How to be Awesome

i don't know if anyone on this planet has taken longer to make it through the Book of Luke than I have.  of course, most people haven't ever even thought of trying to in the first place.

i'm finally getting near the end.  we're moments from the climax.   SO excited!

the Christmas festivities are over, memories and joy still fresh in our minds, and now i'm reading through the story of those moments that He came here for.  that huge moment we just sang, read, heard, and partied about- the Immortal becoming a mortal, Heaven meeting earth in the wildest manner- was all leading up to this even huger moment: the first, last and only innocent mortal becomes the guilty, the Captain becomes Expendable Crewman, the King becomes lowest of the low, the world as we know it turns upside down and inside out and even the natural elements shake, rattle and roll in protest, tossing newly un-dead people out of their graves, the sun forgetting to shine, earthquakes cracking the ground open, curtains splitting top to bottom. now that ought to raise your blood pressure a bit!

i'd been reading pretty slowly, maybe a section or two at a time, which could be 2 verses or 20, depending on how much dear Dr. Luke had to say.  but this last bit he's been going faster, shooting out bits and pieces as fast as his little quill can go 'cause he just can't help himself.  i think he's getting excited too because he knows what's coming.

he's retelling a story he's heard bunches of times, reliving that epic weekend and wishing that he could have been there with his journal and sketchbook. 

it's the Jews' biggest holiday, full of merrymaking, songs, family get-togethers,  in-law jokes, memories, gift-giving, travel and traffic jams, tradition, and worship of the best kind.  a time to be together and spend time with those closest to you, remembering the past and always looking forward to the future. 

sound familiar? it should. you just survived it ;)

so Jesus is there despite all the intra-national chaos He's caused, with His very closest friends- just 12.  well, 11 really, but there's a black sheep in every group (just most really aren't quite this black). 

and He, like usual, drops a major bomb on the scene, and turns the party into a panic scene.  if they'd been paying attention, they would have recalled His mentioning this before, but they weren't so they didn't.  but they sure noticed when He took the tradition to a whole new level , introduced a new spin on the Passover, and started talking quite frankly about dying and then coming back to life.

can you just imagine the "hugeness" of this moment?

all these things suddenly "click" in their heads, and like any other rational human being who just figures all this out, they completely freak. their best friend, future King who's going to kick out Rome, who can instantly cure anything, the smartest and wisest and fairest of all, the fulfiller of all their hopes and dreams- he's going to get murdered very soon, one of their best friends was a treacherous son of the Devil, and yet Jesus was unflustered. 

and then because Luke wasn't there, he just keeps on documenting what happened next…

ten seconds.  well, maybe it took more than that. 

but only one verse.

one. verse. later.

and these grown men are animatedly discussing who's going to be the Next Great Thing.  Jesus is sitting right there, Judas had just walked out, EVERYONE'S ETERNITY IS HANGING IN THE BALANCE, and He's watching them go from the having worst kind of emotional pain to bullies-  in the span of one verse. 

these friends suddenly turn into...well, childish jerks.  once they figured out who the Worst one was, Judas, now they all had to figure out their own rankings and who was the Greatest and would be named Team Captain once Jesus was gone. they'd been together for a few years, some of them were brothers and best friends for decades and so there was a wealth of ammo they could use on each other.  i wonder what Jesus' facial expression was as he listened to them try to prove to each other why they were each better than all the others. 

i don't know how long that whole convo went on before He spoke.  in my head i can see Him, just starting to talk.  not raising His voice.  not standing on His reclining pillow and making a toast.  not even begging anyone's pardon or asking to be excused to say something.  just starting to talk.  and then one or two noticed and turned their attention, so that the other nine or ten did, too.  part of me wonders if their host was around the corner eavesdropping on what this guy has to say.  everyone who was an Israelite knew this man was a sensation and attracted discussion, debate and chaos like never before- and this guy gets to host Him for the Passover!!!  well, what a story he had to tell his friends and curious neighbors later!!

and then, just like He's so good at, Jesus took all their lofty dreams, goals, aspirations, and Disciple of the Year Awards and flushed 'em.  ripped 'em to ribbons.

and replaced them with something entirely different, and entirely better.

zoom in on Peter, as he hears Jesus tell him that the leader is a servant, the Captain is the foot soldier, the CEO is the janitor. a few small sentences, and the whole definition of "Awesome" is redefined.

and Peter?  well, Peter just looks down, a bit embarrassed, and what does he see?

he sees his feet.  the feet that just minutes before had been washed and dried by the one he himself had openly confessed to  be the Lord Jesus Christ a while back- and had received his own name "Peter" at that same time. 

i have one little bitty post-it note in this section of my Bible.  right after graduating college i was "promoted" to the adult LifeGroup, which had been working through the book of Luke for possibly longer than i have been, and one statement stuck out and i just had to jot it down and never forget it.  so i did, and i haven't. 

one little quote:

"Jesus didn't tell us to be The Greatest.

Jesus told us to be Great."

and then He showed us how.  every day, for years with His disciples, and then one night with one paragraph.

He tells us, "here's how to be Awesome": 

you're winning that argument you're so "right" about? be quiet and forgive the "wrong" person.

you see nasty, dirty, smelly, arthritic feet with ingrown toenails and warts?  wash them, and give them a pedicure.

you see dirty dishes in the sink when it's "their turn"?  wash them anyway, and take out the trash while you're at it.

you see a WWII vet having lunch at Chili's?  pay his tab.

you see an antagonistic neighbor who has no friends because he's argued them all away having lunch all by himself at Chili's?  pay his tab, too, and tell the waiter to send him one of those wickedly delicious chocolate brownie desserts with ice cream and drizzle.

actually, He went a bit farther. 

"Peter, I just told you I was gonna DIE. 

that's not the END of Me being your Captain- it's the CLIMAX. 

YOU GUYS DON'T REPLACE ME, YOU FOLLOW ME.

I healed the blind, I played with kids at the playground, I blew the mind of that tax collector's world, I had lunch at that demon-possessed hooker's house with all her demon-possessed hooker friends- you know, you were there with Me, too, when those lives changed!! you saw the mute men speak, and you saw the Pharisees silenced. you shook hands with those newly-cleansed lepers, you witnessed that moment when a blind man saw the color "green" for the very first time, the first steps of a grown man no longer a cripple.

NONE of those moments were as incredible as the moments coming up. I rocked all their worlds; I'm about to rock yours.

THIS IS HOW YOU BE AWESOME. 

you die.  you follow my example, all the way to the Cross.

i'm going to die.  and then rise again, Captain of all Captains.

you're going to fail.  you're going to fail quite epically, in fact, and soon.  tonight.

but you're going to rise again and be a… brother.  not a Second in Command, or King, or Time's Person of the Year.  you don't get a badge or a crown or a cape. but failure though you are, you get my seal of approval. 

I prayed for you.

you are Mine. Satan asked for you; I said No.  I am telling him No, all the way up Golgotha.

THIS IS HOW YOU BE AWESOME.

…

follow Me."

the cool thing is when you keep reading Luke and you see it all happen.  Jesus dies...and then rises again.

Peter struggles.  Peter fails.  Peter turns back, follows Jesus and becomes a different kind of leader.

now it's my turn.

i struggled and failed at least as badly as Peter, but my Leader succeeded.

i walked around Calvary, but my Leader leads me UP Calvary.

my hands dripping with guilt are clean because my Leader's hands dripped with His own blood shed for mine.

my turn to look at my feet, cleansed with His forgiveness. 

my hands, cleansed by His love. 

my soul, with no other mark than His own Seal of Approval.

and my turn to get those feet following the Leader up path to Awesomeness. 

wanna come, too? please do- you're welcome to join me :)

the nurse you don't see

sometimes "privilege" doesn't sound like the right word for my "job"- but that word definitely doesn't sound right.  i get a paycheck every couple weeks, so it is indeed a  job, but i love it way to much to call it that.  but there are times when no word fits.  if someone had taken a stroll through the unit that night they would have seen people in scrubs doing what most every other person in scrubs would do: meds, IVs, charting, cleaning, smiling, moving, holding.

there are so many pictures, posters, posts and blogs about what it means to be a nurse, one more won't break the internet (i hope). i think every nurse has "that one" shift, maybe a small handful of shifts, that is their defining shift, that captures it all for them, that "lightbulb" moment where they realize what nursing really, truly is and why they can still handle being a nurse. there are many opinions of nurses, the majority of them positive- but for weird reasons, like because of passing nursing school,  or because i make "so much" money, or because they can't fathom starting tiny IVs or changing huge diapers, or hold a bucket for a nauseated stranger and are glad someone else will, or because they or a family member has been hospitalized and had a good, or at least expected- given the situation-, experience. just about all of it is true- except for the "so much money" thing (i don't know where that nonsense comes from), but none of it has anything to do with how i feel about my job or how i define it. 

the "everyones" out there have their reasons based on the nurse they see. good for them- their opinions are valid and appreciated.

but i have my own reasons, and they're all based on the nurse they don't see.

the nurse you saw last night successfully started a tiny IV in a tiny, wiggly scalp, cleaned up puke at least half a dozen times, dosed out antibiotics and drew labs all over the place.

...the nurse you didn't see literally held a cranky kid's hand for 15 minutes so he would just finally go to sleep because he felt like crap, skipped lunch, and helped code a newborn while the parents slept upstairs, quickly, quietly, efficiently- at least 5 people working as one body with one mission: save this life.

the nurse you saw helped a friend clean up after the code failed, paper, notes, packaging, pens, equipment, trash. sweep the floor. wipe down the monitors. clean off, scrub down, and set up the bed for the next admission.

...the nurse you didn't see couldn't help the parents at all.

the nurse you saw was laughing and cracking jokes about stupid, borderline insensitive, things as the nurse she helped earlier helped her as she restarted yet another IV in the puke-y kid for more medications.

...the nurse you didn't see had to laugh about something because it was either that or just cry.

the nurse you saw couldn't cry- at least not on the clock because the kids still needed to be fed and cleaned up again- after puking up everything you just fed them 5 minutes earlier.

...the nurse you didn't see was still holding back the tears, because in a way she just lost a child that night, too.  nothing at all compared to her parents- nowhere near it- but we lost, too.

the nurse you saw didn't sit down for more than 5 minutes until 0628 exactly. (those three 5-minute segments were strategically placed bathroom breaks).  literally every time she did sit down someone somewhere needed her immediately.

...the nurse you didn't see wasn't ever "there"- because she was always "somewhere" else, or moving from "here" to "there" and it was just more efficient to keep walking- or running- than try to sit and chart. 

the nurse you saw clocking out was tired and dizzy and struggling with the whole spectrum of emotions as well as a sudden drop of adrenaline, caffeine, and blood glucose-all concurrently.

the nurse you didn't see was driving well below the speed limit because she couldn't see.  everything was blurry.

the nurse you saw, and maybe were driving behind and trying to pass, was already a mess before the shift.

the nurse you didn't see-believe it or not- sometimes has a life outside the hospital and things there were fraying at the edges  before  the shift started, so you can just imagine how her face looked stopped at that red light. well, probably better not- it's not pretty.  she stayed in the car, parked in the driveway, for another half hour to calm down, praying, thinking, processing, crying it out, hoping the red eyes wouldn't attract attention from the roommates, not having a word to offer as explanation.

the nurse you saw did all those things you thought she did, and is at least as lucky as you think she is- but not for the reasons you may have thought.

yeah, it's a job. a job that takes up weekends, holidays, nights, hours on-call, late-night take-out orders, phone calls and texts at 2 am, sore feet, headaches.

but it's more, and completely different. i guess the super-spiritual, cool word to use would be "calling." we are called because we love it, and we love it because we are called to it.  over and over and over again, knowing that we are constantly one heartbeat away from having another shift like this one.

it's more than a privilege, even on those mind-blowingly wretched nights that threaten to beat you down into the floor. 

because those are also the nights when our team of nurses would put Jack Bauer to shame.  and because we were able to see the victory on one side of the unit, even while dealing with a defeat on the other side.  those victories are what make it so worthwhile. seeing a patient hold down a feeding, gain a whole whopping 15 grams, breathe for himself, outgrow a preemie onesie- the things nobody else spends a thought on- those are our victories and what i hold on to.  there is sickness, disease, pain- a whole fallen world plagued with sin and trauma- but i get to fight back, wielding prayer and hemostats like weapons.

i can't explain it any better without writing a book, but i also can't really think of anything else i'd rather have done that Thursday night, or anywhere else to do it, or anyone else to do it with, no matter what you call it or what you see of it. i usually just call it "nursing."

what Norman Rockwell forgot (or, the Webb FamFest 2014)

every year, there is this special day in America where we celebrate good food, all the good things we have, the bad things we don't, and the long-held family traditions.

we call it Thanksgiving.

a perfect, massive turkey with all the dressings, served from the left by a petite brunette weighing no more than 125 pounds to a manly man, head of the household as he proudly surveys his brood of perfectly behaved children, all eager to share their loving reflections of this past year and hopes for the year coming.  their hair is perfectly arranged and the china is gleaming. 

HA!

sorry- that was the Norman Rockwell poster that was probably true for one family once.  it was not our family. ever. but tell you the truth, i'm mostly okay with that.  if a picture is worth a thousand words, he captured 1,000 excellent, lovely, true words of what it means to belong to an American family.  this nation is truly blessed and i love the idea of celebrating and setting time aside solely to remember these blessings and praise the source of them all. 

i also love all the other stuff that can't fit into a painting.  what makes each family unique, what makes the best stories.  that family NR painted ain't got nothing on ours!

here's what Norman Rockwell forgot:

the full story of Turkey Day starts several hundred miles earlier, where every good American joins all the bad Americans in the craziest dance ever, all the players surrounding themselves with literal tons of metal and fly in all directions, all over the nation, going many, many miles per hour.

now, i love people.  what i DON'T love is people in cars. they are 5,000 of the 5,010 reasons I adore driving overnight.  the crazies aren't there.  they steer with one hand and with the other, they are eating, or drinking (a variety of liquids), changing radio stations, taking medications, changing clothes, shopping, video-chatting, texting, singing, screaming cuss words at the GPS, cutting nails, or slapping children in the backseat. 

funny: the telepathic mind games we play so we can edge our way in front of that Handicapped-license-plated lady in the old Ford car so we can set our cruise control and just GO.

funnier: the horrible knowledge that it does not matter what speed you set your cruise control to.  Eventually, the Handicapped lady, and the jerk in the jacked-up pickup truck are going to realize that you are "first" and that this is not "fair" and they ABSOLUTELY MUST BE IN FRONT OF YOU.  one of them will get in front of you, and then set THEIR cruise control for 2 mph less than you and refuse to go in the slower lane.

funniest: knowing that it also does not matter what state you are in, or what the sign says, be it 70, 65, 60, or 70 again.  the traffic pace does not change one whit.  you find that Handicapped lady's back bumper and stick to it.  set your cruise control to hers, and don't fight it.  

laws mean nothing when a good family vacation is at stake.  speed limits, state borders, and let's not forget our favorite: that moment when you are soaring down the middle lane of a 5-lane highway that is splitting into 2 highways, and suddenly a big ole' minivan realizes that they are one lane to your left, but they NEED TO BE IN THE FAR, FAR, RIGHT-EST LANE RIGHT NOW.  they need to stay on Interstate 40, not Interstate 81, and they ignored all the miles of signs, warning lights, GPS and Mapquest directions, backseat drivers and all the other cars who spent their time productively by safely and calmly getting into the proper lane.  NOPE.  let's just play with people's lives in our new, fun version of the Russian Roulette.

eventually, hopefully, you will arrive at the predetermined relatives' home, feeling, looking, and smelling just like you think you would, after being trapped in a metal, mobile cubicle for countless hours. good thing relatives are never stressful.  if you're in my family, you don't need to wait until The Feast before diving right on in to the arguments- we had the Pre-Feast Dinner.  Picture half a dozen people.  some with Law degrees, some with art or English degrees, some with NO degrees, all with opinions, debating huge controversial issues.  nobody in our family has an "indoor" voice.  we have 2 settings- Loud, and Louder. we all have opinions, and the presence or lack of food in our mouths doesn't change the opinion or the need to immediately share it with everyone, who is doing the same thing.  we sound like animals- we're not, i promise.  

i think just about every family that sets time aside during the year to get together has SOME sort of family tradition.  some families have the tradition of having NO tradition, but for some reason it's those traditions that draw them together even if they seem to do the opposite. 

for example: we used to have no other tradition besides just getting together every Thanksgiving.  one year, my athletically inclined uncle said "hey- this is a fabulous time on a fabulous day with some fabulous weather-let's go on a fabulous walk together." so we did, and at least 2 of us had a truly fabulous experience.

the next year, he said "hey- this is a fabulous day with some fabulous weather, so let's continue our fabulous tradition of a Thanksgiving Walk."  yeah- they pulled out the Tradition word.  the siblings and i looked at each other, saying "what is this 'tradition' that you speak of?" but we all went anyway.

you see what just happened there? yeah- see, now it WAS A TRADITION.

and because breaking traditions in our family is like sacrilege, it is now decreed that every Thanksgiving, our family goes on our annual Walk. 

i just need to share this moment from our Walk this year, which was about as miserable as possible.  one sister that i drove 800 miles to see busted her knee, so she, sadly, couldn't come. poor thing.  the other sister had a baby to feed, and the grandparents weren't up to it, and neither was the aunt.  family politics were suddenly a huge deal, and i convinced my brother to come (either because he loves me, or is a complete sucker for my Sad Puppy Dog Face) so i'd have someone to talk to.  then strategy came into play and we changed the speed of our walking to position ourselves with the "right" relatives, as all those relatives were doing the exact same thing. don't deny it- EVERY family does this, in some form or fashion.

well, sometimes the Weather Pixies don't really care about your family traditions, which is why smart people check the weather forecast to see whether it is compatible with these traditions so dear to our hearts. 

we didn't.  nobody checked the forecast.  but daggum, we were going on that Walk!! 

which started with a steep uphill climb.

then it started raining. 

then my hands went numb.

then the family members caught on to our pace and tried to catch up. 

then we were all miserable and turned around early. Joel and I power-walked/jogged back as fast as we could, which wasn't too fast because i'd donated blood a day before and was bent over double- but still way faster than anyone else because this was the worst Thanksgiving Walk ever, and i was on the verge of a breakdown by the time we sloshed, soaking wet, back indoors after almost 4 miles of rain, cold, and avoiding each other in the sneakiest manner possible.

this of course, leads up to the actual holiday part.  we all borrow clothes, throw the wet ones in the dryer, and scatter all over the house into the groups of people that will cause the least amount of stress, to talk politics, watch movies, play blocks with the baby and toddler, take pictures, take naps, or help prepare The Feast. i am so good at dumping and smashing ingredients together.  i should get a medal.  Aunt Kathy gets The Bird ready to go and I lay claim to that left drumstick.  4 hours later the feast is spread.  4 minutes after that- carnage. i was somehow the second to last person to go through line, but i did get the drumstick.  because we got all the fighting out of our systems, between last night and the Walk, we get down to the serious business of eating.  that's what Thanksgiving is for, right?  well, we take this quite seriously, and happen to be excellent at eating. we are stuffed before the food is quite gone, but somehow manage to take care of those desserts, too.

a while ago, Jackson was blessed to host a couple of our Brazilian  translators as they were visiting the US for a while and decide to bop on up for a few days.  a favorite moment while discussing the cultural differences was their facial expressions as we tried to explain a good ole' American Thanksgiving weekend, which isn't over until

BLACK FRIDAY.

America at its finest, folks.  word of advice: DON'T STAND NEAR THOSE KITCHEN APPLIANCES, or you WILL get mowed down by that overzealous grandmother tearing through the store to get her greedy hands on the last crockpot on sale.  i mean, it's not like Thanksgiving is all about celebrating all the good things we have or anything… oh wait.  take that family picture before bed Thursday, because come Friday 3 am, we as a general public, devolve into stark-raving mad lunatics.  the idea that people have actually DIED by being trampled by the masses still astounds me.

but there are a few things that Rockwell managed to capture.  the aprons, bobby pins and ancient clothing fashion trends are gone, but the feelings he painted are timeless.

like, that family that is so easy to take for granted- they're there.  sometimes that's good, and sometimes you just have to laugh, knowing that one day you'll look back and be thankful that memory is so far past.  the Walk is one of those.  i love how it was during that exact timeframe, when my fingernails were legit blue and my shirt soaked, that 3 of my favorite extra-familial people called or texted to check in on me.  one real-time selfie answered all their questions.  but they were there for me, too, just like family of a different sort, and part of what we celebrate even if the celebrating appears to be lost in all the chaos. and i got a lot to celebrate.

i got sister time- long, late hours of it.  i got brother time- short and brief, but still there.  i will get, soon, my own personal copy of The Webb Family Picture, which is another tradition, and another moment to laugh about- later.  much, much later.  i got moments with some pretty great people that i haven't seen in ages, and even a few more pictures for proof that we were in the same place at the same time! i got 20+ hours of driving time, time spent singing loudly for nobody to hear, time spend to pray, time spent just to be quiet, still, breathe.  i got Pilot coffee.  i got to relive memories of some of my favorite people ever who now live all up and down I-40, as i passed their towns and cities.

we're all pretty good at complaining, but i gotta say we do know how to celebrate the good things, and maybe once i've recovered from the Walk in about a year, i'll once more join those crazies barreling down I-40 to do this all over again.

to remember- the good, the bad/weird/confusing/embarrassing.  to celebrate- freedom, family (all kinds of family, not just biological), food (stay away from my drumstick).  

i'll be the one hugging that old handicapped, speed-demon lady's bumper.

two birthdays at once!

i'm sitting here in the living room on the largest couch ever, staring at a 6-foot Christmas tree plastered with all the decorations we could get from Goodwill, with strings of lights around the walls that just take this experience to a whole new magical level.

i know people are "supposed" to wait until after Thanksgiving before it's proper to play Christmas music or decorate, but this is plenty close enough for me.  my roomie has friends over to help decorate anyway, so now that the hard work is done we are watching our favorite Christmas flick- Elf.  yup. it's okay to be jealous.

i'm not usually too much into holidays, but there really is something about Christmas. i've heard all about how Jesus couldn't possibly have been born in December, and how the Wise Men couldn't possibly have made it until Jesus was 2 year old and back at home (although i heard the theory that they had a head start and actually were at the stable in Bethlehem. either way, i'm easy), but however the whole thing went down, the point is that- it went down.  it actually happened.  a larger-than-time Being somehow became a human, broke through time and space and landed in the middle of nowhere surrounded by an entire nation of people worn out after 400 years of oppression and spiritual darkness.  Christmas set off  the hugest thing to ever happen to earth.  all so that we could do what we were meant to do- give God the glory He deserves through the relationship soon to be restored.

now that's the kind of birthday that you celebrate every chance you get, even weeks in advance.  if Hobby Lobby can keep their ornaments out on shelves since July, then if we made it almost to Thanksgiving before Elf, i think we're doing pretty well.

now, this year- today in particular- i'm a bit more sentimental towards birthdays, mostly because His birthday is the only reason i'm celebrating my own birthday today as well.

it's been 5 years.  not everybody gets to turn 5 twice, and even fewer remember when they did- either time.  i've got a lot of memories that i'd be okay with not ever remembering, but there's one at least that i hope to hold on to forever.  forever and ever, if i can help it.  it's the one good memory that blots out the others i don't need.  after so many years of struggle and doubt and debate and confusion that were all pointing me straight to my own grave, there were a handful of faithful friends who fought back, quite valiantly, because i wasn't really able to fight.  i was a bit useless, i must say, so i'm glad i was surrounded by people who had all their spiritual armor on. 

so every year, this day in particular, i like to just chill.  and remember.  and say thank you. to the friends, to the family, to the church, all of whom God used to work out a plan as huge on the personal level as the first Christmas was on a world-wide level.  He rocked my world that day, and i just think it's awesome how so many others were able to share in it. so:

To FBCJ (in particular) but my whole Church family (in general):

it's been 5 years since a scared hopeless little lamb  entered the Fold and accidentally became a member of FBCJ. not once have i ever regretted that- there were just other things on my mind that day ;)

this Thanksgiving season, there's not much i'm more thankful for than my church family.  i've been given a biological family, a work family, and a church family, and am blessed to have some people a part of more than one of them. the FBCJ crew is the local subset of a much larger group who are included in my thanks, my memories, my thoughts.

to reiterate what the pastor and several others said last week,

thank you.

thank you for being the ones who listened, prayed, cried, spoke.

thank you for sharing your lives, thoughts, families, Cubbies, food, homes, time, love.

thank you for opening your arms, your doors, your hearts.

for being there when no one else was,

for walking beside me when i couldn't stand

for praying when i had no more words to say,

for always, always, always pointing straight to the Cross

for showing me the Jesus i'd heard of but never seen before, and

and for continuing to do so ever since. 

the end :)

"i can't today"

i told myself "i can't today.

i'm stuffed with burger and ice cream sundae.

i don't have the strength; i'm not in the mood

to run in a gym full of gross sweaty dudes.

one more piece of my life just withered away,

crying 'cause i don't even know how to pray."

the frigid trip there is at least half of the pain-

if you've done it before, you can do it again.

all the old rules, of course, still apply:

you keep on running til you can no longer cry.

plug in the iPod, let the songs be your prayer.

whip out the sweat rag, pull back the hair.

chase your reflection each tenth of a mile,

every step, every breath one more reason to smile.

the sweat  and the tears soon you can't tell apart,

and you feel the shirt vibrate as fast as your heart.

let go of the cares-they're just weighing you down.

ignore the hair frizz, that undignified crown.

don't stop to assess, take a break or a drink.

there's more in you than you could hope, wish or think.

find it and haul it out- put it to use.

it's oh-so-much stronger than Gatorade juice.

the Spirit that prays when you can't on your own

is the one who won't ever just leave you alone;

He holds you together and gives your feet wings,

who looks down from heaven and over us sings.

we've all got our "treadmill" that laughs in our face

when we're fresh out of strength, patience, hope, faith and grace.

whatever the trial, no matter its size,

the victory's coming- run after the prize.

if you've told yourself you "just can't" today,

get up on the treadmill now anyway.

i'm 1000% sure you'll be totally okay-

and you might accidentally run a 5K :)

sticks and stones and dead men's bones

I love those moments when a thought just pops up, a question just burns in your brain, or a revelation suddenly arises that makes you smile.  these moments, for me anyway, are rare, which i guess is part of why they're so special.

good glory, i hope this makes sense to whoever reads it.

I was considering again moments from my past and how in so many ways, for so many years i was nothing more than a modern-day Pharisee.  my early life revolved around following rules, codes, standards and policies that would make any Saul of Tarsus proud.  we would have had to add a whole second row of tassels on our robes, and heaven forbid we not tithe every single penny we received from our weekly allowance, which when we were 5 years old, was 25 cents.  so we were also good at math- which is a given (i forget which tab "homeschool" fits under- i think either "standards" or "codes"- but included was the Thou Shalt Succeed decree.  failure was not an option). we were filled with guilt if we forgot to tithe, do our morning devotions (because to do it in the evenings, or even after breakfast was classified as "wrong"), or even have too much Apple Cinnamon Cheerios with our plain Cheerios.  like the front-row Pharisees of old, we were generally applauded by peers and looked up to in our teeny tiny Christian community as being role-models. 

and also like the front-row Pharisees of old, i was even more tangled than those tassels, caught up in the little things but missing the big picture.  missing it entirely.  everything good about the Gospel buried under the rulebooks. plagued by doubt, fear of failure, shame, the need to please others, justification through the Law of Moses.  and the Law of Mom.  i'm not even sure which one i held in higher regard, to be honest.

so, just like the front-row Pharisees, i turned into a blind and bitter "Christian," with no answers for the situations i was trying to fix but couldn't.

in one of the last discourses Jesus gave in Jerusalem, in that last week before his impending execution, Jesus suddenly goes off on those front-row Pharisees, ripping to shreds their rules, codes, standards and policies.  he calls them children of hell.  a brood of vipers. hypocrites. blind guides. 

whitewashed tombs. absolutely stunning on the outside, gorgeous rocks, gardens, plants, probably markers or nameplates to remember their loved ones locked away inside.  on the inside, well, there are the loved ones' bones.  corruption. decay.  germs galore. a stench to turn even this nurse's stomach.

…

umm.  yeah.  Jesus said that. to the front-row, super-spiritual religious elites.  a tomb. a pretty vessel chock full of DEATH.

you're probably looking for the encouraging part now, right?  good- here it is.

i just went back and confirmed the timing on this speech of his, and when i flipped back and forth a couple times between Matthew 23 and John 10 and 11, you see something pretty cool.

immediately before the Triumphant Entry, something absolutely epic happens.

he receives word that one of his best friends in the town of Bethany (2 miles away from Jerusalem, and one of Jesus' stopping points) in on his deathbed and Jesus' healing is required immediately. 

so Jesus….doesn't go.  he waits. for 2 whole days.

Lazarus, unknown to the messenger, is probably already dead before Jesus hears of this, because by the time Jesus shows up the mourning is in full swing and the body has already been cleaned, prepared and locked in the grave for 4 days.

Lazarus's sisters, Mary and Martha, both have separate conversations with Jesus on his arrival.  Jesus asks to see Lazarus's body, and Mary, full of grief, confusion, impeccable common sense, says, "Eww. Jesus, that's gross."

Martha had already run out to meet him, and also to question why he refused to come earlier to save them from this incredible pain. 

Jesus then takes this fantastic opportunity to boot her faith up several levels and tells her :

"your brother will rise again."

Martha said to him, "i know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day."

Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die."(John 11: 23-27)

then He walks right up to that beautiful tomb full of a dead man's bones, convinces several hesitant guys to roll the stone away, and then demands that those dead man's bones get up and walk on out.  and they do. 

the Resurrection had come.

a short amount of time later, that Resurrection was in the Jews' religious center- Jerusalem, speaking to a synagogue's worth of tombs, calling them what they were, angry at their sin, condemning it, calling it out.

but just as importantly, offering life to any of those dead bones who would step out and receive it.  

He's shouting out: HEY!! you're DEAD!  but true life is LITERALLY RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!!

i have very little doubt that many of those Pharisees hearing that speech hadn't heard about Lazarus.  a bunch of them were likely there at the tomb and had witnessed firsthand what happens when Jesus gets too close to graves and talks to them.  those who weren't there, were told immediately by those who were (John 11:45-47).  the whole episode at Lazarus' re-birthday was meant to bring the spiritually dead to a new spiritual life, just as his speech to them in Jerusalem days later, with this miracle fresh in their minds. 

i remember that day when, -after months of wrestling together through these incredibly difficult issues and circumstances surrounding me, shedding tears and prayers, talking and listening- my pastor and i had reached a point where he called my salvation into question, citing as proof the guilt, anger, self-righteousness and pride that had become so evident.  and i suddenly, immediately felt the immense burden of sin- MY sin- that i'd never realized before.   i looked down that night at my shaking hands wringing out another tissue and envisioned the blood dripping off them, the spiritual death i'd caused, how far i had strayed.  how much sin could be covered up and made to look oh-so-spiritual.  how the mask of religious piety was nothing more than a death mask, hiding the corpse of a soul lurking underneath.  i was a whitewashed tomb, choking on all the crud that filled me up.

but that calling-out wasn't just a judgment.  it was an invitation. this tomb's bones were finally ready to be introduced to the Resurrection and to be summoned from the depths of the grave, out into the light.  i knew the theology and was kinda ticked by Jesus' timing, just like Martha.  i had so many questions i wanted answers to, just like Mary. i had a stone-cold heart and eyes blinder than a bat, just like a Pharisee. 

but the Resurrection had come.  to me.  called me by name.  and i changed from a Pharisee, a Saul, a tomb, into a Lazarus, a Mary, a Martha with eyes opened now to a whole new life.

cool things happen when Jesus talks to rocks. and if there are any other front-row Pharisees out there, i hope you hear him calling you out of your tombstone, too.

your Resurrection is here.  it's calling.  are you going to remain inside your whitewashed tomb or are you going to step out when you hear your Resurrection and Life beckoning you?

head down, hands up

there is a short list of hymns and songs that have had quite an impact on my life, one of them being "I Surrender All," specifically Brian Littrell's version, because that's the one on the CD i bought, never imagining how that WOW Hymns music would affect me.

i still remember that moment- that cool fall night in October 2009 when i was utterly fed up with a crap load of circumstances that i couldn't control or change or easily deal with.  i slammed those nursing textbooks shut with great vigor and took to the almost deserted sidewalks of campus with the cheap iPod i had and just walked for ages, listening to these modernized hymns, knowing there were something in them that i was missing- just having no idea what it was.  then this song came on for about the thousandth time, right at the very end of the walk.  i collapsed against the decorative column outside the dorm and just listened.

didn't try to figure anything out. 

didn't try to over-think anything or understand. 

i just listened.  and then it hit me- and i understood. or at least understood a bit more.

the ASL sign for "surrender" is literally throwing both hands up over your head, palms open and upward.  now, no matter how big and strong your hands are, whatever is in them is up for the taking.  you can't hold anything back without getting carpal tunnel, can't even keep a pencil without seriously cramping that pinky. 

you. can't. keep. anything.

when good old Brian was singing "I surrender all," he meant ALL.  EVERYTHING.  which is a whole lot, people.  it's everything. it's actually more than every single thing- it's not just things.  "Everything" includes the not-things as well.  they're not tangible, they're invisible, have no weight, don't fill up a backpack like they fill up a life, yet need to be shoved onto the altar as well.

what hit me was all the not-things that i'd been holding on to.  not-things like self-esteem... grades... importance... my sanity.  (well, that last one was borderline).  some anger and frustration. the "need" for control.  emotions, ideas, circumstances, plans, dreams, motivations.  my altar up until that point was just too small. some of the not-things had slipped off the edge and fallen back within reach of my hands which were only half-heartedly in the surrendering pose, eager to maintain control of those few bits of my chaotic life that i could still grasp.

surrendering means you don't get to control things. you control NONE of the things.  head down, hands up, palms facing the sun, over your head- you're not really in a good position for taking, negotiating, bargaining, bossing, begging.

it's a really good position for obeying, however.

Abraham's defining moment only happened because he was (spiritually speaking), in a surrendering position.  he heard, "You need to surrender ALL," and he opened his hands over his head, with every thing and every not-thing in his palms and said, "take it.  take it all.  i can't hold on to any of it." 

i'm willing to bet those hands were shaking a bit when he heard the "all" that was required of him.  giving up his entire future, his life, his crowning achievement, his social status, his sanity, his ethical code- that and even more.  it was all hanging in the balance.

he wasn't given a guarantee, like, "hey- if you pretend to give this up to Me, i'll give it all back and then some by this date." 

he was given a command. "surrender this. to me. here."

head down, hands up.

he walked like that all the way to the mountain.  all the way up the mountain. building the altar.  all the way until the knife was up in the air.  

the neat thing is that once your hands are empty of the things and the not-things,- when it's all surrendered and gone,- they're empty to be filled by all things and more.  it sounds a bit contradictory at first, and some times it looks downright heretical or backwards or wrong. putting your kid on a handmade stone altar, with a lit torch in one hand, blade in the other- probably not what the heathen-turned-faith champ was expecting, especially because the God who GAVE him that impossible miracle kid now wants him BACK.

understanding isn't part of it.  obeying is.  obeying is all of it.  i probably won't get a ram for a Christmas present this year. but there are promises that i have that not even Abraham had.  it's just those promises come after the altar.

time to get these hands off the keyboard and up in the air. time to climb the mountain and make that altar a bit bigger again.  time to surrender again, obey again.

head down, hands up.