Tuesdays

     It was not my plan to spend my Sunday afternoon at the computer.  It was not my plan to write another blog beyond the summer.  Life is busy and time precious.  My plan was a nice long Sunday afternoon nap.  As I lie there, I could here the call, Get up....get up.  Put it down on paper.  So, here I am, Sunday afternoon, my blue earplugs in my ears ( Remember, I'm the mommy. ), and my iPad in my lap.
      Usually, by the time I get this far into the process, I have a plan, a notion of how to get from point A to point B in a fairly easy to follow, concise sort of way.  I will tell a story or have scripture in mind.  Sometimes, I've researched for a good long bit.  That's not the case, today.  Today, my mind is on doing the hard things, those things that can't be done without Christ.
     My mind is on the third anniversary of the death of my eldest son.  It's coming Tuesday.  I know this because I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.  It's the familiar ache, the one I felt on that first day. As of late, I can see the images,  think the thoughts, hear the sounds,  and feel the unrelenting emptiness of losing the flesh of my flesh, the one that I grew inside of my womb and that I pushed out into this world. He is the one who greeted me with big, warm brown eyes on that first birthday, the same ones that grew dull and empty on the day that he left us.
       Tuesday is coming.  Tuesday is coming for us all.  We will all have days that transcend human reason, human strength, human fairness.  There will be days that leave us gutted, lying and bleeding, fighting for breath.  There will be days when breath seems a bother.  There will be days when all the eggs in our basket lie shattered at our feet as we frantically try to piece them back together, rewind time, wish it had never happened, fail to make the connection in our minds of clay that this will never be what it once was.
     What do we do with our Tuesdays?  Not the first or the second ones, but when they start to come year after year.  The first years, they are meant for grief, but after that.  What do we do with those days that start to hold us captive, the anniversaries, the birthdays?  What do we do when we start to hear Christ calling us to freedom from our Tuesdays?  I hear Him calling....I want to be free.
     I will trust Him.  I will remember His promises, but, at this moment, not without a shaky resolve.  Today, I feel as though I am standing on the edge of an abyss, waiting to furl myself into the darkness, with the hope that I will feel His arms gather around me as I answer His call.  Freedom can be found in the arms of my Father.  I know because I have been there many times.
      As Tuesday comes, I want to dare to be as Christ in my thinking.  I want to dare to celebrate Tuesday, to see from Eternity's point of view.  I want to dare to be unselfish, to give my child, with open hands, to the King.  I want to dare to be happy, on my Tuesday, because Jesus paid our sin debt and there is hope in the cross.
      As Tuesday comes, I want to be about my Father's business, an impossibility within my own strength. I want to love my family, my friends, my students.  I want to be faithful. I do not want to come down off my Nehemiah's wall.  Fatigue grips me at the thought of loving anyone besides myself on my Tuesday.  It will be the Holy Spirit who will need to do this improbable work.  I cannot.
      My mind is on doing the hard things.  My mind is on Christ.  Tuesdays are the days that go far beyond anything that we could ever repair.  They are the days that our Father sets aside to reflect His glory, the days when we can only point to Him between our labored breath and whisper, It is He, not I. May I point to Jesus on my Tuesday.  May you point to Jesus on your Tuesday.  May we whisper His name to a lost and hurting world.  May we point them to the cross of Calvary.

                                                                      

                                                                     

                                                                  

                                                                   

                                                                   

                                                                    
                                                                   
                                 

Catching Coons

     It's unusual that a passage from a children's book would get the attention of this teacher in the middle of a regular school day, but it happened.  It spoke to me in such a way that five months later I am writing about it.  The words on the page jumped right out of the book and seared my unexpecting heart.  It was a precursor to a summer of many hard learned, must need lessons.
     From Where the Red Fern Grows,  Grandpa is giving instructions to Billy on building a raccoon trap:
"Now you do everything exactly as I tell you," he said,"and you'll catch that coon."
"Yes, sir, Grandpa," I said, " I will. I'll do anything to catch one of them."
"Now the first thing you'll need is some bright objects," he said. "The best thing is bright shiny tin. Cut out some little round pieces, a little smaller than this bit.  Do you understand?"
I nodded my head.
"Now," he said, "you go down along the river where there are a lot of coon tracks. Find a good solid log close by and bore a hole down about six inches. Drop one of the bright pieces of tin down in the hole, and be sure it's laying right on the bottom."
I was all ears, I didn't want to miss one word my grandfather said.  Now and then I would 
glance at him to see if he was kidding me.
In a serious voice, he went on talking. "Now pay close attention," he said, " because this is the main part of the trap."
With eyes as big as a hoot owl's, I looked and listened.
He took four of the horseshoe nails from the sack.  With the thumb and forefinger of his left hand he made a small "o" about the size of the bit, which was an inch and half in diameter.
"Now we'll say this is the hole you bored in the log," he said. " About an inch apart, drive these nails in on a slant opposite each other."
Holding one of the nails in his right hand, he showed me the right angle.
"The ends of the nail will enter the hole about halfway between the top and the piece of tin, " he continued.  "Leave an opening big enough for a coon to get his paw through." ..........
" How is that going to catch a coon, Grandpa?" I asked.
"It'll catch him all right," he said, " and it won't fail. You see a coon is a curious little animal.  Anything that is bright and shiny will attract him.  He will reach in and pick it up.  When his paw closes on the bright object it balls up, and when he starts to pull it from the hole, the sharp ends of the nails will gouge into his paw and he's caught."........
It was all looking pretty good to me and I was on point of saying so, when it hit me.  Why all the coon had to do was open his paw, drop the object, and he was free.
I stepped back and almost cried as I said, " Grandpa, you're kidding me. That kind of trap couldn't catch a coon. Why all he'd have to do is open his paw, drop the piece of tin, and he could pull it from the hole."........
" I just wanted to see if you we're smart enough to see there was a way for the coon to free himself.".......
" When I was a boy I had a pet coon.  By watching him, I saw and learned a lot of things.".......
  " My mother had an old churn.  It was one of those kind with a small hole in the lid for the dasher.  When she would get through churning, she would take the dasher out to wash it.  That crazy  coon would climb up to the top of the churn, poke his little front paw through the hole, and get a fistful of butter. The hole was small, and when he closed his paw, he couldn't get it back out.  All he had to do was open it, drop the butter, and he would be free, but do you think he would?  No, sir.  He would carry that churn lid all over the house, squalling and growling.  Why, it took everyone in the house to free him.  I'd have to wrap him up in a gunny sack or an old coat and pry his claws loose from the butter.  Seeing this time after time is what gave me the idea for this trap.  Once he reaches in and gets hold of that tin, he's caught, because he will never open his paw."
     The Word says we are like sheep. I'm convinced that we are a lot like coons, too.  Year after year,
I drag my churn around, squalling and growling, because I refuse to open my fist and let go.  It is
such a simple act, opening our hands.  But, we stiffen our neck and tighten our grip.. Everyone we know can try to pry our hands loose, but it takes the harshness of God's gunny sack to free us.  We, I, listen to the father of lies rather than the truth of the Word and hold on for dear life.  Rather it be the easy way or the hard way, our  hands must be pried away from the butter.  We are coons to the core.
     John 8:31-36 reads: So Jesus was saying to those Jews who had believed Him, " If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free."  They answered Him, " We are Abraham's descendants and have never yet been enslaved to anyone; how is it that you say, ' You will become free'?"  Jesus answered them, " Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is the slave to sin.  The slave does not remain in the [God's] house
forever, the son does remain forever.  So, if the son makes you free, you will be free indeed."
      Christ makes it clear how we become trapped like the coon with his hand in the butter churn.  Simply stated, it's sin.  We could all immediately list off our vices, our pieces of shiny tin.  I have mine. You have yours.  That said, what about someone else's sin? Does it have you trapped by your own sin of unforgiveness?  How often do we think to ourselves, That hurt, and I'm not letting it go because I won't let it happen, again.  I'm not going to talk about it, look at it, or think about it. I'll stiffen my upper lip, pick up, and move on.  I'm going to just forget about it.
     I love what Wesley writes about the Jews in this passage.  They state, " [We] have never yet been enslaved...."  Wesley points out that at that very moment they were enslaved by the Romans.  They had spent so much time enslaved that they had forgotten what it was to be free.  These Jews were a bit delusional! Crazy, right? Oh, but ladies, how long have we carried around that hurt and unforgiveness, day after day, until we believe we are free when we are still in bondage?  It becomes easier to lie to ourselves than to forgive, to dare to believe there is something better beyond the hurt.  We are going to hold that person accountable for what they have done to us.  All the while, we are dying inside.  It takes root and becomes part of our marrow, festering and poisoning.  It is only the Spirit of God who can free us and the confession of that unforgiving spirit, laying our heart on the
altar of God.
    John 8:31 says...."If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you [spiritual liberty] free."  Christ promises to free us. No where in the passage does it state, You will be immediately freed.  The Word of God says, if you continue.  It's a process.  It is not a process marked by perfection. As believers, we face the struggle against our flesh, daily.  However, our life should be marked by a continuous desire to serve the One who first loved us.  MacArthur states, Real disciples are both learners ( love that!) and faithful followers.  If we follow Christ and learn the lessons he sets before us, we are promised freedom
      Christ is calling us into freedom.  Is it always an easy path? No.  Sometimes, we're like the Jews of Jesus' day.  We have been in bondage for so long, we are so upside down, we don't even know we are a slave to someone else's sins.  It takes the gunny sack to get our attention. But Christ, but Christ, but Christ, promises us freedom on the other side of the hurt....if only we'll open up our hand.  We can give him the hurt, and the anger, and the fear, and the disappointments.  He wants his children to be free, and if I don't know anything else, I know I don't want my hand in that old butter churn for one more day.

Opportunity

     My job can be discouraging.  There's no other way to say it. I work in a title I school as a fifth grade teacher. As I look over my class each year, I am fully aware that some of my boys may not make it to the age of thirty. They will die at the hand of someone else's pride. My girls will become teenage mothers, stuck in a vicious cycle, unable to climb out of the hole they have gotten themselves into. These are not statements of acceptance. Chains and strongholds can be broken, but for now, it is the reality of many of my students.
      I can only hope that I will be one of a multitude of pieces to a puzzle that will lead these students from a life with few choices to a life that is open to the largest of imaginations, the kind of life that seems unattainable on many days.  I keep my fingers crossed that something I will say will stick. I pray that a child will grab hold of what is true about themselves and carry it into adulthood. However, all too often, those truths slip away in the undertow of a life that is focused on mere survival and a skewed identity.
     But....every once in awhile, God reminds me that I am not the one at the helm, and I must stay the course that He has set before me.  One of those reminders came, today.  I was grocery shopping when I heard from behind me, "Excuse me, are you Mrs. Paxton?"  I turned around and knew the face and name immediately. That's saying a lot.  After ten years of teaching in some form or fashion, it's not always a given that I will remember a name.  We'll just say he was one of those students that had an excellent way of making his presence known.
    I can remember thinking to myself during his year with me, I don't know about this one. He's smart, but he sure likes to get into trouble.  To be honest with you, it shocked me into almost being speechless that before me stood a respectful, well-spoken young man.  It was obvious that there had been some changes in his life.  It is my understanding that his mother worked more than one job to set this child up with opportunities that would be game changers.  It's working. I walked away saying to myself,  Yes! Yes! Yes! This one is going to make it!
     We exchanged some conversation.  He went his way. I went mine.  As I walked away, I thought,  What should I have really said to him?  What did I really want to say to him?  I wish I could have held him by the shoulders and said, "Do you realize the opportunity that your mother has given to you?  Do you understand that you have hit one of life's lotteries? Take it and run as hard as you can with it!  Even if what is happening around you is out of your comfort zone, embrace it. Learn from it.  You are on your way to a prize!"
      Oh, but what about myself? Spirit of God, convict me for forgetting the opportunities that Christ has laid before me; salvation, opened doors, relationships, talents, all of the graces of God and gifts of the Spirit. Do I squander these great gifts God has given me? I am redeemed by a God who has pulled me from the pit, and yet, I turn my back on Him when life becomes uncomfortable and unfamiliar.  I consider myself lost and disoriented only because I spend far too much time walking my own path rather than finding myself on His path running, crawling, face down, prostrate before my Father, looking for a glorious ending.  I fail to embrace and learn from each experience God has allowed to grace my life.  I lose focus of the prize. I forget it's real.
    The glorious ending, the prize, do I truly grasp the prize? I imagine Heaven. I hope there is a seashore and water that is pure and translucent,  far beyond anything we have ever experienced in this fallen world. I imagine my children running up and down that seashore, waving their hands frantically over their heads, waving me home, yelling, "Mom, mom, we're here! We've been waiting!"  Then, I want to wait there,  just a little while,  for the children that will come behind.  Waiting to dance. Dance to a music that this fleshly body could never hear nor understand. I want to dance on the shores of Heaven with my babies....
      But, what about this prize?  It is far less about the beauties of Heaven and far more about those that we will bring along with us.  Will I stand on the shore of Heaven to no avail? Waiting, waiting, waiting, only to realize that no one is coming, not my children, not my extended family, not my students, not my neighbors.  Will I stand before Christ with empty hands because I neglected the opportunities that He has given to me or because I failed to learn the hard lessons?   Will I stand on empty shores because I failed to show and invite others to the love of Christ, or worse, because I have acted as though Christ doesn't love me?
      My friend Leslie shared this on Facebook a few days ago. I was reminded of it when I began writing this blog, today.  It is from Anything, authored by Jennie Allen:
That night on the floor I told Him, " From this point on things are changing.  I am living for the moment when I will face you.  I want to get to Heaven out of  breath, having willingly done anything 
that you-God of the universe-ask......ANYTHING."  I had a constant nagging feeling that God was 
real and this life wasn't a game; it wasn't about my comfort or my curtains or how much everyone liked me or approved of me.  Heaven was coming, God's voice was clear, and I needed to quit pretending that everything was just lovely.
      I, too, want to get to Heaven breathless.  I want to take God up on every opportunity He provides. I pray that all His grace provides will fall from my hands into the hands of those around me.  I want those around me to know that I've hit Eternity's lottery and the abundance is to be shared.  It never runs dry. I even want to learn the uncomfortable lessons, the ones that make me more like Christ.  I want. I want. I want more then anything else in the whole wide world to dance on the shores of Heaven, and while I am dancing, to look across those translucent waters and see a familiar face, or two..
   
     

   

Jumping the Gap

     Getting a penny stuck in one's esophagus ( That's the one that goes to your stomach, not your lungs...no worries!) is not usually the time when one would expect to hear a great big,  Are you paying attention to what I'm trying to teach you? from the Lord .  Well, if you're the one with the penny stuck in your throat, it may be a good time to hear from the Lord, but if your that person's mother, you're thinking about more earthly things, such as:  x-rays, IVs, tears, How am I supposed to keep this kid on a bed?, and  I wonder how much this little escapade is going to cost me?  However, that is exactly what happened to this mommy last week.  In the midst of great chaos, God spoke quite loudly and vividly into my spirit and reminded me of His character and His purposes.
      Jack Paxton, dubbed "Jack Knife" by a family friend, which I love because the child is an accident waiting to happen, got the most interesting idea I've heard of in a long, long time.  Being only the mommy, I did not realize that chewing pennies would increase your muscle mass.  Jack did.  In his attempt to become the next Mr. Olympia, he ended up with a penny lodged in his throat. I'll spare you the details and only say that we found ourselves at the hospital for an overnight stay and surgery the following morning.
      Before we go any further, I must tell you that my extremely creative and most intelligent son was a very sick orphan for the first four years of his life. From the information that we have gathered, Jack probably spent about half of those fours years hospitalized.  As far as we know, there was never one constant person with him throughout those stays.  It is fair to assume that he spent many days, nights, hours, weeks, and months alone.  He developed such anxiety that he pulled out his hair in large patches and scratched his skin to the point of leaving open wounds.  The hair has grown back and the scratching has decreased, but the emotional scars run deep down under the surface.  There are certain situations that make those scars rear their ugly heads, and they show up kicking and screaming loud enough to get every one's attention.  Thus was the case the night of our hospital stay.
     One failed attempt at an IV would send any kid over the top, two without question. Finally, number three hit the target, and I had a child on my hands who was hysterically trying to remove his own IV.  I had gone from being mommy to being the enemy, not once did he seek my comfort or call out my name.  Trying to console him was impossible.  He had learned to do that for himself.  The emotional response that had been invoked from years of abandonment and a scenario that was all too familiar,  left me with a kicking, screaming, untouchable boy.
     By 2 am, six hours later, I was exasperated.  In one last desperate attempt to soothe my child, I picked Jack up and held him close to me.  I got what I expected, nearly beat to death by flailing hands and feet.  Then, he did it, just at the very moment when I was about to let him go. He jumped the gap. The gap being the distance between what we feel and what is actually truth.  He let go of his past and jumped into his future.  He grabbed on to me and never let go. All night, he held on.  I knew in that moment that something big had happened.  He had chosen, despite his overwhelming emotions, to trust, just one more time.  Our relationship changed. 
       The circumstances surrounding that evening were difficult, devastating to Jack, and overwhelming for me.  Nothing about the exterior of the event changed that entire night, not before the jump, not after the jump.  It was on the inside that changes were made.  God was doing a work on the interior of an ex-orphan boy and his momma.

     
     Romans 8:28-30 reads:  28.And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose. 29. For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate (determine) to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren. 30. Moreover whom he did predestinate (determine to conform), them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified.
      I was curious about the word called in verse twenty-eight. I did some asking around and found out that this word is not a past tense verb, but an active present tense verb. There are future implications that result from answering the call of the Holy Spirit.  That means that there is a process that is going to follow our initial calling or conversion.  This process includes three promises from God. Through Christ we are justified, sanctified, and ultimately receive glorification, justification being reconciled with God through Christ's sacrifice, glorification happening after this life when we are made perfect in the likeness of our Savior.
     It's that middle step that God spoke to me so loudly about in a hospital room with a broken child, the step of sanctification.  Paul tells us in verse twenty nine that God has determined to conform us into the image of Christ, to reflect the Son.  It will never be about our environment, our circumstance, all the things that pass away.  It is always about the transformation on the inside. God is always about the eternal, those things that will last forever. His character is good. His purpose is to bring glory upon Himself by redeeming the saints through the process of the call.  He wants us to look more and more like Him (sanctification) so that we may draw others to the cross and in the process, break our own binding chains.
      What are the good things that Paul speaks of in verse twenty-eight? They're not a better job, more money, perfect children, or a textbook marriage.  Those things may or may not get better. Looking at these things will only leave us discouraged. It's the promise that God is working all these circumstances, good or bad, to make us more like Christ. In other words, He wants to build us from the inside out. It doesn't get any better than that.
      So, are we going to jump the gap the way that Jack did, terrified, feeling betrayed, hurting?  Despite his very real emotions, he jumped with everything he had.  Our Father is standing with His arms outstretched, calling to us, over and over, again, " Jump! Answer my call. I have a work to do within you." The most wonderful thing about the call,  it never stops. We hear it every second, every minute, every hour, of every day.  He never stops calling us to healing. He never stops calling us into becoming more and more like Himself.  It is up to us to respond.  Will we? Will we stand on the very edge of the gap, knees shaking, heart raising, letting go of our circumstances, and jump with all of our might, straight into the arms of our Savior?  Will we allow Christ to do what He does best, change our heart for all eternity.

    
    
     

Unpacking

   About a month ago, I made my way to our attic to the two forty gallon rubber tubs that hold the belongings of my son Miles. I used them to pack up his life possessions about six months after he died. They contain all the usual things that a boy would own: radio controlled cars, trophies, an alligator head, pocket knives, and so on.  In one of the boxes, I found his most prized possession, his boots. They are not cowboy boots or rain boots but tactical boots, the kind his daddy wears to work everyday.  His father is a police officer. Except, Miles' were brown. His daddy's were/are black. Anybody who knew Miles knows he loved his boots. Whether it be January or June, Miles had on his boots. It didn't even matter if they fit.  He still wore them, rain or shine.  We love Miles' boots because they are the essence of who he was, a rough, tumble some boy who loved the outdoors and didn't mind being a little different, and looking different meant he looked a little bit like his father.

   I had taken the boots out to do a picture for my blog.  To be honest, I loved that Miles' boots were once again lying around the house.  So, I left them by our patio doors to look at as I passed in and out of the house.  Miles would never believe how important those boots have become to the Paxton household. 
   One day as I was standing in my bathroom getting ready for the day, I heard, clump, clump, clump.  I looked to my left and there was Jack standing proud as a peacock with his brother's boots on his feet. " Look, mommy. I have Miles' feet on." There he was, in all of his glory, with boots all the way up to his knee caps and a smile that covered the rest.  It made this momma smile one of those deep down smiles that warms you from the inside out.  He could not have been happier, mimicking his brother, and I could not have been happier watching him stumble around in those old boots.

   

   Seeing Jack in his brother's boots gave me pause to think about how he could be so proud of something that belonged to a brother he has never met.  Miles is real to Jack, or so, it seems. He is as real to him as rain.  I started to think about how we have conveyed Miles to Jack. Why has it worked? What lesson could I learn from seeing him in those over sized boots?  I began to wonder. Do we make Christ as real in our home? Do we make Him so real that my children want to reflect Him, that they long to be like Jesus? The answers were convicting. 

   Because Miles' life is so intertwined with the life of every member of our family, there is a natural outpouring of our heart that makes its way to our mouths and right to the ears of anyone who will listen. The conversation is not a list of Miles' attributes or a succinct description of who he was.  It is a constant flow of remembrances based on how we each related to Miles. Our constant talk is of a relationship, not on the idea of a person.

    Our home is filled with the remnants of Miles, the things that remain simply because of his presence.  You will not get past the front door of our home without realizing that each of our children are incredibly special, as is in most homes. Pictures of Miles remain on the walls, bookcases, and tables. Home videos are stored in our computer. My top dresser drawer holds a hand written book. Because Miles' life mattered, we hold close to the things that are connected to him. They have become precious to us.

    We made a choice when Jack came into our family that we would not take Miles out of our conversations.  We could have waited until the "right time" and sat down and had a conversation with Jack about Miles, but we wanted Miles to be a part of Jack's normal. We wanted him to become woven into Jack's life in the same way that we all had to begin to knit ourselves together as a family. He has never known life without Miles.

    All this to say, Have I done the same thing with Christ? Have I displayed the things of Christ to show to my children? Does He grace every nook and cranny of my home? Am I so involved with Him that I talk of what he has done for me, daily? Are there remnants of His presence that fill my home? Is He deeply woven into the fabric of my children's lives, them not knowing anything different? Have I made that choice?

    When I weigh these questions, I realize I have some unpacking to do, just as I unpacked those old boots that so remind us of Miles. I need to put on display and love the things of Christ. There should be somethings in my home that make Christ real to my children. I have a Bible that needs to be opened, and a mouth that needs to talk of my Savior as my Father and Friend, hymnbooks that lie around and a song of thanksgiving that fills the air, church bulletins, and prayer lists.  Some of these items alone are meaningless, but they are what remains when He has graced us with His presence.  They are the culminating results of a Spirit filled home.

     May my children never know the opposite. May Christ become so real to them that they want only to stand as proud as a peacock and say, " Look at me! I look like my Father!"  Even if it means, they look a little different.

Now...if you'll excuse me. I have some unpacking to do....   

   

   

Is There a GPS for That?

     Lost, confused, bitter, frustrated...Do these words sound familiar? Surely, someone besides me has found themselves in a place that they did not intend to go and most definitely did not intend to stay. All the while, we grow more frustrated and bitter by the second as we try to figure out how in the world to get out of the mess we have so encapsulated ourselves within.  It feels that way, right? North, south, east, west...choose a direction.  We're not getting out.  All sense of direction is gone. We were so busy paying attention to everything but the road that we don't know how we've gotten to where we are at; much less, how to look at a map to get us back to where we should have been before things went so desperately wrong.
      All this talk of being lost reminds me of the mall.  I like the mall. I go there a lot, but that's another blog. You walk up to those nice maps that help us to navigate through the mall. You look for a store. You find it. The problem is you can't find the "You are here" sticker. The one that tells you where you are at at that very moment. You don't know where you're at. All you know is you parked your car, walked into the mall, and got the profound idea to look at the map. So, you're standing there staring at a map, acting like you know what you are doing. When in all actuality, you don't know where you are at, and you, surely, have no clue as to what direction to walk to get yourself to where you want to go. You are utterly lost.
    Once, a couple of summers ago, I got the notion that I would like to take myself to Hanging Rock State Park. There are two things you need to know at this point in the story. I had never actually been to Hanging Rock State Park, and let's just say, I'm not the most technologically savvy person in the universe or on the planet. Either one works. It wasn't looking good for me. Google Maps was not even on my radar nor my phone. So, I decided I would print the directions off from a website on my computer, and away, I went.
     Things were going well. I was moving in the right direction. Until, I got to the last few steps in my driving instructions. Don't forget. These were my directions. I had decided I was going to follow them to the end.  After a few turns, that little voice inside my head said to me, " Victoria, I believe you have made a wrong turn somewhere." Did I turn around? Nope. Once again, I have MY directions. I get to the last road. It seems sort of suspect. Actually, it wasn't even paved. Well, if I wanted to be more descriptive, there was mud from here to yonder, and there were ruts in this road that a small child could have gotten himself lost in. Against all good sense, I keep going, mud flying, dodging ruts, because I am following MY directions.       
     Now, I knew I was in some dangerous territory. I had decided if I had to get my Jeep towed out of this mess that I had best just have the tow truck driver drop me off at the nearest hotel. In the words of Ricky Ricardo, I'd a had some splaining to do to my probably, not so understanding, husband. I figured, no matter how very much I tried to sugar coat it, it was going to be real hard to try to explain to him why I had gotten myself stuck on a backwoods country road, covered in mud, near the border of Virginia.
     Even so, I pushed on to my final destination. I had arrived...to a big, flat field of nothing. There wasn't even a stinking cow to greet me, nor a tree, or a house, and definitely not a sign that read Hanging Rock State Park. I really had thought I was going somewhere.  The truth, I wasn't going anywhere, and I was so lost that it took me many attempts to get to where I really should have been.  It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out I was looking at the wrong directions.
      How in the world do we manage to get ourselves so incredibly lost? Figuratively speaking, how do we manage to end up in a deserted field that has nothing to offer us. It's a destination that leaves us empty, let down, and confused. There are even warnings signs, evidences that we are not moving in the right direction, but we manage to blow right through them. Where, oh, where did we go wrong?
      Psalms 84:4 reads Blessed are they that dwell in Thy house: they will be still praising Thee.  Anna was a Jew who was continually in the Temple of Jerusalem. The book of Luke describes her encounter with Jesus forty days after his birth. And there was one Anna, a prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Aser: she was of a great age, and lived with an husband seven years from her virginity; And she was a widow of about fourscore and four years, which departed not from the temple, but served God with fastings and prayers night and day.  And she coming in the instant gave thanks likewise to the Lord, and spoke of him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.
     There were somethings about Anna that I found impressive. First, Anna's family had a history of tragedy. Seven hundred years earlier, a large part of her tribe had been carried off in captivity to Assyria. It's unclear if Anna's immediate family were a part of this group, but it is clear that they would have been part of a devastating separation. Even after hundreds of years, only a remnant of the tribe or Asher/Aser remained. Tragedy was woven into the tapestry of her people. Anna herself suffered the loss of her husband while in her early twenties. Anna knew heartbreak.
     Somehow, Anna's family had made their way to Jerusalem.  At the time of Christ's birth, there was a large population of Gentiles living in the city. Continuously spending ones life in the Temple would not have won you a popularity contest.  Anna was going against the grain.
     One more interesting fact about Anna, she, more than likely, wouldn't have been overly liked by the Jewish community, either.  Lest we forget, Anna was a part of a dwindling tribe.  She became a widow somewhere around the age of twenty-one.  The expectation would have been for her to remarry and have children. The tribe of Asher needed all the children they could manage to round up.  It's safe to say the Anna was probably an outsider who was viewed as eccentric.
     Some believe that Anna was eighty four at the time of her encounter with the Messiah. Others say she was somewhere around the age of one hundred five. Either way, she was old. I would like to believe that she was one hundred five. So, how did Anna manage to stay on the right path, the path that led her straight to the newborn Messiah?  How did she stay faithful with so many obstacles in her way?
    The answer lies in Anna's location. She was constantly at the temple. That means she was continually seeking to be in the presence of God.  She pursued Him night and day.  She sought to be His servant through fastings and prayers  Nothing was going to stand in the way of Anna hearing her God's voice, not heartbreak, social stigma, loneliness, or age. She stripped it all away to be able to hear His voice at exactly the right time.  Anna was able to prophesy about the most profound movement of God that this world will ever experience because she relentlessly pursued His presence.
     Ladies, what are we willing to rid ourselves of? What are we willing to say no to in order to pursue our King? How many directions are we pulled? How often do we strive to be what everyone around us says we should be?  Christ says, "No! Come into my presence. Hear my voice. Follow me." Anna didn't give up a wrong life. She gave up a life that was wrong for her.  She was able to live her story because she continuously indulged herself in the presence of her Lord.
     It is my desire to be an Anna, that I would lay all things aside to engulf myself in a relationship with my Father.  I long to never look at my directions, or expected directions, or everyone else's directions but to live out, in fullness, the unique life that He has called me to.  I long to never end up back in that deserted field, empty, let down, and confused. I long to not miss what is important, the way that Anna didn't miss the most earth shattering event in human history.  More than anything, oh, how I simply long to hear His voice...
    
     
    
    
    

Can You See Him?

     How much is too much?  How much of myself, my story, my struggles, my victories do I share? Does it matter? Does it matter that I share with other Christians? Does it matter that I share with those who don't believe?  I had to answer that very question, once again, this week. 

     I'm not much for meeting perfect strangers.  There are days that I feel I could mostly go my whole life and never interfere with someone who really has no desire to involve themselves with me.  My son, Jack, ruins that whole plan. I've come to recognize that it's God ordained. Let's just say Jack stretches me, as he did this week while we were camping.  The couple camping behind us never knew what hit them. One minute, they are alone.  The next minute, a five year old is breathing down their necks trying to catch a glimpse of the fishing rod that the older gentleman was putting together for a fishing trip to the nearest lake. When I say he was in their personal space, I mean he was within inches of the poor fella doing the work and almost had pole in hand. My first reaction, Wow! How does he move that fast? My second reaction, Great. Here we go, again. I'm going to have to explain to these people why my son feels that everybody is his friend and hope they are not completely annoyed. Like I said, Jack stretches me. Moms of social butterflies are smiling. You, too, have been in my shoes.
  
  Turns out, they weren't annoyed at all. Not that that's not the typical reaction. It's rare that I run across a person who doesn't like kids and all you can do is apologize profusely and move on, quickly. They asked about Jack. I told them about his adoption and about the other couples in our church who were or had adopted. They told me about their children. I told them about mine. I knew I was on thin ice. That little voice inside of my head was saying, You are getting yourself into something you are going to have to explain. Then, it happened, the next question. I knew it was coming. These days, I can almost predict exactly where in in the conversation it will fall. It's the next logical question. Everybody asks it. Didn't you say you had two other children? How old are they? I hesitated for a moment and said the only thing I knew to say, the truth. "My daughter Hannah is fifteen. My son Miles would have been seventeen this year. He passed away a few years ago." I was choking back tears. Sometimes, that happens. Sometimes, it doesn't. Problem is, I can never predict which way my emotions will go. This day, they didn't go the direction I was hoping for.
   
 To say that was a turning point in the conversation would be an understatement.  I got a quick, "I'm sorry." There was silence, some polite goodbyes, and I got myself out of there as quickly as I had gotten myself into this very uncomfortable situation.  It made me rethink this idea of transparency.  Is it worth it? How does it effect the people that we come into contact with? I'm not taking tact off the table. We should have it. I probably should have had a little more. With that in place, should we be willing to allow believers and non-believers to see our most hidden parts, the parts that hurt the most, the parts we can't always control, the parts that we wished we didn't have to look at everyday? It is a risk. It's not always received. So, is it worth it?

     Galatians 6:2 tells us Bear one another's burdens, and thereby fulfil the law of Christ. The law being to love God with all of your heart and to love your neighbor as yourself.  MacArthur explains it this way Saving faith proves its genuine character by works of love. The person who lives by faith is internally motivated by love for God and Christ, which supernaturally issues forth in reverent worship, genuine obedience, and self-sacrificing love for others.  Paul is telling the church of Galatia, if you want others to see the love of Christ that is within you, it must be manifested out by carrying the burdens of other believers. The picture painted in Galatians 6:2 is of one believer going to another hurting believer, picking up this heavy weight of suffering, and carrying it with endurance. That means we don't give up on each another. It means that bearing one another's burdens is, as MacArthur stated, a supernatural work that can only be done through the power of Christ.

  
   So...what burden's did the church of Galatia have to bear? The Christians of Galatia faced persecution from the Jewish community. The Galatians, who were Gentiles, had begun to take on Jewish customs to help aviod persecution. They had become what we would call today fence straddlers, believing in Christ but taking on the Mosaic Law. The letter to Galatia was Paul's way of admonishing the new believers into holding firm to Christ. The Galatians were well aware of what happened to those who truly rocked the boat for Christ. The Apostles, including Paul, were flogged, stoned, imprisoned, and all but one Apostle died a martyr's death.
  
   Justin Martyr wrote this about Christian persecution some time around 100 years after the book of Galatians was written: Though beheaded, and crucified, and thrown to wild beasts, and chains, and fire, and all other kinds of torture, we do no give up our confession; but, the more such things happen, the more do others in large numbers become faithful.  Obviously, the killing of Christians was not having the desired affect that the Roman government had desired. Just the opposite, the Christian faith was growing!

     Sharing our hurts, the wounds we've sustained from living in a fallen world and struggling with the sin nature we all possess, has an affect on the glorification of Christ.  If we don't share with other believers, they never know to walk over and pick up that burden.  We are robbing them of the opportunity to reflect Christ in their own lives. When we love each other in a supernatural way, sometimes helping to carry a burden for years, going the distance when others would have given up, we prove that there's something to Christ. He causes miracles to happen. 
 
   One of the things I love most about my life with Christ is that He never works in the way that I expect Him to work. At the end of the day, sometimes, all I can say is, "Oh." and smile. God's economy works completely opposite of our own.  As is the case when we share our journey, sometimes a difficult one, with those who don't believe.  I would expect them to run for the hills, but as we see in the early church, when we share God's faithfulness to us which in turn creates a faith within ourselves, it draws others to the cross. The cross, also a place of great persecution.... Once again, Christ is glorified.
  
    My conclusion, to share my wounds with others is an act of worship. It shows the adoration that I have for the most faithful of Ones, my Jesus. It yells to a lost world, He is my Sustainer!  It says to other believers, " I believe that my Heavenly Father will be faithful through you. I believe that you will reflect Christ to me and to all the world."  In all things, Christ is glorified. After all, it is He, not I who is to be lifted up. It is and will always be about Him. 
  
    The next time I am tempted to hide the battle wounds of my journey, to believe that they don't matter,  I'm going to say, "Can you see that? "  No!... Even so much better, I think I'm just going to say, "Can you see Him?"

Justin Martyr
    
   

Backwards Looking

      Anybody who knows anything about adoption knows that Gotcha day is one of the most important days in the life of an adoptee and their family. It's the day that an adopted son or daughter comes to be a part of a family. Each subsequent year, the day is celebrated as a reminder of the beginning of a new life. Recently, the day marked our son's first year home.  It turned out to be much more important than Jack's birthday. It marked a changed life, the kind of life that each child deserves, the kind of life that is full of possibilities, the kind of life that entitles him to the benefits of being a Paxton. Some of those benefits: being rocked to sleep, being hugged, being kissed, being sang to, hearing  I love you, never being alone, having someone to kiss your boo boos, and being able to say, That's MY Mommy and Daddy. It is a simplest of lists with life changing implications.
      I started doing some backwards looking around the time of Jack's Gotcha Day.  In one year, his health has improved. His skin has cleared. He can speak English. He has settled in and become more confident and secure.  The idea of backwards looking occurred to me as I watched him take the stairs to Sunday School a few weeks ago, one foot per step without holding on to the rail.  A year ago, the scenario would have been vastly different. Two weeks ago, was Jack still a little wobbly? Did I want to stay close behind him to catch him if he fell? Absolutely. I had to stop and remind myself to look backwards at the progress he has made. He is no longer the frightened, clumsy, and confused kid that we knew a year ago. I had to say out loud, " Sometimes,  you have to look backwards to see how far you have come."
      It seems to me that this is a lesson all of us could be reminded of from time to time, this thing of backwards looking. How easily am I discouraged when I stumble and fall while traveling along my Christian journey?  Each of us have those things that make us stumble and fall. All as unique as the individual they oppress.  I catch myself  thinking these sorts of thoughts. Are you kidding me? Am I really right back here again?  I thought I had gotten past this.  Why am I so weak?  When will I ever stop letting this trip me up? Sound familiar? Ladies, we all know the feelings of failure that can quickly creep up on us when we least expect it.
      One of my favorite Bible verses is Hebrews 12:1.  Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud a witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin that doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us. I love to envision those who have gone before us, surrounding us, cheering us on.  Who better for such a job?  Paul tells us that this life is a race. Here, he is speaking of Greek races. The Greek Olympics were in full swing during Paul's lifetime. Those who read his letter would have known exactly what Paul was speaking of. Olympia terminology was commonplace throughout Paul's known world. The Greek word for race in this particular verse is ajgwvn.  It means a conflict, fight, contention, race. In other words, it is not a quick easy sprint. It is a marathon, a fight that takes great focus to win.  Paul makes it clear that this life will always have its ups and downs. The path can be, will be, difficult. We will fall, on occasion.
        We've established that the Christian race is not a cake walk. So, what happens when we trip over a hurdle and fall flat on our faces? Mind you, there are usually some spectators there to watch you crash and burn in your embarrassment. Sister....that's never a good day.  Backwards looking helps us to dust off the road rash and go for the next hurdle.  What has Christ delivered you from? Maybe, it is an addiction, lying, self hate, spiritual poverty, loneliness.  We all have a story. As Bob Jones stated, We don't get to choose the race that is placed in front of us. Sometimes, the hurdles are there before we ever arrive at the stadium. But, praise be to God, He is sanctifying us daily. Ladies, look at how far Christ has brought you! Best of all, we never have to go back to the start of the race, and the end is in sight. We have a prize that no one can take away from us,....no one. We are more than conquerors! Today, let's dust off our knees, do some backwards looking, and remember that Christ is our Deliverer.....Girls, I'll see ya at the races!

Extra Change

     Has anyone ever been in a checkout line only to realize that what you are buying is going to cost like ummmm...$.10 and all you have to pay with is a debit card?  This happened to me tonight at Walgreens.  Worst case scenario, there's a minimum purchase requirement, leaving me without my grandmother's one 4X6 photograph.  Least worst scenario, I lose face because I don't have a ridiculously small amount of change.  Having the large self esteem that I have, I start to search frantically through my pocketbook for change.  It's amazing what one can find in the bottom of one's purse: earrings, safety pins, a Spiderman glove, blue candy ( what a waste), one quarter, a dime, and three pennies. That's right, 38 cents.
     Now, I'm starting to get real worried, certain the tax is going to put me over the edge.  Grandma ain't going to be happy.  Fingers crossed, I wait for the total....$.16.  Yes! I hit the weekday jackpot.  Today is the Tuesday "You only have to pay $.15 for a picture" Sale.  All I have to say is, "Happy Tuesday, Ya'll!" ....Oh, and I have 12 cents, covered in blue candy, jingling in the bottom of my pocketbook.

     I started thinking about this extra change business along the time when my always encouraging friend, Valerie, announced that she had been cancer free for eight years. At the time, I wasn't thinking of it as change, but as blessings. This is what I mean. Valerie was in her checkout line of life. Checkout lines are fairly stress free until we realize we don't have the means to pay for the debt that is about to be incurred. Some of us...ahem, like me...dig like crazy through our purses to find enough money to pay the debt. For her, the debt was breast cancer. For some of us, it may be a husband who has walked out, a sick child, abuse, mental illness....the list could go on and on. For me, it was the death of my eldest son. The panic that can ensue is universal. We've all been there.

    Then, my mind took me a little further into this scenario.  While we're in the back of the line acting like a lunatic, we've forgotten to look up and see who's in charge of the debt. Of course, it's Jesus. I suppose he probably looks at our pathetic coins and just smiles. I think he would say something like this, " I got this. I had it 2000 years ago on the cross. I had it before you even knew you had a debt. Oh, and here's a little extra change to put in your pocket."

    Yes! The extra change!  We always get the extra change.  Valerie survived cancer and got her extra change via four beautiful children.  I am surviving the loss of my son, and Christ has given me a little extra change. His name's Jack.  Did I mention that all five of these children are adopted? That's right. Valerie and I are not the only ones who got some extra change. 

    Is there always going to be some blue candy stuck to the change, those things that are sweet to our heart but can't be recovered in this lifetime? Yes. I would like to say that I always focus on the extra change, but some days, I see more of the blue candy.  I'm sure if I asked Valerie, she would say she has some blue candy, too.  But that change, it's always jingling in my pocket.  It's the sound of my Father calling to me. It's His reminder to me...I love you, I love you, I love you. And, no matter where I roam or how much blue candy I see, I can't get away from the sound of the change in my pocket.

So...Do you have any extra change?



"Thee" Mommy

    Sunday morning worship service,  it is the place where we come together to sing, fellowship, and hear from the Word. It is one of the few constants in the life of a Paxton. However, when will we arrive for service? No one knows.  The youngest child may spill spoiled, leftover milk into the backseat. Yes, this happened recently. A bad hair day can throw the whole production off its tracks, or the Starbucks line could be at a standstill. For sure, everybody needs a Starbucks on Sunday morning. Departure time from the church parking lot can be just as unpredictable.  After all, rounding up a very sociable five year old, a teenager, and a mom who likes to talk, talk, talk, can be a very difficult undertaking for almost anyone.  Besides, Worship is the place I want to be on a Sunday morning, and I'm never in too much of a hurry to leave some of the most precious people I know.

     This most recent Sunday, something caught my eye, or should I say my attention? It wasn't from the Scriptures, a cool new worship song, or Heaven help, the fantastic outfit that the person a few rows over from me may have been wearing. This was different. My son, Jack, was lying across the laps of both his parents. He likes to do that. It was nothing new, really. Then, it happened. My fifteen year old daughter decided to join in on the love. She laid her head on my shoulder, no one else's shoulder. It was mine! Can I just say, "WHAT IN THE WORLD!?" What did I do right on this perfectly typical day?
     I started looking around, all around, up and down every single row. I'm sure you've been there.  When something unusual happens to you, you must look to see if it's happening to someone else. Nope. There were no other teenagers to be found who were snuggled up to their mothers. This was really getting a little odd.  The Pastor! I wondered if he was seeing this whole situation unfold. We all know the car affect that happens once we take our seat in the congregation. We forget that from the platform everything can be seen, but like in the car, we don't always alter our behavior. Many of unusual things have been seen from the pulpit. I'm sure we all could name a few.  This day, I am most certain, our pastor was wondering what was going on over in the Paxton corner of the house. Did I make mention that my husband was also sitting very close to me, arm around my shoulder? It was a real lovefest.
    I was a little uncomfortable, a little embarrassed. No one else's family looked like mine. This Sunday morning, we didn't fit the congregation's mold. How often do I look around at others to measure my normal? How often do I miss my blessing because I'm consumed by someone else's blessing? But, not on this day. This day, I decided to look my blessing square in the eye, even if it didn't look just so, so.
   I could hear Christ whisper to my heart, "You are the mommy." Or, for more dramatical purposes,  Thee Mommy. Where else would I rather be, or what else would I rather be doing than sitting with my precious children, closely, affectionately by my side?  Yes. I am the mommy. I love being the mommy! What an insane blessing! I have been allowed the ability to speak into my children's life in a way that nobody else will ever do. I have been given the opportunity to nurture, raise, and set them free to do a mighty work for the King! Wow! INSANE blessing.
    Hmmm...maybe next Sunday, we'll do it all, again....
   As mothers, we all share these moments.  The instances where we simply look at our children and say, "Wow. I really get to do this, Lord? You've chosen me to be a part of the work you are accomplishing within my children?" They often happen at the most unexpected times, in the most unusual ways.  What are some of your "Thee Mommy" moments?