It has been said, a single pebble dropped into a still pond will change its entire surface.
I ruminated over that...
I stood looking at the pond. Watched the suns reflected light outline the trees at waters edge.
A single stone lifted above that crystal face.
I saw an arm mirrored perfectly there, and watched as fingers slowly opened.
One sound...stone meeting water.
The light moved in resounding waves as an earthquake shook the trees, first violently then slowly as if dancing a waltz.
Beneath the glass like facade, in depths I could not see, the stone plunged further still.
Then settling at last on the bottom, it sent up an echoing wash of mud and silt.
The arm moved back to my side and stillness returned.
I walked away, the pond remained.
Both appeared to be the same, both it and me....forever changed.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
The Origins of Laura Ruth
This is the story of how I came to love my name. I have not always loved my name. Laura Ruth Gill. Laura is beautiful without question. It is simple and elegant and almost exotic while still being very familiar. Gill is neither great nor horrible in my opinion. It is actually a shortened version of my family's true last name which was Gilbertson, but Gill is also a family name from India so it has an exotic twist of it's own. But Ruth.....I have always been haunted by the name Ruth. Maybe because I am such an independent creature I have disliked being an offshoot of my grandmother, like somehow I am a part of her even though I am my own person. Maybe it is much more simple, maybe it's just because in Spanish my middle name is pronounced root. For whatever reason, I have never liked sharing my middle name when asked to.
Now please don't get me wrong it's not that Ruth is a bad name to have. I respect Ruth from the Bible and would be honored to have her character traits. It's also a family name and I do appreciate carrying on my grandmother's name, I just always wished it sounded better. More romantic and flowery like Melanie or Angela or Marie or any number of other names that were less guttural.
You may be wondering where all of this is coming from. Well, I was asked this week at work whether I had ever been given the nickname Baby Ruth growing up. My immediate response was, "No, and I don't particularly like the name Ruth.". My co-worker was incredulous, "How could you not like that name, it's a Biblical name." "Well", I explained, "When you say it, it sounds like a dog barking. Ruth, Ruth, Ruth." Go ahead....say it right now out loud and tell me I am mistaken. I'm not. It most assuredly sounds like a dog barking in the distance.
After the conversation died away I found myself wondering why I still clung to my childhood impression of the name. Hadn't I learned to love my name by now? The answer is yes, and yet it is still my gut reaction to say I don't like it. This is to clear the slate so to speak. To explain to you not only how much I appreciate my name, but the divine providence I see in my name choice.
As I have previously said, I did not start out appreciating my middle name. But my first name I have always loved so when I was given a name origin assignment in first grade I was very excited to complete it. The assignment was to find out from our parents how we were named and share it with the class the next day. I remember sitting at the dinner table with my mom so excited to hear how they chose such a beautiful name as Laura. My romantic illusions quickly fell away with the strange tale my mother unfolded before me. I dreaded standing in front of my class and sharing such a ridiculous story with them. I remember asking my mom why she was making this up and her laughing and assuring me she was not making anything up. It was all true.
According to my mother she and my father had come to an impasse over what name I would be given. She wanted Megan and he wanted Marsha (seriously, he wanted Marsha). One night late in her pregnancy with me my mother had a dream. In her dream she and my father were inside of a spaceship traveling to a distant planet. It was a planet of love and it's name was Laura. She woke up and quickly woke my father asking, "Johnny, what about the name Laura?" he said, "Laura, I like that name." and so I was named. This name that I had been so proud of and thought so special. I was named from a weird and random dream my mother had. So much for something special right? That's what I thought at the time anyway.
I accepted my name story and it somehow grew on me. After all, just because it was weird didn't make it less special I supposed. But I still didn't love that name Ruth. I guessed on the whole two out of three wasn't bad.
In my second year of college I took an overnight job at the campus library. There were several hours a night when no one would come in and I would spend the time flipping through a giant old dictionary we had. (Yes I am that kind of book worm. I even enjoy thumbing through dictionaries.) One night I decided to see how many names were actually in the dictionary and I stumbled across the name Ruth. Did you know Ruth is actually an archaic verb? It is where the word ruthless came from. You see ruth is actually a verb used to describe someone who is compassionate and loving to others. As I read the entry over and let it sink into my head I recalled my mother's dream. How interesting that she would have a dream of a planet of love named Laura and then name me Ruth which defines someone who is loving...coincidence right?
Coincidence or divine providence? I have always felt it is my responsibility in life to show love to everyone I meet. I don't always accomplish my goal, but I have from the youngest age felt a great desire to share love with everyone around me. Does the name define a person or is the person defined by their name? Or was that moment in time designed to point me in the right direction? To show me how perfectly I was made, that even my name was chosen with my future in mind. You may not believe in divine direction and I will not try to convince you of it as that is not my job. But I firmly believe in it and I love my name because of it. It shows me there was a plan for me long before I took my first breath, it reminds me I am not alone in my trials. My name was chosen for me by a divine hand and although I still don't love the sound of the name Ruth, I love what it stands for and I love those who gave it to me. Is there a last name out there that stands for love? Maybe if there is I will meet a man who has it and then my name will be complete. Haha, okay that's taking it all a bit far I suppose. .....or is it? ;)
Oh, and Sven.....I forgot to tell you. Even though I was not ever called Baby Ruth, I was called Ruthie and I was always partial to that nickname.
Now please don't get me wrong it's not that Ruth is a bad name to have. I respect Ruth from the Bible and would be honored to have her character traits. It's also a family name and I do appreciate carrying on my grandmother's name, I just always wished it sounded better. More romantic and flowery like Melanie or Angela or Marie or any number of other names that were less guttural.
You may be wondering where all of this is coming from. Well, I was asked this week at work whether I had ever been given the nickname Baby Ruth growing up. My immediate response was, "No, and I don't particularly like the name Ruth.". My co-worker was incredulous, "How could you not like that name, it's a Biblical name." "Well", I explained, "When you say it, it sounds like a dog barking. Ruth, Ruth, Ruth." Go ahead....say it right now out loud and tell me I am mistaken. I'm not. It most assuredly sounds like a dog barking in the distance.
After the conversation died away I found myself wondering why I still clung to my childhood impression of the name. Hadn't I learned to love my name by now? The answer is yes, and yet it is still my gut reaction to say I don't like it. This is to clear the slate so to speak. To explain to you not only how much I appreciate my name, but the divine providence I see in my name choice.
As I have previously said, I did not start out appreciating my middle name. But my first name I have always loved so when I was given a name origin assignment in first grade I was very excited to complete it. The assignment was to find out from our parents how we were named and share it with the class the next day. I remember sitting at the dinner table with my mom so excited to hear how they chose such a beautiful name as Laura. My romantic illusions quickly fell away with the strange tale my mother unfolded before me. I dreaded standing in front of my class and sharing such a ridiculous story with them. I remember asking my mom why she was making this up and her laughing and assuring me she was not making anything up. It was all true.
According to my mother she and my father had come to an impasse over what name I would be given. She wanted Megan and he wanted Marsha (seriously, he wanted Marsha). One night late in her pregnancy with me my mother had a dream. In her dream she and my father were inside of a spaceship traveling to a distant planet. It was a planet of love and it's name was Laura. She woke up and quickly woke my father asking, "Johnny, what about the name Laura?" he said, "Laura, I like that name." and so I was named. This name that I had been so proud of and thought so special. I was named from a weird and random dream my mother had. So much for something special right? That's what I thought at the time anyway.
I accepted my name story and it somehow grew on me. After all, just because it was weird didn't make it less special I supposed. But I still didn't love that name Ruth. I guessed on the whole two out of three wasn't bad.
In my second year of college I took an overnight job at the campus library. There were several hours a night when no one would come in and I would spend the time flipping through a giant old dictionary we had. (Yes I am that kind of book worm. I even enjoy thumbing through dictionaries.) One night I decided to see how many names were actually in the dictionary and I stumbled across the name Ruth. Did you know Ruth is actually an archaic verb? It is where the word ruthless came from. You see ruth is actually a verb used to describe someone who is compassionate and loving to others. As I read the entry over and let it sink into my head I recalled my mother's dream. How interesting that she would have a dream of a planet of love named Laura and then name me Ruth which defines someone who is loving...coincidence right?
Coincidence or divine providence? I have always felt it is my responsibility in life to show love to everyone I meet. I don't always accomplish my goal, but I have from the youngest age felt a great desire to share love with everyone around me. Does the name define a person or is the person defined by their name? Or was that moment in time designed to point me in the right direction? To show me how perfectly I was made, that even my name was chosen with my future in mind. You may not believe in divine direction and I will not try to convince you of it as that is not my job. But I firmly believe in it and I love my name because of it. It shows me there was a plan for me long before I took my first breath, it reminds me I am not alone in my trials. My name was chosen for me by a divine hand and although I still don't love the sound of the name Ruth, I love what it stands for and I love those who gave it to me. Is there a last name out there that stands for love? Maybe if there is I will meet a man who has it and then my name will be complete. Haha, okay that's taking it all a bit far I suppose. .....or is it? ;)
Oh, and Sven.....I forgot to tell you. Even though I was not ever called Baby Ruth, I was called Ruthie and I was always partial to that nickname.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
A Father's Lessons
This last week I have been considering the long lasting impact a father has on his children's lives. How one single decision can have a permanent effect on who his children become/or in the same token who they chose not to become. I have been greatly blessed to have wonderful and loving male influences in my life including my dear father. And I am most thankful to the Lord for that great gift.
If you have ever met or spent much time with my father you know without my saying so that he is at once a very loveable and frustrating man. As I have no doubt I have gleaned some of his frustrating qualities I will not dwell on them. Instead I would like to tell you about a single decision he made many years ago which, to many, may seem inconsequential but to me it irrevocably changed who I knew my father to be and how I looked at him and others around me.
I have a small frame in my spare room with two photos in it. One is my favorite photo of my mother and the other is my favorite photo of my father. Each photo perfectly encapsulates who my parents are as individuals at their finest. In my father's picture he is standing next to an old, blind and miserably poor man who's hands are caressing a brand new wood cart. Next to the old man stands a grandson and a neighbor boy who at once look excited and bewildered. My father's arm is around the old man's shoulder and they both wear simple smiles on their faces. Every time I see the photo I am taken back to that moment in time and am again awed by my father's inspiration and dedication. I am awed by the man he is in his heart of hearts.
I remember the incident well. In one of the towns we stayed at in Honduras there was an old, poor, blind man who we saw every day. Each morning he would wake before the sun and travel with his broken down wood cart into the nearby mountains, he would then struggle back into town carrying the weight of his wooden load clumsily on his broken cart to sell for the support to his family. Even as a child I remember being moved to pray for him as I watched him struggle by, but my father was nearly brought to tears at the man's battle just to survive and provide for his family.
I do not recall if it was a few days or a few weeks, but my father determined he needed to build this man a new wood cart. I remember once my mother pointed out to him that we did not even know this man, he was a stranger to us. Where would we even take the cart, we didn't even know where he lived. That was not important to my father, we would stop him in the street if we had to. He would not sit by and watch the man's grief any longer without taking action. It seems to me that no time passed at all for the cart to be completed, but I am sure looking back it must have taken quite a bit of labor and time on my father's part. He made sure the load was equally balanced between the beautifully smooth tires. He lovingly carved hand holds that would be easily found and fit perfectly in a grown man's hands. He even put weight on it to make sure it would run smoothly when loaded down. Then, finally, the big day came.
I have no memory of how the blind man was located or how my parents explained to him what we were doing there with a new cart, but I remember the moment he first saw it with his hands. How he caressed every joint and groove. How he lifted it in his hands and wheeled it up and down the street. The quiet smile that never left his face the entire time as my father described to him all of the workings he had carefully planned with his special needs in mind. I don't remember the man saying much more than, "Gracias". Over and over he thanked dad for this great gift. It didn't change the hovel of a home he had into a castle. It didn't take away the economic needs he had or the work he still had to do every day. It only meant someone, a stranger, had seen his struggles and been moved to ease his burden in some way. He was not ignored or forgotten, his endless task planted firmly before him with no relief in sight. He was remembered, he was loved.
It was in that moment I learned who my father was, the core of his being. We all have mistakes we have made and parts of ourselves we wish were not there, but our core shines through in the random acts we think inconsequential. It was in that moment my father taught me who I should strive to be. That it is not enough to follow some prescribed ritual or formula to be righteous. But that being righteous is defined in those moments when we see someone in need, whether friend or stranger, and are so overwhelmed by our love for them that we cannot sit idly by.
There may be qualities of my father that I prefer not to inherit....like his beard. But to be like him in love for others...that would be nothing short of wonderful.
If you have ever met or spent much time with my father you know without my saying so that he is at once a very loveable and frustrating man. As I have no doubt I have gleaned some of his frustrating qualities I will not dwell on them. Instead I would like to tell you about a single decision he made many years ago which, to many, may seem inconsequential but to me it irrevocably changed who I knew my father to be and how I looked at him and others around me.
I have a small frame in my spare room with two photos in it. One is my favorite photo of my mother and the other is my favorite photo of my father. Each photo perfectly encapsulates who my parents are as individuals at their finest. In my father's picture he is standing next to an old, blind and miserably poor man who's hands are caressing a brand new wood cart. Next to the old man stands a grandson and a neighbor boy who at once look excited and bewildered. My father's arm is around the old man's shoulder and they both wear simple smiles on their faces. Every time I see the photo I am taken back to that moment in time and am again awed by my father's inspiration and dedication. I am awed by the man he is in his heart of hearts.
I remember the incident well. In one of the towns we stayed at in Honduras there was an old, poor, blind man who we saw every day. Each morning he would wake before the sun and travel with his broken down wood cart into the nearby mountains, he would then struggle back into town carrying the weight of his wooden load clumsily on his broken cart to sell for the support to his family. Even as a child I remember being moved to pray for him as I watched him struggle by, but my father was nearly brought to tears at the man's battle just to survive and provide for his family.
I do not recall if it was a few days or a few weeks, but my father determined he needed to build this man a new wood cart. I remember once my mother pointed out to him that we did not even know this man, he was a stranger to us. Where would we even take the cart, we didn't even know where he lived. That was not important to my father, we would stop him in the street if we had to. He would not sit by and watch the man's grief any longer without taking action. It seems to me that no time passed at all for the cart to be completed, but I am sure looking back it must have taken quite a bit of labor and time on my father's part. He made sure the load was equally balanced between the beautifully smooth tires. He lovingly carved hand holds that would be easily found and fit perfectly in a grown man's hands. He even put weight on it to make sure it would run smoothly when loaded down. Then, finally, the big day came.
I have no memory of how the blind man was located or how my parents explained to him what we were doing there with a new cart, but I remember the moment he first saw it with his hands. How he caressed every joint and groove. How he lifted it in his hands and wheeled it up and down the street. The quiet smile that never left his face the entire time as my father described to him all of the workings he had carefully planned with his special needs in mind. I don't remember the man saying much more than, "Gracias". Over and over he thanked dad for this great gift. It didn't change the hovel of a home he had into a castle. It didn't take away the economic needs he had or the work he still had to do every day. It only meant someone, a stranger, had seen his struggles and been moved to ease his burden in some way. He was not ignored or forgotten, his endless task planted firmly before him with no relief in sight. He was remembered, he was loved.
It was in that moment I learned who my father was, the core of his being. We all have mistakes we have made and parts of ourselves we wish were not there, but our core shines through in the random acts we think inconsequential. It was in that moment my father taught me who I should strive to be. That it is not enough to follow some prescribed ritual or formula to be righteous. But that being righteous is defined in those moments when we see someone in need, whether friend or stranger, and are so overwhelmed by our love for them that we cannot sit idly by.
There may be qualities of my father that I prefer not to inherit....like his beard. But to be like him in love for others...that would be nothing short of wonderful.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
A Silent Hope
I am home in Missouri for one week, and it has been wonderful. I have spent time visiting friends and family, but I have also spent time just sitting at home. Listening to the never ending mutter of the television in the background while Aunt Bonnie putters around the house doing her daily chores, coming home to see my laundry lovingly folded and left on my bed, looking out the back window at the never changing scene I saw every morning through my adolescence, hearing the cows lowing in the background, even just the smell of the house is comforting...it is home.
Yesterday morning I was reading a book in the living room when my Uncle Jim came in and half apologized for not making my vacation more 'exciting' I smiled and told him this was just perfect. A quiet morning, a slow afternoon just being with two of my greatest supporters... if that is not a vacation from the rush and grind of every day life, I certainly don't know what is.
My Aunt and Uncle, the second parents in my life who provided me a framework of support to grow into the strong and semi-confident woman I have become. (I say semi-confident because I am still working on that addition of my particular self) Their willingness to take me in as their own at the perfect moment in my life when I needed a steady and unchanging home, it irrevocably changed the very fabric of my being. Please know that in praising their love to me I do not want to diminish the importance of my own parents in my life, that is not at all the case. My Aunt and Uncle simply added to the support and love my parents gave. They were my parents at a time when I needed physical security and limitations. They were able to provide for me the constant security that my parents were, at that time, unable to provide.
I have always known that my Aunt and Uncle took me in and loved me as their own daughter, but the magnitude of it did not hit me until this morning, sitting here typing in my Aunt's office. Parents live forever eternally hoping for the best for and from their children. Even when all hope of something seems to be gone to everyone else involved, a parent silently hopes for the best outcome. Perhaps they make a comment here and there, perhaps they say nothing at all. Years and decades may pass, but they do not give up hoping. I have always known the love I felt from my Aunt and Uncle....but that silent hope (I believed) was reserved for their own children.
Years ago I was playing around looking through my Aunt's books of wedding cakes. (she makes beautiful wedding cakes) Half joking I told her exactly what cake I wanted when I got married 'someday'. I didn't ever think twice about it and, thus far, have never needed a reason to consider the cake again. Marriage has not been something that has happened for me and (90%) of the time is not even something I think about. It happens for some, it hasn't for me so far.
This morning as I began to play with facebook I happened to glance at the calendars my Aunt has hanging on the back of her desk. As I was looking I saw a small post it that was quite curious. All it said was: Book #7, Pg #70, Laura's. What in the world did that mean? It looked like my handwriting, but I couldn't think what it might be in reference to. Then all at once it dawned on me....it's my wedding cake.
My Aunt never talks to me about marriage, she doesn't needle me with questions of who if anyone I am dating. (she leaves that to my father) But here tucked away in her desk was a sign of her silent hope. That someday she might be able to make me that cake. That she has not written off that kind of happiness for me. That I am to her a special daughter who she will silently support and hope for just as her very own. It is such a good feeling to love and be loved, to not be given up on no matter what.
Yesterday morning I was reading a book in the living room when my Uncle Jim came in and half apologized for not making my vacation more 'exciting' I smiled and told him this was just perfect. A quiet morning, a slow afternoon just being with two of my greatest supporters... if that is not a vacation from the rush and grind of every day life, I certainly don't know what is.
My Aunt and Uncle, the second parents in my life who provided me a framework of support to grow into the strong and semi-confident woman I have become. (I say semi-confident because I am still working on that addition of my particular self) Their willingness to take me in as their own at the perfect moment in my life when I needed a steady and unchanging home, it irrevocably changed the very fabric of my being. Please know that in praising their love to me I do not want to diminish the importance of my own parents in my life, that is not at all the case. My Aunt and Uncle simply added to the support and love my parents gave. They were my parents at a time when I needed physical security and limitations. They were able to provide for me the constant security that my parents were, at that time, unable to provide.
I have always known that my Aunt and Uncle took me in and loved me as their own daughter, but the magnitude of it did not hit me until this morning, sitting here typing in my Aunt's office. Parents live forever eternally hoping for the best for and from their children. Even when all hope of something seems to be gone to everyone else involved, a parent silently hopes for the best outcome. Perhaps they make a comment here and there, perhaps they say nothing at all. Years and decades may pass, but they do not give up hoping. I have always known the love I felt from my Aunt and Uncle....but that silent hope (I believed) was reserved for their own children.
Years ago I was playing around looking through my Aunt's books of wedding cakes. (she makes beautiful wedding cakes) Half joking I told her exactly what cake I wanted when I got married 'someday'. I didn't ever think twice about it and, thus far, have never needed a reason to consider the cake again. Marriage has not been something that has happened for me and (90%) of the time is not even something I think about. It happens for some, it hasn't for me so far.
This morning as I began to play with facebook I happened to glance at the calendars my Aunt has hanging on the back of her desk. As I was looking I saw a small post it that was quite curious. All it said was: Book #7, Pg #70, Laura's. What in the world did that mean? It looked like my handwriting, but I couldn't think what it might be in reference to. Then all at once it dawned on me....it's my wedding cake.
My Aunt never talks to me about marriage, she doesn't needle me with questions of who if anyone I am dating. (she leaves that to my father) But here tucked away in her desk was a sign of her silent hope. That someday she might be able to make me that cake. That she has not written off that kind of happiness for me. That I am to her a special daughter who she will silently support and hope for just as her very own. It is such a good feeling to love and be loved, to not be given up on no matter what.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
A Sunbeam
I have had something on my mind for about the last month and a half. I want to be a beam of sunlight. Seriously, if I could pick any force in the universe to be I would chose to be a ray of sunshine. Have you ever looked out on a cloudy scene and all at once in the distance a ray of sunlight breaks through the clouds illuminating everything it touches? That's what I dream of being. I dream that somehow my presence in the world can be like that sunlight shinning through the clouds bringing light and warmpth to everything it touches. I don't know that I will ever be that in anyone's life....but it is my dearest hope to be.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
He Sees Me
Depending on how many of my posts you may have previously read, you may or may not be aware that I am a firm believer in God. Not only in God as an almighty being who created the world, but as the three in one (Father, Spirit, Son) who is all knowing and omnipotent and actively involved in each of our lives. So while you may chalk it up as some cornball hoax or imaginary invention of a grieving mind, the story I am about to tell you is very true and was a miracle that changed the course of my entire life. If you have ever wondered about the miracles of God or the vastness of His grace to us....this is my firsthand knowledge of the depths of his mercy and grace.
It was my freshmen year of college and my Aunt and Uncle in northern Minnesota had opened their home to me while I attended Bemidji State University. At the beginning of the year my dearest grandfather passed away and I was unable to attend his funeral. Then I received word that my parents were having problems with their relationship. To pay for school I was working two full time jobs which meant I was waking up at 3:30am for work and did not get home again until about 11:30pm. It was winter in northern Minnesota so when I left the house it was silent and dark and when I got home it was the same. I did not notice while it was happening, but I was sinking into a pretty dark depression. I started failing in my classes and literally told myself, "As long as you are still doing a good job at work, you are okay." I gained approximately 25 pounds in three months and hated everything about myself.
For reasons I will not go into at this juncture I had lived most of my mere 18 years of life with the understanding that I was really a pretty disgusting creature who was unworthy of love and not very special in any way. I convinced myself that I must be a pretty great actress because everyone thought I was so smart, kind and loving. But I guarded myself every minute against anyone seeing who I really was underneath, because if they ever saw how ugly I was inside they would never love me. I would literally tell myself how hideous I was and how no one could love me if they really knew me.
One night early in the spring I came home to find a letter from my father. Not wanting to wake anyone by turning on lights I went into the bathroom to read it. I opened the letter to find my father going on and on about how proud he was of me and what a beautiful young woman I had become. The more I read the more I felt like I was suffocating under an unseen weight that pressed down on me. How could he think I was so wonderful when I knew how dirty and mean and disgusting I was? I couldn't stand it anymore, the weight was so heavy I couldn't even breathe. I began to hyperventilate as I sat on the floor and cried. I didn't even know how to pray or what to ask for. I sat there on the cold floor for almost an hour and just cried to God begging Him to help me. "I don't want to feel like this anymore, I don't know what to do. Please take it from me, I can't carry this pain anymore." When I could finally get myself under control I washed my face and went to bed where I quietly cried myself to sleep.
Sometime in the night I was awoken by talking. I couldn't tell where it was coming from and I couldn't understand the words. There were two voices talking. The first pleading, almost crying and the second answering back. It was so beautiful I wanted to hear what words they were saying. I thought maybe it was my Aunt and Uncle talking so I decided to get up and listen at the top of the stairs. As I began to sit up I was told, "Be still, just listen" I laid back down and tears welled to my eyes as I heard the first voice begin pleading again. "It's so beautiful, I have to hear the words," I thought and I went to get up again. A second time I was told, "Be still and listen". This time I laid back and let the sounds of the voices wash over me. The first concerned and pleading the response calm and direct. I listened until I fell back asleep.
I woke with the sun streaming in my window. The house was quiet and, for the first time since I was a child, so was my heart. I smiled and felt the strangest thing wash over me...joy. Pure and unadulterated joy and peace filled my being. I decided right then and there it was time to start running. If I was going to like my body I would have to put in some time to care for it. I went downstairs and prepared myself for a run.
My plans were almost derailed as I saw storm clouds moving in. I decided if I shortened my run I would still be able to do something so I changed my route and headed out. I remember how beautiful the pine trees looked bathed in shafts of golden light that fell through the steel grey storm clouds. I must have gotten caught up in the beauty because before I got back to the driveway I was already being rained on. "Well," I thought, "since I am already wet I may as well go on."
As I ran on past the drive I prayed to the Lord in my mind. I went over the experience from the night before and asked He let me somehow know what it was that others saw in me that I could not see. As I ran I looked down at my hands moving in time with my legs and was struck with how amazing it was that my body worked in such perfect time. What happened next I am not sure how to explain.
Have you ever seen a TV show or movie where they cut away and show the inner workings of a persons body? That is what I saw first. I remember I looked down at my hands moving with my body and thought, "How amazing that everything inside me moves so perfectly in motion." Then it was as if I saw into my body. I could see my blood flowing, my lungs moving in and out with every breath, my heart beating and my muscles contracting with every movement. I barely had time to be amazed when the next thing I saw was myself. But not myself like in a mirror, it was a scene of me talking with someone but I saw me through their eyes, then I saw me helping others, but from their viewpoint. I felt what they felt toward me, I thought what they thought of me. Then, and this was the most wonderful of all, I saw me in those same situations through the eyes of God. I felt what He felt towards me. It could have been a matter of seconds, it could have been an hour that passed by I do not know. The next thing I remember is running down the driveway toward the house. I went inside and straight to the bathroom trying to comprehend what I had just seen and felt. As I looked up from the sink I saw myself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman looking back at me. I was beautiful! The smile on my face had not been so happy and free in as long as I could remember. I stared into the mirror and whispered, "You made me so beautiful."
While there was an immediate change in my heart and mind, it took quite a while for me to fully process what had happened to me that night/day and what a miracle it truly was. I very quickly learned that if I was going to keep from sliding back into the habit of putting myself down I had to actively reinforce the good in my life that God had shown me. For nearly two years I struggled with having to constantly refute the discouraging thoughts that had become habit for me. Some friends became irritated that I began actively complimenting myself on what I did well. It was hard to explain to them that I was not trying to puff myself up, I was trying to train myself to see the good and not just the bad in me.
I very quickly realized the significance of God showing me my life through His and others' eyes, but the voices I had heard the night prior always confused me. What was that all about? What and who had I heard and why was it so moving to me when I couldn't even understand what was being said. Then one day about a year after my experience I read a scripture that made it all clear and showed me all over again how amazing God had been to me in his mercy.
'Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26/27'
In my darkest place I had no words to pray. I was sinking into depths I could not be saved from and in desperation cried out to my God to save me from myself. I did not have the words, but the Spirit made intercession for me and my precious God in His great mercy allowed me to hear it's prayer to Him in groanings which cannot be uttered.
There was a time several years later when my Uncle Jim said he wished I had never gone up to Minnesota that year because it was so hard for me. I smiled as I answered him saying, "I would not trade that one year for any other in my life." You see, there was a greater purpose for that year. I had to go through all of those things so that I could reach the point where I would allow God to show me who I was in His eyes. Peace and Joy are gifts from God, and while I have had hard times since that miraculous day I have never been without the joy and peace of God in my heart. Sometimes I fall back into my old habits and question who I am or what I am doing. Whether I am worth all the fuss....but I snap myself back out of it. I remember the lesson I learned while running in the rain. What a miracle it is that we are even alive and how perfectly God formed every cell in our body to work together for His glory. I remind myself that He is ever near, He knows who I am....He sees me.
It was my freshmen year of college and my Aunt and Uncle in northern Minnesota had opened their home to me while I attended Bemidji State University. At the beginning of the year my dearest grandfather passed away and I was unable to attend his funeral. Then I received word that my parents were having problems with their relationship. To pay for school I was working two full time jobs which meant I was waking up at 3:30am for work and did not get home again until about 11:30pm. It was winter in northern Minnesota so when I left the house it was silent and dark and when I got home it was the same. I did not notice while it was happening, but I was sinking into a pretty dark depression. I started failing in my classes and literally told myself, "As long as you are still doing a good job at work, you are okay." I gained approximately 25 pounds in three months and hated everything about myself.
For reasons I will not go into at this juncture I had lived most of my mere 18 years of life with the understanding that I was really a pretty disgusting creature who was unworthy of love and not very special in any way. I convinced myself that I must be a pretty great actress because everyone thought I was so smart, kind and loving. But I guarded myself every minute against anyone seeing who I really was underneath, because if they ever saw how ugly I was inside they would never love me. I would literally tell myself how hideous I was and how no one could love me if they really knew me.
One night early in the spring I came home to find a letter from my father. Not wanting to wake anyone by turning on lights I went into the bathroom to read it. I opened the letter to find my father going on and on about how proud he was of me and what a beautiful young woman I had become. The more I read the more I felt like I was suffocating under an unseen weight that pressed down on me. How could he think I was so wonderful when I knew how dirty and mean and disgusting I was? I couldn't stand it anymore, the weight was so heavy I couldn't even breathe. I began to hyperventilate as I sat on the floor and cried. I didn't even know how to pray or what to ask for. I sat there on the cold floor for almost an hour and just cried to God begging Him to help me. "I don't want to feel like this anymore, I don't know what to do. Please take it from me, I can't carry this pain anymore." When I could finally get myself under control I washed my face and went to bed where I quietly cried myself to sleep.
Sometime in the night I was awoken by talking. I couldn't tell where it was coming from and I couldn't understand the words. There were two voices talking. The first pleading, almost crying and the second answering back. It was so beautiful I wanted to hear what words they were saying. I thought maybe it was my Aunt and Uncle talking so I decided to get up and listen at the top of the stairs. As I began to sit up I was told, "Be still, just listen" I laid back down and tears welled to my eyes as I heard the first voice begin pleading again. "It's so beautiful, I have to hear the words," I thought and I went to get up again. A second time I was told, "Be still and listen". This time I laid back and let the sounds of the voices wash over me. The first concerned and pleading the response calm and direct. I listened until I fell back asleep.
I woke with the sun streaming in my window. The house was quiet and, for the first time since I was a child, so was my heart. I smiled and felt the strangest thing wash over me...joy. Pure and unadulterated joy and peace filled my being. I decided right then and there it was time to start running. If I was going to like my body I would have to put in some time to care for it. I went downstairs and prepared myself for a run.
My plans were almost derailed as I saw storm clouds moving in. I decided if I shortened my run I would still be able to do something so I changed my route and headed out. I remember how beautiful the pine trees looked bathed in shafts of golden light that fell through the steel grey storm clouds. I must have gotten caught up in the beauty because before I got back to the driveway I was already being rained on. "Well," I thought, "since I am already wet I may as well go on."
As I ran on past the drive I prayed to the Lord in my mind. I went over the experience from the night before and asked He let me somehow know what it was that others saw in me that I could not see. As I ran I looked down at my hands moving in time with my legs and was struck with how amazing it was that my body worked in such perfect time. What happened next I am not sure how to explain.
Have you ever seen a TV show or movie where they cut away and show the inner workings of a persons body? That is what I saw first. I remember I looked down at my hands moving with my body and thought, "How amazing that everything inside me moves so perfectly in motion." Then it was as if I saw into my body. I could see my blood flowing, my lungs moving in and out with every breath, my heart beating and my muscles contracting with every movement. I barely had time to be amazed when the next thing I saw was myself. But not myself like in a mirror, it was a scene of me talking with someone but I saw me through their eyes, then I saw me helping others, but from their viewpoint. I felt what they felt toward me, I thought what they thought of me. Then, and this was the most wonderful of all, I saw me in those same situations through the eyes of God. I felt what He felt towards me. It could have been a matter of seconds, it could have been an hour that passed by I do not know. The next thing I remember is running down the driveway toward the house. I went inside and straight to the bathroom trying to comprehend what I had just seen and felt. As I looked up from the sink I saw myself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman looking back at me. I was beautiful! The smile on my face had not been so happy and free in as long as I could remember. I stared into the mirror and whispered, "You made me so beautiful."
While there was an immediate change in my heart and mind, it took quite a while for me to fully process what had happened to me that night/day and what a miracle it truly was. I very quickly learned that if I was going to keep from sliding back into the habit of putting myself down I had to actively reinforce the good in my life that God had shown me. For nearly two years I struggled with having to constantly refute the discouraging thoughts that had become habit for me. Some friends became irritated that I began actively complimenting myself on what I did well. It was hard to explain to them that I was not trying to puff myself up, I was trying to train myself to see the good and not just the bad in me.
I very quickly realized the significance of God showing me my life through His and others' eyes, but the voices I had heard the night prior always confused me. What was that all about? What and who had I heard and why was it so moving to me when I couldn't even understand what was being said. Then one day about a year after my experience I read a scripture that made it all clear and showed me all over again how amazing God had been to me in his mercy.
'Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26/27'
In my darkest place I had no words to pray. I was sinking into depths I could not be saved from and in desperation cried out to my God to save me from myself. I did not have the words, but the Spirit made intercession for me and my precious God in His great mercy allowed me to hear it's prayer to Him in groanings which cannot be uttered.
There was a time several years later when my Uncle Jim said he wished I had never gone up to Minnesota that year because it was so hard for me. I smiled as I answered him saying, "I would not trade that one year for any other in my life." You see, there was a greater purpose for that year. I had to go through all of those things so that I could reach the point where I would allow God to show me who I was in His eyes. Peace and Joy are gifts from God, and while I have had hard times since that miraculous day I have never been without the joy and peace of God in my heart. Sometimes I fall back into my old habits and question who I am or what I am doing. Whether I am worth all the fuss....but I snap myself back out of it. I remember the lesson I learned while running in the rain. What a miracle it is that we are even alive and how perfectly God formed every cell in our body to work together for His glory. I remind myself that He is ever near, He knows who I am....He sees me.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
The Breaking Point
All I see are bright lights and I hear nothing but my rasping breath as I try to calm my nerves and focus my brain. Inside my head I am screaming, "Kick, bite, punch do something...anything just do it now. It's gonna be too late." As I feel the pressure of my rolling partner weighing down on me the panic grows and my movements start becoming frantic. Then I remember my coach's words, "Quiet your face, quiet your mind. Feel the tension in your partner's body and wait for the moment when their muscles reach a breaking point. Every muscle has a breaking point and when it is reached you will feel the release of tension in their body, in that moment you make your move." "Quiet Laura, be quiet, breathe.", I tell myself and force my body to be still and wait. As I groped my partner I focused on her energy. Where was she moving? What was she planning next? Focus Laura...be quiet. Then all at once I felt it. For one split second her body relaxed. It was so small and quick, but it was there, she was at a breaking point! "Move Now!!", I yelled at myself and with every ounce of energy left in me I rotated my hip up and to the left to throw her off of me and gain a better position.
Well, maybe it would have worked if it was my seventeenth class instead of my second and I actually knew how to move effectively. Unfortunately for me in this instance I moved just enough to give me an extra ten seconds of rolling before I was caught in a choke hold and forced to tap out. But I had felt the breaking point. I had connected with another person's energy more closely than ever before in my life, a perfect connection between two individual beings. I may not have known how to move or what to do with it, but I was able to still myself enough and focus on my attacker without feeling terror. It didn't win me anything but it was an awesome start.
That night as I reviewed the evenings lessons in my mind I marveled at the ability to connect with another human being in such a raw way. To be close enough that you know the precise moment when they can handle no more strain. As I reveled in my moment of clarity within the chaos of a training roll I wondered what it would be like if I was connected with God that closely. How amazing would it be if I were still enough in my heart and mind to have a perfect connection with Him?
The sad part is He always has that with me, why do I find it so difficult to reciprocate? How many times has the Lord watched as I struggle with some human trial? He is with me so closely and so constantly, waiting for that moment when I finally reach it.....my breaking point. At the moment when I collapse from the exhaustion of a struggle I am attempting to win alone, He steps in and brings relief. As soon as I am still enough to seek His guidance He lets me feel His strength and wisdom. He tells me to be quiet, to wait for the right moment to move. Then, because it's no longer my own wisdom guiding me, He shows me what to do and how to move. I never tap out of life's struggles when I connect with Him.
Well, maybe it would have worked if it was my seventeenth class instead of my second and I actually knew how to move effectively. Unfortunately for me in this instance I moved just enough to give me an extra ten seconds of rolling before I was caught in a choke hold and forced to tap out. But I had felt the breaking point. I had connected with another person's energy more closely than ever before in my life, a perfect connection between two individual beings. I may not have known how to move or what to do with it, but I was able to still myself enough and focus on my attacker without feeling terror. It didn't win me anything but it was an awesome start.
That night as I reviewed the evenings lessons in my mind I marveled at the ability to connect with another human being in such a raw way. To be close enough that you know the precise moment when they can handle no more strain. As I reveled in my moment of clarity within the chaos of a training roll I wondered what it would be like if I was connected with God that closely. How amazing would it be if I were still enough in my heart and mind to have a perfect connection with Him?
The sad part is He always has that with me, why do I find it so difficult to reciprocate? How many times has the Lord watched as I struggle with some human trial? He is with me so closely and so constantly, waiting for that moment when I finally reach it.....my breaking point. At the moment when I collapse from the exhaustion of a struggle I am attempting to win alone, He steps in and brings relief. As soon as I am still enough to seek His guidance He lets me feel His strength and wisdom. He tells me to be quiet, to wait for the right moment to move. Then, because it's no longer my own wisdom guiding me, He shows me what to do and how to move. I never tap out of life's struggles when I connect with Him.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Embracing Joy
Recently I was talking with a good friend of mine about the many troubles that seem to be plaguing people these days. As we were discussing how hard things can be in day to day life he made a statement that saddened me. He said, "No one has joy anymore. We are so consumed with just getting through the day, there is no joy to be found. No one wakes up happy or is excited to start a new day." The comment got me thinking....was he right? Are we so overwhelmed by our trials that we can't see the love and happiness surrounding us?
My first thought was to be defensive (as usual). What was he talking about? I feel happy all the time. I don't dread getting out of bed. I see blessings surrounding me every day. But as I considered my life more closely I began to wonder, 'Do I show the joy I feel?'. Sure I am most always happy to wake up and take on the day and there is barely a day that goes by when I don't feel content to be alive and making my way through life, but does anyone around me know that? Can people look at me and see happiness in how I act and speak? Am I hiding the joy that I feel inside?
The dictionary defines joy as: The emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of posessing what one desires. The sun is shinning, birds are singing, I make enough money to cover my needs and some wants, I am surrounded by great co-workers and wonderful family/friends and have a God who knows my every thought and need before I even realize it. My life emminates well-being, I have a level of success, I have good forturne and the prospect of obtaining eternal life. I have the very definition of joy in my grasp. Sadly, I don't always show that joy to others or even recognize it myself.
It is time to embrace the joy I have been given and share it with others. It is time to prove to my friend that his statement is incorrect, there is joy in this life....sometimes we're just too human to see it for what it is.
My first thought was to be defensive (as usual). What was he talking about? I feel happy all the time. I don't dread getting out of bed. I see blessings surrounding me every day. But as I considered my life more closely I began to wonder, 'Do I show the joy I feel?'. Sure I am most always happy to wake up and take on the day and there is barely a day that goes by when I don't feel content to be alive and making my way through life, but does anyone around me know that? Can people look at me and see happiness in how I act and speak? Am I hiding the joy that I feel inside?
The dictionary defines joy as: The emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of posessing what one desires. The sun is shinning, birds are singing, I make enough money to cover my needs and some wants, I am surrounded by great co-workers and wonderful family/friends and have a God who knows my every thought and need before I even realize it. My life emminates well-being, I have a level of success, I have good forturne and the prospect of obtaining eternal life. I have the very definition of joy in my grasp. Sadly, I don't always show that joy to others or even recognize it myself.
It is time to embrace the joy I have been given and share it with others. It is time to prove to my friend that his statement is incorrect, there is joy in this life....sometimes we're just too human to see it for what it is.
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