Ruthful

I didn’t know why I couldn’t call her mom; she gave me a choice, so I called her by her name, Ruth.  It was 1984 and truth be told, I hadn’t even thought about what I would call my mother-in-law.  She was gracious and kind to me, but I hardly knew her.  It also felt like I would infringe on my own mother’s high ground, and I wasn’t emotionally ready to do that.  If this offended her, I would never know because she continues to be gracious and kind.

For most of us the word “Mom” is considered an endearment, more than it is a noun, and by the world’s standard it would appear that not calling her so would mean that I have less feelings for her. As I settle into this thought I can see how traces of regret could build momentum and create guilt, but honestly after all these years, I feel I have gained something even more special. 

I have a “Ruth” in my life and like the Biblical character that chose to follow her mother-in-law, I too have been inspired by mine. More than a proper noun, the word ruth is an adjective that means compassionate (ex: ruthful as opposed to ruthless).  Ruth lives up to her name and is so much more than an endearment to me.  For over 30 years her love has kept company with godly virtues and is rendered as grace and kindness.  She is also a prayer warrior like no other, and I do not discount the decades of her prayers that have covered me: The prayer of a righteous person are powerful and effective. (James 5:16)

All the more credit goes to her during times when I said stupid things that have insulted her; like suggesting the clock she bought my husband hang in the garage. Yes I really did that! Or the many times she covered my mother-melt downs with grace and a patient, “She’s just a little stressed” remark.  You can’t know how humbled I am by how well she has loved me in the face of my flaws, and I certainly can’t dismiss the incredible self-control it took for her to do it so well. 

Early on in my marriage I would only see Ruth on holidays.  When I had my first son, I decided that I wanted him to know his other grandma better, so I began to visit her every Monday.  One Monday, in her gracious way, she asked if I had any errands to run, and offered to watch the baby.  I took her up on that and eventually this turned into their day together, and this stay-at-home mom’s day off!  I cannot tell you what kind of medicine this was for my soul!

Ruth is a simple, low-maintenance woman who lives for Jesus, and that’s that. Everyone in her life gets the benefit of that faith and moral compass.   As much as I try to plumb the depths of her spirit, I find that her deep waters are the same as her shallow shores; it is all about Jesus.  Whether or not she was cut from the cloth that makes great servants, or if her heart commands her will to be a great servant, I don’t know, but that is what you get from Ruth.  She is a hands and feet gal.  Quick with help, followed by encouragement.  She will get it done, and it will be for God’s glory. 

As a mother-in-law she was silent in our family affairs (a wisdom not to be understated), but there was a time she had a parenting suggestion.  One day when I dropped my 2 year old off by her for their weekly visit, she had 3 items laying on the couch; a thin tree branch, a narrow, white, plastic, women’s belt, and a wooden spoon.  She told me to choose one to use when my son got out of hand. Unprepared, and quite a bit shocked by her proposition, I just stood there.  She encouraged me again to pick one and when I used it, not to hit his diapered backside, but to whack the back of his legs so he would feel it!  I was speechless – there was no way I would ever do that, but instead of telling her that, I respectfully chose the spoon. 

Through the years the “Grandma Ruth” spoon became ridiculously notorious.  It was used as a threat by everyone, even the other Grandma, but was never deployed by anyone.  This may sound shocking to you, using a spoon to discipline a toddler, but this was Ruth helping and encouraging in her most simple, albeit generationally different, way.  Going along and choosing the spoon may not have been the right decision in some eyes, but honest to goodness, having someone else validate me and my motherhood struggles was soooo encouraging.  She affirmed me without belittling me and she equipped me!  I felt loved beyond words when I walked out that door.  In her good nature, Ruth will chuckle about the Grandma Ruth spoon along with the rest of us, but I doubt she will ever fully know how much she saved me that day. 

Ruth turns 90 years old this week.  I think of nearly a century’s worth of people that she has touched and has blessed… and let me tell you they all would say they were blessed!  I am reminded that a life lived for Christ can actually be lived out quite simply.  Ruth has showed me this.  Ruth has given me gifts beyond measure, but she has given me an even greater lesson of simple, consistent faith expressing itself in love.  Simple. Faith. Love. Grace. Kindness. Compassion. Ruth!   

Recently at a family gathering I was complimented by my sister about what a good mother-in-law I was, (or appeared to be in her eyes).  I told her I have the greatest role model, Ruth. When friends complain with dominating or stingy stories of their mother-in-law’s, I have a different story.  I have a ruthful story.  A story of a woman who stands apart from everyone else in my life because of her love for Christ and the enduring, simple life of love she chooses to live because of him.  I have been indelibly changed because of that love, and can’t help but witness about this woman; who some call mom, some call grandma, and some call friend.  I call her Ruth, and for the record, I am extremely honored to do so!

A Hard Thanks

At a recent Thanksgiving gathering of friends, I read Psalm 100; my "go to" Scripture for Thanksgiving. I quickly grabbed it off my phone, not realizing what translation was selected.

Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth!
²     Serve the Lord with gladness!
    Come into his presence with singing!

³ Know that the Lord, he is God!
    It is he who made us, and we are his;
    we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

⁴ Enter his gates with thanksgiving,
    and his courts with praise!
    Give thanks to him; bless his name!

⁵ For the Lord is good;
    his steadfast love endures forever,
    and his faithfulness to all generations.

This is the English Standard Version (ESV), which I rarely use.  As I was reading it, I couldn’t help but notice how many exclamation points there were. I commented that I couldn’t recall another Scripture with so many exclamation points.  This made the entire feeling of the Scripture new to me.  It was so effusive with joy and praise.  It appeared so energized with happiness that I couldn’t help but feel the difference.

The reason I really noticed this was because I had had the thought of a hard thanks on my mind for the last few weeks.  What I mean by a hard thanks is the ability to be grateful and give thanks even when life stinks, when loss overwhelms and when injustice reigns.  I have too many friends and family who are walking through crisis and illness.  I see crippled hearts that cling to hope and pray for grace and yet the circumstances in their lives continue to stink, losses still overwhelm and injustice persists.  Some things just aren’t right, and it’s hard to have a grateful heart in the midst of it all! 

When I think about being thankful in hard circumstances, the memory of my mom passing away comes to mind. Her exit wasn’t peaceful, her body went through some scary stuff. Never having been beside someone who was fighting death to the end, it was pretty traumatic for me.  Sitting there, in a heap of inconsolable tears, I prayed to God.  I was angry, despondent, and I felt abandoned.  He didn’t grant my prayers… He didn’t heal her… Yet while my heart stood dazed with all the things that God didn’t do, my head knew who God was and knew that He loved me.  I knew about the promise of eternity, that hard-won provision given to us by Christ.  It was from that perspective of hope that my prayer was launched.  I thanked God, for God.  I told Him my heart was breaking, but that I loved Him and knew that He never promised to preserve our earthly bodies.  I offered my sacrifice of praise.  Even in the midst of loss, I held on to the greatest gain.  I had Him and I still had my mom.  One day I’d be face to face with each of them.  Despite my depths of despair I praised Him.

The only reason I was able to step into that hard thanks was because I had recently read Hebrews 13:15, Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise – the fruit of lips that confess his name. At the time I didn’t fully understand how praise could be a sacrifice, but as I sat in that moment, the meaning came into full view.  I had been well accustomed with loss in my life, but not sacrifice.  What had I ever freely given up except denying myself a brownie or cookie?  And honestly, I wasn’t very good at that!  Yet as I sat in my devastation I realized it was an opportunity to give up my anger, despondency, and loneliness.  So I chose to, and when I said that prayer, that act of sacrifice led me into a deeper intimacy with God.  That moment brought with it humility and dependence.  Like a discarded piece of paper, it wadded up my argument with the list of wrongs I was entitled to, but relinquished.  Instead, I chose God.  I chose His perspective.  I chose His will.  I chose to trust in Him. 

One act of thanksgiving, when things go wrong with us, is worth a

thousand thanks when things are agreeable to our inclinations. 

Saint John of Avila

Over the years I’ve learned to hold everything loosely.  Loss is an inevitability with age.  This perspective isn’t meant to be a downer, it’s meant to acknowledge the riches that stream in and out of our lives and point to The One who blesses us with them.   The One who is exuberantly celebrated with exclamation points in the Psalm above. 

I can easily punctuate the gifts in my life with exclamation points, yet I still struggle with using them in seasons of loss.  When I neglect those exclamation points, I miss out on selflessly honoring what was lost and The One who granted them in the first place.  The practice of a hard thanks is rooted in verse 5, For the Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations.  As far as I’m concerned, this last verse is the one that truly deserves an exclamation point! 

So this Thanksgiving, whether in abundance or loss, I pray you can put an exclamation point after the gratitude you feel for a God who freely offers His goodness, His steadfastness, His enduring love, and His faithfulness to every generation of your family, no matter the circumstances. 

As I count my blessings this holiday, allow me to count you!  I’m really so grateful that you read my blog and hope that you are transformed by what God has put on my heart to share.  Be blessed!

As a certified Christian Life Coach I can help you move from where you are to where God wants you to be. If you are looking to gain clarity and get 'unstuck' then let’s chat. I'd love to be your champion in what God is calling you to do!  

The Beach

“Get out! Get out!” The words ripped through my throat as I stood paralyzed, thigh high deep in the ocean.  I screamed over the roar of the waves and the din of vacationers to my 10 year old son, floating on his boogie board.  Unbeknownst to him, a few yards deeper, a dark fin was steadily slicing through the water.  My mouth and my arms were the only things that could move.  As I frantically called and waved him in, I was astounded at how the panic had gripped my legs and stopped me from rushing to his rescue. I just kept thinking, “I’m his mother, I need to grab him and bring him in.”, which then activated the mom-guilt that sniped, “What kind of mother are you?”  Never before had fear ever seized me like that!  Never before had I ever felt so small and impotent. Fortunately, my son paddled in to safety and whatever it was that was behind him disappeared.

Admittedly, I am a first generation JAWS movie-goer, which might explain most of this. Typically though, I’m not afraid of much.  I’m an adventurer and I especially love to adventure in the ocean; snorkeling, scuba diving and even snuba-ing.  In fact, the beach is where I often meet God. Being whisked out of the harried and enveloped in the holy… that’s what the beach does to me. The sights and sounds are stunning, and there is truly such splendor to behold.  I love swimming in it, sitting by it, cruising on it, and eating things that come out of it. 

As much as I love the ocean, you have already seen how much of a big Fraidy Cat I am of its sheer immensity and of the life within that threatens my existence.  (For the record, any fish that isn’t a pretty color fits into that category!)  It is a magnificent entity that I will never fully understand.  Even safe at home on my couch, I have been spellbound by fear as I watched a Discovery program that revealed alien like creatures of the sea, that lit up like neon signs, in a place so deep that no light could penetrate.  Fascinating, yes, but also terrifying, and it doesn’t stop there.  The ocean, when dredged up by storms, can wipe out entire cities, mangle nature and remind of us our mortality real quick. Without a doubt, if you’re wise, the ocean is a force to be respected and held in awe. 

So, as I recently sat at the beach, thinking about the beach, and the maker of the beach, I remember when I learned about this paradoxical concept of loving and fearing something at the same time.  It was years ago, while studying the fear of God, that I grappled with questions like; “How could I fear someone I love?”, “Why would I fear a God of grace and mercy?”, “For God so loved the world…”.   I just could not understand how I was supposed to fear him when I loved him so much.  It was then that The Lord reminded me of the splendorous terror of the ocean and its paralyzing grip on me.

 I love and fear The Lord much the same way in which I love and fear the ocean.  I understand my limitedness in light of his immenseness.  I respect his power and know that it will take more than a Discovery program to know him better.   I learned that there is healthy fear that resembles gripping awe and reverence, a fear that requires me to acknowledge that I am NOT God and in the grand scheme of things I am small, impotent, and I’m okay with that!

Isaiah chapter 2 (vs. 10, 19, 21) depicts God’s splendor and terror in relation to those who had turned away from him.  It is easy for me to reconcile this paradox with his wrath, but the truth is that it also applies to his love.  This, in all honesty, was harder for me to understand.  These were hard words to couple together in the context of love. Splendor… terror… love…, nope, it just didn’t compute.  Then God reminded me of the lyrics to the song, How He Loves Us. These words give us dramatic images of a splendorous, terrifying love: 

Loves like a hurricane, 

I am a tree bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy…

If grace is an ocean we’re all sinking…

These are powerful pictures that combine the splendor and the terror of God’s magnanimous love.  Overwhelming for sure, but the truth!  I love and fear The Lord and when I think about what that’s supposed to look like, another ocean experience comes to mind. 

Our family was on a whale watching excursion, in a medium sized boat, (note size of boat!) when a huge Humpback whale breached the water’s surface.  It catapulted itself straight up out of the water, looking like some resurrected, barnacled, sunken ship. It was so close, and so big! I was videotaping it and was so gripped by fear, that I loss my legs.  I can’t describe it any other way, they just went limp, right from under me, and I collapsed!

It’s this breathless picture of God’s equally devastating love & mercy and his justice & wrath that I long to maintain in my heart and head. I want to stand in an overwhelming love, have it mangle the lies I believe, have it bend me beneath the weight of his mercy, and sink in a grace that takes me to the wondrous depths of a God who I will never be able to fully understand.  Splendor and terror, just like the ocean.  That’s the God I want to behold daily. That’s the God I want to be undone by hourly.  That’s the God I want to be gripped by minute by minute.  A shocking love, a love that I am so overcome by that I lose my legs.  A rip-tide that pulls me closer to my magnificent maker, in devout delight, fringed with awe, over both his splendor and terror, as wide and deep as the ocean itself.

So, as I sit on the beach with my feet buried in the sand, eyes gazing upon many wonders like rainbows, pelicans and sandcastles, I gratefully embrace the splendor and terror of The Lord.  I open myself to his devastating love and fearsome immensity.  I am his child, in awe of him and adored by him.  You too can be breathless with wonder and comforted by his love.  Just be willing to open yourself up to a splendorous terror that you aren’t required to understand, but are invited to step into.  Just like the ocean.

As a certified Christian Life Coach I can help you move from where you are to where God wants you to be. If you are looking to gain clarity and get 'unstuck' then let’s chat. I'd love to be your champion in what God is calling you to do!  

Phase 3

My husband, Scott, and I call our current stage of life Phase 3.  It’s part of a totally unscientific formula:

-          Phase 1- childhood to young adulthood

-          Phase 2 – adulthood, which includes raising our family

-          Phase 3 - the time in between launching your kids and retirement. 

You could say it’s our version of the term empty nester, but instead of having ‘less’ in our lives, we have experienced so much ‘more’!

Phase 3 has been filled with more of God, than any other time in my life.  Wait – stop – rephrase that; Phase 3 has been filled with me trusting God more in my life.  By his Spirit, an arduously forged obedience was birthed from a fragile and immature trust.   That’s a mouthful, I know, but just when I thought I was heading into a more sedate pace in my life, I discovered that God had other plans…, a “trust and obey” plan! 

A few years ago I heard that Mother Theresa had once told a gentleman, “Don’t pray for clarity, pray for trust.”  Of course, don’t you know that when I heard this I was impatiently waiting for clarity!  During this wait, God wreaked havoc with my self-sufficiency and undressed the illusions of my control.  Active trust was born when I dared to take a step into the unknown, into the unseen, into a promise that my spirit felt, but my common sense trounced upon.  There’s nothing wrong with clarity, per se, except when you’re paralyzed by its absence.  I learned that waiting on clarity could cost you more than what it would take to trust.  An aspect of trust is the firm belief in the reliability or strength of someone or something.  Who we trust makes all the difference! Trusting God can be scary, but it’s always the clear choice.  Allow me to share the story of how God rescued me from my common sense. 

Phase 3 began with our younger son heading into college, but it was also shaken up by some other factors.  Scott was prematurely launched into retirement; he said it was like standing at the edge of a pool and getting yourself psyched to jump in, but then someone comes along and pushes you in!  For me, this phase was punctuated by the absence of my speaking ministry.  I chose to gear up my hours at work which left less and less opportunities to do any ministry, much less the MOPS circuit.  The first year I just really missed it, but by the second year that ‘missing’ feeling turned into a conviction.  God was making it clear that where I was, was not where he wanted me to be. My heart knew it, but my wallet was calling the shots.

During the years approaching Phase 3 we had talked as a family about one day moving someplace that didn’t have winter most of the year!  My oldest son initiated it when he was in college, saying he had plans to move someday.  I said, “Great, let’s all pray about where that will be because I’m outta here too!”  This relocation journey took more than 5 years.  There were scouting trips to many cities in Arizona, Asheville (NC), Colorado Springs (CO), Austin (TX) and then Nashville (TN).  In every place I prayed, “Lord, show up if you want us here!”, and low and behold, The Lord showed up in Nashville. 

Right after our first trip to Nashville, Scott was deployed by FEMA to New York for Hurricane Sandy.  He spent the next 5 months there and, with the exception of me visiting him the weekend ‘the world was going to end’ (12/22/12), we communicated over the phone.  I cringe when I say it, but we made major life decisions then that changed the trajectory of our lives.  The truth is that the distance and lack of distractions created more focused time together.  Meanwhile, God worked parallel to our emotional work to bring financial circumstances to a point that would allow us to make the move. 

The winter of 2013 was NOT a high note in my life.  I happen to be burdened with the winter blues and at that time I was really strapped by stress that brought about an assortment of physical ailments such as stomach, digestive and chronic memory issues (caused by my inability to retain essential vitamins.)  I can recall one night sitting on my couch, wrapped in my plush, lavender robe, with the TV on and my fingers busily crocheting something.  My younger son, a man of few words, came up to me and with a strange look on his face (I later figured out was concern) and asked if I was alright because all I was doing was coming home and crocheting on the couch.  Okay people, for your teenage son to notice that you’re not right means that you’re really not right!  

Here’s the scary thing, life looked normal; I was working and going to church, but I barely had energy to get through each day.  I was unhappy and worst yet, I was not obedient.  I knew I wasn’t living the life I was supposed to and it was taking its toll. The financial security I clung to was eating me alive.  God was calling me to walk off that ledge and to trust him for my provisions, but I consumed his time by negotiating for a limb, a branch, or a vine to grab onto before taking that step.  No branch ever appeared and because I couldn’t see past my own solution, I wasn’t able to see the blessings God had for me. Waiting for the comfort of clarity was costing me more than my health, it was stunting my spiritual growth by creating a one-sided relationship with God.

There are tons of “2013 Winter Karyn’s”!  Our kind struggle with the discord of emotional and spiritual harmony.  I didn’t want to walk off that ledge of financial security – my fear tethered me to my wallet as I withered away spiritually.  My soul whimpered but my worry won out.  I knew God was calling me to something else but because I couldn’t see how it could happen, I remained stuck. 

For the Humphries, Phase 3 has really been a journey of faith.  I believe it’s easier to have faith than to walk in faith.  Our entire family was called to step off our own personal ledges and free fall in faith.  We didn’t do this carelessly or haphazardly, we prayed and created a stable, barebones financial plan that would undergird us.  In the fall of 2013 we left my oldest son and daughter-in-love behind in Chicago, which was extremely tough, but we had an assurance that The Lord would work in his timing to bring them down.  My younger son came with, but not without perching on the edge of his own ledge saying, “I don’t think I’m supposed to go!”  In the end the 3 of us headed south, cautiously confident because of the proof God had given us in the circumstances that preceded our relocation. 

Our environment has not only changed, but our hearts have been renewed (as well as my strength).  We have experienced so much of God’s favor; Scott got his real estate license, my younger son formed a plan for his future and returned to Chicago to enroll in Columbia College, I went on to pursue a certification as a Christian Life Coach and my older son and his family just relocated here!  I have gained a renewed sense of God’s purpose for me in Nashville.  I no longer feel his conviction, I feel his blessing as I engage with others who want to get ‘un-stuck’ and watch God work powerfully in their lives too.

We are created to glorify God and it’s the way in which we do so that brings rich meaning to our lives.  If he calls you to something, he will work out the details. All you have to do is walk in faith off the ledge of fear, self-sufficiency, or whatever holds you back from being who God means for you to be. I am really trying not to speak of trust as something you just casually do - it’s much harder than that – at least it was for me.  I remember during this time I would make myself say out loud, “God, I trust you.”  This was my sacrifice of praise as I grappled with my inability to see things and to control my world.  Little did I know that seeing God was the only thing I needed to see.  That’s what makes the whole trust thing possible! 

Whatever phase you are in, if you are living a life without emotional and spiritual harmony I want to encourage you to make a change.  Begin by getting with God more.  Listen.  Dial down your life enough to hear him.  You don’t have to take this journey alone.  If you are certain God is calling you to make a change, don’t let the comfort of clarity hold you back.  Hand your fears over to God and trust.  I’ve seen this firsthand, and not only with myself.  Our God is faithful to complete the good work he has started in all of us.  Open yourself to what he has in store for you, even if you can’t see how it could happen.  He knows, and he will be faithful. If you have stepped off that ledge in faith, please share how God has blessed you, because he always does!

O Lord of Heaven's Armies what joy for those who trust in you.

Psalm 84:12

As a Christian Life Coach I walk with others on similar paths.  If you’d like some company on your journey with Jesus and want to move from where you are to where he wants you to be, then let’s chat.      

Holy

As a young woman I was constructed by the world’s expectations.  I had siding and a roof on top, but inside was a different story.  At first I thought the inside was empty, but what I realized was that the inside was filled with distortions of the truth; wishes of who I would like to be and shame for who I wasn’t.  In that warped mix was frustration from trying to be who I wasn’t and disappointment when I was successful at it.

My journey to my real self happened over many years and through a lot of tears, frustration and glimpses of joy.  These steps were taken hand in hand with Jesus, who enduringly anticipated his own moment of joy knowing that the simple touch of his hand would hold seismic effects on my heart. 

When I submitted myself to Jesus he renovated the inside with his truth. Truth that had to make its way through a lot of deception and self-gratification.  But his truth had the power to do that.  His truth brought more un-learning in my life than any acquisition of knowledge.  I un-learned my way back to him.  Already knowing somewhere deep down inside that his truth was my real truth too.  I could release my hold on the things I clung to that I thought would bring me fulfillment.  Instead, I grabbed on to him with my heart and released my grip of everything else in this world.  Only by holding everything loosely could I hold on to myself. My true self. Not my earthly self, but my eternal being which was made holy, full and complete by the God who created me.  The most loving God that pours truth into us when we submit and choose to believe.  When our attention is well developed beyond mortal distractions and honed in on the holy;  The holy that’s in our spiritual DNA, the holy that we are called to be, the holy that holds the promise of hope like no one, or anything else in this world.  The holy that says you are mine. The holy that commands: I AM holy, so you be holy too.

I am holy when I look outside myself and see and serve the other holies.  Together we create a blanket of holy across this earth.  That’s the Body of Christ in its truest form.  That’s the vehicle the Holy Spirit works through to bring holy to a fallen world.  I won’t think of the struggle to be holy right now, I’m just going to revel in God’s vision of His Spirit in us all, spanning the globe and covering it in his love.  In my mind it is a beautiful picture of a patchwork quilt that has the image of the cross stretched across it.  Stitched in a sacrificial love and covered in grace.  An irresistible holy that envelopes, heals and transforms. A spectacular holy I’m privileged to be a part of and compelled to share!

As a Christian Life Coach I walk with others on similar paths.  If you’d like some company on your journey with Jesus and want to move from where you are to where he wants you to be, then let’s chat.  He may have prepared me in advance just to coach and champion you at this very time.    

Listen

I’m currently enrolled in a Christian Life Coach certification program and it was my turn to give a devotional.  The chapter that we were covering had to do with LISTENING.  I found this funny because my word for 2015 also happens to be LISTEN.  No coincidences with God, right?  So as I sat with God and with the word LISTEN, a few things happened. 

I’m not sure if you’re aware, but last week an ice storm swept through Nashville, TN.  A very loud hush accompanied this storm.  The normal hum of vehicles was absent, even the birds were strangely silenced.  Instead, as it rained ice, all I could hear was the tapping of the crystals as they hit the eaves of the house.  It sounded like a thousand tap dancers a mile away.  Yet, in this sacred silence there was an annoying clatter that no one else could hear.  My scattered thoughts were having their own version of a snow day.  They were a mindless clamor that interfered with my efforts to listen to the beautiful silence.  Like the ice that encrusted the tree limbs outside, these thoughts glazed over every part of me and kept me from hearing what was important.

I realized in a new way that God beckons me to listen to him.  In John 10:27, Jesus says, ^“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”  Moreover, God delights in listening to me too. Deuteronomy 4:7 says, “Yes. What other great nation has gods that are intimate with them the way God, our God, is with us, always ready to listen to us?” 

I believe being heard is one of the greatest gifts in life, and to be heard by God fulfills one of our deepest human needs; but as I skimmed scripture I was struck by Jesus’ desire to be heard as well.  Jesus says so many times, “If anyone has ears to hear, let them hear.” God echoes this often in the book of Revelation as well.  I am cautioned by how so many people did not hear what Jesus was saying because they were not listening.  Their hearts were not attuned, their judgments did not allow and their desires distracted them from the beautiful truth that he offered. 

God beckons me to listen to him. He waits expectantly.  He wants to be heard and he wants to be heard by me, and by you.  Jeremiah 29:12-14 says, “Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.  I will be found by you, declares the Lord.”  God wants to be found and he wants to be heard. He called to Adam and Eve as they hid in the garden, he whispered to Elijah after a grand display of wind, earthquake and fire, he flashed a light around Paul and spoke to him on the road to Damascus, and he continues to call, whisper and speak to us. 

God used a quiet ice storm to speak to me.  When I was able to lower the volume of my thoughts, I heard him tell me how much he enjoys being heard.  He wants me to know that whether it’s through the clamor of my thoughts, the din of my day, or the still silence of a storm, he speaks!  He has a story to tell, and it’s a beautiful one that includes me… and you.  I invite you to find God in either the silence or noise of your life.  Let’s all call upon the Holy Spirit to clear our minds, free us from distractions and attune our hearts to hear his very special invitation, “If anyone has ears to hear, let them hear.”  And, let our response be as 1 Samuel 3:9 says, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

Thank you heavenly Father that your Word is truth and it reveals who you are to us.  I’m so grateful you are an intimate God who wants to be found and heard.  May the sound of your many promises subdue the clamor of our thoughts and our lives and may we ever enjoy the consolation of your sweet voice. Amen.

Sandra, the Jewbu

It happened in a Trader Joe’s parking lot.  A not-so-by-chance meeting with Sandra, a brokenhearted woman on a spiritual journey.  I was making a run to pick up some items for my son and daughter-in-love after they just had a baby.  I pulled into a parking space along the right side of a nondescript sedan.  The driver of that vehicle was making her way around the back of her car to the passenger door.  As she moved beside my newly positioned car she commented about the dark, scattered clouds that loomed in quiet indecision.

“It’s going to pour,” she directed through my window before she opened her door.  

“It’s going to do something,” I returned affably before rolling up my window and turning off the car.  I couldn’t exit, though, because she was fumbling through something on her seat.  I waited… and I waited, and I waited.  She appeared totally unaware, but I figured since we had just spoken, she would soon realize the situation.  So I waited.  After a few more minutes, she did.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed as she caught sight of me over her shoulder.  She quickly shut the door and took a couple steps back.

“That’s okay,” I replied as I exited my vehicle and headed in the direction of the store.  “I've been there,” I threw over my shoulder, relating to being totally consumed in thought. 

“Not where I've been,” she called behind me.  Her tone was odd.  It was filled with defeat and a sadness that deliberately fought against itself.  Like a gentle hand on my forearm, it stayed my course. 

I turned around and responded inquisitively, “Where would that be?”

“With your boyfriend telling you you’re worthless.” She listed off a few other derogatory remarks from him, in a poor attempt to appear un-maimed.

A bit jolted, I looked at her short frame, wrapped in a shapeless navy sweater jacket which she filled out.  Her shortly clipped auburn hair was faintly speckled with gray, and its natural thickness held the feathered style into place. She wore glasses with rectangular lenses that were rimless so you saw more of her small face.  “How sad that your boyfriend must feel so bad about himself, that he’s trying to make you feel bad about yourself,” I replied with a ‘Karyn’ response instead of the standard, ‘oh I’m so sorry.’  I don’t know why I say these things, and to strangers; admittedly, it is weird!  In hindsight I had no idea how that response would be the springboard for a half-hour conversation with lasting effects. 

She went on to say a few disparaging remarks about him with her broken heart peeking out from behind a forceful dismissal of the man.  I commiserated and said, “I’ve learned that at one time or another everyone will let you down.  The only one that has never let me down has been Jesus.”  It was the truth.  It was my truth and what I felt the Holy Spirit was prompting me to say.  I prayed in my head, ‘Lord, what do you want me to say?  What does this woman need to hear?’

“Well I’m a Jewbu,” her fast-paced speech didn’t miss a beat. The look on my face must have indicated that I would need an explanation.  “I’m Jewish, but I started exploring the Buddhist faith,” she accommodated my confusion.  “That’s a Jewbu, but Jon Stewart had a guest on his show the other night that called himself a Buju.  So I guess it can go either way.  My boyfriend says I’m nuts and should forget all about it.”  With a quick inhalation and rising excitement she explained how she would go downtown and chant with other Buddhists.  She named the statue that they chanted by, but I can’t recall it.  My imagination drafted a picture of a gong, but I’m sure that’s not right.  While I don’t remember the name of the object, I do clearly remember the weighty impression of needing to respect her journey and to trust God for the rest.

Her enthusiasm continued, “Chanting transports me spiritually.  We chant nam-myoho-renge-kyo and it’s amazing that everyone starts off on their own key and once we all get going we are soon in harmony.” 

I sliced the following into the conversation, “That’s not unlike what I experience in worship.  I especially love when we sing an a cappella song and others begin to harmonize. It is a beautiful thing.”  

Sandra confessed that she had tried unsuccessfully to pray to Jesus in the past.  Like a baby bird waiting to be fed, she opened and closed her mouth twice to demonstrate that nothing would come out when she tried.  My heart literally hurt.  To think that something could actually hold back the name of Jesus Christ from passing across our lips was next to devastating to me.  She explained that she grew up in the Jewish faith which was harsh to her.  The upcoming weekend was Yom Kippur and she teared up as she remembered her parents, who had passed on. “They are all gone now,” she said with a grief that clutched more to her culture than her beliefs.  I know that feeling and I felt her loss. Somewhere in the midst of this part of our conversation we had introduced ourselves.

“Sandra, you only know half of the story,” I explained, referring to the Old Testament. “Jesus came and atoned for us all.  He is the way, the truth and the life.  You are chosen.”

“Yes, I know the Jews are chosen,” she cast that privilege aside, a bit too carelessly I thought.  “But I've had people proselytizing over me before and I just couldn’t stand it.  I’m more of a metaphysical person.  I’m thinking of moving to Oregon so I can chant outside.  I hear there are great places to chant there.”

“I understand that, having come from a New Age past,” I related.  “But I still experience God in nature too.”  The conversation took turns that I felt ill equipped for, so I just kept praying, Lord, give me your words, as Sandra wrapped me into her spiritual story.  Again I was assailed with the sense that I needed to be respectful of where she was on her journey.  So, I don’t know how it happened, and I definitely don’t recommend it, but we were soon holding hands and chanting!  Now you have to understand, I’m the person who won’t even say ‘Namaste’ when I’m done with yoga and here I was in the parking lot of Trader Joe’s chanting with Sandra, the Jewbu. 

I think it started with me saying, “Can I pray with you Sandra?”

“Don’t be proselytizing over me!” She emphatically answered.

“I’m not going to proselytize over you.  I just want to say a prayer,” I returned calmly.  I didn’t even know what ‘proselytizing’ meant, I just hoped that praying wasn’t it!

“If you pray, then I want to chant,” she bartered.

After a cautious moment, I agreed.  I took her hands to begin to pray, but she started her chant instead. I listened and prayed silently for protection.

“Nam-myoho-renge-kyo,” she repeated over and over with her full bodied voice, yet the sound fell flat like an empty echo.  Maybe I was preoccupied in prayer, and maybe she felt awkward chanting in a parking lot, but all in all it had a rote quality to it and I suspected she felt unmoved as well.  After less than a minute she stopped, pulled her hands away and then explained what the chant meant.  “It’s a chant for happiness and for asking for things that you want.”  I’m sure she gave me a better definition than that, but those are the two points that I pulled from her statement.  I've later learned that it actually means: I devote myself to the Lotus Sutra of the Wonderful Law, which I know for sure she never mentioned.

She swiftly began to introduce another topic, but I thought, not so fast!  “Okay Sandra, I want something,” I insisted and recaptured her hands. What I wanted was for her to know the hope and fulfillment in Jesus Christ.  What I wanted was her heart to find its journey’s end in his arms. 

As I readied myself, her eyes gave me a raking assessment – an up and down look which gave me the impression she was grading the make of my clothes, rather than my intent.  I must have met with her approval because we ended up saying the chant together.

Just because the chant had no meaning to me, doesn’t mean it didn’t evoke what it meant.  I knew the inherent danger and prayed again for protection, not wanting to make myself spiritually vulnerable.    

“It’s my turn now,” I asserted. “I want to pray.” She didn’t have much of a choice, but she didn’t balk either.  In Jesus’ name I said a short prayer that she would come to know Him personally, experience Him deeply and know His love. 

I suppose you could argue that she tolerated me as much as I tolerated her, but we each chose to honor each other.  Once we dropped hands she shifted the conversation again, and with this unspoken cue we began to walk toward the store.  In that space of time I had mentioned that I was visiting from Nashville, to be here for the birth of my first grandchild.  She asked if I knew of Gruhn Guitars.  A friend’s brother had moved there in the 70’s to repair guitars and now was so successful he was in an American Express commercial. This friend, by the way, was horribly bullied as a child and Sandra, pointing to her red hair, was evidently bullied as a young girl herself. 

Her narrative continued down different trails as I grabbed a shopping basket and entered the store.  She said she no longer belonged to any category.  She was 60 years old and wasn’t a grandma because she didn’t choose to have children (a big life regret). She wasn’t married or a girlfriend anymore so she didn’t have a group to which she belonged.  She remarked that her friends would give her a hard time if she didn’t wear designer clothes (I realized then that this was the reason she so pointedly assessed what I was wearing).  She retold a time she was in a conversation with a couple of women and when they discovered she wasn’t a grandmother, they abruptly ended the conversation and walked away.  She blamed their political affiliation as the reason.  I interjected saying that that wasn’t because they were either liberal or conservative, that that behavior was just rude.  She continued with her fears that an Evangelist would be elected President, and on and on.

We were by the open refrigerators with dairy and cheese products when she shared a story about her father, tearing up again with his memory.  “My father was in hospice care and just before he died he called out for a Father Cooney.”

Admittedly, feeling a little fatigued from our conversation I was confused.  “Wait, your father was Catholic?”  I thought she had said he was Jewish in a very big way.

“Of course not, he was Jewish!” she exclaimed.

“That’s what I thought.  Then why would your father be calling out for a priest?”  I wondered if there was a piece of this story to which I might not have lent a proper ear.

“I’m sure he found his way into a church some time in his life, like I have,” she replied somewhat flummoxed, trying to make sense of it herself.

            “Sandra!” Suddenly it clicked and I was supernaturally alert.  “It was Jesus!  He was face to face with Jesus, that’s why he called out to the priest.”  Goosebumps did a happy dance on my arms, and I’m certain it wasn’t from the cool air creeping out from the refrigerators.

            “That’s what my brother said, ‘It’s that Jesus thing,’” she parroted with a masculine tone of voice, then continued saying “and he’s an atheist.  I don’t talk to my brother these days, but that’s a whole ‘nuther story.”

            “It’s that Jesus thing.” I went straight back to the Jesus part.  “Sandra, that’s incredible!  You just gave me goosebumps.  Do you see that it’s Jesus?  You have the most amazing story about Him with your Dad.  That’s incredible!”

            She downplayed it, and I couldn’t believe it.  She didn’t discredit it, but I could see that she saw it as just another thing that happened, not God chasing after her.  She couldn’t even see that I was standing there as a result of God pursuing her too.  I’d never experienced something like this before, where a non-believer had the better testimony!  How does that happen?  It took me a moment to recover from such a big let-down, but Sandra didn’t notice, she went off on another conversational tangent.  This time it was about the current global threats; ISIS, Ebola, etc.  Her voice escalated with fear to the point that, I believe she actually said that the world was coming to an end. 

I sighed and nodded my head in agreement that things in this world weren't hunky dory and then said that I needed to get my son’s coconut milk ice cream.  “It was nice meeting you Sandra.  I wish you the best on your journey.” 

We said good-bye weeks ago, but Sandra’s story has lingered with me.  I know Jesus loves Sandra, our little chatter-box, but she’s blind to his passionate pursuit.  Instead, she’s been embraced by Buddhists who appeal to her metaphysical nature and, she told me, don’t care what type of clothes she wears. 

How is it we can look at the same thing and see it differently?  How is it that she can’t see that Jesus has no categories, no political affiliation, just hope?  The fact that Sandra can’t see Jesus pursuing her breaks my heart, furthermore, what she does see and associates with Jesus hurts me even more.  

My encounter with Sandra has given me much to ponder, but for now, I just want to end this witness by saying that evangelizing is not a spiritual gift of mine and I don’t feel like I do it well; however, if I’m talking about myself truthfully, Jesus is going to be part of that conversation.  Moreover, when I share my story about Jesus’ love and deliverance, no one can ever dispute it.

Sandra is an example of how we all have hurts and struggles.  I follow a God who calls me to share how he has impacted and healed my own hurts and struggles, so others may know he can do the same for them.  Like the healed man in Mark 5:19-20 Jesus tells us all, “Go home to your family and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.” So the man went away and began to tell in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him.  And all the people were amazed.  I just want to encourage you to do the same… just share YOUR story.  That’s all Jesus asks us to do.