Unwrapped Present

All the preparation – beginning the Hallmark Christmas movie binge way back in October – even before Halloween – and still, I find that I am not quite ready for Christmas day. Rather, I am not ready for the season to end – for the houselights in the neighborhood to come down, for the radio stations to go back to playing everyday- ordinary songs, for the television specials, movies, and all-around good cheer to end. I do, however, look forward to returning to normal in other ways – normal traffic patterns, regular routine, a less hectic pace. 

As I think about what I love and hate about the holidays, I remember something a friend recently said – how low-key his childhood Christmases, and how he enjoyed the festivities of his wife’s family.

When I consider my own favorite holiday memories, I think of spending time with my ex’s family. His grandfather was a Baptist preacher. They did things right, in my humble opinion. Christmas at his parent’s house was filled with purpose, love, and simplicity – the things I love most about Christmas – the things lacking in most of my Christmases. 

Purpose – we began by gathering around together as a family as his grandfather read from the Gospel of Luke. We enjoyed a meal together. We opened presents. Everything was simple. Nothing was rushed. There was no excess in gift giving. The gifts themselves were relatively simple – thoughtful.

This year, as in other years, I am unable to spend Christmas day with my sister and her family in Houston. I am not sad and disappointed, though. My sister’s Christmas – I dearly love her and her family, but her version of celebration leaves something to be desired for me – rush and excess.

Christmas Eve – we get dressed up to fight the traffic and the crowds to find standing room only at “her” church. An overcrowded act of obligation and frustration. Why bother? If a person doesn’t feel the need to go to church any other day of the year, (except maybe Easter) why go through the hassle on Christmas? To acknowledge God once and then ignore Him the rest of the year? What message does that give to the children forced to endure it? What does it teach them about God? That He is a cold, cruel taskmaster? 

Love and purpose are lost. Simplicity is forsaken for the sake of obligation. God is reduced to a check mark on a to-do list. 

After church, off we rush to get to the restaurant in time for our reservation. Fighting to get out of the church parking lot – traffic in the lot, traffic on the roads – nerves are frayed. Busy, busy. Rush, rush.

The meal itself is good. The family time is wonderful, but I would much rather skip the whole ordeal, stay at home and hang out with the ones I love – no agenda, no rush. I get not wanting to cook a meal on Christmas Eve. Sandwiches would be perfectly fine by me! 

We get home exhausted, everyone ready for bed. 

Christmas morning – I do enjoy the boys on Christmas morning, living vicariously through their youthful excitement. But it is on this day, Christmas morning, when I truly  feel loss the most. God is missing. Purpose is gone. God was checked off the to-do list the night before. The “real” purpose has arrived. Excess – greed – gluttony. Santa Claus – what’s under the Christmas tree? Gifts I cannot afford. Expectation I could never live up to. Excess – possessions that will soon be forgotten, tossed aside. What was deemed so prized, so valued, so hoped for, now buried in the closet or trash heap somewhere. 

Oh, yes, we all have those toys we long remember, those Christmas memories, but even the best, most memorable end up tossed aside, forgotten, gone. The only eternal gift never unwrapped on Christmas day. 

Then, all the presents are opened, stacked up neatly in a corner, all the wrapping paper cleaned off the floor. We exhale. It is over, done, complete for another year. 

Yet, there’s a longing emptiness – like something forgotten – a present lost, tucked away, forgotten. Maybe that Red Ryder BB gun hiding in another part of the room? Lost amidst all the other toys and unwrapped wrapping paper? 

No. Even the coveted Red Ryder BB gun was tossed aside after a few, brief, playful, painful moments. 

Another Christmas season over and that most precious, eternal gift remains hidden in the corner. Maybe next year it will be found, dusted off, opened, and true joy unwrapped. Maybe next year . . .

So, am I sad to be working instead of with my family at Christmas? I will miss being with them. I will miss my favorite Christmas tradition – spending time with Ryan putting a puzzle together. But I will not miss the distractions. 

In fact, I look forward to a day of purpose, love, and simplicity. 

It begins with going to my church for Christmas Eve – being with my church family, people I love and who love me – worshipping Christ with intentionality and not as obligation. 

I have worked already today and will be on-call tonight and tomorrow night. Unlike the years I worked at the UPS hub at the airport or Amazon, I find a Christmas purpose to this work. I hated those other holiday jobs. They represented so much of what I despise about Christmas. Here, though, working as a chaplain in a hospital during Christmas, I have a wonderful opportunity to bring some Christmas hope to those spending Christmas in less than ideal circumstances – giving people hope, reminding them of the God who loves them today, tomorrow, and everyday – getting to freely share Jesus with others. 

Tonight, unless paged, I will go to dinner with friends. Tomorrow, I will spend time with local family and church family. In all of it, there is no agenda, no rush, no list of must-do tasks, no worries of getting too frazzled by the chaos. 

I still have Hallmark movies recorded to watch. I’m recording my favorite movie, It’s a Wonderful Life, tonight. I’ll watch those sometime this week. Christmas movies, but I feel no rush to watch them before midnight tomorrow night. I shall wait until my day off later in the week when I can snuggle up and enjoy it – no rush. 

Purpose – love – simplicity. That is what Christmas means to me. It is no one’s fault except my own that I have lacked these in the past. My sister would not have cared had I skipped church. I know she would have welcomed my desire to begin our morning with the Christmas story. She loves me and would welcome into her own traditions whatever mattered to me. I do not blame her or her family’s traditions for me getting derailed each year. 

Still, this year, I am thankful for the slowdown – introspection – ability to realize what matters most to me. So, this year, I begin a new tradition for myself – no matter where I go or who I am with: purpose, love, and simplicity. 

Thank You, God, for unwrapping the most precious of gifts – the eternal gift – Whose light never fades. I love You. Thank You for loving me.

John 3:16

The Command of King Moonraiser

This morning, as I drove my mom and step-dad to meet the bus they would take for their vacation to the Tennessee mountains, we discussed my upcoming internship. I shared how much I enjoyed being on this end of God’s plan – being able to see how He has used my past experiences growing up, education, career at Belmont, and cancer to prepare me for this next journey of life. Even with all the warnings about how tough hospital chaplaincy can be, and even with the strong urging to maintain my spiritual outlets for my own mental health, I know deep down that I am on the right course. I know I am meant for this field, and that, overall, I have found my fit. 

Reflecting back on the last eight years – from the moment I made that conscious decision to do whatever it took to “fix” me – through all the growing pains along the way, I see how God was preparing me – all the jobs I did not get, even the certainty that He did not want me to go full-time at Amazon only to find out the next weekend that they were doing away with my part-time position – the countless whys – struggling to understand – how it has all led to this moment. 

My growth and journey are not done, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I am so honored to have been given this glimpse – the light peaking through the window – an illumination. 

I even think of love – one of the biggest reasons I have not put myself out there again. I knew I had to work on myself emotionally and spiritually. However, I also wanted to be independent. As it is now, living with my dad, struggling to pay my bills, having to constantly seek help from my parents – there is no way I would even consider dating a man in my position. I would not expect a man to date me in this position. I must have something to offer. Although I am not there yet, I do see a light at the end of this tunnel as well. That does not mean I’m ready to throw my heart into the ring just yet. It just means that for the first time in eight years, I think romantic love could, perhaps, be a possibility in the future. 

After I got home from dropping off my mom and step-dad, I turned on Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, my favorite childhood Christmas show. As I began watching, it occurred to me why I loved this show above all others. It is not so much a story about Christmas as it is about redemption. 

Rudolph and Hermie, both ostracized for being different, set off on their own. “We will be independent together,” Hermie tells Rudolph. 

Along the way, they meet another odd-ball by the name of Yukon Cornelius. As they travel on, the abominable comes after them, and poor Rudolph blames himself. “It’s my nose. It’s ruined us,” he says. 

Later in the story, Rudolph will run off in the middle of the night, thinking he is doing what is best for his friends. He tries to isolate himself. Luckily for him, his friends (both the other misfits and the “normal” Clarice) won’t let Rudolph get away with running away. They go after him and wind up using their own differences to save him.

Before this, though, the band of misfits end up on the Island of Misfit Toys.

“We’re on the Island of Misfit Toys. Here we don’t want to stay . . . If we’re on the island of unwanted toys, we’ll miss all the fun with the boys and the girls . . .”

Rudolph feels like he found a place where he finally belongs, a place where he fits in. Before they can stay, Charlie-in-the-Box tells him they will have to get permission from King Moonraiser.

Every night, King Moonraiser searches the earth for unwanted toys and brings them to the island until Santa can find a little boy or girl who will want it. The king denies Rudolph’s request, telling him that living creatures cannot hide themselves on the island. “Being misfits yourselves, you might help the toys here,” he suggests to Rudolph. 

The king does not say “if” you return to Christmas Town someday. No. He says “when” you return someday – tell Santa about the toys. “A toy is never truly happy until it is loved . . . “

Rudolph replies, “when and if” they ever get back, they will tell Santa. This is the turning point of the story, just before Rudolph attempts, once again, to isolate himself. 

Anyone familiar with the show or song know how it ends. Rudolph does return home, saves Christmas, and keeps his promise to King Moonraiser. Santa stops on the island, and all the misfit toys find new homes. 

Before today, I never noticed the correlation between me and the misfit, Rudolph, or the Island of Misfit Toys and the Church. 

I, like Rudolph, tried to isolate myself on numerous occasions, thinking I was protecting others from me. Like Rudolph, I was blessed enough to have both “normal” and “misfit” friends and loved ones who never let me get away with running away. Like Rudolph, I have grown to see my differences as a gift and not a curse. 

I have said on more than one occasion that I love the church because it is the one place where I feel truly at home – at home among people just as different as myself. My church is my Island of Misfit Toys. 

It could be so easy to want to stay within the safety of the church walls and church community, and I did that for many years. However, like King Moonraiser told Rudolph, we are not meant to live on this island. 

The King brings the unloved to the island, but this stop is supposed to be temporary. We are made to love and be loved. We cannot do that in isolation. Our differences are intended to make us useful “out there.” 

In the end, all the misfits find their fit. Yukon Cornelius tames the bumble, Hermie becomes the first dentist in Christmas Town, and Rudolph uses his nose led the way. Those who are “normal” realize they were wrong and embrace a new truth. 

“Well, it’s Christmas Eve, and it looks like we are forgotten again,” Charlie-in-the-Box cries.

In the end, both the misfits and the “normals” were all saved – no one was forgotten – all because of their differences and the King’s command to leave the island.  

The Christmas season is my favorite time of the year – the movies, the television classics and specials, the music, the parties, the decorations – everything. However, I usually experience a sense of let-down on Christmas day. I do not enjoy the normal gift giving. The heart of the holidays is somehow always lost. 

This year, between our church’s new vision and my new upcoming adventures, something about me has changed and continues to change. My vision this year is on those hurting, lonely, depressed. My prayer this year for me, and for everyone who has a relationship with Jesus Christ, is to get off the island – to embrace our own differences, be in tune with the “misfits” around us and NOT to forget them again.

What's in a Name?

While driving to Houston for the Thanksgiving holiday, my dad and I began listening to an audio book entitled The Dream of You by Jo Saxton. It is a book I am considering for a women’s Bible study this coming year. 

One chapter spoke of names – badges we wear which define us as individuals – whether our given name or words used to describe something about our character. Saxton explained how such labels may label us for a season, but they do not have to pave the way for our eternity. The Bible is filled with examples of God changing someone’s name as He changed their course in His story. 

As I listened, I considered my own labels, both given and created – by others and by myself. 

Strong – through divorce and cancer, this is a word often used to describe me. I hated, and still hate, this term. “If only they knew,” I told them and me. “If only they knew what was going on inside of me. No one would call me strong if they only knew the truth.” 

For me, the truth was that I wanted to give up so many times. I am strong for doing what I had to do to survive a bad marriage? I am strong for surviving cancer? I did nothing. I simply put one foot in front of the other, praying every night for God to take me Home. Every morning, when I woke this side of heaven, I simply went through the motions. Strong? Me? I don’t think so. I survived solely by the grace of God. If I am strong, it is and was in Him alone. No. I am not strong. 

Dreamer. That is how I define myself. I live inside the world of my imagination. It has not been all bad. It saved me during the tough days of adolescence and my parent’s divorce. I have written several novels, and although not published, are pretty darn good. I have used my imagination to write sermons and accomplish some wonderful things. 

However, being a dreamer has also cost me. I lack adequate planning and follow-through skills. I am too busy doing so much that I often lack focus and direction. I am a big dreamer, but the doer in me often must be shaken into action. Yes. I am a dreamer. 

Troy Renee – my given name. I have been teased about my “boy” name all of my life. As a child, it never bothered me because I was a tomboy. I loved having a boy name. As an adult, it still does not bother me, even when strangers call and ask for “Mr.” Albracht. 

Well, I would be lying if I said it never bothered me. Renee never bothered me. Troy did – a little.  I have always been grateful for the babysitter who started calling me Renee all those years ago. My sister’s name is Tori, and she struggled with Tori and Troy – hence, I became Renee. 

My sister’s name is Tori. This is why I struggled with being called Troy. My sister’s birthday Is January 7. My birthday is January 12. My mom tried to convince the doctor to take me out on January 7. He refused. I thank God for that doctor. 

My sister’s name is Tori. My first name is Troy. Our birthdays are three years and one week apart. This is why I hated my first name. I assumed my parents named me Troy on purpose – creating similar names on purpose. Switch two letters around, and I would also be Tory. 

Most of my life, I felt like I lived in the shadow of my older sister. She had it altogether. Growing up, she was the pretty one – the one the boys liked. She was the popular one. She was your normal, well liked girl. I was the awkward tomboy, teased for being different, always bent toward depression. I was Tori’s polar opposite. I hated my name. I hated living in the shadows of my big sister. 

As an adult, she got it right the first time with marriage and family. She has an amazing husband and two wonderful boys. Her life is still quite charmed. My marriage failed. I had no kids. I struggled into my 40s trying to figure out my place in the world. I continued to struggle with depression. 

I was the one who worked out. She was the one who changed her life at 40 – creating a lifestyle change of eating right and exercising – my dream, her reality. I hated living in the shadows of my big sister. 

Thankfully, even before I learned the truth of my given name, I found a way to step out of her shadow and find peace with who I am – and love who I am. Yes, I wish I had the self-control with ice cream that she has. I wish I had the self-discipline to work out and take care of myself the way she does, but that is not me – and I am okay with that. 

This past spring, my world seemed to be spinning out of control. I felt lost with no way out. There were so many voices in my head – people (including my sister) telling me what I should do, who I should be, what I should think. I could no longer distinguish between the voices of others, my voice, and God’s voice. I needed to run away or completely lose control. 

This has happened before, but I have always had an outlet – my abbey in Trappist, Kentucky. I had not been in years, and the voices were endless. I needed to clear my head. So, I went on a three-week road trip. Road trips are so therapeutic for me, and this one certainly did the trick. 

I cannot pinpoint the exact time or location, but all I know is that I received so much clarity – about life, love, purpose, and God. I knew what I wanted – and I knew what God wanted for me. Knowing the difference made all the difference. I found peace – even though my answer for just about everything was – wait. I now knew it was okay to wait. More importantly, I saw how everything that made me different from my sister made me set apart for God’s purpose for me. I could never live her life and she could never live mine. At the ripe old age of 42, I finally broke free from my sister’s shadow. 

I don’t know if others could sense the change in me when I returned home from that trip, but I certainly could. 

Fast forward to a few days ago. After that chapter, I asked my dad about my given name. I knew I was always going to be a Troy – either Troy Alan for a boy or Troy Ellen for a girl. At the last minute, my dad decided he did not like Ellen, and I became Renee. But I wanted to know, why Troy? Why not give me my own name? To my surprise, my dad explained that Troy was never intended to be a Tori comparison. He had a male friend named Troy and my mom had a female friend named Troy. They simply liked the name. 

All these years wasted, assuming I was intentionally placed in my sister’s shadow. 

The story does not end here, though. I have told this next story before, but it is still one of my favorite stories about me. 

After the divorce, I felt lost. Who was I? I could no longer claim “Ruthven,” my married name. I no longer felt like an “Albracht,” even though that is who I was and who the judge told me I would be again. 

I lived in Nashville at the time. While on an airplane flying home for Thanksgiving, I looked out the window and watched the clouds. Heaven. I shared my burden with God and asked, “who am I?”

He lovingly whispered to my heart, “you are my daughter, and that name is enough.”

Realizing the Verb of Love

Last night, while driving home, I began to ponder the difference between loving someone and being in love. I am not sure why such a thought crossed my mind. I suppose it was a combination of events from the day. 

While driving, I replayed the events of the past hour. A police officer friend and I taught several college aged women self-defense. My non-dominant fist throbbed from an off-handed punch I threw after a surprise attack, striking his faceguard with the weaker knuckles. One of our marketing strategies to lure students to class is “where else can you hit a cop and get away with it?” After my friend suited up, he came after me as I gave instruction, demonstrating for the young women what they would be doing. It was a good move on his part because it demonstrated how spontaneous an attack would be, and how ready they should be to react. It also gave them the courage to try it out themselves. 

The young women laughed and had a good time – until the end of the class. Toward the end, I took an about face stance. We had been having fun, and most of us can distinguish clearly right from wrong when it comes to a random attack by a stranger, but what happens when the attack comes from someone you know and even love? Our topic of conversation turned to date-rape, and more importantly, how to easily judge when something is going wrong, and someone is doing something they should not be doing. 

The class ended on a good and positive note. However, these serious, deep talks are always difficult, especially with a cop who is there to share real life stories – especially when I know the reality that, likely, at least one of those girls have either been the victim of a sexual assault or know someone who has been.

I reminded them that although most men will try, most men will also stop when they say no. If he pushes, that is when they can be certain that what is happening is not right. Romance should feel good. If what is happening does not feel good, there’s a problem, and they have the right to defend themselves. 

That is just a small taste of what we talk about, but as I thought about the look in their eyes, the look in all women’s eyes when we get to this part of the class, I know they know. What I am describing is not love.
Earlier in the day, I emailed a young woman who was concerned because she no longer felt God’s presence. I tried to describe the difference between an emotional response and a relational response. I described her relationship with Jesus like falling in love. Those initial feelings do not last, but if we maintain a healthy relationship, we discover something much greater. 

As these polar-opposite ideas of love swirled in my mind, I remembered something my mom told me after my parents told us they were getting a divorce. She said they loved each other, but they were not in love, and she didn’t know if they ever had been. She asked if I understood, and at the age of fourteen, I thought that was a bunch of hooey. She told me I would understand one day. 

I never did- at least – not until last night. It occurred to me that one is an emotion. The other is an action. I am not sure if this is what she meant, but looking back at their relationship, she was absolutely right.

Love – what a cheap word in the English language. I love chocolate. I love my Houston Texans. I love Jon Bon Jovi. I love my Bailey and Ray Ray. I love my family. And, I once loved my ex-husband.  Yet, I have never been in love – at least not with anything of this world. Everything I mentioned elicits an emotion of some sort. Emotions are fleeting. Sometimes they are stronger than at other times. They do and can fade away. 

Being in love requires a deeper commitment. It requires getting in the trenches, getting dirty, baring your soul, being fully present. Being in love takes time. It moves way beyond the feel goods. That is where “in sickness and in health, for richer and poorer . .  .” come in. Being in love requires time and attention even when there is nothing left to give, when the reward is not obvious, when the emotion is dormant, when it feels like nothing more than going through the motions. 

My parents were never in love. I was never in love with Brad. He was never in love with me.

Yesterday, I also had my former sister-in-law on my mind. Both her children have Niemen Pick Type C.  Her husband recently had a stroke and is still undergoing rehab. Her brother-in-law, my ex-husband, lives nearby, and he is still fighting his demons. How does she do it? Who is there to support her? Even with all she has going on, she reached out to me to see how I was doing. I know exactly how she does it. She is, and has always been, in love with her husband and her children. She has her family. She has her faith. More than that, she knows what real love looks like, and everyday she practices love. 

I don’t know if I will ever get the opportunity to experience being in love in this life. I think I have realized that one of the biggest reasons why I have had no desire to date since divorce is because I have no idea if I am capable of living in love, and I don’t want to ask anyone to be my test subject. 

I do not write this for pity’s sake. I do not pity myself. I am not completely lacking. I have experienced being in love with God.  It is the greatest, most glorious love imaginable. Even on days like today – feeling lethargic, my hand throbbing more and more as I continue to type, a terrible stomach ache earlier today – even so, I am in love and to know He is in love with me, too, is that much sweater. 

Whether or not I ever experience this kind of love with another human being or not is of zero consequence to me. I have the greatest love of all, and that is all that matters.

Perspective

This morning, as I sat outside for my prayer time, I began to feel nostalgic for my beloved Abbey of Gethsemani. This longing surprised me because I have not been experiencing the wanderlust which normally precedes this feeling. Life has been unusually wonderful. My circumstances have not changed, but my response to them have.  An overwhelming peace and trust in God have recently washed over me. The usual anxiety triggers have lain dormant. So, why this longing for the balm for my disquieted spirit?

My thoughts shifted to the weather – wet and humid – with mosquitoes feasting on my bare feet – an unusual shift from the recent cool, fall mornings. My momentary autumn prayer spot caused my mind to drift, replacing the calm ease of adoration with the self-centered grumblings of dissatisfaction. 

As I forced my will to see past the gloom of the morning, memories of my beloved Gethsemani crashed through my mind – a similar dreary day, but much colder. Too cold for me to brave the peaceful trails across the way. Too wet to even enjoy the prayer garden just below. I perused the library, longingly searching for God, desperately trying to recreate similar encounters as in years past. I needed Him, but how was I going to find Him here? Now? In these worst possible of circumstances?

After finding no solace within the words of ancient strangers, I pulled up the collar of my jacket, wrapped my arms tightly around myself, and sat on a damp chair on the covered library porch. I stared across the road, reminiscing of the profound ways God appeared to me the last few years, wondering how He would or could speak to me this time. 

Then, my mind’s eye saw Him, standing at the entrance to the trail across the street, wearing an army green jacket. He reminded me of Gary Sinise’s character from Forrest Gump. With a slight tilt of His head, He beckoned me to join Him on the other side. I silently declined, not wanting to get sick by traipsing in the woods in the cold rain. 

The Holy Spirit whispered in my ear, changing my perspective by adjusting my eyes to see this glorious gift right in front of me. He reminded me how much I disliked walking along the monk’s path. Being around other people made it difficult for me to be fully present with God. They were a distraction for me. Although this is supposed to be a silent monastery, people often talked, albeit quietly, but still, they talked while walking along the trail. These distractions are why I have so many wonderful stories about getting lost in the woods with God. 

This year would be different. This year, I could enjoy the trail with God all alone. This year, the cold and the rain would keep the others away. This year, this moment, was just for me. We would be alone on the trail – just me and God. 

I walked with Jesus on the tail that day – just the two of us. That was the year we sat by the lake, talking about reflections. That was the year He showed me the tree. That was the year I did not have to get lost in order to find Him. That was the year He taught me to open my eyes to a new way of seeing things – from His perspective and not my own. 

Thank You, Jesus, for that reminder this morning. It has been a long time since I have walked with you like that. Sometimes I miss experiencing You like that – walking beside me, my mind’s eye seeing a vision of You – dressed as Lieutenant Dan. But I know You came as I needed to see You then. Just as You continue to do today – always speaking to me, always teaching me, always loving me. For that, I am eternally grateful and blessed to be Your beloved daughter. Help me to never loose sight of Your presence and gifts. Open my eyes to always see past my human haze to Your glorious goodness. 

Fork in the Road

I met with my counselor yesterday – already feeling lousy – sickly (mostly allergies) and flustered because I was running late – unusual traffic – I hate to be late.

“Sometimes I miss the days when I was emotionally numb – no highs, no lows – just an even rhythm to life.”

“Emotionally withdrawn?” She corrects when she senses that I am struggling with the words.

“Yea, emotionally withdrawn.” I go on to explain that there is nothing emotionally causing me to feel like this. Just the blahs. We go on to discuss how little motivation I have this week, and how I have been acting out of character – my usual patient and happy-go-lucky self now feeling short tempered and snappy, causing me to withdraw physically.

We discuss the difference between withdrawing to escape – something I have always been very good at doing – and escaping because that is what my body needs – rest. I know this escape is not mental. It is all physical. However, the more we talk, the more I realize the mounting mental and spiritual exhaustion may have played a part in my physical weakening. Maybe this is God’s way of forcing me to slow down when I could not slow myself down.

My counselor knows – we have discussed it many times before – that God talks to me in dreams. She has done a tremendous job helping me to understand some of these more disturbing dreams. I have since used her suggestions to help myself figure out my dreams. And even though I knew the meaning of my most recent disturbing dream, I shared it with her anyway. It is something I cannot get out of my mind. A dream I am so thankful for – a message long sought after, but until the dream, I had been unable to figure out on my own.

The dream:

I landed at the airport in London. After renting a vehicle, I hit the highway, speeding to keep up with the truck in front of me that I needed to follow if I wanted to get to the right destination without getting lost in an unfamiliar city and country.

The lead vehicle was not watching to make sure I was following, so I sped along. As the lead vehicle changed lanes, I changed lanes. We were coming up to a fork in the road. If I went the wrong way, I would be lost. The lead vehicle changed lanes to the right. I veered right. The lead vehicle changed lanes to the left. I veered left. Other cars got in between us. I thought I saw the lead car veer right, so I swerved so as not to miss the turn. Then, I quickly realized my mistake, and made a hard left to get in the correct lane before reaching the fork. I was too late, and my SUV slammed against the barricade, sending my vehicle crashing onto its driver’s side, and skidding to rest in the middle of the road. The lead vehicle never slowed, never even seemed to notice that I had crashed.

Just as the vehicle slammed into the barricade, suddenly, I was not the driver. Instead, I was in a restaurant/bar watching this live on television. I was yelling at the driver on the television to “slow down!”  “You’re going the wrong way!” “Watch out!”

The barkeep, whom I believe was my mentor in real life, asked what I was watching that was getting me so excited. I told him it was a live feed of Jon Bon Jovi. Some reality-type show, I suppose. He rolled his eyes and smiled. I turned my attention back to the screen and gasped in horror. First responders pulled Jon Bon Jovi’s body out of the driver’s side of the wrecked vehicle and laid him out in the middle of the road. I had no idea if he was alive or dead, but he was not responsive.  David Bryan, Bon Jovi’s keyboard player, walked, unharmed from the passenger side of the wrecked vehicle. The next thing I knew, David was not on the screen, but standing right beside me watching what was going on, in shock, a single tear streaming down his face. Just before I woke up, I thought to myself, “Why did it have to be him? (meaning Jon) Why could it not be you? (meaning David) I was disgusted and ashamed of myself for having such thoughts.

When I woke up, the dream would not leave. It bothered me. I tried to pray, but I could not concentrate. In one of the lessons of my current Bible study, Discerning the Voice of God by Priscilla Shrirer, she talks about what to do when we cannot control our thoughts during prayer. She suggests that instead of trying to push them aside, to bring them to God instead. So, that is what I did. He told me to go for a walk. I get the best clarity when I go for a walk with Him.

So, I went for a walk. When I was driving the car (in my dream), that is like how I have been, wasting so much energy trying to chase down God’s plan for me, so desperate to be in His will, so afraid of going in the wrong direction and getting lost. When I was watching it unfold on the television, with the voice of reason in my head, showing me the folly of the driver’s actions, that is the Holy Spirit living in me – guiding my steps, leading the way.

This dream is in line with what I am learning in this Bible study. In the dream, God showed me that I do not have to chase Him. He is never going to run so far ahead of me that I cannot catch up. He is never going to leave me behind. I am wasting my time and energy chasing Him because He is not running. He is right here with me, in me, guiding me every step of the way. He is the voice in my head, my guide. He will tell me when to slow down, when to change lanes, when to move, and when to be still and wait.

I cannot describe how freeing it feels to realize that I have been chasing God, afraid of losing Him, and now realizing all that effort was in vain because He is right here – in and beside me. After realizing this, and being overwhelmed with the peace this brought me, I felt comforted.

It reminded me of the time when I was a child, home sick with the flu. I called my mom at work and asked her to come home. She came home. There was nothing she could do for me to ease the suffering, but just knowing she was there made me feel so much better. I was able to rest because she was there. This was that same kind of feeling – to be loved and comforted by a parent, able to rest because of that love.

What about the fact that the driver turned out to be Jon Bon Jovi? My childhood idol? The man I wanted to grow up to be like? The picture of success, and everything I wanted out of life?

Another lesson from the Bible study that has challenged me is twofold:

First, Abraham did not just go. He made plans, made preparations. During week one, Priscilla challenged us to write down what God has been calling us to do, or what we hoped to hear from God. I wrote “discipline.” I am a dreamer, but not a very good doer. I lose focus way too easily. I need to learn to plan – to do – not just stuff, but the right kind of stuff.

Second, I heard a new song by Casting Crowns. I loved the song at first because of his voice. Then, I fell in love with the words. Only Jesus. “I don’t want to leave a legacy. I don’t care if they remember me. Only Jesus.”  Another lesson from the study. Who are we working for? Who are we trying to impress?

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about a girl I went to high school with. She became everything she set out to be. I, on the other hand, never made it past the dreams. The me of today would be an embarrassment to the me from my childhood. Then, I wonder why this matters. After all, I like who I am becoming. I know why it matters. Because I’m 42, almost 43. I wish I had it more together by now. I wish I had not wasted so much time dreaming and not doing anything about those dreams.

Jon Bon Jovi represents all those childhood hopes and dreams and aspirations. If he died, a part of me would die with him.

What about David Bryan? Jon is the cool one. He’s the one in front, the one everyone sees and admires. He is the one who gets all the attention. He is also incredibly talented, but of them all, David is the most talented. He was at Julliard before leaving to join Bon Jovi full time. During their hiatuses as a band, he has written and produced Broadway musicals. He survived. My talents, the gifts God gave me, are still alive and thriving. Whether the world ever knows about them or not, they are still there.

As I walked, as I thought about this part of my dream, I thought about Bon Jovi’s musical history – how each album tells a story. If I were to write myself into that story, where would I be? The first three albums were very commercial. A little of their unique, storytelling, uplifting voice came out on New Jersey. The band nearly imploded during that tour. They took a long break, and each member tried new things separate from the band. When they came back together, their unique sound grew more and more with each new album. Now, nothing they do is commercially driven, but all driven from the story of their heart. You can hear their maturity and independence stream into each new song.

If I had to choose a Bon Jovi album to write myself into right now, it would probably be These Days. They said they thought the songs were uplifting and positive at the time, but when they listen now, they hear the pain and sadness. Those songs were real. Those songs are raw. This was the first album without bassist, Alec John Such. The songs are filled with longing – for love, for purpose, for understanding. They do seem sad, but there is a sense of hope in them. “I’m feeling like a Monday, but someday I’ll be Saturday night.”

“Hey God”

“Something to Believe In”

“If That’s What It Takes”

“Lie to Me” my all-time favorite Bon Jovi song purely because of the building intensity of the song. I can feel the pain when I hear it. By the end of the song, I realize I am holding my breath.

As dour as this may seem, I don’t identify with These Days most because of the dark tone of the album. Rather, I identify with the building intensity – the something about to burst. The hope on the verge of breaking through – the real me finally finding voice – maturity, growth – something magical waiting just on the other side, and my hand on the doorknob.

Each proceeding album becomes more and more positive, as if the artists are becoming more and more comfortable living in their own skin.

Crush . . . Bounce . . . all leading up to today. The most recent Bon Jovi album, the first post-Richie album. The hurt is there, but the hope, the assurance of resiliency, is stronger. “This house is not for sale.”

My favorite song on this album “Rollercoaster.” Life is not a Ferris wheel. It’s a roller coaster.

Back to Jon Bon Jovi in my dream – laying unconscious, possibly dead on the road. It is a letting go of all MY hopes and dreams, all MY ambitions, MY need to be a certain something to prove MY success to an imaginary “them.” ME letting go of MY childhood need to leave MY own legacy. Finding comfort and peace at last in realizing I don’t have to chase after anything or anyone because God, in the Holy Spirit, is right here. As Mark from Casting Crowns sings,

“all that really matters
Did I live the truth to the ones I love
Was my life the proof that there is only One
Whose name will last forever . . .

Jesus is the only name to remember.”

As the imagery and truth of this dream come into focus, I turn the corner to head for home. I think again of the Bon Jovi song, Rollercoaster. I think of other songs which compare life to some sort of ride. I look ahead up the road which will lead me home, and I realize that I don’t want my life to be a Ferris wheel, roller coaster, or even a highway. I don’t even want it to be a hiking trail. I want it to be a simple road. Could have hills, curves, or flat paths, as long as it continues to move forward – slowly – no rush – so that I can continue walking with Him, looking ahead, but focused within.

What Will Your Story Be?

I am not sure if it was chance or if she purposely scheduled it this way, but today was my turn to preach. 

September 11, 2018

I knew the schedule months ago, and I thought I knew where I planned to take it. I got the idea after reading Eat Cake, Be Brave by Melissa Radke – how we know what we believe, but we do not know who and whose we are – but God, in His infinite wisdom, had other plans.

While suffering from my own depression, I watched the Louie Giglio sermon video called Hope – When Life Hurts Most. I thought this was it. I planned to simply “borrow” some of his ideas and wrap it up with a “9/11” bow – and integrate Radke’s idea of turning a negative into a positive. This was not God’s plan, either – at least, not completely.

As I sat down to prepare the sermon, I got online to research the good that came from September 11, 2001. Before I found stories of good, I heard stories of loss – terrible, gut wrenching loss – love. I sobbed. Tears wet my face and neck and collar of my shirt. I knew their stories needed to be told. I knew our stories needed to be told. I knew HIS story needed to be told.

As God often does when I put my hands on the keys – He took over. The sermon wrote itself.

Yesterday, I did not feel the normal need to read and re-read my notes, to make sure I had my outline worked out in my head. I knew it was there – and that I would not forget.

This morning, I did not have the same sort of nerves as normal. I did not feel the need to isolate myself prior to the sermon and psych myself for getting up in front of people – all eyes on me. I knew HE had this. I knew all I needed to do was open my mouth, and He would take care of the rest.

If I preach during the summer when my dad’s gone, I usually try to video it for him because I know it means a lot to him to be able to see me when he can’t be there. He’s my biggest fan. I usually invite my mom to come, then we’d go to lunch after. This time, though, it was personal. It was intimate. It was solemn. It was solely about God and those in attendance. I prayed for them before today. I usually always do that, but I prayed more fervently this morning. Someone needed the solemn hope of this message.

I cried as I retold the stories – not as many tears as when I first heard them, but still, I cried. What is most remarkable to me is how God moved in that little room. The stories they shared with me – and with one another. The stories of hope – the words of encouragement. The broken hearts shared with me, and with each other afterwards.

God has done so much lately, moving in the life of my church, and people around me. I am in awe of how He moves. There is no better word to describe it than awe.

Afterwards, I was emotionally drained. I feel like I could sleep for days. As tired as I am, I can’t help but laugh at myself when I realize how dramatic I got at times – weeping without shame or embarrassment, pounding my fist against the pulpit, raising my voice, repeating important key phrases – just plain animated – so out of character for me – because that was not me. I was passionate to share the One I love most with others so they can know Him the way I do.

I have never posted my sermon notes anywhere for anyone to see. But, there is something about this day – 9/11 – something about how today came about. These are not my words. They are not even my thoughts. I was simply blessed to be the vehicle through which they were put down on paper and delivered to God’s hurting sons and daughters.

This will not be posted on Facebook like my normal blog posts. So, if you happen upon this little blog of mine, I hope you know just how much God loves you – in spite of any suffering you may be experiencing – and my prayer for you is that you will see Him and feel Him holding you and loving you through the pain, and I pray your suffering will be short-lived, but that in it, and in HIM, you will be victorious.

Sermon notes:

Begin with a moment of silence.

Read scripture with no explanation.

John 16:33

³³ “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

Romans 8:18 New International Version (NIV)

¹⁸ I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.

Romans 8:35 New International Version (NIV)

³⁵ Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 New International Version (NIV)

³ Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, ⁴ who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.

Without explanation, transition to stories of victims of 9/11

1)      He was a ticket agent – he checked in the victims AND the hijackers on the morning of September 11, 2001. The next day, a co-worker handed him a list of all the people on the plane – the people he checked in. No one would look him in the eye. For years, he carried the guilt – felt personally responsible for every death. He could not go to a support group because every time someone said “My _________ got killed on September 11”, he heard “You killed my ______ on September 11.”

2)      A retired fire fighter had two sons. One grew up to be a firefighter like him, and the other grew up to be a police detective. Both died on September 11. One son was 34 years old. The other was 36 years old. His firefighter son’s badge number was 3436. He says he is able to sleep at night because the last thing he said to both of his sons was “I love you.”

3)      Her husband worked on the 105^th floor of the south tower. He called his wife after the plane hit below him. They talked as he searched for a way out. They talked about their lives together and repeated how much they loved one another. They both knew he was going to die. She was on the phone with him when the tower fell. She heard the cracking sound of the building.

Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people? That’s the age-old question.

I can explain how evil is the result of sin.

I could encourage you to read the Book of Job.

We can go back to the beginning and we can pick apart the theological nuances of the scriptures I read just a minute ago.

But for those victims of 9/11, the ones left behind to try to make sense of it all, nothing makes sense. Nothing I say, no matter how theologically sound, will make it make sense for them.

For you – for me. When we are in the midst of terrible tragedy, none of it makes sense. Nothing anyone can tell us can make it better.

We are all going to suffer in this world. That I can promise you. The victims of 9/11 know that is a fact. I’m sure everyone here today knows that is a fact.

Suffering is going to come, and all our plans are going to be snuffed out in an instant.

Then what’s the point?

Jesus is the point.

We all have a story. It’s what we do with our story that matters. We have two choices. We can either allow our suffering to enslave us or we can make suffering our slave.

We speak the loudest to the world when we suffer.

Genesis 50:20 New International Version (NIV)

²⁰ You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.

The terrorist meant to destroy us. They made us suffer, yes, but they did not destroy us.

1)      The Feal (spelled f-e-a-l) Foundation- named after John Feal. He was injured during 9/11. While at the hospital, he witnessed how much suffering was going on around him. He realized he had a lot left to give so he set up this foundation to give medical support to first responders and emergency personnel.

2)      The Peter C. Alderman Foundation – The parents of Peter, who lost his life on 9/11, set up this foundation in his honor to heal the emotional wounds of victims of terrorist attacks and acts of mass destruction.

3)      New York Says Thank You Foundation – Founder Jeff Parness was inspired by the outpouring of support immediately following 9/11. Every September, victims of past disasters help current victims rebuild their lives.

I can go on and on with stories about how victims of 9/11, victims of other mass tragedies, and victims of bullying, prejudice, sickness, death have decided to enslave their suffering.

Jesus conquered death once and for all. Satan may throw everything he has at you, but we were made for a higher purpose. Grace wins every time.

We cannot prevent suffering, but we can be ready for it.

How?

1)      We have to know God. We have to know Jesus Christ. We come to know Him by consistently, daily, spending time with God in prayer, in reading the Bible, in spending time with other believers. We must nurture this relationship above all else.

2)      We have to train ourselves to continually, consistently look up – not in.

Cross Then - Look to the cross. Imagine you there – you walked with Jesus. You talked with Jesus. You learned from Jesus. You believed He was the promised Savior. All of a sudden, you see Him up there on the cross. He’s been beaten, spat upon, mocked, shamed, a crown of thorns pushed down upon his head. He hangs there, defeated, dying. All your hopes and dreams are dying right along with it. You cannot understand. All seems lost, hopeless. You are afraid. You followed him, which means the authorities are coming after you next. Suffering has enslaved you.

Cross Now - Fast forward 2,000 years. Look at that cross now. What was once an object of ridicule, shame, fear, hopelessness is now a symbol of rejoicing, love, goodness, and hope. When we look upon the cross today, we know death has been defeated.

Why? - How do we know this? Because Jesus’ disciples made the choice to enslave their suffering. They pressed on and looked up.

9/11 Then - Those of us old enough to remember 9/11 will never forget. The images, the stories. They will be enough to break our hearts for the rest of our lives.

9/11 Now - Fast forward 17 years later, for anyone 17 years old and younger, it is nothing more than an historical fact, a memorial to visit.

What? - In another 100 years, when no one is alive to retell their experiences, it will be like the Civil War is to us. When people look back, they will know our story. What will our story be?

What is your story now? I invite you now to share your story – share how you took what Satan meant for harm and used it for God’s glory.

Listen to one or two stories – depending on time.

If you are in the middle of suffering and can’t imagine how you could possibly enslave it. If you are still stuck, enslaved to something that happened to you a long time ago. If your story is not one you are proud of for whatever reason, now is the time to begin the process of healing – and yes – it is a process. It starts right now, at the foot of the cross. It starts by asking Jesus Christ to come into your life – to change your life – to use your life and your suffering for His glory.

Matthew 11:28-30

²⁸“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ²⁹ Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰ For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”