Mistaken, Not Stirred

After a refreshingly deep diving session with Di in the car on our way to Jackson (we were evacuating for Hurricane Gustav), I was left pondering the significance and the impact of mistakes. What is a mistake? dictionary.com has two definitions:

1. An error in action, calculation, opinion or judgement caused by poor reasoning, carelessness, insufficient knowledge, etc.

2. A misunderstanding or a misconception.

Bruce almost always does the same solo for the same song every Sunday in the St. Rose choir. He does it beautifully... flawlessly. A few Sundays ago, as everyone was preparing to evacuate for hurricane Gustav or had resolved to stay and "ride it out", the few that attended church that morning were solemn and anxious. Bruce got up to sing his solo and for the first time that I have ever heard, he forgot the words. He sang the same verse twice about Jesus having mercy on us all. The audience was a little thrown at first. Bruce's face showed he knew he had erred. He was living in the first definition of mistake. His eyes got a little bigger, he looked over at Al, the director, he struggled through the next line as his brain wasn't on the song for that moment but on the mistake. Finally he caught the rhythm again and kept going. One little mistake and he almost lost the song, the audience almost stopped singing... it just took one tiny err. But what caught my interest was not the mistake. I, like so many probably, looked to see Father Sebastian's reaction. Father Sebastian, eyes fixed upward, hands in front of him, was smiling. And not just smiling... he was grinning. He never lost the song. He kept right on. Father Sebastian was excited to sing that verse two times, you could tell. And when you think of the verse, and that moment in time, what a beautiful time to "mistakingly" sing it twice. Jesus "have mercy on us." The mistake was really just a misunderstanding... God wanted to show his intention of mercy twice, thats all. Thats how it was supposed to be, us humans just misunderstood because of our own personal idea of how it "should" go. 

Di and I discussed mistakes while evacuating. They had made a "mistake" of their own. The night before we left Di had prepared an alternate route to our evacuation spot. We were going to use back roads to try and take some time off of the 24 hour expected evacuation time. As we were leaving Di got a call from her mother, who expressed her concern about the predicted tornados for Jackson, Mississippi. We, of course, were headed to Jackson, Mississippi. They decided that Birmingham, Alabama was a better choice and so we started going the other direction. Not much after we were driving we got a call from Cindy Cheeks who was awaiting our arrival in Jackson. She had wonderful news! The tornados, in fact, were not expected to be severe in Jackson so we could go to our original destination. We had been traveling about ten minutes in the wrong direction by then and Di decided to ask Cindy if there were some good back roads that led to Jackson from where we were so we wouldn't have to turn around... and there were! We looked them up on the map and headed forward. We got to our first turn with no traffic! We headed up the small highway we were on... NO traffic. We got to our first junction... NO TRAFFIC! If we had turned around and went back we would have missed that traffic free route! Kenny informed us later that Di's original alternate route was actually pretty congested. 

In our discussion we decided that people typically do three things in light of a mistake. The two most common are to freeze up and become paralyzed or to turn back and try to somehow fix the mistake where it began. Some people spend much of their lives looking back because of their mistakes. And so many others spend much of their life locked inside their failure, afraid to make another mistake. But there is a third choice! We can keep moving forward and recalculate. Much like a GPS system will do when you continue the wrong way for too long. GPS... GOD'S PROTECTIVE SERVICES! (Compliments of Di Fillhart, master genius of wonderful and unforgettable catch phrases) We got to Jackson in 5 hours. With our GPS and determination to keep moving forward, we shaved 19 hours off of our trip. And I learned some sweet lessons about mistakes! 

I am a woman of many mistakes... from the small and embarrassing, to the gigantic and painful. And I have a CHOICE about how I face these mistakes. I can keep moving forward and trust in my GPS, or I can stop, turn back and lose my way. Like Brother Lawrence says, when you fail don't become discouraged and focus on the failure... focus forward and keep trying. I can be mistaken and not stirred!

I am such a fan of object lessons! Thanks Papa, for all you reveal to me...

Home Sweet Home

I realized, just right now, that I move around a lot. Just this summer I have been in various parts of Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Texas, Colorado and Oregon. And I am so blessed! Blessed by the freedom I have been given to just roam and serve wherever I am lead. Some people spend their whole lives in one place... tens of thousands of days surrounded by the same trees, breathing the same air, driving the same roads. It isn't a bad thing. I think if somebody is able to do it, it's kinda cool. That person gets to see something change and progress and adapt over a lifetime. I think, though, that I am glad to see the changes in myself and visit the different places I have seen along the way if I need to know how they are doing. When I was talking to my friend Jo yesterday I told her I was sure I'd get to come home and see her again sometime and we would have fun. It was a heart-slip of course. Colorado has never been my "home". But I was there with somebody I love and when I went, Jesus was with me there, and so it WAS home. And when I went to alabama to love on kids and fellowship with the wonderful manyamas, it was home. And when I went to Housten and served with the AMAZING Fully Alive group, it was home. And when I was back with my parents in a house I did not grow up in... a house at the coast of Oregon, that I had never seen before in my life, it was home. and when i was with my sister in her new duplex in Portland, it was home. And when I flew back to Mississippi and I was surrounded by the people I have loved and been loved by for the last year in Bay St. Louis... I WAS BACK HOME. I feel home here... right now... where i am. I am sitting in a lounge full of strangers, Morgan intent on picture-surfing next to me, with a bottem bunk in a huge classroom turned dorm in Lake Charles, Louisianna. Go figure... that cliche makes sense! My home IS where my heart is! And even though its in the midst of some renovation while my old junk is getting moved out and Jesus is moving HIS personal things in, I can enjoy the peace of being at home ALL THE TIME. The peace you get when you are able to rest in the comfort of home. When stress or anxiety or sorrow come knocking I can find the safety and comfort that I need at home with my Jesus... in me. We can let in whoever we want. And keep out all the others. Though they might pitch tents and war outside, there is One that lives in my heart that is greater than myself and His name is Jesus Christ... and i'm making sure that He is in charge of the door to our home!
May I never try to take over that responsibility again!
AMEN
haha :D

Rest

I've never been very good at resting... I tend to go until my body quits or my mind just reaches total arrest. I can't stop when there is so much to do! And there are so many people that I don't want to let down. Including myself and all the expectations I make for myself. And there so many people that rely on me and expect things from me and I can get caught up in performance. I pour out and empty everything I have. Work and disaster relief is morning to evening. Evening to late night, often middle of the night, is family and friends and more ministry. There are people, I'm sure of it, that are better at time management... people with the ability to stretch themselves out evenly over a day without over obligation... people with the ability to stop and fill and rest despite the things yet undone... I am not one of them. Yet. 

It was during a facebook conversation with a good friend named Jo that I realized it might be time to step back and rest and allow myself the time to process everything I had learned and everything I had seen. I didn't have the thought, of course. I was in tears and I told Jo I was just overwhelmed and I didn't know why. I felt like I couldn't sleep a whole night. I felt exhausted. Jo said, "When's the last time you really rested? Like, took time away from everything and everyone and stopped?" My answer... "ummmmmmmm". My internal dialog was like, click... "You did it again!" I was reminded of the last time I got sick. I was too sick to go see anyone and I was just annoyed about it to be honest. I felt like I was missing out and I didn't feel too sick to talk and sit with people, but I knew they didn't need my germs. So, I stayed in my trailer, thinking about all the fun everyone else was having.  I finally got bored with that and started cleaning. To perpetuate motivation I put a cd in that had been there since before me, a forgotten one from Di's collection I'm sure, and started jammin' out. By the third song I wasn't cleaning, I was worshiping, and I felt God's presence show up right there, dancing with me... and it struck me... "How long has He wanted me to dance with Him? How long has he wanted to be with me alone? How long have I not allowed it, and why do I have to get sick to slow down enough to really be with him?" Brother Lawrence says when you fail, not to be discouraged with the failure or overwhelmed by it, but to thank God you have seen it and get right up and move on. I confess, that is really hard in the midst of this realization. Why do I forget to stop and be with my God? Why do I forget to dance with Him? I'm so sorry, Papa... 

I decided to go home and see my friends and family and take some time to just rest and fill. God was so faithful in allowing it because in the midst of Gustav and Ike I was reluctant in my heart to go. Gustav came with little effect to Bay St. Louis, thanks to God's mercy, and it went. But it came with great physical, emotional and spiritual outpouring. Then, before the exhale, Ike started looking like a Katrina out in the Atlantic... Ike took the same path, and it was well organized and parts of it were a Cat 5. If we had to evacuate I wasn't going home! I was evacuating with the rest! Then it turned dramatically, and as my trip neared it seemed like I'd get to go. Friday came. On the way to New Orleans, waters rising in the gulf, we had to cross a feeder band to get to the airport. It was unbelievable. Mist fogged everything in sight. Rain came down like it was falling from a bucket kicked over in the sky. The dismal clouds blocked all the sunlight. I asked Bonnie, "How is a plane gonna leave in this?" She said it might just get delayed some. I'd be fine. We got to our exit and we were driving down airport road when, like a veil pulled back... WHOOSH... Sunlight! Birds! The clouds parted! Mmmmmm k. I was goin'! I called Mel from the plane when it landed, early, in Colorado, and she told me that the bridges in New Orleans had closed after Bonnie and Morgan got over them! About all I got is thank you Papa. 

...to be continued...

Amidst the Storm

Hurricane Gustav came in with sleeplessness and anxiety on it's outer bands and threatened the hope and the recovery of Bay St. Louis as it seemed to be aiming directly for us... The days before it got here were thick with worry. There was a tangible silence and a stifling heaviness that settled here Wednesday. Gustav was still a taunting threat then, but as Katrina survivor Melanie Mitchell says, "burnt children are afraid of fire." With such a powerful hurricane projected for the gulf, the community was reminded of a not-so-distant 3 years ago, when they lost everything to a storm as big and unpredictable. Hearts were heavy with the question, "will I come back if it happens again?" 3 years was just long enough for many people to get there homes rebuilt and to acquire some meaningful and distantly familiar reminders of things they once owned.  Some people were realizing that they weren't as free of Katrina as they thought. Some people were absolutely fed up. One man said he would stay and keep his business open no matter what happened. He wasn't packing up or closing down again. I wasn't here right after Katrina. I didn't see all the devastation or smell the rot and decay of the land and the debris that faces still tighten at with a mere mention. But just being here in the anticipation of Gustav I think I understood it a little more than I ever did. The volunteers were supposed to pack up and leave on Friday, and as I could be considered a volunteer, it was suggested that Morgan and I leave that day. I secretly hoped it would turn like last summer's hurricane, and that we wouldn't need to evacuate. By Thursday it was obvious it was coming and we spent the day putting up shutters and packing houses and talking with residents about plans and fears and prayers. I had no peace about leaving Friday. I prayed that God might let us to stay longer and help more people prepare. I watched the weather channel long into the night, and finally prayed myself to sleep. At breakfast that morning Bonnie and Di told us we weren't leaving until Sunday. They said we were going to stay and help more and support St. Rose by being at church. I can't tell you how absolutely grateful and awe struck I was at the news. God had given me the chance to stay and work with the residents. To walk with them and pray with them for another couple days. Morgan and I started early, calling everyone we knew, and some we didn't, and offering to help in any way we could. It was both wonderful and solemn. Seeing the sadness in people's eyes and hearing the anxiety in the undertone of their requests and conversation was hard. At Saturday night mass, kneeling on the ground of the balcony, Morgan and I both wept... for the hope of working in vain... for the heavy hearts of those we prayed with and talked with... for the homes already gone in Jamaica and Cuba... I wept with the feeling of being overwhelmed and completely at a loss at times. God had put me in the middle of something completely beyond my experience or my abilities. I was in the midst of a storm I would never have thought myself capable to bear. And quite honestly, I'm not. It is God that walks me through it all. God permitted me to be there and it was at church that night that I exchanged my teeth-gritting strength for His unmatchable strength... I wept while I laid the burdens and the worries I had picked up along the day at the cross...  That night I called my friend Jo-Lynne in Colorado and we prayed together for Bay St. Louis, and for the ability to endure God's will. We begged for mercy. We begged for the souls that might be lost in the devastation of another hurricane like Katrina. We prayed for hours. Bonnie, Di, Morgan and I evacuated Sunday to Jackson, and watched the news off and on through the night. Gustav came Monday. God did have mercy on Bay St. Louis. It turned West just off shore and gradually made its way on land in Morgan City, Louisianna, which dulled its destructive possibility. We started for home before the Sunlight Tuesday morning and we were back in Bay St. Louis and working long before nightfall Tuesday evening. Hurricane Hannah was making her way toward the gulf and Ike was already a shadow of threat behind her. We worked putting furniture back up, mucking mud from a flooded house, removing limbs and debris from yards. Most  people left their windows shuttered or boarded and only unpacked what they really needed for day to day living. They didn't want to do it all again if another hurricane came near. Ike now thrashes over Cuba, devastating everything in its path, destroying homes and taking lives in a country with little outside alliances or support. My heart breaks for them. I only sleep at night because God lets me. Sometimes its not right away. Sometimes its not very long. I sleep, I don't often rest. It wasn't until tonight, when I was surrounded by the peace of God's presence in Di's house, with her voice gently comforting a friend on the other far off end of the telephone, lying outstretched on her soft love seat, that I realized how exhausted I was. I fell asleep on my back, which I never do, and surrounded by the comfort of true spiritual community and love, I slept the best 10 minutes I have slept in 2 weeks. It felt like hours. It felt like rest. A sudden, unexpected peace amidst the storm... God's gift to me tonight. I sit now hoping Ike will fizzle out and die! And praying for God's strength as His will be done...

Dark Night

I don't know why I cannot find the words to talk about all that circulates in my mind. It would be best if I could grab one thought and focus there but my mind seems to rebel against organization or clarity of any kind. It is as if my thoughts are spinning around in my mind and I have no ability to twirl with it but rather I am stuck in one spot, watching the thoughts go by, only able to observe and comment on what's in front of me. When it spins out of sight my mind moves on- and the thoughts are spinning so fast. It is this overwhelming confusion that keeps me from being able to write tonight, or to speak... It wasn't always like this... I hate to look back in order to observe this difference, but where did my ability to dance with my thoughts go? When? Will this ever pass? I have so much to say. So much to write. But I can't focus or grasp anything long enough to do either! It is how I know it is me and not God. God would never be so confusing! It is so dark right now. Can You not part the raging sea of thoughts, Lord? I long to hear You tonight. I love You. I miss Your voice. I feel like a child away from her papa... There is so much to occupy my mind or my time if I wish it. So many places I could go or people I could call or shows I could watch or games I could play... but I'd rather be right here Lord, anticipating You... I'd rather be alone in the dark waiting for You if that is the only place I will find You... rather here, pounding the floor, crying out for You, than anywhere else. Even the thought of how Your presence feels, what Your voice sounds like, how Your grace has saved me from my misery and my wretchedness, is enough to comfort my soul. I need nothing but You. Even in this night's darkness, the light of all You have done and all that You are turning to Your will and Your good is bright enough to sustain me. Your will be done... this heart is completely and utterly Yours. I withhold nothing. Take it all. I have nothing left worth holding on to... only You. My eyes are fixed into the darkness, my ears tuned to hear only You... 

Our Father...

God the Father... while driving home from Birmingham the other day I found it so hard to keep my focus on prayer. I wanted to pray. Not a broken prayer, interrupted by the other thoughts and distractions of the day, but something whole... something coherent... something audible. I started praying... before the end of the sentence I was singing the worship song playing from my iPod. I turned the music down really low. Determined, I started praying again... a thought crossed my mind, a daydream, I floated off on it. UGH! I snapped back. OK! I decided to try something I read in Jean Guyon's book "Experiencing the Depths of Jesus Christ". She says to pray an Our Father, out loud, all the way through, slowly, interjecting as you go, using it to bring in God's presence. I thought I might be able to focus my brain if I prayed a couple Our Fathers first. "Our Father," I started, "What does that mean anyway, God? Father. Father like…? Like what? What is a father? What does a father do? Like what would YOU be like as a father? I don’t understand, Papa... Papa! I can't help but call you Father and Papa and I don't even know what it means! I'm a funny creation, Papa! Please... show me what You mean by Father. Show me how that looks, because all of my examples fall short. I know You aren't like that. What do You really mean by Father?"
…
My dad isn’t perfect. And when my mother and him separated I didn’t see him much. He wasn’t always as capable of being open emotionally as he has become in the last couple years, but he had his wonderful moments. My favorite memory with my dad was when I was 9 years old. I was lying on his lap, my head against his chest, while he watched tv in his big giant gray chair. I wasn't feeling good and he was rubbing my back. After a while he figured I fell asleep and he stopped. And I just sat against him while he breathed, pretending to sleep but secretly trying to breathe in and out at the same time as him. With every breath I would breathe in his scent- vanilla pipe tobacco and sweat. I can still smell it when I close my eyes. He still smells like that too. And I remember it was hard to keep up with him. His lungs were bigger of course and he took longer to exhale than inhale. My lungs ached with the task. But I did it for hours... I did it until he carried me to my own bed.
God… Papa… Father… I want to sit with you and breath in and out with you... forever. Until I don't ache with the task. Wrapped up with You. Is that what kind of a Father you are?
It’s a start.
…
I can’t wait to see what else Father means…