Just to Be With Her....

"So has Doug arrived?," I inquired of my friend.

"He has. Came in yesterday," she responded.

"Does he like the apartment?" I probed further.

"It's a house. He has the whole house to himself for a few weeks," she answered.

Doug, is Lisa's beau. Twenty one years old, no job, and no guarantee that this move from his hometown in the state of Washington to Virginia will win him the true desire of his heart, but romantic and courageous as ever. He reminds me a bit of my dad, Guy.

When my mom and dad were dating, my dad wrote her a letter every day. Then, every chance he had, he would drive eight hours from Buffalo to Rhinebeck, spend the weekend with her, and at 10:00 p.m. on Sunday night climb back in his car to drive the eight hours back to Buffalo. On July 30th, they were married 43 years.

Doug has been dating Lisa for over a year now and not unlike some couples in this day and age, they met online. They have emailed back and forth, talked on the phone, and visited for brief periods, but this week he took the plunge. He moved to Virginia.

How precious! How courageous! How incredibly romantic! Doug simply loves this young twenty one year old woman. He is no doubt enthralled with her beauty, her mystery, and all the wonder that makes up this twenty one year old named Lisa. Thus, he has given up everything familiar, comfortable, and safe. He has travelled across the country just to be with her.

It reminds me of The Love Song sung by Third Day. It reads:

I've heard it said that a man would climb a mountain
Just to be with the one he loves
How many times has he broken that promise
It has never been done.
I've never climbed the highest mountain
But I walked the hill of Calvary

[Chorus:]
Just to be with you, I'd do anything
There's no price I would not pay
Just to be with you, I'd give anything
I would give my life away.

I've heard it said that a man would swim the ocean
Just to be with the one he loves
How may times has he broken that promise
It can never be done
I've never swam the deepest ocean
But I walked upon the raging sea

[Repeat chorus]

[Bridge]
I know that you don't understand
the fullness of My love
How I died upon the cross for your sins
And I know that you don't realize
how much that I gave you
But I promise, I would do it all again.
Just to be with you, I've done everything
There's no price I did not pay
Just to be with you, I gave everything
Yes, I gave my life away.

It's amazing. The thought of it literally takes my breath away. To know there are men who will sacrifice everything just to be with the woman they truly love and adore sweeps me off my feet.

Even more so, to know that's what God has already done for you and me. Just to be with her! Just to be with you! Just to be with me! Pure romance doesn't get any better than that!

I commend young men like Doug and I am so appreciative of knowing the stories behind my mom and dad's own great romance. They are a shadow and token of the Great One's love and sacrifice on Calvary.

To Doug and Lisa, I wish you nothing but the best.

To Guy and Linda, my mom and dad, keep enjoying the romance and Happy Belated Anniversary!

To Jesus, there are not enough words to thank you for choosing to love and come for me.

Shack, Stream, or Basement

After hearing much adieu, I finally decided to pick up The Shack by William P. Young. I started reading it Friday night and finished it this morning. Thought provoking, heart warming, and like a large wooden spoon, it stirred and swirled many fragments brewing within me. Like many, I chuckled, cried, and ached for the characters affected. I even wanted to know more about what would happen to each of those involved after the story ended. I was simply captivated.

It caused me to ponder my own struggles. Will I find resolution? Will I, like the protagonist, Mackenzie Allen Philips, find healing, along with my own unending questions answered? When? What will God do? What now or what next?

In the story,the shack serves as a metaphor for a place we get stuck and can't seem to move beyond. It is usually a place of great loss or pain. Where is God in all this chaos and havoc and where do we go from here? A shack is commonly defined as "a roughly built hut or cabin". To me this implies it is not meant to be a place of permanence, but something fashioned together quickly for the sole purpose of shelter from severe weather.

Last month, I had a dream. I awoke somewhat stunned with numerous questions. I was at some type of church function where everyone was smiling, dancing, and having a real good time. Everyone but me, that is. In spite of many of my friends being there, I did not feel comfortable. I became increasingly anxious and walked out into a dark corridor. With eyes fixed upon the ceiling, I cried out, "God, I'm stuck in the basement! Can't you just beam me up?" Although, I may have been hoping for something of a Star Trek experience and being instantly transported, it wasn't quite like that. I glanced to my left and saw a doorway with lot's of green trees or bushes just on the other side of it. I moved towards it and found myself not only out the door, but flying over tree tops, ever so high, up to clouds comprised of the most beautiful flowers, blue, pink, silver, and white. They were mostly roses or hydrangeas. I loved them! Instantly, I began to walk barefoot upon them, so as to feel the softness of the petals beneath my feet. I gathered bouquets in my hands, lifting them up to my nose to inhale their scent. There was much more after this, all so vivid and somewhat puzzling, but I was indeed, no longer stuck in the basement. Upon talking with my friend, Shari, she encouraged me, that the frustrations I have been wrestling with, would soon come to an end. I would be lifted up and out. She believed it was a promise from God that there would be healing.

In The Shack, Mackenzie found healing, but it meant travelling to a place of great pain once again. In addition, he had choices to make while he was there. It kind of reminded me of a scene from C.S Lewis' The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. In it, Lucy, a young girl, comes upon Aslan, the great lion and metaphor for Jesus. She is dying of thirst and so desperately wants to cross in order to drink from the stream he is resting in front of. She probes him with questions like, "Do you eat little girls? Is it safe? Is there another stream?" His responses were anything but comforting, yet most truthful. To the second question he said,"I make no promises." and to the last, he replied, "There is no other stream."

It was not until I was in my mid thirties, that I finally could smile broadly and unashamed of my teeth. For many years, they were crooked, and a sight I hid from others. Due to many circumstances beyond my control, I did not have the opportunity to get braces for a long time. Furthermore, I assumed I would never be able to afford it. However, my dentist was persistent in broaching the subject each time I went in for a cleaning. He was most assured that the orthodontist would work with me and I would be able to do it. I'm glad he did not give up.

At 33 years old, I finally took the plunge and went for a consultation with the orthodontist my dentist recommended. I explained to him how Dr. Naglieri kept persisting that I come. His response somewhat surprised me, but has always stuck out in my mind like a neon sign lit up in a dark window. He asked me, "Are you ready to do this?"

In conclusion, whether it's a shack to revisit, an old basement we're trapped in, or the stream we seek refreshment from, are we ready to do it? Are we ready to do what needs to be done, to gain freedom and beauty? Am I ready? What is it that holds us back from flying?

Death & Life

I didn't know her personally, but I do remember seeing her sit beside her mom in church about three weeks ago. A woman with long, blond flowing hair, a radiant smile, and fit as can be. She and her mom, Inger could almost pass as sisters. Her name was Allisyn. She was only a year younger than I and died while doing what she loved, base jumping.

Just a few days after the news, I saw her dad, Ralph in church. Both of his hands were outstretched. While standing over six feet tall, he worshipped to the song of "Amazing Grace" Like the blooming cacti in the desert, Ralph stood strong and tall, vibrant as ever. This in spite of such fiery heat. One might ask, 'Why? How can he do that?"

After hugging his wife, Inger, she said to me with tears in her eyes, "When I heard the song, 'Oh, how He loves us' I just wished those kids were here to experience this." She, as her husband, Ralph, clings to that priceless truth. They both know God loves them. Although they grieve the loss of their sweet Allisyn, they also celebrate her life. A life that was undoubtedly lived out with great passion and zest. I am told she knew God. It is evident from the stories and photos shared, that she relentlessly and fearlessly pursued her dreams. She was not afraid to live. She was not afraid to die. Thus, she inspired many.

This past Sunday, we had a guest speaker. Larry, one of the missionaries we support in Ecuador, explained that if we focus on the here and now, we can miss eternity. There are days he and his wife, Susan would like to cash it in and just come home to the States, but they don't. Again, one might question, "Why not?" Their response? They know in their hearts that what they are doing is making a difference for eternity. They may or may not see the fruit of their labor, but they trust God to do something with it. They are utterly convinced of a divine purpose.

I am humbled and inspired by all of these people. I do not have such faith made of steel. Like many, I like to see and know something is working and how. I am reminded of a poem by Alexander Pope. It is entitled, "The Dying Christian To His Soul"

Vital spark of heav’nly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav’n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?

When we each meet that inevitable appointment with death, may it be only after we have lived so passionately, doing that it is, which we were divinely called and gifted to do in the first place. May our own deaths and lives, inspire others to reach for their dreams and LIVE! Until then, may our faith be strengthened as we consider both death and life.

The Pure Pleasure of Hard Work

There's nothing like clean windows. As my grandmother says, "It's a pleasure to see them clean." I appreciated this fact even more so after some recent cleaning jobs with my friend, Cathy.

Earlier in the week I was to meet her at 6:00 a.m. for a cleaning job just up the road from where I live. Early in the morning because the place had no AC. When I arrived, Karen, another fellow worker, directed me as to what needed to be done. The house had recently been emptied and a real estate company needed it cleaned before showing it. "We need to dust from top to bottom and take the windows out to clean both sides of the storms before putting them back in," she instructed. I knew the vacuuming would be last, along with the bathrooms and mopping.

The dusting and vacuuming I was used to, but this was the first someone requested all the windows, inside and out. After one look it was clear why. I don't think some of them had ever been done. Not to mention the painter who never put masking tape down, so that when the trim was painted, it got all over the edges of the windows. Yuck! Dusty cobwebs coated the basement windows on both sides.

I don't even remember how long it took me. I had to clean many of the windows three or four times on each side so there were no streaks. Cathy had a razor blade for going around the edges to scrape off the excess paint. Time consuming, but well worth it. When I returned to the house yesterday, one of the neighbors pulled up in a small pick up truck. "Can I help you?" I asked. An older man with white hair and glasses stepped out, walking towards me.

"I just came by to check on things," he responded.

"I was told to come back and do some more windows. The realtor requested the garage windows be done as well," I explained.

"You ladies did a beautiful job. I thought you took out the glass in the front by the door," he commented.

"They hadn't been done in awhile," I said.

"Probably not since the builder in 1976," he kidded.

Soon enough, the friendly man was on his way and I continued with cleaning. While scraping off more paint and sticky residue from one of the storms, I thought to myself, "This is a lot of work, but they sure do look nice when they're finished."

I began to ponder how it might be similar to the work and love involved in caring for others. Many lives are tarnished, beaten from the storms of life and entangled by spiders' webs, but what a pleasure to see all of that icky residue wiped away and the gleaming luster restored. Just look at the difference in the windows. When the glass is clean, all kinds of vibrant colors can shine through, lit up by the beaming rays of the sun.

Note: the images posted above are not the actual windows of the house recently cleaned

Heat or No Heat

While reclining in her periodontist's chair, Ellen was asked, "How did you get this tough, Ellen? I have so many patients come in that are so fragile and then you come in."

"I get it from my flowers. I look at them and see how tall they stand out there. They're pretty tough. Heat or no heat, they're still there. When I see them I know I can be tough, too," she responded.

Ellen is pretty tough. She's my neighbor and friend from the laundry room who's battled cancer twice and now going for a third time. Her scan was not clean. She is not cancer free, but her spirit is. This week she's helping out with vacation Bible school at her church and loves it. Recently, she got the neighbors to plant a garden under our apartment sign out front. She continues to be a blessing and inspiration to all.

When she told me "Heat or no heat.." I thought of blooming cacti in the desert. So I did a search online for blooming cacti. Did you know the pink hedgehog cactus blooms dainty pink flowers and they only open at night? I was astonished to discover there are several different types of cacti that bloom in the desert in spite of its extreme temperatures. Amazing and unthinkable, which brings me back to my friend, Ellen.

I'm thankful for people like her. Regardless of another bout with cancer, she like those flowers stands tall, producing some of the loveliest blooms ever seen.