An Overnight Sensation

This afternoon, a friend complimented the significant progression of my spiritual and personal growth this past year. Considering where I was, emotionally speaking, exactly one year ago, it amazes me how far I have come. 

Yet, at the same time, I cannot help but to compare myself to so-called “overnight sensations”. Ever pay attention to the so-called “overnight sensation’s” response to being called an “overnight sensation”? It is usually some version of sarcastic reference to “overnight” taking (fill in the blank) number of years. 

I am no celebrity, but I do understand the sentiment. I have been making a conscious effort at improving myself for eight years and six months. However, it does seem as if the distance between progressive steps has gotten shorter and shorter in the past year. It feels like I stepped on an escalator three months ago and have been rising higher, faster ever since. I feel like an “overnight sensation” who has been working toward this goal for years and years and years.

I used an illustration of the journey of a Christmas ornament during my last sermon entitled, “Think About Joseph.” I am beginning to see myself and my own journey in this illustration. 

1.      The Firmly Routed Tree:

Imagine walking through a forest. What do you see? Everywhere you look, you are surrounded by big, majestic, firmly rooted trees. They are breathtakingly beautiful to behold. Their roots run deep. They are the glory of the forest. 

What happens when an ax swings its claws into the tree’s trunk? Chunk after chunk is carved out until the tree can no longer stand, and gracelessly topples over. 

That is what happened to me when my marriage unraveled. Who I thought I was – who I thought I wanted to be – came tumbling down with a giant thud. 

Joke – if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound? 

If you are that tree, it doesn’t matter what anybody did or did not hear. You felt the ax. You felt the impact of the fall. 

2.      The Piece of Wood:

Now, imagine becoming cut down from a majestic tree to a small piece of lumber or limb. Imagine resting in a pile with other lumber in a workshop or barn.

You think you have found a new purpose. Smaller, yes, but content, comfortable. Then, you are pulled down from your perch. You hear a saw whine in the distance. The sound grows louder and louder until the blade’s teeth bite through you, splitting you in two. Other tools, sharp, consistent beat you and chisel you and pound you and sand you. Over and over and over again. No relief in sight. No obvious purpose for the pain. 

For me, this constant and consistent beating was cancer, what happened between me and my best friend, losing two girls I loved like daughters, four years of looking for work and finding nothing permanent or sustainable, being called to ministry without being given direction – I can go on and on with all the seemingly pointless hurts and failures. The vulnerability. The shattered dreams. Feeling lost and alone and worthless. 

3.      The Wooden Ornament:

Finally, the woodworker lays down his tools. The project is complete. You, the once majestic tree with deep routs have been reduced to an object which can fit in the palm of a hand. But, one look in the mirror and you know all that pain and suffering was worth it. You see what you were destined to become. You see the reason for the ax and saw and all those other tools of the master woodworker. You have a new purpose. You will now decorate another tree. You have a new purpose, and you may no longer be what you once were, but you are once again majestic. 

Before my fateful phone call inviting me to begin the process of becoming a hospital chaplain, I consoled myself by reminding myself that I may never know my purpose. I took my cue from Abraham. God promised to make him a great nation, but he never lived to see the outcome of that promise. He simply believed. 

Sometimes, however, we are fortunate enough to be able to see the end result. Sometimes, God allows us to see the purpose of the axes and chisels in our lives. The phone call which set my new life in motion is not the end. I know that. There will be other axes and chisels in my life. There is still a lifetime of improvement and growth to be done, more “ornaments” to be made. 

However, I am fortunate to have been able to see the purpose of this particular journey – all the whys – I can look back at it all and almost all of it makes sense. I see its purpose in shaping me to be ready for that life changing phone call. 

I had a very hard day the other day. After work, I went to the store. As I was checking out, I thought to myself how much easier life would be if I just took a job at that store. The thought was fleeting because even before the thought was complete, I knew I would never be satisfied. The day was hard and I am sure harder days are in my future, but I am even more certain that I am where I belong. 

I am where I belong. Hmph . . . what a beautiful realization. 

I have spent most of my life searching for a place to belong. I cannot describe how wonderful it feels to finally be certain that I know my purpose – at least one of my purposes (I still have other hopes and dreams) – and to no longer feel lost. 

Hello. My name is Renee. I am a Christian and have loved Jesus for as long as I remember. Still, I have spent most of my life feeling lost. That dilemma, my friend, is not reserved for those who are spiritually lost. We God-fearing folk have our struggles, too! 

And, I think it’s okay to feel lost as long as we keep moving forward and don’t give up or give in. As my friend-mentor-father figure once told me, and I paraphrase, “Even when you can't see where you are going, keep putting one foot in front of the other and trust that the Rock is there.” 

Inspirational ornament courtesy of my very talented friend, Jimmy Lewis. 

Excuses, Fear, and Failure

As I read all the FB posts about New Year’s Resolutions, contemplate parts of my friend’s sermon this past Sunday, and think about all the conversations today surrounding the overindulgence of the holidays, I think of my own desires for change and why I have never been able to make these changes stick in the past. 

I go through the same routine each year – and sometimes multiple times throughout the year – but specifically during and after the holidays. I lack basic self-control when it comes to sweets. Make something yummy available to me, and I guarantee it will find its way into my mouth. Come January 1, I am ready to detox from the holiday sugar excess. 

Every year, I hope this year will be different – the year I begin eating like a grown-up. But, alas, it never happens. Why? 

As I journaled about this very topic this morning, I came up with three basic reasons why my “resolution” for a healthier lifestyle never comes to fruition. 

#1 – It is too easy to convince myself that I’m not really doing anything wrong. 

In essence, I convince myself that what I am doing by over-indulging in the wrong kinds of food and drink is not a sin. After all, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. I’m not over weight. I’m not unhealthy (yet). It’s not like I’m a drunk or drug addict. Sound familiar? Anyone else keen on making excuses for their sin behavior? 

First of all, I must acknowledge that it is, indeed, a sin. Is it a sin to drink sodas or eat sweets? No. That, in and of itself is not a sin. However, when I am outright doing something I know God does not want me doing – when I am defiling my body, His holy temple – then, yes, I am absolutely sinning by being a sugar glutton. 

Now that the issue of whether or not my behavior constitutes a sin or not has been established, let’s consider the myths. “I am not hurting anyone.”

I am hurting myself. I know for a fact that my low energy level could be remedied, at least in part, if I gave up the sodas and ate healthier foods. I know this is true because when I ween myself off the sodas, I do not struggle to wake up in the mornings. I do not have as hard of a time getting going in the mornings. 

I eat to fill a void, not to fuel my body. What I am doing to my body is like pouring the wrong kind of liquid into a gas tank. The engine will eventually give out. I may be healthy now, but if I keep going the way I am going, I will end up with all kinds of health issues – diabetes, stroke, heart attack . . . Then, not only will I be hurting myself even more, but I will be hurting those I love – those who will worry about me, have to take care of me. I could even harm others who do not know me such as tax payers who would have to cover my medical expenses that I could not afford to pay. 

I think of Daniel. If someone told me I could eat like a king, I would be overjoyed. Not Daniel. He knew what the king’s food would do to him – how it would harm him. Daniel asked to be fed nothing but water and vegetables. The servant was afraid to give him such a meager diet, thinking Daniel and his companions would waste away, and the king would hold him responsible. After the time of trial, however, Daniel and his servants were healthier and stronger than all the others who ate the king’s food. 

I considered beginning the year with the Daniel fast. I had good intentions, but God knows me so well. He knew I would be more focused on the weight loss benefit of this challenge and not on the spiritual benefits. The Daniel fast would not have served me well – at least – not right now. 

I think of the story of Jesus cleansing the temple from those selling, turning His house of prayer into a robber’s den.  I know my body is God’s temple. 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 says “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.”

I know how Jesus responded to the money changers who defiled the temple building. Therefore, based on the passage from 1 Corinthians, I would assume that He would react in a similar manner to the way I defile my body, also His holy temple. 

So, what I am doing by defiling my body with processed sugar is no different than what those selling goods for sacrifice at exorbitant rates did back then. 

What I am doing is, in FACT, a sin, and it is harmful to myself and others. 

#2 – Fear. 

I do not like vegetables. If I try to eat right, I’ll end up starving. That is my fear. I live in the most abundant, gluttonous country on the face of the planet, and I am afraid of going hungry? That, I know, is absolutely absurd. 

Reality – I can learn to like vegetables. I have heard others like me tell of their tastes changing the more their diet changed. Plus, there are vegetables I do like. And, I know how to blend them into a juice that is actually quite tasty. However, this kind of healthy eating requires thought and preparation. 

Reality – I am simply too lazy. I need to stop being so darn lazy, get off my duff, and start treating food as fuel and my body as a holy temple. 

I think of the song by Zach Williams “Fear” – “fear, he is a liar.” Now, those words are truth!

#3 – I try to do it in my own power.

This is my biggest downfall and why I can only do well for seasons at a time. Then, just like an alcoholic, I think I have it under control and can have just one without falling back into that trap. I drink one soda, then another, then another. Soda is my gateway drug. The more I drink, the more sugar I crave. 

1 Corinthians 10:13 is one of my favorite Bible verses. “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”

Here’s the problem, I can never manage to remember that verse while in the throes of temptation. Satan is such a masterful manipulator. He puts thoughts into my head so randomly. Once they are there, it’s like a bull’s eye – like looking through a scope on a gun. Everything else becomes blurry. Only the target is clear. 

“A cone from QT would hit the spot right about now.”

“An iced cold Coca-Cola sure sounds good.” 

“I did (fill in the blank with a good deed or hard work) – I can reward myself with (fill in the blank).”

“What’s a movie without popcorn and a soda?”

“How can I go to Chick-fil-a and NOT get waffle fries?”

All seemingly simple, innocent thoughts, but the way my brain zeros in on those thoughts is not normal. I can think of nothing else and am convinced that I will not be able to rest until I meet that fleeting desire. 

Nothing God related even enters my mind while I’m on this abysmal trajectory. For this reason alone, my addiction to sugar is a sin. 

Side note – on my way to church this morning, I saw a billboard for an alcoholic beverage. The caption said something about giving into temptation. The name of the beverage was Devil something-or-other. Made me chuckle considering my journaling time with God just prior to driving past this sign. 

So, how could I possibly hope to make this year different than any other year? How do I combat that sneaky little Satan? How do I fight through the haze at the moment when these thoughts enter my mind? I am not foolish enough to think they will never happen again simply because I am now aware of them. They worked so well in the past. Why would Satan stop now? How can I pray 1 Corinthians 10:13 if I do not even have that text or God on my radar at times like these?

I must begin by prayer – arming myself for battle BEFORE these moments strike. My hospital chaplain mentor told me how he prepares himself each morning before beginning the day’s work. I made this prayer my own and it works. I need to use this prayer for this particular area of my life as well. 

Ephesians 6:10-17 – “Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

This must be my daily prayer if I am to win. I cannot do it in my own power. I have proven that time and time again. Only God can win this battle for me, but I must do my part – and my part begins by inviting Him into the battle. 

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.