WHAT NOT TO WEAR, On Your Heart 
Advice from the Trenches

     Changing and updating one's outward appearance is the goal of the TV show, What Not To Wear. If you haven't caught this show on TLC it goes something like this--an unsuspecting woman (or occasional man) is turned in by her friends and family for the way she dresses and looks.  Generally, the person presents herself to the world as something other than classy, fashionable, and professional.  The crimes range from too much cleavage and vulgar sexiness, to plain old frumpiness. Once the person is targeted for the makeover, secret videos are recorded as this person goes through life.  Of course, the secret footage highlights their "presentation crimes" in all their glory and are shown to the selected fashion disaster to convince her that she really needs and deserves some help.  The fashion advisors, Stacy London and Clinton Kelly, offer the person $5,000. if they will put their wardrobe, hair, and makeup in their hands for self-improvement and and an updated look.  As these TV shows go, the person immediately sees their desperate need, although at times reluctantly, and agrees to the intervention.  Generally, at the end of the show the person returns to their friends and family with a new more flattering wardrobe, haircut, and makeup.  Here's the interesting part--to change the outward appearance requires some inner change.  It requires the person to look within and see just why they are presenting themselves they way they are.  Just why were they dressing like a waitress at Hooters, or like a wallflower left behind at the school dance?  What was in deep their heart that was showing itself to the world so clearly.  To embrace changes, even very positive changes, requires a lot of soul searching, self-examination, and a willingness to see things in a new way. 

     

     Outer behavior and tough inner change brings me to the point of this post. You see, I celebrated my 24th wedding anniversary this week.  That is a very long time in one's life to walk alongside another human being.  To make babies with that person.  To see him or her in every conceivable situation.  To see the very best, and the very worst, in that person and allow them to see the same things in you.  It's a big deal.  A very big deal. That said, it was a struggle in so many ways.  A journey of self-discovery, truths and deceptions, as well as unexamined expectations and beliefs. I would be the biggest hypocrite if I didn't tell you that along this path I have accumulated a huge book of regrets.  A book written on my heart that sometimes taunts and hurts me.  So many things I did and said I now wish I could undo, as well as so many things I just failed to do and say.  But my book of regrets would have no meaning if I didn't take a hard look inside and see what I have learned.  Like inappropriate or dowdy clothes that need to be thrown in the garbage, the attitudes and beliefs that led me to the regretful behaviors need to be dumped and replaced if the journey is going to improve and reflect who I am today.  As one with a colossal book of regrets, I offer myself to you now as an advisor, and hope I can entice you to be willing to look within, to God, and to your heart, and make some positive changes.  Changes that might spare you another page in your book of regrets. Changes that might give you an all new look.  

     One useful thing I can offer you is to carefully examine what you believe is the foundation and purpose of your relationship.  Be honest.  What exactly do you expect to get from being in a relationship, or marriage, with someone?  Are you looking for someone to make you happy by adding to your life in some tangible ways, more than you're thinking of what you have to add to their life?  Could it be that you are believing this person will be a mirror to validate you, adore you, and never have a thought or desire contrary to yours?  Or perhaps, that they will help you fulfill your dreams and goals?  Are you believing that your aim is to find your soulmate?  Here's my take on that--soulmates are not discovered, but rather cultivated. 

     The popular fantasy perpetuated by movies, television, and dating websites (ones that make big bucks, I might add) is that you are in search of your perfect soulmate.  The one who is perfect for you.  The one you who is a perfect fit for you and your dreams in every possible way.  Please don't shoot this messenger, but may I tell you the truth? There is no perfect soulmate waiting for you to discover him or her.  There are really great people out there who have a lot of qualities that would contribute to a happy committed life, such as faithfulness, kindness, compassion, diligence, a desire to learn, and a desire to love and serve God.  On the other hand, there people out there who have qualities that definitely won't wear well in the long run, such as selfishness, impulsiveness, addictive behavior, arrogance, laziness, unfaithfulness, and hostility to God and all authority. These negative qualities should be total and complete deal breakers right up front.  Don't enter into marriages with anyone whose life is marked by these qualities. I can tell you definitively, these qualities, both good and bad, will mark your life with someone in more ways than I can say. 

     That said, nobody is going to be perfect for you.  Will some be a better fit? Yes. Will someone come along who seems like the best fit?  Yes.  But, perfect fit?  No.  Nor will they necessarily see things the way you do, always adore you, and make you happy day in and day out.  That's unrealistic and if you go into a relationship hoping for those things to occur you will surely be very, very disappointed and ultimately leave in search of your "true" soulmate.  Your search will never end because that person does not exist. 

      Dictionary.com defines soulmate as "a person with whom one has a strong affinity, shared values and tastes, and often a romantic bond."   So, my single friends, I offer you this--(taking the negative deal breaker qualities out of the equation entirely) look for someone with whom you have a mutual romantic spark, shared values and tastes, and cultivate a romantic bond.  Married friends, once you have made that choice, spend your life doing all the things that will develop and sustain a strong affinity for one another, shared values and tastes, and a hardcore romantic bond. Don't allow outside relationships of any kind that don't encourage your marriage completely.  Friends, flirtations, and outside relationships, that do anything to undermine your satisfaction with your partner, or encourage fantasies that exclude your mate, are self-destructive and dangerous.  Also, if others think you two look more like brother and sister than lovers and friends, you have a problem.  Cultivate your romance and friendship and don't ever let your friends, co-workers, or acquaintances get the best you, while your spouse gets your dark side.  

     Finally, stop asking yourself, like the old Janet Jackson song, "what have you done for me lately?"  Instead, ask yourself, "what have I done for you lately?"  Think a whole lot more of what you have to contribute to the relationship, and the other person's well-being, and a whole lot less of what you're hoping they'll do for you or probably haven't done for you.  Look for ways to make your partner smile.  Look for ways to make them feel safe.  Look for ways they need your help and affection.  Look, look, and look some more for ways to enhance and show love to your partner. 

     If you're reading this I believe it's not an accident.  Perhaps, if you're like me, God is showing you some secret footage of how you really appear, and maybe you're not entirely liking what you see.  Perhaps, it's time for an updated approach and look.  Perhaps, it's time to purposefully and intentionally make some changes--changes in your heart that will eventually show in your outward behavior.  Changes that will bless you, and ultimately leave you with a bit smaller book of regrets.  Perhaps it's time.

Your Dance, Your Way?

     A tribal drum beat sets the rhythm as the mood of the music fills my heart with excited emotion.  Following the movements of my Nia teacher, I dance with delight across the shiny wood floor in bare feet.  The movement serves to release recent anxieties and tensions that have been stealing my joy.  As the song continues to crescendo, I dance with more abandon, trying to block out the faces of the other dancers who surround me in the room.  While the class is described by my Nia instructor as a blend of dance, martial arts, and healing arts, another fellow dancer once described it as feeling like a kid running through the sprinklers on a hot summer day.  I relate to this latter description. To this middle aged woman, raised in church schools where dance was taboo, it feels like a happy dance of liberation. Exhilarating freedom for my body, mind, and soul. 

   

     Gliding through the room, the music shifts to a middle eastern melody and suddenly my mind remembers when all the Israelite women followed Miriam with tambourines and exuberant dancing, praising God for the miracle of deliverance from both Egypt and the Red Sea.  Can you imagine?  There may have been more than half a million women dancing with joy! (600,000 Israelite men left Egypt.(Ex. 12:37; 15:20.)  What an extraordinary moment that must have been!  I imagine myself as one of those women, dancing awestruck with a thrilled heart alongside my tribe of grateful sisters.  Moving to the melody my mood soars as I think of all the countless ways God has delivered me.

     As another song unfolds my teacher suddenly cups her ear and says to us, "listen for the flute."  Soon, a flute liltingly begins to play the melody as my teacher gives us a new command, "Your dance, your way."  She then stops demonstrating choreographed moves and seems to get lost in her own little dance.  We are all left to move as we please for this section of the song.  Initially, this is rather jolting.  Our dance, our way?  My dance, my way?  What exactly does that look like?  What is my dance?  My way?  

     Tentatively, I move to the beat.  Eventually, I find myself increasingly going faster and faster, my gestures eventually painting a picture from the recesses of my heart.  I realize how vital it is to block out the faces of those who surround me, lest I look to them in comparison.  Lest I look to them to see how well I'm fitting in the group.  Lest I look to them to evaluate myself or them--eliciting undeserved pride or scorn, depending on the evaluation. Any attempt to compare myself with another dancer will quickly shut down my dance, my way.  Comparisons should come with a warning label, such as, "Comparisons are known to cause mental and physical distress.  They undermine creativity, uniqueness, and a sense of purpose in the world.  Comparisons are toxic.  Use at your own risk." 

       Lately, women of all ages have confided in me that they find themselves endlessly looking at others to see just exactly how they measure up.  Which leads me to the million dollar question--just why do we compare ourselves to other people? If we're honest sometimes it's to find direction--using their way as our way.  Sometimes it's to feel important or significant--if I find an area where I'm doing something better than others, that makes me special, right?  I can pride myself on the area where I excel, and maybe like myself a tad bit more at the end of the day.  Look to the right, look to the left, and...snap! It's a trap waiting to snag us, tie us up, and leave us feeling more insecure and lost than ever.  

     You see, the problem with this comparison strategy is that it keeps us from knowing and valuing ourselves.  It keeps us from struggling to discover our values, our strengths, our weaknesses, and ultimately, what we have to contribute to the world that belongs just to us.  We each have a unique and special way of seeing the world, and of doing things, that adds depth, dimension, and beauty to the bigger picture.  We will never discover and embrace our purpose and design if we focus instead on comparing ourselves to the crowd around us. To experience authentic satisfaction and joy we need to spend our energy on discovering and being us.  Just us.  Doing our dance, our way. Much like a truly beautiful garden has flowers and plants of various colors, shapes, sizes, and textures, our world needs each of us to contribute our unique pattern to the garden if it to be the masterpiece our Creator intended.  We are all a special workmanship of God's, and designed to be a perfectly unique part of His design.  Created to do good works...with our own personal stamp on them.  

     Listen for the flute.  It's coming....get ready to do your dance, your way.  Close your eyes to those around you, and allow yourself to run through the sprinklers on a hot summer day and enjoy the moment.  Do your part.  Do your dance, your way. 



   

Wanna Be Vegan, Um What's Up With That?

 Mama's Perfect Milk

     Perfection.  Absolute perfection. Experts completely agree that mother's milk--breast milk--is the very best, complete, and most nourishing food for a baby.  There is nothing that replicates its positive effects on a growing child.  Nothing.  Its irreplaceable nutritional properties are ideal and nothing short of incredible.
  

     Breastfed babies have a myriad of benefits, many which follow them all their lives.  For example, babies given breast milk have an increased immunity to all kinds of viruses and diseases, which is why they have lower incidences of allergies, respiratory illnesses, meningitis, and SIDS (a whopping 73% less!) just to name a few.  Researchers have found a link between breastfeeding and later cognitive advantages (i.e., greater intelligence)  And did you know that a breastfed baby has a 20% lower rate of death from ages birth to one year?  But wait, it doesn't stop there because scientists have also found a link between breastfeeding and and a lower incidence of obesity as a teen or adult.  Also, daughters who have been breastfed have lower incidences of breast cancer later in life.  Despite this long list these are only a few of the benefits the breastfed child enjoys.  In short, scientists agree that breast milk is extraordinary and miraculous, the perfectly designed food for babies' optimal development.  (While infant formulas sold represent great efforts to duplicate breast milk, they are all seen by doctors and scientists as inferior products when compared with breast milk.)  Developing babies require breast milk, or it's imperfect, but close cousin formula, to grow both mentally and physically. There are no other options. 

     That said, a parent would be quickly charged with child abuse, if in lieu of breast milk or formula, they fed their baby orange juice, Kool Aid, or even squirrel's milk.  Excuses such as, "the child just loves Kool Aid and deserves to be happy," or "the child is going to die of something anyway, why not let him or her enjoy what they like," would be soundly denounced and the parent would be seen as a lunatic. Daring to feed a baby something that wouldn't provide him or her with the optimal chance of development would quickly deem the parent unfit.  They would most likely have their child removed and  face criminal charges.  Clearly, it would be an outrage!  Yet, strangely, once these same babies are weaned, they are often quickly introduced to a diet akin to orange Juice, Kool-Aid, and squirrel's milk for the rest of their lives. The excuses that we deem lunacy for infants are suddenly offered up as legit a year later.  Well, is there a breast milk for children and grown ups, you ask?  Yes, resoundingly yes, and that "milk" is plants.

     Perfection.  Absolute perfection describes plants as foods for humans.  Vegetables, fruits, nuts, seeds, legumes, and grains of every variety--plants--hold astonishing and complex nutrition for the optimal health of human beings.  Overwhelming research all point to the same conclusion--plant foods are akin to breast milk for grown ups.  Plant foods provide vitamins, minerals, antioxidants, fiber, amino acids, and phytonutrients, just to name a few of their inherent benefits.  The The Harvard School of Public Health most recent newsletter, dated October 17, 2012 says this-   

It's hard to argue with the health benefits of a diet rich in vegetables and fruits: lower blood pressure; reduced risk of heart disease, stroke, and probably some cancers.  Lower risk of eye and digestive problems; and a mellowing effect on blood sugar that can help keep appetite in check.

     Science is just beginning to discover all the remarkable properties of plant foods for humans.   A recent study even found that psychological well-being and happiness was correlated with eating 7 fruits and vegetables a day.  It's true, they found eating these remarkable, perfect foods actually made people feel happier.

     The fascinating documentary,  Forks Over Knives, (forks as medicine over knives as scalpels) chronicles the stories of independent researchers who all eventually came to the same conclusion--a plant based diet is the healthiest diet for humans.

     The indisputable truth is this--longevity and optimal health are fueled by the foods that were designed for humans. Just like breast milk, not a shred of evidence suggests that other food sources--generally created or tampered with by humans--provide the best chance for cognitive, physical, and emotional health.  Yet, amazingly, a diet analogous to orange juice, Kool-Aid, and squirrel's milk has become our norm.  Eating a whole foods, plant based diet has become the bizarre.  How strange is that?  Sadly, we reject the "breast milk" that has been designed for us.

     So, what's up with my wannabe vegan declaration?  Somewhere along the way I saw that I was limping through life on orange juice, Kool-Aid, and squirrel's milk.  I opened my eyes to see that Almighty God Himself had designed so many, many perfect foods for me. For us.  Foods that were perfectly created to nurture our health, our hearts, and our souls.  And now that I've caught the vision, I'm seeking to feed myself with that perfect mama's milk.  The optimum milk that was created and designed by my loving, unfathomable Father.    

Curious Traveling--Peanut Butter Sandwiches and Love's Reward

Curious Traveling

Peanut Butter Sandwiches and Love's Reward

     Every once in awhile unexpected things fall into your life like raindrops through sun.  Catching you off guard, you feel like you just walked into your own birthday surprise party and suddenly a symphony of voices yell "surprise!" Later, you replay the moments, trying to uncover how things unfolded, but the mysteries and questions remain.  All you know is that you were blessed and loved.  All you know is that something amazing just happened.  All you know is that life can be extraordinary.

     My own surprising adventure started with a phone call.  My firstborn daughter's voice was on the other end of the phone breathless, emotional, and filled with awe as she said, "Mom, shhhh, listen.  Can you hear him?  Can you hear him, Mom?"  

     I listened as a small cry filled my ears.  It was the urgent cry of a newborn baby boy.  You see, my firstborn child--the child whose own birth had changed my destiny in indescribable and innumerable ways--had just given birth to her firstborn child.  A son.  A man child. And he was crying a sweet soft cry.  She went on to say, "Mom, labor was hard.  So very hard.  But Mom, you need to see him!" 

     Yes, I knew I needed to see this tiny miracle of new life, but we were 1,223 miles apart, according to  Google maps and directions.  I also knew that my husband, the grandfather of this new grandson, wanted to meet this baby just as much as I did, but as an airline pilot he would only be able to travel when he had assigned days off.  However, in perfect synchronicity, he had the next three days off, and after researching the flights he was confident we could fly to see our new grandson and get back in the three day period.  Immediately, we rushed to pack and make our way to the airport.  

      Filled with curiosity, excitement, and enthusiasm I quickly tried to assess what we'd need for our quick trip.  Knowing that we would be traveling most of the day I decided to pack a small lunch.  Having traveled this flight  before I anticipated that we would be stuck trying to subsist on a puny bag of Cheese Nips, and an even punier pack of about six small peanuts, if I didn't plan ahead.  I quickly smeared freshly ground peanut butter and gooey homemade strawberry jam on thick slices of whole wheat bread.  Before making my husband's sandwich, I checked in with him.  As a fan of anything unusually hot and spicy, he normally prefers a hot pepper jelly on his sandwich, but surprisingly, on this particular day, he told me to just use the same sweet strawberry jam I was using on my own sandwich.  Hurriedly, I also threw in two crisp gala apples, salty mixed nuts, and honey pretzels.  I happily imagined sharing the flight, and my homemade  lunch, with my husband as we embarked on our grand adventure, but little did I know what awaited me.

     Dropping me off at the curb of the airport my husband instructed me to go through security and check in at the flight desk while he parked the car.  Our names were already listed on a standby list for the flight we needed to get on, and my hubby would meet me at the gate.  Flying free is a major perk for airline pilots, but it comes with a catch.  There has to be an empty, unsold seat for the person flying standby.  Coming to the airport that morning we had already checked the flight loads and everything looked good for us to fly standby, but upon arriving I discovered things had rapidly changed.  

     "Ma'am, you are not likely to get on this flight," the desk clerk informed me.  "There are now six people ahead of you and this flight is full," she said with a look that told me she wondered just how crazy I was to be there hoping for a free seat.  "I may have one seat that I can sell you if you want to buy it," she added, "but it won't be for sale very much longer."  

     A New Plan

     Disarmed and dismayed, I called my husband to tell him of our dilemma.  He had a quick answer, "Diane, we only have these three days.  Buy the ticket if you can.  I'll ride in the cockpit on the jumpseat.  Oh, and if  you can still buy a ticket, go ahead and buy the upgrade.  If you're going to buy a ticket that will let you get on first and have your choice of seats."  He abruptly hung up after promising to meet me at the gate in a few minutes.

     Remembering the breathless phone call that implored me, "Mom, you need to see him!" I quickly bought the last-minute ticket at the last-minute ticket price. This upgraded ticket was golden. I was nearly first in line to snag one of the the best seats in the plane.  For a few minutes my mind imagined myself enjoying one of those coveted seats in the middle of the plane.  The ones with tons of leg room and extra space on the sides.  Although these seats were merely designed to leave room for emergency exits, on this type of an aircraft they are the seats of first class luxury.  Ah, yes, this was going to be good!

     My momentary thrill, however, was abruptly interrupted, as I watched two very young African American children--a boy and a girl who seemed to be twins--kiss a young, well built man (who appeared to be their father), goodbye and get ready to board the airplane alone.  Apprehension and anguish seemed to fill the air as they looked at one another with doleful eyes.  I saw the flight attendant take them and walk them onto the plane as the presumed daddy walked away with a pained look on his face.  My heart was stirred.  Suddenly I heard a small voice within me whisper, "sit by those children." 
     "Um, what?  That's nuts!  I have a pricey, upgraded ticket that allows me to pick my seat today, thank you very much.  I get to pick today,"  I desperately argued with the voice, but the kids' sad and lonely faces, and the soft whisper within my heart, continued to press upon me as I boarded the plane.   

The Small Voice Wins

     Walking onto the plane my eyes were longingly looking back toward the seats of status when the eyes of the children I'd noticed were suddenly locked with mine.  They were only a couple of rows back from the front door and the aisle seat next to them was empty.  Unexpectedly, even to me, I heard myself ask them, "Is somebody sitting here with you?"

    Shyly they said, "no."  

     "Okay, well, would you mind if I sat with you two?"  I heard myself say.  I wondered if I was dreaming or just exactly what had gotten into me.  I wondered how I would ever be able to explain this to my husband.

     "Sure," they said, almost with enthusiasm.

     Waiting for the plane to take off their story unfolded.  My seat mates were 6 year old twins who had spent nearly a month with their father in Arizona, while missing their mother the entire time.  Now, just a few minutes away from their summer visit, they already missed their father.  They told me how much they wished their parents would get back together.  They were clearly filled with a mix of raw emotions.

     Mulling over my choice of seat and new acquaintance with these conflicted kids, I suddenly noticed a small wooden fish with the word Jesus written on it, dangling from the little boy's neck. When I asked him about it his eyes looked down with great embarrassment as he told me how very, very scared he was to fly.  He went on to say that his mommy's friend had given it to him to wear for help and protection.  My heart stirred again as I explained to my new little friend that I had once been very, very scared to fly too.  I vividly remembered how paralyzing that fear was and how miraculously, I had left that fear behind a few years back, but the memories of torment would be with me always.  I assured my little friend that Jesus and I would help him with this flight and it wouldn't be long before he was with his mommy again. His face softened and his sister joined our pact to make our flight an easy one.  Bonded as if we'd known each other for a long time, we three sat together ready to take off.  But minutes ticked by and still we sat there.  

Complications, Ice Water, and Peanut Butter Sandwiches

     Within minutes the plane was still at the gate and beginning to fill with stifling heat.  What was going on?  Finally the flight crew told us that the cooling system had shut down and that we couldn't leave unless it was fixed.  Window shades were rapidly pulled down and lights were turned off to keep the heat out.  This was Phoenix, Arizona.  In August.  It was scorching outside and the cabin quickly felt scorching as well.  Flight attendants rushed to bring cups of ice water to the passengers, but curiously they passed the children by.  I was told they were going to bring them cups with lids, but long after all the adults had downed their ice water the cups of water with lids never came. As the heat continued to intensify I ventured up to ask for water for the children.   "Oh, they didn't get water?!" the flight attendant exclaimed.  A few minutes later she came with two sippy cups of cold ice water which my little friends gulped down in seconds.  

     After a long delay cold air finally began to fill the cabin and it was announced that we could leave.  The delay meant we were very close to lunch time now--our flight would not land until later in the afternoon.  My plan to pack a lunch seemed like genius now.  We finally took off.

     "I'm hungry!"  my little man friend moaned to me minutes into the flight.  "I'm so hungry!" he repeated.  
     "Have you had anything to eat today," I asked him. 
     "Just a pop tart very early this morning.  I'm starving!" he replied.
     His sister listened with interest that seemed to suggest she too was hungry, but not in quite the same critical state of her twin brother.
     I looked at the bag I had tucked under the seat in front of me, imagining the peanut butter sandwiches I'd packed this morning with a different vision in mind.  My husband was in the cockpit now, locked away for safety, and wouldn't be able to eat the lunch I'd made for him. I remembered how he'd declined his usual pepper jelly for a sweeter strawberry jam. I remembered the two apples.  
     "I have a few things maybe we could eat," I told my little guy.  "Once we get up in the air we will get snacks and drinks and I'll get them out then."  I continued.  
     He slumped down into his seat and patted his empty stomach, waiting with hope for the promised food to appear.    
     As the Cheese Nips and puny peanuts were passed out I got out my sandwiches and apples.  I gave them each half a sandwich and an apple, wondering if they'd actually eat dense whole wheat bread, but they devoured the sandwiches and apples with such speed I quickly discovered that dense, whole wheat bread was not a problem.  Hungry little brown eyes looked up to me for seconds.  I then handed them a bit more sandwich--sharing my part with them--as well as my Cheese Nips and puny peanuts, while eating the nuts and pretzels I'd stashed in my bag for the trip.  Sitting together like old friends, the three of us talked about their life in a dangerous part of Memphis, Tennessee, about their dreams and fears for their family, and about Jesus.  The one whose name was on that little wooden fish.  They seemed to know some abut Him, but I filled in a few blanks for them, assuring them He was real and helped us when we were afraid.  Especially on planes.
     The ride went by quickly and I felt a great satisfaction and wonderment at my participation in this Plan B.  As we deboarded the plane my little man friend--who was aptly named Christian--asked me to come and meet his mother.  I approached her and told her I'd had the pleasure of sitting with her children on the flight.  As I wondered what else to tell her I found myself saying, "They really couldn't wait to see you!!!  They missed you so much!"
     Just as mysteriously as the entire flight had unfolded, her eyes told me that my remarks had addressed her deepest fear--that she would now be less loved.  That she had been forgotten.  She beamed at me and said, "thank you so very much!"
     Reuniting with my husband, I dreaded telling him that my upgraded, pricey ticket had gotten me a front row seat to get ice water and sandwiches for two little kids from a ghetto in Memphis.  He surprised me though when he quickly remarked, "well, I guess that's why I didn't have you put that hot pepper jelly on the sandwich.  It was never meant for me."  As we drove to meet my new grandson my mind continued to ponder the flight.  The surprising plan B.  What I didn't know was that the surprise party was just getting started.  That three days later I was in for an even bigger surprise!

The Surprise Party Unfolds

     Intoxicated with love, and dreary from lack of sleep, my husband and I were at the airport three days later.  Yes, we'd met our new grandson and marveled that a tiny newborn could steal hearts in such a dramatic and final way.  We were high on love and the miracle of new life.

     Checking in at the flight desk I was greeted with unexpected news once again. 

     "Ma'am, I don't think you'll be getting on this fight standby.  It's full."  

     I looked at my husband as he wordlessly went to check on the computer for other options to get home.  

     "Well," he informed me, "I think we can get home if we take four flights and bounce around.  It may take us all day."

     This version of Plan B would normally put this control- freak- recovered- fearful- flyer, into panic mode, but on this particular morning, I said, "okay, whatever."

     I prayed silently and told God that I knew he'd placed me on the right flight, with the right seat, on the trip out there.  I asked him to place me in the right seat on the right flight once again.  I surrendered and sat in silent peace.

     Preparing to spend my day on numerous flights with unwanted snack food, I was jolted to attention when my name was called over the loudspeaker.  I went to the desk and was given a boarding pass.  The clerk informed me, "You're one lucky lady.  It seems some people didn't show up.  You get the last seat on the plane." 

     My husband nodded and prepared to once again ride in the cockpit.  I took my pass and boarded the plane.  I already knew what seat I was going to be given this time.  It was a middle seat between two very large people.  The seat everyone else on the entire plane had passed by.  The worst seat in the plane, but at that moment, on a nonstop flight that would get me home before lunch, it looked like the perfect seat to me.   However, as I looked for the last sure-to-be-middle seat a commotion in the middle of the plane was taking place.  I tried to assimilate exactly what was going on when I saw (in a touch of irony) an African American woman with small children being redirected to find new seats.  It seems she had mistakenly taken the seats in the emergency exit rows--those luxury seats I was supposed to snag on my first trip--and kids aren't allowed to sit in those seats in case of emergency.  The flight attendant motioned to me and asked me the million dollar question, "Would you mind sitting here, please?" as he pointed to a luxury seat in the middle of the plane.

     Shocked and startled, I managed to say casually, "Oh,yeah, sure. That would be fine." Fine?  Yes, more than fine.  It would be amazing.  Seriously, nobody boards last and gets one of those seats.  I mean nobody. But today, I boarded last and I was escorted down the aisle to a premium seat.  "Surprise!"  I heard the small voice within say.  Surprise, indeed.

     I remembered my prayer.  My surrender.  I played it over and over in my mind.  This was remarkable in every way.  I chatted with my seat mate and then opened a book I'd had for over a year and only had begun to read on this trip.  "Heaven Is For Real" by Todd Burpo --the true story of a little boy who had a near death experience and came back to describe Jesus, heaven, and events in his family's life that were accurate, but totally unknown to him before.  This little boy told of astounding and beautiful things of his trip to heaven.  Sitting on the flight I opened to read this from the book:

     "'He would wake up in the morning and tell me: "Hey Dad, Jesus told me to tell you, He really loves the children." 

     "Over dinner at night: "Remember, Jesus really loves the children."

     "Before bed, as I helped him brush his teeth, "Hey, Daddy don't forget," he'd say, garbling the words through a mouthful of toothpaste foam, "Jesus said he really, really loves the children!" 

     Yes, I mused to myself, Jesus loves the children.  I remembered how He once told his followers, " And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is a disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward." (Matthew 10:42) On another occasion He said, "The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." (Matthew 25:40)  I realized that as lovely as that wide seat was, the better flight was the one coming out to meet my grandson.  The one where I got to share sippy cups of cold water,  peanut butter sandwiches, and the love of Jesus with some of the loveliest kids I'd met in quite some time.  I can only add that if I'd known I'd be making lunch for Jesus I may have made something a bit fancier than peanut butter sandwiches, but the big surprise party He threw for me was one of the greatest thrills of my life.  

    

      

     

Love Letters From The Vine-

Weeding Flowers?

          Wet and soggy from monsoon rains, the garden gave way under my feet leaving muddy tracks as I harvested dry, purple bean pods.  Harvesting them was a bit more complicated than I imagined when asked to do the task as they needed to be at just the right stage of development before being delicately snipped from the vine.  As they mature, native dry beans progress from a waxy bright purple color to a mottled, brownish deep plum color with a crispy feel.  To harvest them, I had to carefully inspect each one, feeling for just the right texture and color, before delicately snipping it off the vine and putting it into my small brown paper bag.  My supervisor, Susan, is hoping use these dried beans to make a delicious and bountiful bean soup for the upcoming faculty potluck. Unspoken, but clearly understood, is that these beans are a statement of the investment in growing food for taste, nourishment, and sustainability.  The SSLUG garden is a demonstration garden and these beans are a demonstration of all the reasons this kind of garden exists.  In short, these beans are a big deal.

     After spending more time inspecting and harvesting the beans than I had anticipated, I had nearly filled a lunch size paper bag full of crispy, full pods.  I excitedly went to show them to Susan, expecting her face to show delight at her modest, but viable harvest of beans.  However, as I came upon her bending down in another part of the garden I found her with handfuls of nearly 6 foot blooming sunflower plants and blossoming pink sweet peas pulled out by the roots with a determined and almost fierce look on her face.  I quickly discerned that these bright yellow and pink flowers were headed for the compost/trash pile.  I'm sure my face looked puzzled to see her pulling out these  lovely sunflowers and sweet peas in full bloom.  She quickly answered the question I had yet to ask by emphatically saying, "There are way too many flowers in this section now!  We need this space to plant more food.  Time is short to grow more food.  We need food!"

     "Oh, yes, of course," I mumbled.  I offered to help her take the flowers away as I processed this strategy.  Food?  Yes, food.  Carrots, spinach, wheat--any kind of plant food--is designed to sustain, nourish, and give us life.  Without plants as food we would be hard pressed to stay alive.  We have been given miracles in every plant that serves to feed us with untold micronutrients that contribute to our health and longevity.  Growing these precious miracles in our own backyard to cultivate taste and nutrition, while making a minimal demand on the environment, is the original design of our unfathomable designer, God. Yes, we need food.

     As I took away the flowers and began to help her sow seeds of spinach, kale, and cilantro, I reflected on the parallel in my own life.  What beautiful, but fleeting flowers are decorating my life, but not growing anything that nourishes my soul?  An even greater question--what exactly would nourish and feed my soul?   What do I crave and truly need to be healthier emotionally, physically, and spiritually?  For starters, I know I need to pull out some sunflowers and plant seeds that would bring more genuine communion with both God and those I truly love and care about every single day.  Like most of us living in this culture, I am overfed and undernourished on so many levels.  My life is cluttered with decorative, but fleeting things that never really fill my deepest needs.  Pretty things that don't really provide any real connection are taking up too much space.  My soul is hungry for some real nourishing food.  I need to intentionally make growing food--both literally and figuratively-- more important than growing flowers, as lovely as flowers are.  Yes, sometimes we have to weed the flowers and make room to grow some food.

 

Love Letters From The Vine --

Weeding Out The Garden  

    Pulling out tiny unwanted wheat shoots has been one of my jobs recently.  As a volunteer at the NAU SSLUG (Students for Sustainable Living and Urban Gardening) plot I am a worker bee who  comes to log hours toward my Master Gardener certificate and learn more about gardening.  However, that usually means I do the grunt work, or assist with grunt work.  The past two weeks I’ve been doing the the infinity job of weeding.  Infinity because it never ends.  With each cycle of sun and rain we have a new crop of unwanted greens to pull out.  

    My teacher, director, boss, and friend at the garden is Susan.  She lovingly treats each flower, vegetable, and shrub like children in her care.  I love to watch her look at a listless looking plant and muse to herself and me, “this plant doesn’t look very happy today.  I wonder why?”  Then she  looks at it quizzically as she makes hypotheses about its forlorn appearance.  Maybe the soil wasn’t as good in this area, maybe it needs some food, or maybe it’s a hidden attack on the plant.  She may try to help the sick looking plant or she may decide to wait and see.  Much like a doctor she makes a plan and proceeds accordingly.  

    One of the things Susan did at the beginning of the summer to keep all her plants happier was to mulch them with straw.  Unlike hay, straw is supposed to be seed free.  Spread around the plants it helps them stay cool in the harsh Arizona sun and hold moisture in.  It’s also designed to keep the weeds out.  You see, weeds rob the plants of their water, nutrients, and life.  They may look lovely--as the little wheat shoots I’ve been pulling do--, but they are actually stealthy bandits of the nutrients needed to make the desired plants grow.  

    Unlike previous summers, when the straw did its job of helping, this summer it’s been sprouting wheat all throughout the rows and beds of corn, lettuce, beans, basil, amaranth and tomatoes. In fact, the entire vegetable and flower garden is littered with pesky wheat sprouts about 6 inches long peeking up through the straw.  To a wheat farmer they must be a happy sight, but here they are predators and thieves.  They have to be pulled out and the sooner the better.

    As I tediously pull them out, careful to get the entire root and seed, I think of the weeds that clutter my life.  The things that may look lovely, and actually be lovely, but in truth rob the plants I truly wish to cultivate in my life.  I’m aware that recently my weeds are often just thoughts that distract, punish, or limit me from the dreams and desires in my heart.  Fears of what others will think if I do or don’t do something expected. Fear of change. Fear of failure. Weeds that keep me stuck in comfortable paths that have long outlived their usefulness in my life. Moving on to new ambitions and dreams is risky business and require new ways of thinking if they are to grow and bloom. Like the unwanted wheat shoots the robbers in my life have to be carefully plucked out by the root as well.

   Kneeling in the garden also reminds me to intentionally plant and nurture things I want to grow--my relationships with others, my desire to make this world a better place, and my dream to show God’s love to the world in all its splendor.  To do this I need to be intentional about what I think, what I do with my time and resources, and what I use as mulch that might actually be creating weeds in my life.  I also need to intentionally and quickly pull out the robbers of my life--weeds masquerading as wheat -- that constantly come up to steal from my life.