Mountains. I’ve been pondering them.  Seems a little strange, given that I live in Alabama where we are notoriously mountain deficient.  My little hometown, nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians, is located in the “shadow” of Mt. Cheaha – Alabama’s highest point at 2,407 feet.  As far as mountains go, ours is not a huge one. I’ve never seen a really huge mountain that I can recall.  It’s on my bucket list. 

It’s not really geographical mountains that I’ve been pondering, though, which makes my pondering them seem a little less strange.  J 

Mountains in Scripture and in the life of the Christ follower – they are everywhere; places of refuge, indicators of the Presence and Activity of God, places of Holiness, and of Battle; Victory, Defeat, Revelation, Life, and Death. They are blessed as holy sanctuaries, and cursed as the Anger of God fell. The Law was given upon a mountain, even while His people sinned in its shadow. They are metaphors for troubled times, and monuments to the redeeming Power of God.

As Christians, we experience different kinds of mountains – those that are meant to be cast into the sea, and those that are meant to be climbed. But how does one tell the difference?  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve been pondering that as well, and have come to this conclusion:  What happens when you speak to it?  What happens when you exercise your authority in Christ, and speak to that mountain as Jesus instructed in Mark 11:23, “I tell you the truth, you can say to this mountain, ‘May you be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ and it will happen. But you must really believe it will happen and have no doubt in your heart.”?  Does your mountain move?  No?  Then start climbing. 

I know.  It looks like I’m saying that Jesus got it wrong, that he should have said “sometimes it will happen”.  I’m not saying that at all.  Jesus said it, I believe it, and that settles it.  What I am saying, however, is that sometimes we have to climb a mountain to experience the mountain top. It doesn’t mean you don’t have enough faith to see your mountain move.  It means God has a different plan.  There are some circumstances in life that God would rather us go through than go around – and it is for our benefit that sometimes we must climb a mountain.  God never wastes a hurt, or a difficult situation, or a fear. He uses these life events to teach us so many things – strength, trust, perseverance, hope, determination (et cetera – as far as the eye can see).

Imagine the way that a climber ascends a mountain.  I can’t even begin to comprehend the physical, emotional, and psychological endurance it requires to reach the top of a giant mountain.  But I can imagine the elevation elation that climber feels when he reaches the mountain top! It is the same with the overcoming Believer.  Climbing our mountains, ascending from the valleys is not easy.  It takes supernatural effort, faith, dogged determination, and indefatigable trust that God won’t let us fall – and an integral knowing if we do slip, He will catch us. The physical, emotional, and psychological endurance required is astronomical – but the spiritual benefit is indescribable. 

Have you ever been on the mountain top?  Ever faced a giant and watched it fall?  Sure you have. We all have.  Some are bigger than others. Doesn’t matter the size of your mountain. If you climbed it, you’ve experienced the mountain top.  At 2,407 feet, Mt. Cheaha is small compared to other mountains – but I sure wouldn’t try to climb it!  But if I went temporarily insane and did give it a shot, and IF I reached the top without dying, I would sure enough have a mountain top experience there at Alabama’s highest point. (Entre nous, I imagine my mountain top experience would consist of paramedics and oxygen….) I would have learned many lessons on the way up the mountain – trust my ropes, find strong hand and foot holds and hang on tight, rest along the way, take in nourishment, drink the water, be courageous.  (OK, Mt. Cheaha isn’t THAT kind of a mountain – there’s a lovely paved road that goes all the way to the top, frequented by hikers and bicyclists. You get the picture, though, no?)

Mountains in our lives are no different, and the lessons cross over – trust my rope - I will trust Jesus whether He casts my mountain into the sea, or asks me to join Him for a climb; find strong hand and foot holds and hang on tight – pray, pray, pray, pray. It is our source of strength – pray, declare imminent victory even when it seems a long way off, worship the One Who climbs with you and is waiting at the top to give you more of Himself. Rest along the way – sometimes it’s enough to rest in His Presence and just wait for your second wind; He is faithful to give it. Remember, He wants you to reach the top because He has good things for you there. Take in nourishment – immerse yourself in the Word of God. Seek out and write down Scriptures that speak to your situation or mindset and declare them (boldly, confidently – His Word is LIVING and ACTIVE. Use it!) Drink the water – the Presence of Holy Spirit. He is there to strengthen and comfort you. Drink. Huge draughts of Holy Water. Drink Him in. Be courageous – I promise you that you can do it.  Nothing is too big for you and God together to handle.  You don’t have to feel courageous – you just have to keep climbing and not give up in defeat.  That’s the definition of courage – being afraid but doing it anyway.  Keep climbing, keep going - look up! There’s a mountain top waiting, and the God of the Mountain is there!

“I look up to the mountains – does my help come from there?  My help comes from the Lord, Who made Heaven and Earth.  He will not let you stumble; the One Who watches over you will not slumber. Indeed, He Who watches over Israel never slumbers or sleeps.  The Lord Himself watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective Shade. The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon at night.  The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life.  The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.” Psalm 121, NLT

I thought about it today - what I was doing on the day that terrorists attacked this great Nation. Just like you, I remember every detail of that day. Two major life events personally, eclipsed by this National horror on Sept. 11, 2001.

I thought about writing it all down, and telling you where I was that day, the heartbreak we were facing, even before the first flight’s wheels left the tarmac.

Instead, I want to tell you where I was NOT that day.

I was NOT aboard American Airlines Flight 11 when it crashed into the North Tower of The World Trade Center, carrying a crew of 11, and 76 passengers. Five evil men took the lives of the innocent men, women, and children who were aboard American Airlines Flight 11.  I will never forget.

I was NOT aboard United Airlines Flight 175 when it crashed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center, carrying a crew of 9, and 51 passengers.  Five evil men took the lives of the innocent men, women, and children who were aboard United Airlines Flight 175.  I will never forget.

I was NOT aboard American Airlines Flight 77 when it crashed into the Pentagon, carrying a crew of 6, and 53 passengers. Five evil men took the lives of the innocent men, women, and children who were aboard American Airlines Flight 77.  I will never forget.

I was NOT aboard United Airlines Flight 93 when it crashed into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, carrying a crew of 7, and 33 brave passengers who attempted to regain control of the airplane.  Four evil men took the lives of the innocent men, women, and children who were aboard United Airlines Flight 93.  I will never forget.  “Let’s roll!”

I was NOT beginning my work day in the World Trade Center, or in the Pentagon.  I was NOT trapped in the upper floors of these mammoth towers.  I did NOT leap to my death, but almost 200 innocent people did.  I was NOT a first responder, rushing into the unknown, risking my own life in an effort to save others. I was NOT on the telephone, listening to the voice of my loved one, facing certain death, reassuring, speaking words of love to me for the last time.  I was NOT running, covered in ash, breathing toxic air, fleeing the crushing weight of falling debris.  I did not kiss my family goodbye that morning with a promise to see them at dinner, unaware that I would be forced to break that promise by 19 evil men.  

I was not one of 2,977 innocent men, women, and children who died that day.  I will never forget them.

Different nationalities, different races, different ideologies, different faiths, different hearts, different minds – but all, precious, valuable, loved, and all lost to us because of the hatred of evil men.

Tuesday, September 11, 2001 would have been a pretty rotten day for my family and me, even if those 19 evil men had never boarded 4 airplanes. But, I didn’t lose my life that day.  My life was changed, but I woke up on Wednesday, September 12.  I was given, what so many – TOO many – had lost.  A future. So, I remember them. We cannot let them become brief mentions in a history book, faceless numbers in the recordings of “Worst Ever” events. We cannot let them pass into the past, vaguely remembered, and mourned by only the loved ones they left behind.

We must remember. They deserve our remembrance. Their families deserve our unity, mourning with them for the tomorrows that were stolen from them by evil men. Their children deserve our compassion, longing with them for the loving guidance of a parent, taken too soon by evil men. Their mothers, fathers, siblings, spouses ache every day for the one ripped away; they deserve our unanimity on this day. But not just this day.

Folks, look around.  Look at us.  What are we doing? What have we become?  14 years ago, we were indivisible – ONE NATION – brothers and sisters. There were no dividing lines based on color, lifestyle, religion…Evil had come to us, and we stood together against it.  Today, we’re murdering our first responders – the extraordinary heroes who run TOWARD disaster and evil to protect and serve us. Today, we’re murdering our children; we’re murdering each other. Today, we hate each other, we’re intolerant of each other – we’re becoming no different from the 19 evil men who brought terror to America.  We have forgotten, and we should be ashamed. 

2,977 lives lost brought this country briefly to its knees.  We rose up as one, united and determined.  How many stolen lives will it take before we finally see each other the way we did on September 12, 2001? We have become what we stood against – murderers, filled with hatred. We need not fear ISIS. We need not fear another attack on U.S. soil.  We’re destroying each other from within; terrorists need not put forth any effort. We are doing their jobs for them – one life at a time.

I was NOT one of 2,977 people who died a horrific death that day.  Neither were you.  So, what are you going to do about it?

We’ve forgotten and we must remember. 

God bless America.  America, bless God.

The R word.  Retarded. I hate the R word.  I hate when it is directed at someone in humor – “Hahahaha! You’re so retarded!”. I hate when it is directed at someone in cruelty – “Are you retarded?”. 

I. hate. that. word. 

Yesterday, my boy was on the bus headed home from school, and some smart-mouthed wildling on the bus asked him, “Are you retarded?”.  My boy is NOT retarded – as a matter of fact, he clearly SOARS in intelligence far and away above the hellion that asked the question. Intelligence would have looked beyond any differences that may still be detectable in my boy to find the awesomely cool, funny, and enjoyable young man that he is.  Intelligence would have recognized that sometimes what makes a person different is exactly what makes them amazing.  For example, my boy isn’t cruel – he would never have asked another student such a question.  He has never used the R word against another person. He would never reject another person. He doesn’t see differences – he sees people and knows that we’re ALL different.  He doesn’t follow the crowd, doesn’t get caught up in trends, doesn’t rebel against authority because it’s “cool”, doesn’t disrespect his teachers, parents, bus driver, other students, or anyone else with whom he interacts.  My boy is kind, gentle, loving, empathetic, generous, entertaining, outgoing, helpful, friendly, and GOOD. My boy is all that is good and right in this world that’s rapidly going crazy.  He’s a true friend when true friends are hard to find.  The bus brat will never know all these things, however, because he only sees an opportunity to lash out, to bully, to speak hurtful words in an attempt to be “funny” to the other wildlings around him. 

My boy told me about the incident, and I was livid.  I’m still livid.  I want to jump in my car and drive to the house where my boy indicates the wildling lives.  I want to go, knock on the door, and tell his parents that they’re raising a hellion, slap the smirk off the offending mouth and tell him that his cruelty and attempt at humor has blinded him to the opportunity to know an amazing person.  I want to shame his parents. I want them all to feel the same pain that my boy felt – that I feel. I want to return cruelty for cruelty. It’s human nature blended with Mama Bear rage – I was ready to kick butt and take names.  Then, my boy….my amazing, wonderful boy…said, “But, he apologized.”

And that was it.  Right there, in three words, my boy demonstrated the Love and Forgiveness of Christ. I have no doubt the words still sting him – but, he apologized. So, we have to forgive.  Can I be honest and say that I don’t WANT to forgive?  I want to write a scathing letter to school administration, have the boy yanked from the bus and disciplined, reprimand the bus driver for allowing hate-filled words to be uttered on his bus.  I know.  It’s illogical.  Doesn’t matter; I’m a Mom and I want justice.  But, he apologized.

Oh, to have a heart like my boy – that doesn’t bear grudges, that readily forgives, gives a zillion second chances, and then starts over on third chances when the seconds run out. 70 x 7 fleshed out by a boy who sees life through different eyes.  The world would be a beautiful place if there were more eyes and hearts like his.  I would be a better person were I more like he is.  Funny, how as parents we watch our children and look for ourselves in them.  More often, I find myself watching him and looking for him in me.  He is my teacher, more than I’ve ever been his.

So, I’ll step back from my agenda of retribution.  I’ll wait to see what the future bus rides bring – perhaps a friendship, perhaps more cruel words. It remains to be seen how this will play out in the coming days.  If a friendship grows, I’ll be glad I held my tongue and accepted my son’s words, “But, he apologized.” If more cruelty comes, then I’ve got more ammunition to use in my scathing letter – and perhaps a good defense should I resort to mayhem. Mama Mayhem. It has a certain ring to it. I like it.  You can call me that. J

Last First Day of School.  Words that make the faces of shiny new high school seniors beam with joy and anticipation…and make the worry-worn and weary faces of their mothers pucker with barely contained tears - commingled sorrow and pride. Today was that day for my youngest son – and for me. He is my baby, all 6’3” of him – in my mind and heart, still a hip-high Kindergartener walking into the school, slightly ahead of me – and then RUNNING into the waiting arms of a beloved Speech & Language Therapist, leaving Mommy to walk, solo, the remaining distance to his first classroom.  I found him there, the Traitor, already settled in a desk with bright, colorful things taped to the desktop to draw his attention.  I remember standing, not quite certain of what to do next…I hadn’t expected this; I hadn’t expected him to not need me that day - of all days. I needed him to need me.  Worry, sorrow, and pride fought for control of my emotions. A brief word with his wonderful teacher, aide, and SLT; a kiss & hug from my guy and I was on my way out – tears winning the war with my eyelids and dripping from my lashes, all hopes of a dignified, stalwart exit dashed as I hurried, head bent to hide my failed attempt to not cry, to the door and to my waiting Jeep. 

Fast forward – LITERALLY! We went through a time warp or something! – a dozen years later to today. Last First Day of School.  My hip-high baby is now a towering Gigantor, with a quick wit, amazing talent, and a sharp, intelligent mind who can match his Mom’s (no longer Mommy; I graduated to “Mom” somewhere along the way) sarcastic tongue lash for lash.  I drove him to school, asking questions along the way – “Do you have your pens?” “Do you have your house key?” “Is your phone charged?” “Do you know where your first class is?” “Are you sure this is where I need to drop you off?”  Each question answered in a tone increasingly frustrated until finally, “Mom. I’ve got this.” brought a halt to my questions. I can’t help it.  I needed him to need me, just one more time.   A quick air kiss, “Thanks, Mom. I love you.” and he was out the door, walking the confident, sure walk of the upperclassman toward the building to begin his Senior year.  I drove away, not daring to look over my shoulder, lest I embarrass him.

Oh, I know he needs me.  All boys need their Mom – no matter their age.  I know that there are lessons to be taught, corrections to be made, comfort to be offered, wisdom to be shared – my work isn’t done.  He will need me for a while yet – and then, when he no longer needs me, it is my prayer that he will want me to have a supporting role in his life…in the background, blended in to remain unobtrusive, cheering, encouraging, advising – coach, friend, Mom.  Ours is a relationship that is as unique, different, and wonderful as he is.  I think it always will be.  That makes me happy.

Tonight, on the eve of his Last Second Day of School, I finally told him the story of his diagnosis with autism. Oh, he knew of the diagnosis, but I’d never taken the time to tell him the story. I told him of the questions and concerns that led me to request a referral from his doctor. I told him of the initial diagnosis of a severe language delay, and ultimately, of the diagnosis of autism.  I told him of the school system’s request to send him to an autism classroom at another school in another district and how I had refused and fought for his placement in our home district, in a general education classroom, with an aide, because I REFUSED to just give in to autism. I refused to give up on him. I told him how proud I am of him and how far he has come; how I know there is nothing that he cannot accomplish, no dream he can’t reach because he is an overcomer. 

His eyes shone with tears. I asked him not to cry – his story is a happy one; it is a story of victory! He briefly excused himself to blow his nose, then he returned to my side to thank me for fighting for him.  For not giving up on him. I had mistaken his tears for sadness; they were tears of gratitude.

He thanked me.  My hero thanked me. 

Senior year.  Class of 2016.  8 months until graduation. 279 days.  I can do this. I’ll be okay.  We’ll both be okay. 

Run, Daniel, Run!  Hebrews 12:1.

“Don’t you know who you are? What’s been done for you? You are more than the choices that you’ve made, you are more than the sum of your past mistakes, you are more than the problems you create, you’ve been remade.” ~ You Are More, Tenth Avenue North

 

This was my earworm this morning when my alarm awakened me.  This song, repeating through my head, and I realized it had been there all night. Every time I would wake up to roll over, or uncover (hot flashes, don’t you know..) or re-cover (they don’t last forever..), there it was, scrolling through my brain like a marquee.  I have it in my music on my phone, but I’m not sure when I heard it last.  Apparently, it had wriggled its way into my heart and mind in order to show up in my dreams. 

After I was awake enough to fully realize it was there, I began to ponder the words more closely, searching out the lyrics in order to read them over several times (how I miss lyrics inside of CD jackets!).

Check this out: “ ’Cause this is not about what you’ve done, but what’s been done for you.  This is not about where you’ve been, but where your brokenness brings you to. This is not about what you feel but what He felt to forgive you, and what He felt to make you loved.”

Wow. That makes my heart smile.  I’m so thankful for His Love.  There’s something so freeing in the realization that it doesn’t matter what I do – or don’t do, doesn’t matter how I look, feel, or what I weigh. Bad hair days, good hair days, rattled, frustrated, busy, energized or tired, irritable (did I mention hot flashes?), or silly and happy.  The things that affect us on a daily basis, causing changes in mood or emotions; our choices, decisions, failures, successes – none of those things change HIM. None of those things change His vast Love for us.  How completely life-giving! 

Sometimes, I can be a bit on the irrational side – I’m “of an age” where these things begin to happen…sometimes, I take it out on my family, and they get ill with me.  Who can blame them?  They’re right – they don’t deserve to bear the brunt of my mood swings.  (I’m learning to keep my mouth shut rather than allowing frustration over minor things to spew out of it. Thank You, Lord, for Grace.)  I’m so thankful that God isn’t moved by my irrationalness (yes, it’s a word..kinda ugly, ain’t it?). It makes my heart soar to realize that He still looks on me kindly, with Love that I cannot comprehend and Mercy that I cannot outrun. Jesus saw the ugly mess that I can sometimes be before He ever went to the Cross – loved me anyway, and He carried it there for me so that I could sit here on this laptop and type out my feelings for you to read. 

I can be hard on myself. I bet you can, too (on yourself, not me...well maybe me, too?).  Most of us are our own worst critics, I think.  Thankful, thankful, THANK-FULL that the weight of regrets, missteps, and failures don’t define me.  When my self-talk turns to the “I can’t believe you did that – so STUPID.” I’m beyond thankful that His Voice tells me that I’m enough – that He loves me anyway – despite it, through it, above it, I am loved. So are you.  Immeasurably, vastly, immensely, enormously, exceedingly, extremely, greatly, hugely, mightily, tremendously, especially, exceptionally, powerfully, remarkably, abundantly, incalculably, incomparably, incredibly, intensely, supremely, surpassingly, deeply, eminently, extraordinarily, profoundly, acutely, astonishingly, dearly, decidedly, emphatically, particularly, truly, wonderfully – you are LOVED by the Ancient One, the King of kings and Lord of lords.  Period.  It is finished, done.  (and yes – I pulled out my thesaurus for that..)  See each one of those words up there?  I challenge you to do this:  Read them each, individually, out loud, followed by the words: I am loved by God.  (For example – Immeasurably, I am loved by God. And so forth through the entire list.)  Go ahead. Do it now. I’ll wait. 

Finished?  How special are you?!?!?  Pretty special.  Want me to get my thesaurus out again?  No?  You get the picture, right?  If we’re loved like that by the very God Who created us – what on earth should ever make us feel less?  Exactly.  Nothing. On. Earth.

I don’t know about you, but that makes me want to sing.  I believe I will. 

Have a great day, friends!  J

Y’all, my heart is so heavy this Mother’s Day weekend. As a mother, this weekend always makes me reflect on the things of motherhood – did I do a good job raising my boys? Will their memories of their childhood be pleasant ones?  Will they remember me with an abundance of wonderful memories when I make my journey Home? 

You know – standard Mom fare.

But, today, my heart is heavy for mothers that I do not know.  This week, I watched the tragedy of three families unfold before me; I am wounded for them. 

During the first part of the week, I was selected to sit as a juror on the trial of a young man who had inadvertently, but recklessly, caused the death of a young woman.  As much as my heart wanted to display the Grace and Mercy of God to him, I had to weigh only the evidence and cast my vote on that alone.  As I left that courtroom after the verdict was rendered and the young man led away in handcuffs, I had to walk past two grieving families.  The young woman’s mother stepped forward, hugging a photograph of her beautiful daughter to thank me even as the young man’s family glared with tears in their eyes; my heart broke in two.  There were no winners here – in this situation, everyone loses.  Without speaking, selfishly without offering words of comfort, I ducked my head, allowing my hair to fall in front of my face to hide my tears, pausing only briefly to offer a weak nod to her, and fled the courtroom. I could not face their pain in the midst of my own. I am thankful that Jesus is our Righteous Judge, and our Advocate before the Father; I, too, would stand convicted without His Intercession on my behalf.

 My prayer is that this young man, a precious creation of God regardless of his behavior and choices, comes to encounter the Living God and the transforming power of His Love.  I pray that the families of these children – to me, they are children – find a place of peace, forgiveness, and hope in Jesus Christ.  I will never forget them or their beloved children, and I will always, always pray for them.

Later in the week, my youngest son came home from school carrying the news that a classmate’s younger sister - 14 years old - had taken her own life as a result of bullying at school.  I don’t even have the words to describe the depth of the grief it placed in my heart. This poor girl…and her poor family.  I can’t even begin to imagine their pain.  I saw her picture on social media – she was beautiful.  What words could have been spoken and absorbed into her spirit to cause her to believe she wasn’t worthy of life?  Oh, sweet child of God, their words do not define you; His Word says you were fearfully and wonderfully made, precious and honored in His Sight – a child of the One True King.  I am so sorry that you were hurt; I’m so sorry that you doubted your beauty and your worth. My sincere hope is that those whose words so wounded you will come forward, repent before the Father and your family, and somehow justice will be done where there is no justice that will ever be enough. They, too, are just children. My heart hurts for them and their families as well.

Such a tragedy, such a loss. 

My friends, our world is hurting; our children are suffering and dying at the hands of one another. How sad it must make Father God to see how far we have fallen.  There is only one answer – Jesus.  We all need Jesus. 

“And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart.”  Ezekiel 36:26

 

Sometimes I read things or see something on television that will just stay with me.  Usually, it’s useless information that might come in handy occasionally, say, during a trivia game. Occasionally, from the recesses of my memory, something will come to the surface at a seemingly random moment, and suddenly God is using it to reveal his heart. There is no random with God; He is all about design.

A long time ago, I was watching one of those medical shows on Discovery.  You know the type – where they show actual surgeries, and you have to close your eyes when they make incisions?  One of those (shudder!).  This one was about heart transplants.  A narrator was discussing the intricacies of the procedure, while we watched it take place. In this case, the donor and the recipient were in side by side operating rooms.  The narrator made the statement that the donor heart continues to beat for a few moments after it is harvested, as does the damaged heart of the recipient after its removal. He stated that if the two heart muscles are placed side by side, they continue to beat with their own, individual and unique rhythm. But, if the hearts are allowed to touch each other, almost instantly, the pulse of the weaker heart changes, aligning with the stronger heart, until they pulsate in matching syncopation, beating as one. How amazing is the creation of God? How like God to use a barely remembered television show to speak to me.

Yesterday, during our worship service at church, I was suddenly reminded of the show about these hearts, and I could see clearly the impact of worship on the hearts of God’s people.  How deeply we are loved by our Father! He desires so much the place of intimacy with us. When we reciprocate that love and desire, something incredible happens.  The Author of the Universe, the Ancient of Days, Majesty – draws near to His Creation, and allows His Heart to be touched by ours – and ours by His.  Our weaker, so very human hearts are enveloped by His, and as one they begin to beat in matching rhythm, as Father and Child dance.  Troubles fade away, worries are without power, fear is replaced by the peace that comes from being held secure in the arms of our Daddy.  What unmatched joy awaits within the Heart of God!

Beloved of God, your Father’s Heart longs for yours. He cherishes you and promises His Presence.  Worship isn’t about a posture, it’s not about your words, or whether or not you can carry a tune. There’s no need to wait until you’ve got it all together – God sees your mess and isn’t appalled by it; His Love is too great, His Mercies too deep. As a parent, there were times when my children were small, and they’d show up with sticky hands and dirty face, wanting a hug and a kiss. I didn’t see the mess; I saw my child whom I love so deeply, and I hugged them, kissing them without regard for their messiness.  Daddy God loves us so much deeper than that.

Worship isn’t a place, it’s not a program, there’s no formula, no pattern…worship is as individual and unique as our heartbeats. It doesn’t matter how it looks – what matters is that we allow our hearts to rise to touch the Heart of our Father.  It’s an act of opening your spirit to His, a dropping of walls, a stirring of faith, an act of the will. We worship because He is worthy of worship and adoration. He responds because of His great Love for us.  Face to face; Heart to heart; Father to child.

Precious one – your Daddy is waiting. He has a dance reserved just for you.  What are you waiting for? 

It began like any other morning.  Alarm screaming in my ear, followed by the requisite 5 or 6 taps on the snooze button.  Arising finally to whines, mumbled complaints, and general grump. And that was just from me. Shortly, I awaken my son, Gigantor, to whines, mumbled complaints, and general grump – his reprise of his mother’s lack of morning personness. He is his mother’s son. Half an hour later, coffee in my hand, breakfast in his, we head out the door to school. Like any other morning, we giggled at Laugh USA, chatted a little, quick kiss, wishes for a good day, and Gigantor was out of the car headed inside. 

One last wave, and I headed toward work.  As I came to a stop at the intersection, I noticed a new sign posted just beyond the sidewalk.  I looked, blinked – not quite trusting my still sleep-addled brain to be reading it correctly.  My jaw dropped open as I read it again, ensuring that I had, indeed, read it correctly.  Posted before me, mockingly, was a sign – nay, a banner – announcing the soon coming of a play to the Oxford Center for Performing Arts….a play entitled, “Menopause. The Musical.”

I believe something like, “Wha? Wha?” was escaping from my agape mouth, but before I could regain my senses, a horn honked lightly behind me urging me to move through the intersection. I didn’t glance at the driver behind me, but I’m certain it was a man.  A woman – a sister – would have understood my pause. 

Menopause. 

The Musical. 

I don’t know what to think.  I don’t know how they’re going to pull it off.  But I’m sure as heck going to go and see it for myself!  I think I wouldn’t miss it for the life of me.  For just a moment, I thought that perhaps someone had written a play just for me – I love musicals…I love stage productions..but I don’t love menopause.  Or, more precisely, perimenopause. Technically, I’m still 6 months out from being a bonafide member of the big M society. That’s neither here nor there.  If Menopause is anything like her little sister Perimenopause, we’re going to have issues. 

I wonder…will the ushers hand out paper fans along with the playbill – or will the playbill be fan-folded?  Will there be copious chocolate at intermission?  Will ice water be handed out along with blankets? Will the local Heating and Air guys be onsite earlier in the day to ensure that the AC units are all operating properly, Freon is topped off, and thermostats are set to Antarctica? Perhaps anti-itch cream will be offered by concessions girls, along with magnifying make-up mirrors, hot wax samples, and indigestion aids.  I’m certain that Xanax in Pez dispensers personalized to resemble the face of each theatre goer’s husband would be a welcome addition…I can imagine the glee to be had at flicking their little heads back with a perfectly manicured thumbnail. Ah, the joy…………………………………………………sigh………………..Oh, ahem.

Pardon me. I digress.

I don’t know how they’re going to do it, but I’m going to see for myself.  Comedy, yes...I can see the humor in menopause...when I’m not in the midst of a hot flash, or the middle of a sleepless night, or a mood swing, or skin clawing full body itch…but any other time, yes.  Menopause makes me laugh regularly. Mostly in a maniacal fashion following a comment to my husband such as, “Go ahead.  Fall asleep”.  But I do laugh. 

Musical, I’m not so sure about.  I have yet to feel like bursting into song.  Flames, yes.  Song, no.

We shall see.  A few hundred women at varying stages of the M society will be there judging.  They better hope it’s good.  Or they better have a LOT of chocolate.  And wine.   

So, about a hundred years ago, around Easter 2000, I was pondering one day.  I’m pretty prone to pondering, and sometimes my pondering gets put onto paper.  On this day in 2000, I was pondering the crucifixion of Jesus.  I was thinking about what it must have been like for the legions of angels who had known Him since their creation.  I imagined a conversation between those angels and Father God during the crucifixion.  Now, keep in mind – this is my imagination, and probably not scriptural. Just how I imagine it might have gone…..

 

Can you hear the angels asking, “Why? Why, Jehovah, must Your Son die?  They’re humans, Lord, so full of sin! How, O God, can Satan win?  Let us go and take Him down, bring Him home, replace His Crown!”

Can you hear God answer, “Be silent! Wait! It is only their sin that I hate. Don’t you see that on this day, by His death, I’ve made a Way?”

“But, Lord, how? We don’t understand.  How can this be in Your Plan?”

“You see, My Son is a spotless Lamb. Remember My Promises to Abraham?”

“Why, yes, Lord, but You promised a King – One would come and His praises they’d sing!”

“That’s true, I promised they would be freed, but first, as a Sacrifice, my Son must bleed; for their sins must be atoned by shed blood – His Blood alone.”

“But, God, behold! Your Son is dead – a crown of thorns upon His Head.  He cried out to You before He died; why didn’t You rush to be by His Side?”

“Because My Plan is not complete. Soon, you’ll see My most awesome feat!”

“But, Lord, they’ve laid Him in a tomb; it’s dark and cold: a death-filled room!  They’ve sealed the opening with a stone. Oh, He’s in there all alone!”

Smiling, God said, “Be patient, wait – you will see I’m not too late!”

One day…two days…, “Gabriel, come!  Go and gently awaken My Son.  Roll the stone completely away, and when His disciples come looking say, ‘He is not here, but risen. See – the place where He lay is now empty.’     Tell them, ‘He’s living! He is not dead! Go and seek Him, forget your dread!  God’s Redemptive Plan is done – He’s resurrected your Lord, His Son!”

“Holy!” the angels began to cry.

"Holy, the Lamb Who came to die!  Worthy, the Lamb Who was slain, Who shed His Blood to wash man’s stain!”

God smiled and said, “Come Home, My Son. I am well pleased, My Will You’ve done.”

Then Father and Son in joy embrace.  They’ve given the Cross to the human race!

 

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, Who was and is and is to come!”

 

“Aren’t you the little one that hid in my arms afraid of the thunder?  Are these the little hands that held so tight to mine?  Didn’t we both agree you’d never grow up, and now here we are and here you go? Of all the things I want to say, the thing you really need to know is, I believe in you. Everything you are. Everything you are becoming. I believe in you.” (Steven Curtis Chapman)

Tomorrow, my firstborn son – the child who made me a mother – will turn 21 years old.  I have to be honest and say that this week has been very emotional for me.  I can’t tell you how many times it has hit me and I’ve dissolved into tears.  I’m not sure if all moms go through this when their first child becomes an adult – a full-fledged, legal-in-the-eyes-of-the-world (and the law) actual ADULT. I’m not sure what is causing the emotional upheaval for me – he isn’t getting married, isn’t moving away from home…nothing much is changing except a number…so why does it feel so very much like EVERYTHING is changing?  Why do I feel as if I’m losing my boy? 

I guess, technically, I am losing my boy-son and gaining a man-son. I’ve never been the mother of a man before; I’m not sure I know how one mothers a man.  What if he doesn’t need me for advice anymore?  What if he does? Will I know what to say? I remember asking myself similar questions 21 years ago as I watched my belly grow with his new little life.  What if?  But, what IF?  I was terrified then, and I think I’m terrified now.  Then, of what I was gaining, and now, of what I might be losing.  It makes me sad to think that, as he ages, he won’t need me in the same way he has in the past.  Oh, over the years, as he has grown toward this milestone birthday, he has become increasingly independent – but something about this birthday feels different, transitional. I don’t think I like it. 

“So many prayers we’ve prayed; so many dreams to get to this moment. Now this is where we stay, while you go change the world. But I’ll be where I have always been – up in the stands, cheering you on, and singing this song. The song the very God Who made you has been singing all along, ‘I believe in you. Yeah, I believe in you.  So spread your wings and fly on the winds of knowing I always believe in you.’”

Ah, this man who is my son.  I’m so proud of him.  He has given me more gray hairs that I can count; the worry wrinkles on my brow are my tattoos of motherhood.  I haven’t been a perfect mother, which is perfect because he wasn’t always the perfect son.  Despite his missteps, occasional rebellion, and a thousand other gray hair and wrinkle producing behaviors, he was and always has been a good kid.  From a very young age, he decided that music was his future, and set his face like flint in that direction, learning as many instruments as he could get his hands on, teaching himself how to play them.  He practiced for hours in his room, door closed, over and over again until it was just so.  Then he would come out and play it for me.  He didn’t know that I had already been listening, ear pressed to his door, silently crouched in the hallway, unseen and unheard, my heart singing along.  He was – and is – dogged in his pursuit of perfection.  I am his biggest fan. 

“And when you rise and when you fall, I’ll still believe in you. Just close your eyes and hear me calling, ‘I believe in you. Oh, I believe in you!”

From his very first performance in front of a crowd – he was 8 or 9 years old, and he played Third Day’s “God of Wonders”, he has always been comfortable on a stage, in front of people. He has always had this intrinsic ability to draw in a crowd; to engage them, to encourage them to join him in song – or in worship. He can lead the people of God into worship, because he has known the place of worship. Even on the few occasions he has performed secular songs in various venues, he still interacts with the crowd and ensures that they are not just observers, but participants in the music.

His dreams are slowly but surely coming to fruition.  He is becoming known in ever-widening circles of musical-type people.  He is centered and based in the amazing worship team at our church.  That is his primary focus, as it should be, but he also now travels to lend his talents and skills to other worship leaders in surrounding areas, and even other states.  I’m so PROUD that he has chosen to pursue the Christian music industry as a singer/songwriter/worship leader.  His is a high calling, given by God at a very young age, and I have no doubt God will complete the work He began in my boy. 

If time shows that his dreams need to be reexamined, perhaps redefined a bit, I will still believe in him, wholeheartedly. That’s sort of my job as his mother, right?

Young mommy, cherish your sleepless nights, little toothless grins – or if your children are a little older, love the busy schedules, the endless homework, even the rolling eyes.  It all passes so quickly, and before you know it – before you’re ready – you’ll be facing a milestone birthday…the last single digit…the first “teen” year…DRIVER’S LICENSES…the first 20…and then, like me, 21.

It’s funny, as I began typing this two days ago, I truly was worried that I would become a part of his childhood, laid aside like his toys – another trapping of childhood no longer needed.  Today, as I pondered the way I could possibly end this Blahg with so many questions still remaining in my heart, my phone rang.  It was my man-son calling to tell me that his car had broken down about 40 miles from home as he traveled to play with our worship team at another church, and he didn’t know what to do.  I listened as he griped, as he told me I wasn’t helping with the advice I was giving him and I pointed out that it was because I was telling him what he needed to hear & do, not what he wanted to hear & do.  I was frustrated with him, and he with me….and soon I realized – yep…I’m still his mom.  A couple of numbers won’t change that.  There will always be help needed, advice to be given, and rescues to be orchestrated.  So, in true Mom fashion, I donned my cape (glad I hadn’t yet stored it away like a pressed rose!), secured he and his equipment a ride home with loving church family, and explained how we would handle getting him to a commitment early tomorrow morning.  Then, I gave him the phone number to Roadside Assistance.  You go, boy-man! You call that Tow Truck! J

I love how God answers our questions, and calms our uncertainties. I’m pretty sure He giggled as He orchestrated THIS rescue of this mom’s worried heart. I can almost hear Him whisper, “Oh, he will need you for a while yet…watch this…” Shhhhh…don’t tell my boy-man that I giggled along. 

Happy Birthday, Son.  You will always, always be my baby, and I will always, always be your Mom….even when you don’t want me to be.  I love you. 

“Physical training is good, but training for Godliness is much better, promising benefits in this life and in the life to come.”  1 Timothy 4:8

 

Reading that Scripture set me to pondering.  I don’t know about you, but the older I get, the more like a toad I feel.  The metabolism is slower, the weight is harder to lose, and the chins.  Let’s not even talk about the chins.  Okay, let’s talk about them a little..I have this no-so-irrational fear that one day I’m going to sneeze and my chins are going to inflate like a big old bullfrog.  Children are afraid their eyes will pop out when they sneeze.  Not me. I’m afraid of the chin balloon.

Getting older stinks.  My knees make noises, my back aches, my stomach seemingly tries to devour itself with acid, gravity has a ridiculous hold on body parts unmentionable (this is a family oriented Blahg after all).  Folks, I can hear myself wrinkling.

You know, in your car or your home, when a thermostat stops working properly, you replace it, yes?  I’m fairly certain my thermostat has gone out in this traitorous old body of mine.  One minute I’m chilly…the next, my hair is on fire. What is the deal??  Where exactly is this faulty thermostat located, and where can I buy a new one?  Jiminy Cricket – why is there no middle ground here?! 

What, you ask, does any of that have to do with the scripture posted at the top of this page?  Everything, I tell you. Everything.  I don’t LIKE being a toad.  I don’t LIKE getting older and dealing with the aches and pains, weakness and fatigue, sags and wrinkles of an aging body. I LOATHE the hot flashes.  My husband might tell you I have mood swings on top of all of that….he MIGHT…if he weren’t afraid of me…

Yeah, getting older stinks, and if you’re anything like me, you’re finding it increasingly difficult to manage “physical training”, or at the very least, you’ve altered the way you train your body to accommodate new weaknesses and pains.  That’s okay.  Getting older is part of living; we gain wisdom as we gain mileage.  I’m okay (ish) with that. 

Exercising your body is necessary to good heart health, increasing energy, regulating mood, lowering cholesterol, and strengthening aging muscles, among other things, yes.  But, the benefit is limited to this life – such a short time, really.  As the Scripture above tells us, it is training in Godliness that will benefit us not only here in our daily lives, but also in eternity. It is this training in Godliness that reveals to us the mind and heart of God toward us.  It is this training that steadies the heart, gives peace to the mind, and encourages the spirit.  It is this training that floods us with joy, fills us with promise, and works through us with power.  It is this training that allows us to become conduits of the Grace, Mercy, and Love of God to the world around us.  Training…what a funny word to use for an act of Love….we “train”(spend time in His Word, spend time in His Presence) because we love vertically – we love God, we desire to know Him as much as He can possibly be known this side of eternity…and, conversely, we love horizontally because we “train” vertically…we love people, we desire that they come to know Him so we “train” in order to be ministers – ADministering the Kingdom of God to the world around us.  This is the training that is eternal. 

Getting older stinks.  That’s just truth.  But physical age and ability mean nothing in the Kingdom.  It’s all about the heart of His People – toward Him, toward others. We learn because we love; we love because we’ve learned – and we do it all because He first loved us.  It’s pretty simple, really.  My body may fail me, but my Lord never will.  Because of His Faithfulness, I desire to be faithful. And so I train myself in Godliness, desiring the benefits that it brings for myself – and for others. 

Speaking of hot flashes – they are of God, you know.  See Revelation 3:16….apparently, there’s not supposed to BE any middle ground. 

Dang it. 

What shall I talk about today?  My brain is completely empty of ideas.  So, I sit here typing random words, watching the letters push the cursor across the blank page, hoping that inspiration comes. Funny how I long so much to write, yet struggle terribly with coming up with subject matter.  And the letters continue to push the cursor, and the brain continues to be blank.  I think about my every day, and how little time I have for just sitting here doing this.  Probably busy-ness is the culprit for my lack of creativity; I’m sure there’s a legitimate reason – I simply don’t have time to sit down and be creative unless I take the time.  Even now, I’m thinking of all the things that I should be up doing instead.  The things of life that are necessary for the every days to continue uninterrupted:  Laundry, dishwashing, cleaning…..the mundane tasks of living that get in the way of the things we’d rather be doing. 

I wonder how much of our lives are spent that way?  I wonder if God intends us to live in the mundane of the every days? I really think the answer to both of those questions is no. Oh, I know that God understands that every days are vital in our lives – we work, we do our chores, we go to school, we eat and sleep and do it all again tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.  I don’t think He is troubled by that.  But I do think He has more for us.  I think His Design for us is much more that we can imagine. 

It’s funny.  The two paragraphs above were started a week ago, early one morning. Then, as usual, I had to start my day, and never returned to finish my thoughts. Over the weekend, we had a guest speaker at church, and she answered my questions above.  She said, “You’ve got to learn to stand in the Glory, experience the Glory, yet still function in the earth.  Every day should be a supernatural occurrence.” ~Ruth Mangiacapre

Then she shared from Ephesians 5:15-20 which says, “So be careful how you live.  Don’t live like fools, but like those who are wise.  Make the most of every opportunity in these evil days.  Don’t act thoughtlessly, but understand what the Lord wants you to do.  Don’t be drunk with wine, because that will ruin your life. Instead, be filled with the Holy Spirit, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, and making music to the Lord in your hearts.  And give thanks for everything to God the Father in the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (NLT)

It isn’t easy.  We are, after all, bound by time; it’s just one of the complications of life this side of eternity. But it’s possible.  It’s even practical.  Think about it with me.  With man it’s not possible, but with God nothing is impossible, right (Matthew 19:26)?  In Him, we live and move and have our being, correct (Acts 17:28)?  We know these Scriptures.  They are as familiar to us as is John 3:16.  Have we truly considered them, though, as our means for living out our daily lives? Try to follow me here: If nothing is impossible with God, shouldn’t everything we do be “with God”?  If we live and move and have our being “in Him” – are we ever apart from Him?  Of course not.  So, if we are at all times “in Him”, then it follows that everything we do is “with God”. Do you see how those two Scriptures intertwine with each other, and with our daily lives?  Now, I know I’m no Bible scholar, and I’m probably grossly over-simplifying two very deep and meaningful Scriptures. I’ve often heard it said that the Word of God is like an onion, and you peel back layer after layer after layer as you delve deeper into each Scripture’s meaning….so bear with me while we look at the outer layers. You okay with simple?  Good.  Me, too.  I like simple.  It fits me.  J

I know. I KNOW.  Easier said than done.  You’re so not telling me anything I don’t already know. Let me tell you, though.  I know people.  People who live each day of their lives in just this way.  Full of the Spirit of God, walking in Kingdom Authority, accomplishing amazing things for God – and live out their every days getting done all the things that life demands of them.  Actually, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that a few of them are like Dash from The Incredibles, able to move at speeds that aren’t visible to the naked eye. 

Oh sure, as with anything, there’s a learning curve to this lifestyle.  It’s a shift in our thinking, a setting in place a list of priorities, perhaps scheduling out our days or weeks. How we accomplish it will look different for each one of us, simply because our every days are so radically different.  How easy it would be if there were a formula to it.  We don’t serve a formulaic God, however, so life in His Service won’t be spelled out that way.  “After all, He’s not a tame Lion…but He is good.” I think that is pretty much the crux of the matter.  He is good.  He desires more for our lives. He desires that we accomplish great things for Him as well as accomplish the duties of our every days.  Now, lest you worry that a “great thing for God” only consists of a trip to Myanmar to feed orphans or something, keep in mind that God tells us that, “WHATEVER you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord rather than for people (Col. 3:23).” And “I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it for Me (Matt. 25:40).”  Something else our guest speaker said this weekend, “We deal with our lives as days, but God deals in them as seasons.”  No matter what season you happen to be in today, there is a purpose for it, and God still desires you to do great things for Him.  Whether it is cleaning a tiny little bottom & wiping a runny nose before it drips down into a snaggle-toothed smile, or laying hands on the sick & watching them recover – the season you are in is God’s Design for your every days right now.  They won’t always look this way; seasons change, and the tasks that we are called to do each day change with them. Treasure your season. Live and move and BE in Him, because there is nothing impossible as long as you are with Him. You ARE accomplishing great things – even the tiny things are great when they’re done for Him and with Him.

Authors Note: Yes.  Sometimes my Blahg meanders along with my mind, and what began as one topic may swing into something different before I’m finished with it.  My fingers follow my mind, just as the letters follow the cursor….or do the letters push the cursor?  Either way, when you read my Blahg, read it as a conversation – we’re just talking, you & I.  Just as a conversation flows from topic to topic, bending, twisting, turning and returning, so you’ll find that my Blahg often does the same, and I write exactly as if I were just talking to you.  I hope it’s not all too confusing.

3/2/2015

 

Today is my 49^th birthday.  It’s hard to believe, really.  I don’t FEEL 49.  Well, okay, maybe in body…but definitely not in mind or spirit.  I still feel like a young person – maybe mid 20’s?  I like to think of myself as young at heart, with a reasonably sharp mind, and youthful spirit.  Heck, I like to THINK of myself as a size 8, with sharp eyesight, smooth skin, and muscle tone.  I reckon it’s my thinking and I can do it any way I want, right? 

 

Yep. I’m getting older.  Hopefully wiser is going along with that at a comfortable pace.  I’m not yet to the “repeating stories” age.  I’m thankful for that.  Plus, I’m not yet to the “repeating stories” age…so clearly I’m not old.  There’s a difference between being old and just getting older.  Let me give you some examples:  My dad is at the “repeating stories” age.  My mom is at the “can’t remember if I told you this story” age.  My husband is at the “you did NOT tell me that” age.  Me – I’m just at the “I was going to tell you something, but forgot what it was” age.  My oldest son is at the “you can’t tell me anything” age, and my youngest is at the “yeah, yeah, I know. You already told me that; I get it!” age.

I’ll tell you another age that I’ve reached…the age where I wonder what my legacy will be.  As a mother, I know that part of my legacy will be in my children, and in their children and so forth.  My Davey is well on his way to living out the dreams he has always had of being a singer/songwriter/musician/worship leader.  I remember walking into the living room one day when he was about 4 years old.  There was a video playing of an old contemporary Christian group, 4-Him, singing a song called “A Man You Would Write About”, and there was my Davey, standing in front of the TV, both hands in the air singing the lyrics to this song at the top of his lungs.  “I wanna be a man that You would write about. Oh, a thousand years from now that they could read about – The servant of choice in whom You found favor – a man who heard Your Voice.”  Oh, his journey here to this place of purpose hasn’t been easy or smooth.  The boy built his testimony; I’ll give him that.  Let me break down the word for you – Test, I moany (or money!).  But he has come out on the other side with an understanding of Grace, Mercy, and the unmerited Favor & Love of God that I truly believe he will carry the rest of his days – and share with others through his passion for music that glorifies God.  I’m proud to have him as part of my legacy. 

My Daniel, also, is a huge part of my legacy.  Because he’s still in high school, we don’t yet know what path he will choose for his life, but we can look back and see that his life has been a testimony to perseverance, patience, and love.  From a very young child with few words, and a host of the idiosyncrasies that accompany autism, to a young man who consistently tests at the top of his class in all things language oriented, has friends, an amazing talent at drawing, singing, and songwriting (which he is often too shy to share – but trust me – he’s every bit as talented musically as his brother!), who hopes someday to be a computer animator, creating his own characters & story lines…Daniel’s life is a testament to the power of prayer and sheer determination.  (Hey, Pixar! In a few years, have I got a guy for you!!)

So, indeed – my children are truly a part of my legacy.  They’re also my current retirement plan, but that’s a different blahg all together!

There’s nothing like a birthday to fire up the old introspective mood, is there?  “Dude, I’m 49 years old, and what do I have to show for it?”  It’s easy to look outward – at your children – and see that you weren’t a perfect parent, but you were okay and they’re okay and it’s all gonna be okay. Someone – couldn’t tell ya who – said, “There are only two lasting bequests we can give our children. One is roots.  The other is wings.”  I think, hope, PRAY – I’ve done that…. But it’s the looking inward – realllllly looking inward – that gets scary.  Man, I don’t want to leave the earth and stand before God with nothing to show Him for the time that He has given me here. Erma Bombeck once said, “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything You gave me’.” There’s my heart, right there. 

 

It can be concerning, this introspection.  It doesn’t have to be.  What does God ask of me?  Micah 6:8 spells it out, “O people, the Lord has told you what is good, and this is what He requires of you:  to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” Oh, those are not the ONLY things He asks of us – but I think all the specifics stem from these generalities.  Bear each other’s burdens, take up my cross & follow Him, love as He did, be His Hands & Feet, give, grow, seek His Face, worship Him alone, be courageous, defend the weak, be kind, don’t worry, be faithful, stand firm trusting Him, preach the Word, avoid evil, embrace righteousness, be honest, know Him.  The list goes on and on…it looks pretty intimidating, huh?  Really – really – it’s just about Love.  Loving like Jesus did.  Loving Him, loving others, and seeing ourselves through His Eyes enough to know who we are in Him so that we can love Him, love others, and see ourselves through His Eyes….you get the picture? 

I think, perhaps, Legacy is not so much about having the world remember US when we’re gone, but more about how the world views Him because our lives were lived in a way that pointed to Him.  Charles Spurgeon once said, “A good character is the best tombstone. Those who love you, and were helped by you, will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered.  Carve your name on hearts, not on marble.” And I think that’s really the crux of this thing Legacy.  In the grand scheme of things, it’s not about how we are remembered.  It’s about how HE is remembered because we lived.  My life – your life – is about how we walk with God.  My Legacy – your Legacy – is about who we touched for God.  One life touched with the Love of God by a Lover of God will echo not only throughout the history of earth, but throughout eternity as well.  They become our Legacy – a hundred years from now, our names may not be heard in the halls of memory, except perhaps in Family Tree listings…but a hundred years from now, there will be someone alive who is a Lover of God simply because someone you once touched, touched someone else..and so forth and so on – until time passes away and we stand before God all joined together, dots all connected, lines all drawn – and we see clearly our Legacy and know that it always was and always will be about Him.