What's in a Name?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Realizing the Verb of Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fork in the Road

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dream:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey God”

“Something to Believe In”

“If That’s What It Takes”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus is the only name to remember.”

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

What Will Your Story Be?

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

September 11, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sermon notes:

Begin with a moment of silence.

Read scripture with no explanation.

John 16:33

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

Romans 8:18 New International Version (NIV)

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

Romans 8:35 New International Version (NIV)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can explain how evil is the result of sin.

I could encourage you to read the Book of Job.

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

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

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

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

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

Then what’s the point?

Jesus is the point.

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

We speak the loudest to the world when we suffer.

Genesis 50:20 New International Version (NIV)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listen to one or two stories – depending on time.

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

Matthew 11:28-30

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

The Rest Cannot Wait

I have gotten nothing accomplished so far today – and it is okay. It is more than okay. I am certain it is divinely ordered.

I have been preoccupied this week. Not having a steady income, wondering how far I can make the income I do have stretch, has caused me to outright loose my mind. All I do is obsess with how to make a buck. I have registered to drive for Uber, Lyft, and now Door Dash. I have been trying to figure out what times of day will make me the most money – how much I spend on gas per mile, and how much I need to make each day to reach certain goals. I have convinced myself that I am doing a good thing – staying on task, working hard, being productive and smart – until a “real” job comes along. But the truth is – nothing is further from the truth.

This morning during my prayer time, Bailey (my dog) and Ray Ray (my kitten) were vying for my attention. When they get out of hand, I go sit outside to pray. Ray Ray loves to play, and Bailey loves to simply sit and be. They both are content outside and leave me alone for focus on prayer.

Today, I realized that I could not stay focused even with my girls occupied elsewhere. My mind kept wandering to today’s schedule. I planned to start Door Dash. There was even an extra $2.00 per delivery bonus if I worked certain hours this morning.

I contemplated when to work tonight. Supposedly, weekend evenings are the best. Food delivery is supposed to be good from 5pm – 9pm. Weekend warriors are supposed to be good from 6pm – 3am. Having been married to a drunk, I know they tip much better when they are tipsy.

(I use the word drunk instead of alcoholic on purpose – not to offend. My ex used to say he was a drunk – alcoholics get help – drunks drink.)

Okay, so I had a moral dilemma about picking up drunks. I would, if I chose to work these late hours, be taking advantage of their inebriated state. Right? Then again, I am keeping them safe by driving for them. Also, could it be a witness opportunity? Possibly?

To be honest, I do not feel like it would be a bad thing to pick up drunks. My heart is in the right place with them.

What does bother me is the obsession. The love of money is the root of all evil. It is still possible to love money when I have almost none. I cannot serve two masters. I will love the one and hate the other.

This morning, God reminded me of this. Trying to read scripture, but all I could think about was how to make money. I have sinned.

I prayed a half-hearted prayer for God to help me focus and tried again. My heart remained far from Him.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a red bird land on a decorative fence post. I stopped and watched. I have written before about what the cardinal means to me. “You have my attention,” I said. I watched him flutter around. Such a beautiful creature.

He flew away but stayed close. He flew into the tree, then landed on the grass, hopping around without a care in the world. I saw Ray Ray watching him. She crouched down and began her slow approach toward him – play hunting. The bird resumed his flight, and Ray Ray bolted after him.

Play.

Ray Ray climbed onto the head of our pig statue. She swatted at a moth – so carefree.

Simple pleasures.

Bailey jumped down from her spot next to me. I thought she was ready to go inside. Instead, she took off after Ray Ray. I watched as the two played chase together – my eleven year old rat terrier and two month old kitten.

In the moment.

No where to be. Nothing to do. Pure love.

I look at them now as I sit and type, they are napping together on the floor. A nice nap after lunch. Bellies full. Not a care in the world.

My devotional today spoke of the trouble we cause ourselves when we try to save ourselves. It is impossible and leads to death. My obsession with how to make money is my own way of trying to save myself. Yet, in the process, I was in trouble of losing my soul – forsaking my first love.

After watching my girls enjoy themselves, I was able to refocus. My time with God is so much more productive and rewarding when I am able to focus solely on Him and not on myself.

Take it easy, Renee. Just slow down and be. Play. The rest can wait for another day.

(Do Not) Run With It

In my office, just above my desk, I have a picture of Mike Holmes and Jon Bon Jovi. They are symbols of encouragement for me.

Jon Bon Jovi because of his immense talent and heart. He never sold out. He spent his early career fighting to get people to focus on the music and not on his good looks. His music came from the heart. It has a message. As he says, Bon Jovi was not a flash in the pan. They were not sell-outs. He once said the industry did not know what to do with them. They did not quite fit in with the hair metal popular at the time, but they were not pop stars either. They were a unique entity, true to their own identity. I keep his picture up to remind me that it is okay, and even wonderful, to be different, if there is no place where I fit in – with my writing. Looking at his photo gives me hope. There was not a neat little box to place Bon Jovi. Still, they were huge. Metal fans and pop fans alike loved them – and still do. While the “it” bands of the 80s are long gone or on tour only playing fan favorites from the 80s, Bon Jovi is still a band, still relevant, still making new music, and touring to sold out arenas all over the world. Different is good. Stay true to who you are as a writer, Renee, and never sell out. One day . . .

Mike Holmes because I love his attitude of doing things right the first time. He talks a lot about the importance of the things you cannot see – the things behind the wall, the foundation, things that are going to make a house sustainable. He often reminds viewers that everything else is just lipstick and mascara. Great reminders for me as a writer and as a Christian.

Taped to the bottom right corner of my poster of Mike Holmes is an index card with a quote from John Mellencamp. When he was up and coming, fighting to make a name for himself, someone told him to “go where they’re not.” This struck me the first time I heard it. I’m still not sure why – or why it was important enough for me to write it out and display it for me to see. It means something – I’m just not sure what.

During my prayer journaling this morning, I looked up, and was once again struck by this quote. There is still something profound for me hidden in these words, but what? Ministry? That new ministry idea a friend planted in my head? My new part-time gig as an Uber/Lyft driver? My writing idea? None of it? All of it?

I trust God will tell me more when it’s time. For now, as I look at the pictures of Mike and Jon and contemplate what all of it represents for me – to go where they are not – for me, is to be okay with being different – being a square peg in a round-holed-world.

The agent who most recently turned down my work said at the conference that the publishing industry is a very uncreative creative industry – meaning that they rarely take chances on different. I get that now. Does that mean I am going to quit trying? No – I am simply going to keep working on my writing as I leave it at the feet of Jesus to tell me what to do next.

Yesterday, I met with my counselor. I told her about a vivid dream I had. I often have detailed dreams, but this one felt real – so real that when my dog woke me up, I was confused for a moment, as if transported from somewhere else, because I thought I was already awake.

In my dream, I was the “Uber” driver for my pastor, worship leader, and youth pastor. We were driving around the church after our first service. Our church had grown so fast, and we are a small building, so we had to have multiple services. The first service of the morning, the one we had just concluded, was also our first locally televised service. We were all a little pumped up and needed a breather before the next service.

As we were driving around, I told them about Belmont’s Debate08, and everything I got to do with that – being the secret service’s guide for a year prior, getting to be part of the planning team, being the Belmont rep in the security room during the event and not realizing what a big deal this was until some time later when my dad’s cousin, who retired from the secret service told me what a big deal this was, and the last week of the event, working almost 24/7 with sore feet that by the end, I was literally crawling out of bed, and ended up having surgery on both feet afterward.

Then, I looked at the pastor in the rearview mirror and thanked him. I told him that as much as I loved and missed Belmont, by the time I left, I was so burned out. I was on-call 24/7, never having a full day off, not even when I was on vacation. I was so burned out that it took me a few years to get over the burnout.

I realized that the burnout was a lot of my own doing. I would go to my boss with all these ideas I had and he would often say, “sounds great. Run with it.” And I did. I loved it. Because of my boss’ support, I created a thriving crime prevention program – something that meant something to so many – something that people away from campus – other schools, shelters, churches, and even the police department – were asking us to bring to their population. And I did – gladly. I was proud of these accomplishments. However, it meant working more hours – evenings and weekends – on top of the piling work required as part of my new role as assistant chief. When I became AC, I refused to let go of my crime prevention duties and I didn’t trust anyone else to take them over. So, I was basically doing two jobs – and daily putting out fires. All that on top of divorce and cancer. Too much.

Anyway, I told the pastor thank you because he saw right away that I am an ideas person, and he reigned me in. He has told me two things: 1) just because you have a good idea does not mean you need to be the one to do it and 2) if you have an idea that you really want to do, sit on it for a while. Pray about it. If you still feel led to do it, then let’s talk.

I have to say, at first, I took this personally – as an insult of sorts – as if he did not believe in me. It even hurt my feelings the first time someone started doing something that was my idea. Now, I wanted to thank him for reigning me in so that I would not burn out again.

My counselor helped me see this dream in a new way. I thought it was simply an “aha” moment. Ever since John McCain’s death, I have been reminiscing a lot about Belmont. Then, I told myself to remember why I left – the burnout. It took this dream to help me realize why I had burned out.

My counselor reminded me that I have been having a lot of dreams about Belmont lately – nostalgia, but something or someone else telling me that I cannot stay there – I cannot go back.

Belmont represents what I miss about the past – financial security, the sense of belonging, the relationships I had with Terry and Mike. I want that. Being surrounded by my church family in such close quarters in the car, having their attention, thanking the pastor – this is where God has placed me now and it’s good.

My counselor made a few wonderful points:

My pastor did his job well – he’s shepherding me, keeping me reigned in and focused.

I told my counselor all about how the rejection by the agent sent me into a bad depression, and how the Louie Giglio videos got me out. She equated all of this with the dream. I was depressed and felt rejected, but got out of the depression when I remembered who and whose I was/am.

Belmont is the rejection by the editor – all the hopes and dreams I had now gone. God is my good shepherd (time out – if anyone from my church is reading this, please don’t read too much into this next part. I do not have a God complex for PM!!! 😉 ) My good shepherd knows what he has to do may hurt me, but he has to do it for my well-being. Like the eye in the sky I told her about from the Indescribable video, He sees everything whereas our vision is limited to the tiny space around us. That agent was not a good fit for whatever reason, and He had to prevent me from “going with it”. 

So, where do I go and where are they not? I have no clue what that means for me yet, but I am thankful that God is not allowing me to just run with it and burn out before I get there. 

Dreams, counselors, posters, quotes – how God works in our lives – He never fails to amaze me. He is so good. He is a Good, Good Father - and I am loved by Him. Wow!