Relatable

Today I am spending the day in bed – physical and emotional exhaustion. I planned this Sabbath rest last week, knowing how much I needed it, even if I did not feel like I needed it. In past posts, I related how members of “Team Renee” are teaching me, encouraging me, and holding me accountable in keeping my Sabbath day.  The past two weeks, however, I have failed to keep a day sacred. 

God knows what He is doing! He knew today would be needed more than most.

During my Sabbath days, I turn off electronic devices (excluding television). No access to social media. I spend the day in my pajamas and spend the entire day reading fiction or watching television. My sole goal is to deactivate my brain for one day so that it can recharge. Otherwise, I will fall into old habits of going until my battery runs out. Once the battery runs dry, I crash for at least one week, and nothing gets accomplished. 

I wonder how extroverts spend their Sabbaths, if they take a Sabbath. But, anyway, that is off topic. 

Today, I am torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. I cannot get into the details of why yesterday was so hard, but it began with the dreams (see blog “That Ain’t No Way to Go”), got messier with Sunday’s sermon which tied in a bit too well with the dream issue, and came to a drastic head at work. The incident at work affected me in a profound way – so much so that I had to call in reinforcements. And, it was not the usual things – death of a patient, family – which took its toll. It was the cumulative whole – how it affected everyone from the housekeeper to the charge doctor. 

Someone questioned how I do it. I knew if I tried to speak, I would cry, so I merely pointed my finger toward the ceiling. 

When it was all over, I went into the office to take a few minutes to switch gears so that I could resume my rounds. I texted my church’s leadership team for prayer – one of my decompressing techniques. This time, it was not enough. As soon as I sat down, I realized how labored my breathing had become. So, I began my best anti-anxiety routines – a breathing prayer – breathing in the Spirit of God and breathing out the anxiety. 

This time, instead of calming, I broke down into uncontrollable sobs. The tears did not last long, but one look in the mirror, and I knew that I could not resume my rounds – not until my bloodshot eyes cleared. 

I would debrief with my hospital manager/mentor eventually, but I knew, in this moment, I needed to speak with him now – if for no other reason than to explain why the “numbers” would not add up on my daily report.

By the time he called back, I had collected myself, and intended to resume my rounds. However, when he called back and I began debriefing with him and he asked questions, the tears resumed. He told me to hang tight and promised to call right back. When he did, he told me that another manager would be coming in to help me debrief with the staff and with me. 

When all was said and done, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. However, I was afraid of falling asleep. I was afraid of the dreams. I stayed up late binging on Bon Jovi videos and interviews on YouTube – after eating an entire pint of Blue Bell Rocky Road ice cream. 

This morning, I woke up at the same time as normal, unable to sleep, the exhaustion remained. I am in a good place spiritually and emotionally, but I am just so dang tired. As my manager told me, I did the right thing in not waiting until today to debrief. I am convinced that I am where I am supposed to be – even and maybe especially – on the hard days. I learned so much by the manager who came in to help me with the aftermath.

What’s funny is that I was starting to feel like I had this job down already, secretly wishing a full-time job would open up and I would be the obvious and natural person to fill it, even though I have barely begun the classroom portion of my education. Can anyone say cocky? This taught me that I still have a lot to learn. But, how very lucky I am to be in this setting to be learning from these people who take great pride in training up chaplains right. 

Anyway, back to the story. I am torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. Back to the dreams and the interplay between the dreams, the sermon, and the job. 

I have Ellen Degeneres’ comedy, “Relatable,” save to my list on Netflix. I decided to begin with a comedy. My ex used to tease me because Ellen was the only person on the planet who could make me laugh. I remember watching her skit about calling God and just being so tickled. Since then, I have learned to laugh at a lot of things, but she is still one of those who just really gets me going. It’s her whole bit – the kinds of jokes, her expressions, demeanor – all of it. 

“Relatable” is a different sort of bit. She has nuggets of heart truth cloaked in comedy. I got teary-eyed a time or two, especially the way she chose to end the special. She told the story of a dream which changed her life. She said, “Before I had that dream, I didn’t realize I was in a cage . . . I had everything I thought was important, but I was hiding a part of myself . . . Everyone has a fear. Everyone is scared of something, but it isn’t until you face that fear head on that you realize your power and that’s when you grow . . . we are all the same and we are all relatable.” 

When the special ended, I just had to write. I had to get all this stuff inside of me out. Writing is my thing – my talent – my therapy – my ministry – my way of being relatable. 

During the course of the past few month of hospital chaplaincy internship, I was beginning to believe that I was suited so well for this job because I am emotionally stunted, able to disengage my head and my heart. I think I may be wrong. Like the tin man, I think a heart may have been there, beating strong all along. I think it may have simply been dormant. I think this is what my dreams have been about – not about Brad at all, but about me – my heart waking up.

All those years ago, when Brad remarked how Ellen was the only one capable of getting any sort of emotion out of me, he realized that her brand of comedy was able to penetrate a place where no one else had access. Granted, he thought my love for her meant something else, but I now think my love for her was just that – the fact that she was the only one able to inadvertently awaken my heart with her clean comedy. 

What has the past eight years been about? What did I realize all those years ago when Brad and I had that exchange about cheating? It has been about giving my heart room to grow and have equal space in my life with my head. Like the Grinch, I think my heart is growing, and what I am experiencing is growing pains. 

The night after I wrote my last blog about the scary dreams, the dreams morphed. Now, instead of me trying to get away from someone out to hurt me, I was trying to save someone else. In my dream, a friend who is physically vulnerable was being verbally and physically abused by her big brute of a husband. While he was asleep, I tried to get her out of the house. Once outside, I could not get her to my car fast enough. My legs became like lead and my movements slower than a turtle, as if half of my body were sinking into quicksand. 

The brute’s dog, raised to be a killer, was chained, but growling and barking, awakening the brute inside. He rushed out and was coming after his wife. Because of my lead-legs, I was not going to be able to get her to safety. In my dream, I cried out an apology to her, “I’m so sorry I could not save you.” (Cue the scene of Simon from the movie, Simon Birch - based on my favorite book, A Prayer for Owen Meany - Simon cries out "I'm sorry" after accidentally killing his best friend's mother. https://youtu.be/QE6mvTRykmE)

I had another similar dream later the same night. 

Yesterday, the hardest part for me was seeing the pain and guilt some of the staff carried and not being able to do anything to help them. My heart broke for them and there was nothing I could do to take away their pain. 

Ask me what my deepest, most secret fear is, and I used to say and believe that it was growing old and dying alone. I am not afraid of growing old or dying, but I have always been afraid of doing it alone. 

I don’t think that’s a fear anymore – not as long as I have my church family. 

I have never even admitted it myself, always choosing to lie to myself each time the thought popped into my head. My head would revert to old habits by telling my heart what to think and how to feel. But the truth is, (take a deep breath, Renee) the truth is that my biggest fear is trusting someone with my heart again. If I should let my heart out of its cage, it might break again. 

The dreams – of Brad chasing me – no one ever hurt me as bad as he did. It took a very long time to put those pieces back together (see blog Putting the Pieces Back Together). I don’t even feel comfortable letting others handle the actual broken pot – the piece of pottery. It took me a lot to glue those pieces together. It represents so much more to me than pieces of clay. How much harder would it be to hand over my pieced-back-together-live-beating-fragile-heart? The mere thought of that is making my heart race even as I type this. 

The dreams of not being able to protect myself from Brad or a friend from her abusive husband – or in real life, not being able to protect the medical staff – it’s a lack of control. I need to feel in control. I cannot protect my heart if I let it out of its cage where someone could take it and claim it as their own. 

Maybe that’s also the explanation for the sweet/loathing thoughts I started having about Valentine’s Day this year. I had this disturbing thought that maybe I don’t like Valentine’s Day (or romance) is because I have never experienced it. I hate the idea that there may be a romantic buried down deep somewhere. Ugh! Then again, I love Hallmark Christmas movies. There’s a sap in me somewhere. 

Maybe these conflicting V-Day emotions is a battle between my heart and my head. The heart is growing, becoming too big for its cage, but my head is not taking too kindly to losing some of its control. I can see them with their boxing gloves on, in the ring fighting for the title. The goal is for them to have equal space, but the heart has to fight in order to get the head to give up space. The head is used to being in control. Giving up even a millimeter is asking a lot of it. After all, downsizing is hard, especially for someone who has been hording space for so long. 

"That Ain't No Way To Go"

On the way home this evening, I tuned my radio into a classic country station. The songs took me back – my friends, Johnnie and Scott, teaching me to two-step at the Bluebonnet Palace – hearing Garth Brooks for the first time in the back of a school bus on the way to a Friday night football game – weekends listening to local bands and dancing at small town Texas dancehalls – dancing with my dad – my one and only paid gig at that club in San Marcos. All wonderful memories. 

I thought about how much I hate modern country music. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that it’s not simply a matter of disliking the new style. It’s deeper than that. I get down right angry when I hear anything which has come out in the last ten years or so. Strange?

Several weeks ago, I met a friend for breakfast. She told me her story of why she used to dislike coffee. The smell reminded her of a bad memory from her past. Once she made the connection, she began to drink coffee as a means to overcome this issue. 

This past week, I attended my first CPE (clinical pastoral education) class. Toward the end of our time together, one of the students asked for advice from the more experienced chaplains on how to maintain emotional distance when a situation with a patient or client is particularly tough. 

We were taught that it is okay to be moved by a certain situation. We are bound to at some point. We were told that it is even okay to cry. The problem is when we either attempt to deny the patient the right to react a certain (healthy) way by trying to redirect the conversation or when we become so overcome that the patient now must console us. 

Our instructor shared a story of a patient who remembered nothing about the chaplain’s visit except to say that she knew the chaplain cared because he or she cried. 

Some situation is bound to remind us of something or someone from our past. How we react will tell us a lot about our own emotional health concerning that situation. If we are able to continue to minister without unhealthy or unhelpful redirection, anger, or other emotional breakdowns, it shows that we have grown through our own experiences. If we are not, a red flag should go up and bells should go off, letting us know there is something we have to work on within ourselves., and we MUST deal with it – whether we see a counselor, talk to a mentor, whatever. We cannot be effective in our ministry if we refuse to face our own issues. 

This past week, I met a patient who had just gotten some rough news. Her experience reminded me of my own experience in the hospital when I learned that I had cancer – all the unknowns and fear. The patient’s spouse reminded me of my mom – how she tried so hard to be strong for me while with me at the hospital but would break down and cry the moment she left me for the night.  I cried with the patient but was able to minister in a productive (and I hope) helpful way. I even gave the spouse permission to express emotion, even if that meant crying. The patient thanked me and believed God sent me to that room at just that time for just that reason. I think so, too. I had to go to the restroom after that visit to check my eyes and makeup before going to the next room, but I felt assured that this is exactly why I was allowed to go through what I went through and I am doing exactly what I am meant to do. 

Healthy healing.

Back to the country music – old stuff makes me happy, modern stuff makes me angry. 

I recently began having dreams about my ex again. These dreams are different than they used to be. In the old dreams, we got back together, as much as I still loved him, I always woke up (in my dream) the next morning and knew I had made a terrible mistake, but I had no way out. I was stuck. I have worked through those issues, and those dreams have stopped. 

Lately, these dreams are more frightening. He is either just coming out of or just going into a manic episode. We haven’t been together in a long time, but in each version, he is angry with me and coming after me. No matter where I hide, he finds me. I always wake up before he finds me, but I wake up scared. 

I haven’t quite figured this one out yet. I haven’t seen my counselor since these dreams started. However, something is there – something I have not gotten past yet. He was a country artist. His life involved the country music industry. The music which makes me angry is stuff that came out just before and since our divorce. 

Valentine’s Day is approaching. I have never cared for Valentine’s Day. There are only two things I have ever liked about V-Day: 

1) dad always got us girls our own box of chocolates and

2) being able to carry on grandpa’s tradition of bringing my grandma flowers. 

Other than that, I think this stupid holiday is a sham. I’m no romantic. If a person wants to say “I love you,” why does he or she need to be told on one day a year? Why not pick a random Tuesday? Or on several random Tuesdays?

Anyway, this year has been a little off-putting. I’m still not a fan of flowers which will die in a few days, but there’s something about those giant teddy bears that I see at Walmart. I think how romantic it would be for some guy to show up at his girlfriend’s door with that big ole’ teddy bear in front of his face. I can even imagine that big ole’ bear on my bed and me using it as a prop pillow, be all snuggly with my bear, reading a book or binging on Netflix. 

Yuck! I don’t want to have those types of thoughts. However, these strange, new, random, icky sweet thoughts are quickly replaced by a sense of anger and revulsion. Why? Whatever it is, I am certain it is still some unresolved issues about my ex. But what? I have absolutely no idea. 

Do I start listening to country music like my friend started drinking coffee? Whatever the resolution, I know I have to work through it before it negatively effects my ministry. Lucky for me, I have an appointment with my therapist this week. We'll have a grand ole' time dissecting this one!

So, here’s to working through the anger and making more happy (or at least useful) memories!

The Silent Warrior

This past week, I attended a four-day orientation retreat for my new CPE (clinical pastoral education) program as part of a requirement for my new hospital chaplaincy program. During the event, we discussed the need to develop measurable learning goals – one of which is a spiritual learning goal. Mine is to be more intentional about being silent in prayer. 

Today, the message from both our small group and the sermon centered on being intentional in our faith and, not simply facing, but chasing our fears. All this combined has convicted me. 

Being silent in prayer is not something foreign to me. I am, after all, a natural-born introvert. I thrive on the silence. However, I know that silence (or my lack-there-of) in prayer is often a loud indicator that something is wrong internally – there is some thought or emotion I have buried and do not want to face. Being silent in prayer would mean risking God speaking truth to me, uncovering and facing whatever is hidden. 

The hard part is when I am unaware of anything I am intentionally trying to bury. Yes – there are some things I would rather not think about – but these issues I have discussed ad nauseum with my therapist. In renewing the silence in prayer, am I willing to uncover that which my subconscious has buried for a reason? Am I ready to chase that lion, whatever that lion may be?

I believe I am. I set off on a journey over eight years ago now to do the hard work – whatever it takes – to fix me. I have come a long way, but I still have a lifetime of learning and growing to do. There are still some things that terrify me about relationships, and although the same issues I had about relationships even one year ago are not the same issues which terrify me now, there are still some issues which keep me from allowing anyone to get too close to me. Case in point – my therapist and my dog are the only two on the planet (other than God) who know my deepest fears, longings, dreams, etc. 

As open as I have become in the course of a decade, I am still, in many ways, that frightened little girl trying so hard to be tough so that no one can hurt me. 

Day two of the retreat:

After dinner, we gathered to watch a video about all the areas available to chaplaincy. Did you know Nascar has their own chaplains who travel with them? There is also a retirement community in Hollywood specifically catering to retired Hollywood workers, and they have chaplains! One of the other students and I decided we were going to become chaplains for NFL teams – him for the Raiders and me for the Texans!

Anyway, to get back to the point, while watching the video, I got so excited and energized and passionate about the idea of becoming a military chaplain. Ever since Top Gun came out, I wanted to be a pilot in the Air Force. (I know, I know. Maverick was a Navy man, but I wanted to be based on land, not water.) Because of my hearing deficit, the military was never an option. 

After 9/11, I was told the requirements for some branches of the military were now less stringent, and I may be able to get in. However, by this point, I was happily married and didn’t think Brad would follow me wherever the military would send me. I never even discussed the possibility with him. 

When I felt the call to ministry, I was told there may be a backdoor option for me as a military chaplain. This time, I did try to get in, but the Air Force still would not take me. They had no need for a 40-something-year-old-female-Nazarene. They needed Rabbis and Priests. There is only one reason I did not try other branches, and her name is Bailey. I could not leave her. She is not just a dog. She is my baby, my heart, the love of my life. 

Watching this video stirred up those old emotions. 

The next morning, I ended my time of prayer with a time of silence, asking specifically about the military chaplaincy option. I love what I am doing in the hospital, but why did the video stir up so much emotion? Could I still be a military chaplain? Could I leave my church and the hospital (and Bailey) behind? 

As I sat in contemplative silence, I knew the answer. I was not meant to be in the military then or now. 

In that case, what is it about being in the military that still gets me so dang fired up?

It is what the military represents to me, and what I feel like it could give me that I do not think I already have:

•  A greater sense of purpose
•  A sense of belonging to something bigger than myself
•  Escape
  

Escape – it is my pattern. When faced with my fears (even subconscious fear), my instinct is to run. Even though I can never outrun myself, my circumstances, or my emotions, the idea of running is still intriguing. In this instance, if I run, no one can hurt me. If I leave the ones with the power to hurt me, then I maintain all the power. It’s my lifelong battle of feeling too much and being terrified by these feelings – keeping people at bay. Someone or something is getting too close to my feelers!

A sense of belonging to something bigger than myself – I do not need a uniform or the recognition of the United States government to belong. I have always felt like an outsider. Even amongst friends, I often feel like an outsider. However, I have never felt such a sense of belonging as I have felt in my church and at the hospital. Am I afraid of finally feeling like I belong? Is the pessimist in me waiting for the other shoe to drop?

I already have a uniform. It is the armor of God. Ephesians 6:10-17 says:

“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.”

I already work for the most powerful government. A multitude of places in both the Old and New Testaments speak of the Kingdom of God. Psalm 47:7 is one of many verses which proclaim that “God is the King of all the earth.”

A greater sense of purpose – I do not have to face life-and-death situations, travel to war-ravaged countries in order to have a greater purpose. 

In 2 Timothy 2, Paul likens Timothy to a soldier in God’s army. He encourages him to “be strong through the grace that God gives you in Christ Jesus. You have heard me teach things that have been confirmed by many reliable witnesses. Now teach these truths to other trustworthy people who will be able to pass them on to others. Endure suffering along with me, as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. Soldiers don’t get tied up in the affairs of civilian life, for then they cannot please the officer who enlisted them.” (vs 1-4)

And Joshua 1:9, one of my favorite verses says “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

I must work on reframing my idea of what I need with what I already have. I am already blessed beyond measure. I am already enlisted in God’s Army. 

Yesterday:

As I concluded my morning prayer time, I was reminded by last Sunday’s suggestion: enlist at least fifteen minutes a week of uninterrupted time of silence – no distractions – no electronics – no pets. This got my attention because my girls often snuggle with me or near me during my prayer time. Sometimes, they are a distraction. Yesterday morning, they were both very disruptive. 

I felt antsy. Not only was my prayer time interrupted by my girls, but this would be my first time back at work after the orientation retreat. I wanted to be able to put into practice some of the wonderful advice the more seasoned chaplains offered. 

So, I left for work a little early and spent fifteen minutes in the chaplain manager’s office. The office is small and has no windows. I kept the lights out and sat with my eyes closed in silence. When I first turned out the lights, the room was almost pitch black. The only light I could see shone from the edges of the door. 

During my time in silence, I felt compelled to open my eyes. Now, even though nothing had changed in the room, my eyes began to focus. The book case and other items in the room began to take shape. The Holy Spirit reminded me of John 1:5 “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” He whispered, “we must sit in the darkness before we can see the light.”

I left that brief time in silence feeling more relaxed than I ever have before making my rounds. What is most amazing to me is that I saw a record number of patients but feel like I experienced more quality time with them. 

This Morning:

We have been challenged to bless, spend time with, and pray for our unbelieving friends. I am reading and studying, for the second time, a book called Organic Outreach for Ordinary People: Sharing the Good News Naturally. 

I struggle with this because when I am not at church or at work (both places where I am surrounded by people like me or who I can easily pray with/for), I am at home. All my hobbies are introverted hobbies. I do not need others to read or write or watch movies. The challenge to free up my time to be available to unbelievers is quite a perplexing challenge – at least it was until I realized that I have been successful at this in the past. 

I, like so many others, hate the term “evangelism,” and saw this as someone else’s gift. I thought being in ministry was my way of getting into evangelism. Now I learn that this is flawed thinking? Okay, but how do I change? How do I free up time when I struggle to pay the bills? (my fear)

While sitting in small group this morning, with my head already throbbing, the truth hit me smack between the eyes. Before I answered the call to ministry, I made the time for evangelism, even though I had no real knowledge of what I was doing at the time. 

I wrote about my idea of evangelism in my first novel. It was based on a real experience I had in college. During Holy Week one year, I hung out downtown with some of the homeless population. Anyone who knows me knows I am most comfortable in jeans, a t-shirt, and ball cap. Wearing my comfort gear, sitting next to homeless men and women, it was easy for others to mistake me for one of them. 

I got a bird’s eye view, along with real-life commentary, on evangelism done wrong. On Sunday afternoons, buses would pull up next to our rag-tag gang. Out came a bunch of well dressed “Christians.” They stood in a tightly knit group, walked closely behind their pastor, handing our tracts and singing at the top of their lungs – never once making eye contact with any of us. Then, they got back into their vans and drove away. I got an earful about what these individuals believed about “their” Jesus. 

Another unmarked van pulled up. No one got out. Someone inside simply threw open the doors. Many of the homeless climbed inside without a word. The ghost inside the van shut the doors and drove off. I asked someone else what that was all about. That van belonged to the mission. They picked them up, took them to lunch, then brought them back. No “evangelism” done. Just a meal. 

A few years later, I drove for a nonprofit called Mobile Loaves and Fishes. It was a favor for a friend who needed a legal driver for her sociology students to fulfill a course requirement. One of our stops was tent city. It was there that I met my friend, Cowboy. He convinced me to stop with the “roach coach,” as he called it, and come down into Tent City for a cookout. 

I didn’t realize it until this morning, but what those early exchanges amounted to was Cowboy calling me out – challenging my faith. In essence, he was telling me that spending a few minutes handing out sandwiches was a way for me (Christians) to feel good about myself (ourselves). If I really wanted to make a difference, I should invest in them – go spend quality time with them on their turf. 

Without realizing what I was doing, I took him up on his invitation. We spent one Saturday a month grilling hotdogs and burgers. The only “religion” we brought was our prayer before we ate. No other agenda. In my mind, I wanted to stay as far away from that van group as I possibly could. I wanted to live Jesus without trying to “evangelize” anyone. 

I remember one day, one of the men, who used to just get his food and wander back into the woods to his tent, hung back. After a while of watching us, he asked to speak with me in private. He asked us why we were there, what we were trying to do. I told him nothing. We were simply enjoying a meal together. He asked me why again. I said, “Because we have the same Daddy, and our Daddy told me to.” That day, he asked me to pray with him. 

I didn’t realize it then, but I was “evangelizing” – not as that horrible bus group, but in my own way. Man, I loved that ministry. We did it until the great flood of 2010 wiped out the camp. 

So, why was I convicted today? Because I used to be a workaholic, busier than I am these days. Still, somehow, I managed to spend time getting to know a bunch of strangers who became close friends – some I still maintain relationships with today. 

This challenge for Organic Outreach is not out of my reach. Like the reality of where I am, and where I am not called to serve as a chaplain, there is a way I can serve the unchurched community today. 

As we discussed this morning, uncovering the where begins with prayer – and the prayer must include the silent space for God to speak. 

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.