse at Redemption again. I did not consider that our "big window" would take me on a trip into the past. But that's just what happened.

We headed to a rally of Vistabules. That's the teardrop brand. It's not a cult exactly. Everybody loves their "vistys". There are meet and greets and seminars and shared meals. It's all about getting the most out of your investment. Seeing other people's mods and swapping food prep and menu tips, learning about travel traps to avoid, discovering useful gadgets and hearing how some folks travel with pets. Sharing ideas and affection for the unique teardrop experience. We'd looked forward to this rally for more than a year.

I'd been to Itasca State Park before and as we parked at the headwaters of the Mississippi between rally workshops, I began to wonder where it went. Ha! Not the Mississippi! The Brower Inn. It was gone. After the headwaters visit, we drove around a bit and everything seemed to be where it should be according to my memories, everything except the Brower Inn.  That evening, a park worker gave a talk on the history of the park and I took the opportunity to ask her where the Brower Inn was. I was certain my memory was failing me.

"You are standing right where it was." she said.

I was stunned. We were standing in an amphitheater along Lake Itasca. The setting was beautiful. It was early fall and the leafy trees were beginning to turn. The lake was surrounded by still, green reeds and the air was scented pine.

My mind took me back...almost 30 years.

I remember riding in a car down the winding road of Itasca State Park with my father. As we headed toward the Brower Inn, I was begging my dad to turn the car around and drive far away. Of course, the begging was all in my head. I didn't have the courage or self-confidence to tell him my myriad misgivings in real life. We arrived at our destination and the inertia of the day pulled me along.

Just along the lake, behind the The Brower Inn was where I'd married my first husband.

It was a beautiful ceremony in an enchanting setting. We celebrated for an entire weekend with friends and family. Two wonderful meals, cake and a square dance reception made it a memorable event for all.

You've heard the expression, "After a wedding comes a marriage"? Boy does it.

We spent 10 years together and some of it was really great. We had two children, shared some dreams and learned so much from each other, but there was a very good reason I was more than just a little anxious on the way to that ceremony. Plenty of our marriage was difficult and when it ended with his death, I had very little time to process the resulting emotional chaos.

Standing by Lake Itasca all of these years later, grief and beauty collided.

I wandered about the area and considered all that my life held since then. I felt grief afresh for a young woman that didn't understand how to be still, embrace her worth or use her voice. The grief continued to wave over me as I thought about the man I had married. His pain and the toll that the lies of the enemy took on his perspective of life and of family. Grief for the ways our youth and immaturity had inflicted a decade of heartache on each other and paved the way for confusion and trauma when he left us.

Years before I had wondered if I'd have a reason to visit Itasca State Park again and how it would be. I took my girls once while passing by on the way to my parent's home. They walked through the headwaters as I considered whether I should tell them about the way this place was marked for me. We didn't have much time and I couldn't find the Brower Inn then either. I guess it wasn't yet time to crack the lid on that box of memories.

 The Spirit seems to work in grief and beauty at appointed times. 

I've learned to look for redemption in the story of living. As I continued to stroll the lakeside, the balm of beauty was once again a backdrop of redemption. It was fitting that the Inn had been torn down and the amphitheater had taken it's place. Beautiful things rise from the ashes in a redeemed life. The treasure of that process was being poured out on me once again.

God had mercy in the memories. It wasn't easy. It swelled my heart in that painful way that radiates accross your chest and presses for somewhere else to go and just as the pain reached my mouth and I observed the position of my lips I found a smile resting there. Deep gratefulness overwhelmed me. Who I am today began to be formed in that place beside the lake. The relationship that left deep wounds, moved me toward becoming myself and taught me the strength it takes to heal. It drove me to my knees and abiding abundance with the lover of my soul.

I found myself holding both grief and beauty for a few moments. It happens that way sometimes and I've learned it will happen still. After a few moments, I'm free to choose. I choose beauty.

And once again Redemption writes another page of my story.

The Good Gift in Alaska

One day, years ago, I received a phone call that rocked me. A dear friend was hurt. She'd been hurting for a while and she needed help. Her husband called to ask me why I hadn't reached out and offered any assistance to her or their family. He sternly reminded me of all of the times she'd helped me. I could hear his disappointment as he scolded me for failing to reach out to her and let me know how hurt she was that I hadn't and he also let me know that he expected me to make it right.

I was shattered. He was absolutely right.

The following day I called to apologize to my friend and offered my assistance. I arranged a time to go to her home and do whatever needed doing. I ended up scouring her bathroom until I could see my reflection smiling back at me in the toilet bowl! 

It became crystal clear to me just how weak the gift of service/helps is for me during that humbling experience. Seriously, I score higher on every other spiritual gift listed in scripture when I take any sort of "spiritual gift inventory". Exhortation, now that is where I'll shine! I'll put so much energy into a conversation while encouraging someone that I won't even notice the tables and chairs being broken down around me at a gathering until I'm asked to stand up so someone can take the chair that I'm sitting on! After that difficult phone call, I began to pray about better recognizing opportunities to serve. 

My husband has service as his #1 gift and I see him practice it all the time. It's absolutely seamless for him to offer assistance in any number of circumstances. He's served on a mission team to Guatemala more than a dozen times over the years and LOVES IT. He is always doing little things for me that are a tremendous help. Acts of Service is his love language. My youngest daughter is the same way.

A few years back she said "Mom, let's go on that Alaska family missions trip with church. I wanna help those kids in the parks." My reply, "Ummmmmm, Ok. If that's something you're interested in, I'll do it." Not exactly an enthusiastic response.

I went. I served. I enjoyed it. I watched my daughter do what God called her to do there. I helped, but much of the experience was uncomfortable for me. I wasn't really inspired to particular action but did what I knew to do. Talked with kids, played a little and cleaned up after people. I did what I was asked to do and I watched God work and that was wonderful. I learned things about myself and those folks that we were serving. I practiced my strongest spiritual gift, exhortation/encouragement, as often as possible. The bottom line is that the movement of God matters enough to me that when we had the opportunity to return the following year, we did. The year after that the timing wasn't right for us and we didn't go to Alaska and my husband took our daughter to serve on a team in Guatemala instead.

 

The following year I was asked to lead the kitchen team for the Alaska trip.

That involves planning menus and shopping and organizing the team to complete the tasks needed to prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner for 80-120 people that have come from across the US to serve with GraceWorks. I hadn't seen that opportunity coming. While it didn't shock me, it WAS a surprise. Kitchen work is my day job and it's not occurred to me to serve with those skills anywhere. Again, service is not my strength, it simply doesn't enter my mind. You'd think it would. "Oh, someone needs help in the kitchen. I'll lend a hand." Nope. That is not a thought that runs through my head!

Covid hit and we weren't able to take that trip.

Over the next year I found myself thinking about menu ideas and how to work with the different equipment available in the GraceWorks kitchen. Sometimes things just need to percolate for me to fully embrace them. God knows this about me.

When the opportunity came around again I was prepared to say yes! I raised funds. I prepared menus. I made lists and I prepared my heart to go. My head hit the pillow of my bunk in Alaska around midnight on Sunday night and I was awake well before my 5 am alarm on Monday morning. The kitchen crew would report at 6:30 am and I headed down at 6 to spend some time with God and get my feet under me. After my personal prayer time, I opened my Bible to I Corinthians 15:57.  "But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." This would be the verse for the day for the teams that I was feeding all day. These teams would serve communities in city parks throughout Anchorage. As I began to pray the verse about victory for those serving in the parks, the Holy Spirit drew my attention to verse 58. "Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain." I began to meditate on this verse and pray it over the kitchen service daily while offering my labor for the Lord to use as He would. Of course, something amazing happened.

I moved through the week experiencing such a depth of purpose!

As a result, I found myself able to prioritize evening rest in order to prepare well for the following day. This is unheard of for me! I do not well resist socializing in favor of rest. I love chatting with people and exploring and adventuring with others while getting to know them and I was rooming with 4 other women that I really wanted to know better! When people are around I stay up and out far too late. Whenever I head out for an evening with friends, I try to give my husband a time when I'll be home. He'll just wave me off, shake his head, and chuckle. While in Anchorage, I passed on moosing and hiking and beautiful view drinking in favor of sleep. Me! The Holy Spirit gently reminded me each evening "to give myself fully to the work of the Lord" because I couldn't have done that on my own!

Well-rested, I stepped into each morning excited about the work before me. I experienced a joy of service while in that kitchen that I have never experienced before while serving! There were challenges in the kitchen. Personality conflicts (we are only human after all), oven space and time puzzles, preparation of special diet items and menu shuffling all necessitated problem-solving...daily. But what a delight it was to have God use the skills He had equipped me with to serve those that were serving! And it connected me to the service of the community in the parks.

Please don't misunderstand. It's not as though I am suddenly inspired to cook for everyone all the time or that I see opportunities to serve all around me. My strongest gift, wiring, and abiding joy are still to exhort, teach and share stories of deep living with others. However, I now have a greater appreciation for the satisfaction and joy experienced by those that exercise the gift of service as naturally as their breath. This will allow me to better encourage them as they exercise their gift!

He always gives me much better gifts than those I offer Him. Serving in the kitchen at GraceWorks was an incredibly equipping gift that allowed me to better understand my brothers and sisters that are more gifted in serving than I. It also cultivated in me a deeper desire to serve than I've had before. And you know what else? After that week, I was privileged to spend 48 hours with my teammates moosing and hiking and beautiful view drinking while sharing stories of deep living with them.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change." James 1:17