Lord, I look upward to you, you who live in heaven. Psalm 123:1, NCV

I have often been complimented on my “authenticity” or “transparency.” I have a confession to make: I don‘t know how to be anything else. It’s almost impossible for me to keep my personal business private. While I’m pretty discreet with regard to other people’s affairs, I can be downright indelicate about sharing my own. If the news is wonderful, I celebrate in front of everyone, and when something rotten occurs, I complain just as publicly. I am Chicken Little: when I think the sky is falling, you can be sure I will run around telling everyone about it!

One week I had plenty of news to share, both good and bad. As I encountered the same people each day, the gracious friends who heard me sing praises on Monday were the very ones who also endured my griping on Wednesday. The cause of all my grumbling? Money worries, what else? Trips to the gas station or grocery store were a constant slap in the face. Rising summer temperatures came with mounting electric bills. Every time one of the kids went outside I could almost see the dollar signs floating out behind them. (“Close the door!” could easily be the title of our family theme song.)

Though the squeeze on our wallet kept getting tighter, I didn’t snap, at least not immediately. That is, until the week in question when I took the girls to the eye doctor and everybody to the dentist. As I looked over bills for exams, procedures, contacts, fillings and crowns, I felt the sky falling. (Crowns for a six-year-old? Are you kidding me?) To quote my husband, “I felt like a giant bird—everywhere I looked I saw in front of me an enormous bill!”

Since I don’t like the sound of whining (even my own), at first I tried the old “attitude of gratitude” approach. After all, perspective is a wondrous thing. I gave thanks that the only real money we spent on our children’s healthcare was at the dentist as opposed to say, the oncologist. Unfortunately, the “count your blessings” strategy didn’t stop me from panicking.  I grew increasingly anxious and irritable, and true to form I made sure everyone knew it. I felt a little sorry for the unfortunate women who picked that day to ask me how I was. My answers were predictably and painfully honest.

Eventually I told so many people how awful everything was that even I got tired of hearing it. That’s when I had one of those “coming to Jesus” meetings, and on this occasion God condescended to meet me in . . . well . . . a bathroom stall. Not exactly what you would call holy ground. To be fair, it was the church restroom during Vacation Bible School, sounds of praise music drifting in from the sanctuary. But still—Jesus in the potty? Can a girl have no privacy?

He didn‘t waste any time. “Pam, here’s the thing. You’ve been hit by something that scares you, and you are running around trying to fix it.” (He was right. It would take a LOT of coupon-clipping to recover from bills this size.) “Meanwhile, you’ve spent so much time listening to your own words that apparently you’ve forgotten some of mine, like, ‘Don’t worry about anything.’ And ‘You can trust me to take care of you.’”

See, this was Chicken Little’s problem, too. He assumed the worst at the first sign of trouble, and then ran around frantically trying to figure out what to do about it. However, if only he would have looked up, he could have saved everyone a lot of fear and panic.

In the midst of our “Chicken Little” moments, if we will look up to God, he will provide all the answers:  “Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace” (Phil. 4:6-7, NLT).

The next time life hits me in the head and I just have to tell someone, I’ll know where to start. Whether I’m shouting for joy or hollering in fear, I’ll be sure I share it first with God. And we’ll go from there.

 

Make allowance for each other’s faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others. Colossians 3:13, NLT

I came across this verse in a daily devotional on forgiveness—a subject I could always stand to learn more about. Inspired to study and reflect on it further, I looked up the verse in a parallel Bible and read the same words in four different translations. I find that lately God speaks to me most clearly through the New Living version.

And that is where one word in particular caught my eye. Allowance. Biblically speaking, what does that look like, exactly? So I looked it up too. Of all the definitions I read, the one that best seemed to fit was a sports term. (Ironic, considering I am totally consumed writing my version of a “faith-based approach to sports” book.  As a result, I am constantly describing life in sports terms!)

Anyway, here is what Webster had to say about allowance: It is “a concession or privilege accorded by the rules to a contestant to make his chance more nearly equal to that of his competitors.”

Wow. I had never looked at forgiveness that way. To be honest, when I fight my way through it, usually it’s because I know it’s best for me. Forgiveness dissolves my pain and bitterness so that I move past the hurt towards peace and reconciliation.

However, this interpretation puts a different spin on forgiveness altogether. According to God’s rules, I should respond to conflict and hurt by doing my part to give my offender the same opportunities I have received. The second part of the verse speaks to this: since God forgave me, I must do the same so that my “competitor” has a chance “more nearly equal” to mine.

Otherwise, I have an undue advantage—it’s not even a fair fight. With God on my side, I am already favored for victory. I may as well be the team with the impressive roster and enormous spirit groups and stands packed with enthusiastic spectators, my “crowd of witnesses,” if you will. Meanwhile, the person who dared injure me is the underdog.

Well, come on! Who do we always cheer for? The best part of any great sports movie is the moment of victory against overwhelming odds.  I think God enjoys upsets, too. After all, scripture points out that in contests for righteousness, He clearly roots for the little guy:

Then Jesus told this story to some who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else: “Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector.” Luke 18:9-10, NLT

 But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong. I Corinthians 1:27 ESV

I’m not trying to cast myself (or Christians in general) as the bad guys here. After all, we are on the winning team. I’m just saying that from now on I plan to work a little harder at forgiveness. After all, it’s not only good spiritually—it’s good sportsmanship.

 “Look ahead with joy.” (Isaiah 65:18, The Message)

I have to confess, I’m an emotion junkie—I live for dramatic moments. I will milk every last drop of sentimentality out of major milestones, especially the once-in-a-lifetime variety. My favorites are those long-awaited events, since they offer the best opportunities to anticipate and prolong my feelings.

And boy, do I make the most of that anticipation!

As the mother of school-aged children, I’ve been gearing up for one day in particular—high school graduation. I know such anticipation is shared by practically every parent of teenagers, but I claim a particular distinction. As my oldest child graduates from high school, the youngest of our four children also finishes fourth grade. This special day marks not only the completion of public education for one child, but the end of thirteen consecutive years at our beloved elementary school.

The first time I watch a child leave high school. The last time I see a child say goodbye to elementary school. All in one day.

Some pretty big milestones, wouldn’t you agree? True to form, I anticipate some pretty big tears. So much so that I have begun to prepare my friends for the inevitable display:

“I’ll be easy to spot at graduation—I’ll be the mother sobbing uncontrollably. Better bring some handkerchiefs and smelling salts—I’m going to need them!”

And so it goes every time any discussion of graduation comes up.

However, all that changed the day I made my usual remarks to the friend—who replied with an atypical observation. I had stopped by her vehicle to chat while our children practiced their piano pieces for an upcoming recital. Leaning against the car window as we waited in the church parking lot, I got a private lesson of my own.

“You shouldn’t anticipate it like that.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t need to spend the whole year worried about how upset you are going to be months from now.”

She was right. How I could enjoy the happiness of today if all I thought about was the sadness of tomorrow? I thought I could forestall my grief by talking about it all the time, when in truth I could only intensify it. My constant prediction of uncontrolled hysteria would become its own self-fulfilling prophecy.

I had a decision to make: how to approach such an extraordinary day. I could continue to cling to my special status as a parent with multiple milestones, or I could return the spotlight to its rightful position, i.e., the children graduating in the first place.  Selfishly I could claim the sympathy I “deserved”—or graciously display the gratitude I owed. (For the past thirteen years, God has blessed my children through their public school experiences beyond all I asked or imagined. I have much to be thankful for!)

I must choose how I will spend this precious time. I can waste it regretting the end of a season, or rejoicing over new beginnings. I can mourn . . . or celebrate. I can anticipate sorrow . . . or joy. The decision is mine.

Now, before you dismiss me as one who speaks with the foolish optimism of a first-time senior mother, let me explain that I am already well-acquainted with grief and its guerilla tactics. As much as we brace ourselves for it, often it ambushes us when we are least prepared. I expect to get blindsided unexpectedly: when I head to her room to wake her for school and see the empty bed, or forget to set one less place at the dinner table. I get it. I just don’t want to start stocking up on Kleenex and sympathy just yet.

My daughter is leaving, and I expect to miss her. Because I am an emotional gal, I predict there will be tears.

But for now, at least for today, I choose to anticipate joy.

 

First Port: Italy

Menu: Lasagna, romaine lettuce salad with Pietro’s dressing, garlic bread, toasted pound cake with vanilla ice cream and choice of toppings

Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. I Peter 4:9

Since Katherine and I are planning a Mediterranean cruise next year, that’s where we decided to begin our first official week of the Watts summer cruise—and what better way to start than with a sampling of coastal European food? I was confident I could produce some decent Italian, loved Greek dishes, and hoped to render a reasonable approximation of French and Spanish cuisines. These menus would surely provide a tasty change from our regular fare, and get our maiden voyage off to a memorable start.

My plan was further inspired by a visit from some dear friends arriving that week as our guests for dinner and an overnight stay. This dear family was on sabbatical from their work as Chinese missionaries. While on vacation, I knew they would welcome a home-cooked meal and some of the comfort foods they missed in China. With that in mind, we opted to invite them along with us on our ‘stop’ in Italy. (I make a pretty mean lasagna!) We spent a delightful evening together over dinner that included our favorite house salad dressing (imported all the way from the Italian immigrant section of St. Louis, MO) and a special dessert. (Granted, pound cake and ice cream isn’t exactly tiramisu, but it was easy and left me more time to socialize!)

We love having people over—and rarely grumble over the fact. Our chief complaint is that we don’t make the time to do it more often! Likewise, cruise life is characterized by hospitality. Travelers are greeted and served by staff whose job it is to make them feel welcome and comfortable. When our guests arrived, our role was clear: they were the travelers, and we were the hosts receiving them. With that in mind, we did everything in our power to make their stay a pleasant one. Not only did we serve a special dinner, but we tidied the guest room, changed the sheets, put out clean towels—I even left mints on the pillow!

Scripture reminds us that earth is not our home, which makes us all travelers ‘just passing through.’ Maybe that is why we are charged to offer hospitality so freely. If we are all guests, we all need welcoming. In order to make that happen, everyone needs to act the gracious host. We are, after all, expected to look after each other’s interests and treat one other as we would hope to be (Philippians 2:3-4. Matthew 7:12). If we want everyone to feel welcome, we must embrace each other with warmth, acceptance and generosity, serving each other selflessly, even sacrificially. Until we all get back home, hospitality is essential.

Mints on the pillow, however, are optional.

My children appear to move through summer fun with all the speed and agility of expert windsurfers. Meanwhile, I struggle just to keep up, finding life’s navigation more similar to piloting an ocean liner. I am the family “cruise director,” in charge of activities, entertainment and scheduling, and I work on a much bigger boat! Much as I would love to be a “spur of the moment” mom, usually I need a lot more turning room. When I shared these thoughts with a friend, he reminded me that even cruise ships send out smaller vessels from time to time.

The illustration really captured me. After all, I spent most of my childhood around boats. I began married life on a Disney cruise, and celebrated my first weeks of expectant parenthood with a European sea voyage. Next year I hope to take our first high school graduate on a cruise through the Mediterranean. All in all, I think cruises are a fabulous way to explore the world!

I got even more excited by the metaphor as I began see all the various aspects of cruise ship life that paralleled our family routine. It was easy to picture summer vacation as one long, glorious cruise, and found the imagery added some much-needed inspiration to everyday activities. Play dates and other outings could be “excursions,” and tedious chores transformed into “staff assignments.” Moreover, the possibilities for creative meal-planning had my mouth watering. After all, what would a cruise be without all kinds of delicious food?

I am always thankful for inspiration and opportunities to “tour” summer in a fun and innovative way. After all, it takes a lot of resourcefulness to survive long hot days at home with four active children! It was this same ingenuity that brought us such fond summer memories as “Pirate Day” and “Home Camp.” I am also delighted that my children have been just as eager to get “on board.” We can’t wait to see where our travels take us!

With four children involved in sports and other activities, our family spends a lot of time on the sidelines, especially at the football stadium. For all the hours I have spent watching tackle football, I have to admit that the game still confuses me. I’m still pretty fuzzy on what the players are doing, or even what they are supposed to be doing.

However, one thing I have learned is what is expected of me, the spectator. Sideline behavior has its own etiquette. At no time is this more essential than when a player is injured, and all follow the protocol of “taking a knee.” When a player falls, teammates and others on the field do this literally; those in the stands show their respect by quieting voices and actions. Usually, it isn’t long before the player is met with applause as he either 1) returns to the game or 2) limps off the field. Only then does play resume. Taking a knee may be a game time courtesy, but it is still a sacred ritual—one considered impolite, even offensive to ignore.

Recently, I witnessed the full extent of this custom when one of our high school football players was seriously injured. Minutes dragged by endlessly as an anxious crowd watched and waited for some sign from the field. The gravity of the situation unfolded as an ambulance pulled into the stadium and a stretcher rolled across the field. At long last, #2 was wheeled away, but as he did so he slowly lifted his arm into the air, giving a heartwarming “thumbs up” to the cheering crowd.

I feel privileged to have witnessed such things, finding in them a touching reflection of something human beings have known for centuries—that there are times when pain and suffering demand a little deference, even ceremony. Loss—especially loss of life—commands respect, and we who witness hurt are called to honor the hurting properly. We see a perfect example of this in the Jewish mourning ritual of shiva. For starters, mourners customarily sat on low stools or the floor, symbolizing the emotional reality of being brought low by grief. God’s chosen people knew how to take a knee.

For me, the practice raises this question: Are we giving due consideration when our teammates fall? Even before we offer comfort and assistance, are we pausing to pay our respects? Could we as believers “mourn with those who mourn” more thoughtfully if we, too were to take a knee? If we did, perhaps “football shiva” would look something like this:

• We would be present.  Jews considered it a great mitzvah (literally “commandment” but usually interpreted as “good deed”) of kindness and compassion to pay a home visit to the mourners. If we would be effective “spectators” we have to show up.
• We would be focused.  For those whose lives have just been turned upside-down by tragedy, the very least we can do is to put our own concerns on hold for a while. One way to demonstrate respect is by offering our undivided attention.
• We would be patient.  Depending on the injury, some players will need more time to get to their feet than others. It would be insensitive to rush this process. We show our respect by giving enough time.
• We would be silent.  Silence was a key element of shiva, as visitors would not speak at all unless mourners first initiated conversation. So often misfortune leaves us embarrassed and tongue-tied, and even our most heartfelt eloquence can be so much pointless drivel to those who mourn. The Jews understood what we tend to forget—that sometimes the most comforting thing we can say is nothing at all. With our silence, we acknowledge both the profundity of grief and the inadequacy of human wisdom before it.

While there is still plenty I don’t get about football, I’ve learned a lot from this time on the bleachers, thankful for wisdom I can utilize on and off the field. I realize that I don’t have to make sense of life in order to participate in it, and while I may be clueless as to what to say or do, God is still able to use me to serve others. Finally, I’ve learned that suffering should turn me instinctively to God. When knocked down by life, before I do anything else, I need to lift my gaze to the Comforter, Healer and Giver of Life . . . to humbly, and respectfully, take a knee.

I’ve finally figured out why so many parents can’t resist becoming stage moms and sports dads. The incredible triumph we feel when we watch our children succeed is pretty enticing. Is there anything sweeter than watching your child celebrate victory after years of hard work? I experienced this firsthand at one of Katherine’s dance recitals. The event was unusually intense for our family that year, filling an entire weekend with multiple rehearsals, costume changes and performances as our two daughters between them performed in ten numbers in two days. Never had we been so exhausted—or so elated!

The recital concluded with a fantastic show-stopping number, a faithful rendition of One (Singular Sensation) from A Chorus Line, performed by all the advanced and company dancers. Our girls were positively dazzling in their gold top hats and tails, and electrifying in their precise choreography. While members of the audience recognized each impressive movement with enthusiastic cheers, my own response made them seem positively indifferent by comparison. As the girls ended the striking dance routine with a series of high kicks, I was out of my seat, bursting out over the applause, “That’s my daughter!” As the curtain closed, I was crying uncontrollably. That day, and for several days after, I stopped everyone I knew to ask, “Were you there? Did you see? Do you know? One of those girls was my daughter. One of those magnificent creatures in the chorus line belongs to me.” Oh, it was bad!

It seemed only yesterday that Katherine was dancing with the other little girls. When we first started out, I was so inspired by the prospect of all that was possible if only she stayed with it. Then I wondered if she stick with it long enough to achieve all that was possible. Back then, we could only dream of coming so far. Suddenly, incredibly here we were years later, experiencing that moment for real.

Even though I had seen Katherine run through this number many times, even in costume, I was still unprepared for my reaction. It was a such a powerful and emotional experience, especially when you’re a sucker for show tunes and dance movies. I especially love A Chorus Line, and think One is perhaps the best number in the show. With their glittery gold costumes and precise choreography, the cast is dazzling. I could watch it over and over and never fail to be thrilled by the spectacle. However, never in my wildest dreams did it ever occur to me that I would get to see my favorite number performed by my own beloved daughter!

It was only later that I could see the greater significance of this triumphant moment. For all of us who “dance” for Christ, there will come a time when we realize all that we have ever dreamed of and more. While for now it we can scarcely imagine such a thing, someday we will experience it for real. As we take our appointed place in the spotlight, we will be nothing short of dazzling and electrifying. . .

and our Father will be right there in the front row, applauding and cheering for all to hear, “That’s my daughter. She belongs to me.”

 “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men” (Colossians 3:23, NIV).

 I love watching my daughter Katherine dance. While she may not have the best technique, she easily has the biggest smile. Even from across the auditorium it’s evident that she loves what she does. It’s a pleasure to watch her because she is having such a blast. Her teacher once singled Katherine out for recognition of her eye-catching enthusiasm. When trophies were being presented at the recital for perfect attendance and other achievements, Miss Jenni announced that she had just created a special award that year. She wanted to credit one dancer in particular who always gave a little extra vitality and excitement to each practice and performance. She was proud to present this dancer with the “Pizzazz Award.” When she called Katherine’s name, I was just as proud – but not terribly surprised!

Recently Katherine and I traveled to Dallas for a dance convention where she and her classmates spent the weekend in numerous dance classes. Deciding to pass on the hefty guest admission fee, I didn’t stay to observe. Fortunately, one of the moms who did stay was kind enough to tell me how much she enjoyed watching Katherine practice. She shared how Katherine gave her participation total effort. Unlike some girls who petered out and complained of how tired they were, Katherine’s energy and enjoyment never wavered. When she left the convention, she held a certificate from the dance faculty honoring her “for exhibiting the fire and passion of a dancer.” What a blessing it is to know that Katherine continues to dance with all her heart.

I love watching the same animation in my boys when they compete in karate. Their form may not be perfect, and they may not break the board on their first try, but still their loud “Heee Yaahhh!s” carry all the way across the building. For this they have each won the “Spirit” award from their instructor.

Who doesn’t love seeing heart in action? Is it any wonder movie producers keep making films that depict heart and determination triumphing against all odds? Dreamer. Miracle. Facing the Giants. One of my personal favorites is Rudy, the story of a young man‘s impossible dream of playing football for Notre Dame. Against every obstacle he battles his way into the university, on to the football team, and at long last, into a bonafide game. It is certainly not his size, and not even his skill that enables Rudy to fulfill his dream. It is his heart that ultimately wins over his coach, the other players, and everyone else who witnesses his success. In that last marvelous scene, the music swells and the crowd cheers wildly as Rudy scores one last victorious play. He rides off into legend as the last player in Notre Dame history ever to be carried of the field by his teammates. It’s a moment that never fails to make my skin prickle and my heart rise in my throat. I wonder if maybe this is the way God feels when He watches us work “with all our heart.” How can His eyes fail to be drawn to those of His children who are serving Him with passion and gusto?

However, it’s the first part of that Scripture that tends to hangs me up. It doesn’t say, “When doing what you love,” or “When pursuing your dream.” Nope. The verse reads, “Whatever you do.” Even when the thing is boring and tedious. Even when it’s loathsome. Supposedly I am to bring that same eagerness to the dishes and the laundry. Are you kidding me? Talk about your impossible dreams! From where does such heart come when we’re doing things that we hate?

But then I think about what it would look like if I were truly “working heartily.” While I don’t think that I’m required to paste a smile on my face and fake an enthusiasm I don’t really feel, I know that I am expected to work without “complaining or arguing” (Phil. 2:14). Maybe instead of dragging my feet and wishing I were anywhere else, doing anything but, I can be willing and cheerful. And once I’ve made the decision to do for my kids that which they’re quite capable of doing for themselves, maybe I can go a step further and do it without muttering under my breath, “Everyone treats me like a maid around here. No one appreciates me.” I bet I could even commit to giving more jobs around the house my very best effort, instead of the “lick and a promise” they usually receive. I can remember that what is at stake is God’s delight, not my own satisfaction. And if I need to, I’ll turn up the radio full blast to sing and dance while doing the dishes. I bet He’d like that.

There’s a traditional question asked by a well-known interviewer, “What is it you want to hear God say when you reach the Pearly Gates?” For me, the answer is an easy one: “‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’ Here’s your Pizzazz Award.”

God is a god of order, not chaos.