2012: The Year of the Chisel

Artist Tony Calderone's hand

Artist Tony Calderone’s hand

For me, 2012 is the year of the chisel. Have a few minutes? Let’s watch this video together.

God’s Chisel by the Skit Guys

I thought it was living in such a small town where my history stalked me in every grocery store aisle and restaurant. CLINK.

I thought it was being convinced I was a triangle peg in the very square holes of my community; be it Starbucks, church, my kids school or Wal-Mart. CLINK.

I thought it was the crushing debt and poverty thinly veiled behind my cheerful smile where 123 Never Enough, Dead End America became my address. CLINK.

I thought it was the hangover from so many crushing losses. The previous two years took so many pieces of my heart, I wondered how it continued to beat. Family, friendships, and dreams all boxed and buried beneath sickness, betrayal and misunderstanding. CLINK.

All these became tools in the hands of the One.  The One who took me seriously when asked, from the filthy floor of a stockroom, to make something of a life worth nothing. His response? He began to chisel.

Lysa Teurkeurst in her book, “Unglued”, talked about this process of chiseling. She writes, in the section “The Unfinished Sculpture”, of the journey of Michelangelo’s sculpture of David.

david

The sculpture was actually begun before Michelangelo was even born! “The 19 foot block of marble had originally been the project of an artist named Agnostino di Duccio, but after shaping some of the legs, feet, and torso, he inexplicably abandoned the work.” Ten years later, another artist was hired to finish it but his contract was cancelled. 25 years after that, a young 26-year-old Michelangelo, “picked up a chisel and dared to believe he could complete a masterpiece.”

For more than two years the artist ate, slept and breathed the sculpture. He literally slept in the same room with the piece of marble. “I saw the angel in the marble,” he said, “and carved until I set him free. When asked how he made such a magnificent statue, Michelangelo said, ‘It is easy. You just chip away at the stone that doesn’t look like David.”

I thought I was a victim of circumstance and poor choice.  God saw an opportunity to chip away at the places which held me captive.  He removed the hard places which don’t look like me-the Me He originally created. He loves me enough to chisel at the stone around my heart, soul and mind.

It’s been painful.  It’s still a work in progress.  However, it’s progress.

Today, this first day of 2013.  I begin it hopeful.  I begin it more free.  I begin it more fully formed, thankful for some of the hard pieces having been chiseled away.  There is oh so much more to be chiseled.  At least, for now, I dare to believe it is to complete a masterpiece.

I pray you too would allow the One who designed you to pick up his chisel and find the Masterpiece inside your life.

How do I pray?

praying-hands-e1305028683867

In the aftermath of the tragedy in Connecticut, I find myself asking God a critical question.  It isn’t “Why?” or “Whose fault?” or “What’s to Blame?”  Rather it is, “How do I pray?”

How do I pray when it seems that God was absent in His promised protection over the little ones?

How do I pray when it seems the killer was a young man with deep problems?

How do I pray when I simply cannot become comfortable with the reality of evil preying upon children?

I want to know how I can pray differently for my kids.  Time with them is more precious than gold.  How can I waste not an ounce?

I want to know how I can pray for all the families affected.  From first responders to those left with no responses I want to know how to pray.

I want to know how to dislodge the band of panic which is wrapped around my heart.  At the slightest sound, call or moment away, I wonder if I will see them again.

Lysa TerKeurst wrote a blog asking the same question I did.  Her response was heart-achingly beautiful.  Read it here: How Do I Pray

I’ll pray for the chasms to be filled.

How will you pray?

When Mother Mode Isn’t Enough

On a break from holiday decorating, I clicked on news headlines.  In Connecticut children died this morning in their classroom.  A mother was shot as was her son, the shooter.  An Administrator was gunned down while giving announcements.  In a school.  On a Friday.  11 days before Christmas.

Between tears all I could breathe was, “Dear Jesus help them.”

My last post was called  Mother Mode .  It dealt with being able to jump in, save the day and overcome all sorts of adversity.  A tragedy such as what is unfolding before us in CT can never be overcome.  Mother Mode and the highest safety standards for public schools wasn’t enough.

Sometimes in the face of inexplicable evil we are not enough.  It’s a fact we seldom consider and never discuss.  This frailty of our human condition.  This life which is governed by autonomic responses (read: automatic with no real explanation why) to even  breathe.  This fleeting existence which, in the span of time to pull a trigger, can be ended.

It should humble us and cause us to recognize our need for a supernatural outpouring.  For the families and community in CT an outpouring of grace, strength and peace.   For those seeking answers and justice an outpouring of wisdom.  For us an outpouring for loving abundantly in every precious moment those we love and who have been given to us to love.

Though I am hundreds of miles away, I want to jump in my car and speed to my little Christian school in the field.  I want to embrace my sons and fold them into myself so that nothing and no one could ever harm them.  I can’t.

Instead, I’ll pray for a supernatural outpouring.  I’ll pray to be more the mother I was created to be and less the mother I think I should be.  I’ll pray they get to live a long and messy and happy life full of adventures.  I’ll pray to set aside the ‘shoulds’ and ‘musts’ and make time to play.  I’ll pray for the other mothers, who will not get to rush to the bus and hug their babies as I will today.

When Mother Mode isn’t enough.  God has to be.  He simply does.

Mommy Mode

The tinkly, brittle crash of glass.  In my retail store, where I work part-time, that spells trouble.  Crash accompanied by a crying child spells disaster.

I ran over a few customers to get there.  A ginormous bell-jar had toppled and splintered all over the middle of the store when a child reached into it.  Thankfully the little girl, all gussied up in her “Go to Santa” photo clothes, was spared any injury.  Only seconds later I was not and ended up dripping blood all over my growing pile of glass.

My co-worker, an amazing Speech Pathology graduate student, said, “You went straight into Mommy-Mode.”  It made me stop picking up shards for a minute to think.

Mommy-Mode = action.  I had to clean up the mess and secure the child.  I didn’t think twice about grabbing jagged daggers of glass to keep the children and other customers from doing so.

Mommy-Mode= comfort.  Days before this incident I found myself wrapped around my 5-year-old.  We were standing in front of the toilet and he was enduring his first bout of stomach flu.  I didn’t hesitate to hug his heaving frame to my chest.  I cheered him on when he was calm.  I changed my shirt and cuddled next to his fevered body the rest of the night.

Mommy-Mode = attention.  While my son slept after being sick in the bathroom, I did not.  I stayed awake for hours.  I watched him sleep.  I kissed his forehead.  I listened to his breathing.  I tucked him again and again.

I can’t help thinking about “Mommy Mode” being a weaker version of what the “Father Mode” is from Heaven.  I forget how often He has chosen to remove the jagged shards of broken soul or shattered dream from my heart.  Too quickly I believe it was I who avoided that accident or screw up at work or other problem which miraculously worked itself out.  My head becomes wearied from holding it up rather than resting it upon the chest of the One whose heartbeat keeps mine going.

Tonight, I’ll ask for Him to go into Father Mode.  And I’ll wait until I feel arms around me and a kiss on my forehead.  Tonight I pray you do too.

Eating Less of the Thanksgiving Goodies

Thanksgiving Goodies

 

Thanksgiving is officially over.  Only half the leftovers remain and I have my eye on them for pocket pies.  The eating frenzy has continued days past the actual holiday.  Today, breakfast was “Grandmother Elkins Caramel Cake”.  Lunch was chips and dip.  Dinner was an amazing Thanksgiving strata (think everything on the plate smushed into layers and casseroled).    Not good for my goal of eating less, not good at all.

I frequently turn to food as my drug of choice, this holiday I was like an alcoholic spending her days in a vat of Jack Daniels.  I, shockingly, found no need to medicate.  I was happy.  I was full.  I was satisfied.

Aside from aching joints and a second trimester belly, I remain disturbingly in good health despite my eating frenzies.  I can be thankful that I still have a chance to right this ship and set her on a course for greener pastures and slimmer silhouettes.

At the blog, The Story Project, Ashley Beaudin, describes how she is building a better relationship with food.    Check it out here: Food and I Have An Ugly Relationship

When I read the blog, for the third time, one line stood out in three-dimensional relief: “I am not going to starve and heart doesn’t need donuts and pop to survive.” I am still dubious on pop not being necessary.  However, the two points remain powerful.

First, I am not going to starve.  Even if all the food suddenly disappeared from my house today, I have enough reserves in my body to last a very, very long time.

Second, my heart doesn’t need junk to survive.  It needs the divine embrace of grace.  It needs to laugh and chase kids.  It needs sleep.  It needs to play and pray with friends.  It does not need donuts.

It’s my relationship with food which is the problem.  It’s my relationship to myself and the role food plays in it which is the real source of the challenges.

As the holidays continue to barrel towards me like an Accela train, I believe I will gift myself something.  I’ll give myself the gift of loving myself more abundantly and praying more so that I can finally-eat less.

What gift will you give your heart this holiday season?

Frosty Basketball

I have over 12,000 words to get out in the next two weeks.

I am hosting Thanksgiving and I swear the carpet stains are conspiring to rise up and eat the dog.

I work a part time job in a store in the midst of the busy holiday season.

I am a full time Mom whose husband works 60+ hours a week.

To say there is much going on would be an understatement.

I needed to put in a couple hours this morning on a contract due in three days. It’s a complicated federal proposal.  I am working with a group of about 10 practitioners in a field I have never worked in. I woke up hardly able to breathe.

Of course, it would be THIS morning, my oldest would forget how to move forward, listen and problem solve how to get dressed/brush teeth/tie shoes.

It would also be THIS morning I would have to run out of coffee.

This blog explores eating less, praying more and loving abundantly. This morning, I nearly ate the entire box of donuts, rendering my mouth incapable of praying around the fatty sugary goodness. Loving a smart-aleck, sleepy and slow-as-molasses 9 year old, was a tad less than abundant.

As I returned from speeding to the school and back, my five year old asked me to play “Frosty Basketball” in the driveway.  In my head reverberated the scream, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”.  Out of my mouth came, “Sure!”  I set a timer and made clear when it rang, we would be done.

We played one-on-a half (my son is only 3 feet tall) for 20 minutes until the cold made our fingers too painful to play.  I thought, as I sat down to finally work, I would be in pain for not having spent the previous hour nose attached to the screen.  Instead, I found my head to be clear and my heart light.

I’m behind on the work a bit, however, I know I’ll catch up.  I feel stronger and ready to tackle the challenge.

There’s something about taking a pause to play which thaws our often frozen hearts.  I will never forget my son’s giggles as I used the ‘tickle defense’.  I can still feel his little arms around my waist as he celebrated making the shot.

How will you pause to play today?  Is there a frosty basketball hoop which could use your attention?  Your heart sure could.

Political Prom Kings

This is a short diversion from the focus of eating less, praying more and loving abundantly.  It will focus on less BS, more wisdom and voting abundantly (unlike in Chicago where people vote repeatedly).

I’ve been taking in all the political rhetoric.  As a writer, I pay attention to how words are used and what is the affect.  The ‘silly season’ of elections is ground zero for using words to persuade.

There is much said about independents.  These are the voters not ‘married’ to any particular political party.  They are also the ones, so says the political pundit class, who will decide the election.

Today, a little less than 24 hours before election day, there remains folks who simply can’t make up their minds.

There are also those who will choose the next leader of the free world based on the following criteria.

1.  I want a guy in the oval office who is just like me.

2.  I want a guy in the office who ‘feels my pain’ and understands my life.

3.  I want a guy in the office who will take care of me and give me things when I need them.

Let me fill you in.  The guy who gets to the oval office, irrespective of party affiliation, is nothing like you.  To get into the oval office a man has to raise and have access to millionaires and billionaires who will fund the expansive machinery of elections.  He has to have a pedigree of the ‘right’ schools where he makes the ‘right’ connections and marries the ‘right’ woman.  He is nothing like you.  One candidate is a millionaire many times over who is a CEO.  A CEO runs the show, and can sell it off without hesitation.  He isn’t a worker like you and me.   The other candidate is one raised largely in an anti-colonialist, super-progressive milieu in which the American experience was largely defined by those trying to dismantle the very institutions you and I take for granted.  THEY ARE NOT LIKE YOU OR ME.

Neither one has ever struggled to pay a bill.  Neither one had student loans it took them into their 40’s to pay off.  Neither one was fired-from anything.  Doors were opened for them because the powerful (see previous paragraph) decided they would be in office and in power someday.  They haven’t had doors slammed in their face.  They haven’t had to make a choice between paying the bills or feeding the kids.  Neither one understands the average, middle class experience because they have never been average or middle class.  THEY CAN’T FEEL YOUR PAIN OR UNDERSTAND YOUR LIFE.

Have you been to the DMV lately?  Have you tried to work through a mistake at the Social Security Office?  Have you ever tried to work with a veteran teacher who knows they are protected by seniority?  It’s like pounding your head against a wall and wondering why you have a headache.  They aren’t responsive or kind or even efficient-because they don’t have to be.  They have a job no matter what.  You want to rely on THEM to take care of you?  The other fact?  Every dollar the government spends is provided in two ways.  $0.47 of every dollar comes from taxes and fees collected by the government.  THE OTHER $0.53 CENTS IS BORROWED and owned by countries and foreign interests that are neither democratic nor very friendly.  You want the President to take care of you?  THEY CAN’T TAKE CARE OF YOU BECAUSE THEY PRESIDE OVER A GOVT. THAT IS FLAT, BUSTED BROKE.  (Click here for the link to a lengthy article explaining the debt further:  Understanding the Debt)

Presidential elections have become nothing more than billion dollar (yes, the candidates each will spend close to that in this cycle) beauty contest.  They say what they think we want to hear.  The sad part is, we believe them.

Please understand we are not voting for Prom King.  We are voting for the next leader of the free world.  Please set aside your need for them to be just like you, feel your pain or to take care of you.  Read, research and ask questions.  Ask questions of yourself, the candidate and your neighbor.  When you get the answers then vote.

Me?  I’m voting for the one who will protect what I want protected and grow what I think needs grown.  It doesn’t matter who, just know I have done my research.  By the way, I am also crossing party lines in some local races.  I’m cross-party voting because I am informed and the answers lead me to cross the aisle.

Please vote.

I am JC Servant and I approved this message.

Praying More is Plugging In

Saw this on FB today and was inspired to write.

Sign reads: “We have power. Please feel free to charge your phone.”

This family has the power.  They choose to share it.  They made a way for people to easily connect.  They didn’t ask for anything in return.  Their power will make it possible for others to connect to those around them. This is an absolute and utter genius of a modern Christian allegory.

Christianity is simple.  We can live good lives and do good things yet it’s not enough.  We are all separated from God by our inherent selfishness and penchant for destruction.  Yet, by Jesus sacrificing all, we are able to gain all.    “5 I am the Vine; you are the branches. Whoever lives in Me and I in him bears much (abundant) fruit. However, apart from Me [cut off from vital union with Me] you can do nothing.” (John 15:5 AMP)  Simple.

When we decide to ‘plug in’ to the One who made us in the first place, we have the ability to do so much more than we can do on our own.  In fact, from God’s perspective, we can do nothing apart from Him.

The church, meaning the collective body of Believers who may or may not worship together in a building, should be like this family.  The church should have more ‘power’ than the rest of the neighborhood and the world.  The church should share what they have in a way that’s easy for people to connect.  The church shouldn’t ask for anything in return, because they didn’t purchase the ‘power’ in the first place.

So many would try to tell you the church isn’t as it should be.  There are too many stories where the church is full of greedy, crazy, judgemental wackadoodles utterly convinced their first name is Jesus and their middle name Holy Spirit.  The ‘brand’ of Christianity is marred by judgement, cliqueishness and knee jerk reactions to cultural phenomenon.  Or it’s squishy, anemic and unrecognizable from the current culture in the name of ‘relevance’.  Whether judging or joining, the church so often doesn’t demonstrate it is truly ‘plugged’ in to power.

How do we know we are plugged in?  Things happen.  Power is released.  Luke 8:43-48 is a remarkable illustration of what happens when a person ‘plugs in’.  It’s also my favorite story from the New Testament.  You should check it out. READ THE VERSES HERE:  *Pressing Through the Crowd to Get Plugged In

Things happen, such as prayers get answered.  John 15:5-8a (MSG), “I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon. This is how my Father shows who he is…”

Part of the impetus for this blog project-lessmoreabundantly-was the recognition I was dead wood.  The harvest in my life was choked out by weeds.  Whatever I asked didn’t come to pass.  In fact, the exact opposite would often occur.  I didn’t have the kind of “intimate and organic” relationship referred to in the previous scripture.  When I think of intimate and organic, I think of time with my kids or friends, unscripted, loving and deep.  There were moments of this, but not an abiding connection with God.

Now, I am tossing the deadwood out of my own life. Sharing my journey with you is another opportunity to grow my own harvest.  Hopefully, these entries will help you to toss some twigs of your own.

Like this family, I am digging out my cords and plugging in.  How will you plug-in?  How will you share what you have flowing through your life?

 

Plug In!

Loving Abundantly: For No Particular Reason

For years, I have asked my husband why he loves me.  His answer has always been, “I don’t have a particular reason.  I just do.”  And for years my feelings would be hurt.  I wanted a reason.

I wanted more than a reason.  I wanted the words, the flowery testimony of how wonderful, beautiful, transcendent and ethereal we are together.  My love language is words of affirmation.  I crave the words.

Last night I figured out a powerful truth which fits with the part of this project in loving abundantly.  HE DOESN’T NEED A REASON.  He simply chooses to love me.

Reasons such as size or age, the money I make or spend, what I do for him in or out of the bedroom.  All these are reasons which, over time or through neglect, can change everything.

He doesn’t need a reason because a long time ago, in the face of a tearful, overly-dramatic English and theatre major, he made a decision.  He chose to love me.   And he hasn’t stopped choosing every day of our lives.

Do we always like each other?  Nope.  Plenty of reasons to fight, feud and stew.  Do we always act like we love each other?  Nope, I’m pretty sure my affection for sarcasm, sweatpants and his addiction to sports and sasquatch shows prevents many lovey-dovey moments.

Through depression, debt and disappointment he still chooses.  And for no particular reason, I do too.

Who do you love abundantly and for no particular reason, just because you choose to?

Sing a Song

Quietly, in the late of the evening, when a hush falls on the house as the dog (and probably Dad) snore contentedly on the couch- my son asked me how he could get closer to God.  His eyes filled with tears as he told me how much he longed to feel God.  Since then I have taken every opportunity to encourage him in his own journey to pray more and be loved abundantly by a Creator who said unless we are like little children we will not see the Kingdom of Heaven.

A key to praying more and loving abundantly, for me, often includes music.   I once was part of a worship team and had some of my most intimate times with God with a mic in my hand.

I’ve long since hung up my mic.  However, worship and singing are still a major part of my praying more.

This morning, as we sang quietly during prayer time at church, I joined in, eyes closed and heart open.  My heart filled and I looked over to the ginger haired miracle tucked under my wing.

I heard an angel.

My stoic, easily mortified by his mother son was singing.  He was worshiping in his nine-year old voice.  There was never a more beautiful sound in all of creation-not to me.

It was a small, high-pitched and powerful answer to prayer-his and my own.

Tonight I pray you would sing your song and hear His too.