One more song

I can't put the video here, but you can click here to see the video, and it's, like, professional and everything as The Fray is on the radio and MTV and so this video is actually worth watching. I like The Fray and I've been listening to and pondering this song. So far, all I can come up with is "I understand. I've been there." It's not an encouraging song but it is so, so honest. So then I go and listen to Chris Tomlin's "I Will Rise" again because...that's just the way it is.

The lyrics:
I found God on the corner of 1st and Amistad
Where the West was all but won
All alone, smoking his last cigarette
I said, "Where've you been?" He said, "Ask anything."

Where were you, when everything was falling apart.
All my days were spent by the telephone that never rang
And all I needed was a call that never came
To the corner of 1st and Amistad

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me, you found me.

But in the end everyone ends up alone
Losing her, the only one who's ever known
Who I am, who I'm not and who I wanna to be
No way to know how long she will be next to me

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me, you found me.

The early morning, the city breaks
And I've been calling for years and years and years
And you never left me no messages
You never sent me no letters
You got some kind of nerve taking all I want

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, Where were you? Where were you?

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me, you found me.

Why'd you have to wait, to find me, to find me?


This is what the lead singer says about the song:
"You Found Me is a tough song for me. Its about the disappointment, the heart ache, the let down that comes with life. Sometimes you're let down, sometimes you're the one who lets someone else down. It gets hard to know who you can trust, who you can count on. This song came out of a tough time, and I'm still right in the thick of it. There's some difficult circumstances my family and friends have been going through over the past year or so and can be overwhelming. It wears on me. It demands so much of my faith to keep believing, keep hoping in the unseen. Sometimes the tunnel has a light at the end, but usually they just look black as night. This song is about that feeling, and the hope that I still have, buried deep in my chest."

Going through the motions

I guess I'm turning this into a music blog this week. This is the other song that I'm playing over and over and over. Matthew West's "The Motions." I think I mentioned to someone just yesterday how every day seems the same and there's a lot of comfort in that. But comfort isn't really the goal. I think that's why this song is staying with me. I don't want to waste my life going through the motions, safe in my routine but just a little disconnected. I think that may be part of the danger of my hermit lifestyle. I want something more, that passion that leads you to make a difference. But...that feels like one of those dangerous things to say or pray, so right now I'm just singing it over and over and thinking about it as I do.

Uh oh.

My latest "most played"

Part of my compulsion issues force me to listen to songs that I really like over and over and over. I hope I'm not alone! For some reason, this song is really on my mind a lot lately. It's Chris Tomlin, "I Will Rise" and I managed to find a video (without any strange (to me anyway) paintings included). I hope you like it too! The other is Matthew West. I'll have a looksee to try to find a video for it too. I left my iPod at home today so I haven't gotten my fix yet.

52 Blessings Week 10: Other people's flowers

I have a brown thumb. And I'm OK with it. Flowers given to me have been consigned to a slow, drought-y death because I will forget to water them. Thank God there are people in the world who do grow and nurture and share. And Garvan Woodland Gardens is a that place makes me happy.

Ecclesiastes 3:10-12 (NIV)
I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live.

March luncheon time

If you're local, stop by one of the 2 locations next week to find out more about "Money Matters" with Lisa Richardson. Hwy 10 will be next Thursday at Larry's.

Defining Moments-ACW rough draft, the second

Defining moment…it’s a phrase used to describe winning seasons and military victory and political decisions as well as a million other decisions, both big and small, that act as turning points in life. To me, these are the moments where one decision changes my path and where one decision demonstrates more about who I am and who I’ll become than years of education or self-study could ever provide.

I think that most of the time we view defining moments as places where we overcome great adversity and triumph over difficulties. Perhaps those are the moments that we remember best: come-from-behind wins over the league champions or battling and beating a deadly disease, reaching the literal or figurative top of the mountain after a challenging climb, meeting the person or place that could change a life. Each of these moments is filled with powerful emotions and elements of the heroic. A breast-cancer patient who defeats cancer must remember vividly the delivery of the good news, the positive prognosis, clearly. The athlete that strives to be the best, standing on a podium accepting a medal, has reached the pinnacle. But what about the first moment, the decision to follow through with a routine check up or to step up on the balance beam for the first time?

The truth about defining moments is that we often don’t know we’re in them. Defining moments are most clearly visible through the lens of hindsight or reflection. These kinds of defining moments surround us in the everyday. Maybe it’s just an after dinner discussion where I calmly prayed a prayer and declared myself a follower of Christ. Clearly, I had no idea where that choice would lead, but in that moment, I made the decision that put me on the path to this place in time. Because of that one, quiet, unassuming and momentous occasion, I’ve never been alone in a defining moment since. In the Message translation, Psalm 139:5 says, “I look behind me and you're there, then up ahead and you're there, too— your reassuring presence, coming and going.” The lesson that I’m continually learning is that, when it comes to the big moments of life, I can relax. The God who loves me and calls me His is already there.

More than once I’ve said that I could be happy with God’s plan for my life if I only knew where it was headed, if I could just be sure of what my future held. I think this desire to read the future is a symptom of youth. Aging teaches the benefits of not being able to see past today. If I had known the outcomes of some of the decisions that I’ve made before I made them, making the right choice would have been nearly impossible. Thankfully, although I do not know the future, I know the One who does. And He is with me in the moments where I worry, rationalize, plot and plan and in the moments where I choose.

Conversion stories don’t really come any more mundane than mine. Similarly, I had no idea the day that I succumbed to the pressure of a friend to join her workplace Bible study that I was facing a decision that someday I’d look back on and say, “Yes, that’s where this whole thing started.” God met me in that Bible study, the God that was already working on my heart, my angry heart. Another symptom of my youth was a conviction that life would be fair. And as I stepped into that Bible study, I was slowly recovering from the trauma caused by the realization that, indeed, life often seems shatteringly unfair. Even when you pray the prayer, firm in your trust and belief, sometimes the cure doesn’t come and dealing with the pain of loss is difficult and the bitterness of disillusionment only compounds that. Still, in those 40 days, I heard God speak clearly, even through my bitter complaint and the tears of a hurt child. Like stacked dominos that fall one right after the other, each day built on the last until I felt God’s call more clearly than I ever had before or since.

As a result, I did something that I’d feared my entire Christian life. I went on a short-term mission trip. As a citizen of the fast-food nation, my biggest concern was over the lack of French fries. And it’s really funny now to think about all my reservations: raising money, not speaking the language, having to eat unidentified objects. It was tough to make the decision to go and I threw up as many roadblocks as I could to try to derail God. And through it all, I learned. I learned about who God is, what He can do, and what He accomplishes through His people. And then I faced the really difficult decision, the one that required me to know what God had already been teaching me.

My mom, the person I loved best in the world, didn’t really want me to go to Peru, but she never said that. And while I was preparing to go, she was going through doctor visits and tests. And just before my trip, she was diagnosed with lung cancer. Her surgery to remove the grapefruit sized tumor in her lung was scheduled for a Wednesday, the day I’d be half a world away, out of touch.

I’m not a doctor. I’m not a surgeon, but I was convinced that something terrible would happen if I weren’t there to control the situation. In my comfortable world, there is always a right answer and success is just a matter of working hard enough. I got on the plane anyway and I went to Peru, a place I had no desire to go with people I didn’t know, called by a God I didn’t trust to take care of the person who meant more to me than the world.

On that Wednesday, my whole group made the trip to another town to find a public phone. Everyone made calls, but I knew that trip was for me. And I called. I called every number I could to try to find a family member with an update. And because I don’t control this world, I was unsuccessful. I went out to wait for everyone to finish and sat on a bench, next to a very small park, in the middle of a deserted town high in the Andes and just tried to keep it together. I sat there and tried to keep it together, too out of control to even pray for an answer or my mom or my own sanity.

And my God, knowing my needs even when I can’t express them, sent an answer. Angie, my friend on the trip, had spoken to her dad, a pastor at our church. One of the staff had been to the hospital and had gotten an update on my mom and my family. She was out of surgery and in recovery and my family was fine. And on that same bench, I learned invaluable lessons. I am not the keeper of my universe. Thankfully, because of a decision I made years ago, I have a God who loves me and wants good things for me, things like trust in Him, knowledge of Him, the wisdom that comes from learning the difficult and unfair lessons of life. I sat there on the bench, surrounded by people who cared for me, not because I could work hard or make a funny joke, but because that simple decision to follow Christ brought us together, even to this place so far away from home.

That was the summer of 2004. I went again to Peru in the summer of 2005, hoping to rekindle the flame of faith that burned so brightly after I made it home from the first trip. And my mother’s cancer treatment came to an end when the doctors said they could do no more in 2006. Then my prayer was for mercy, not for healing, and God’s answer to my prayer was clear and unmistakable.

Looking back, I can see the small decisions that had enormous impact. When I think of what God sees when He looks at my life, I imagine a sort of road map, with my twists and turns, marked by the towns of College and Career and large cities of Pain and Loss and Fear and Joy and Blessing. And as I write this, I’m curious to see which things that seem so commonplace today will actually shape my tomorrow. Looking back, I can see God’s hand at work. And looking forward, I can know that, although I can’t see Him from here, He’s already there, waiting for me in that defining moment.

The Lizard Story

If you had warned me that the highlight of that day would be showering with a lizard, I would have refused to move out of my sleeping bag that morning. And this was no famous spokeslizard with a flashy foreign accent prepared to sell me car insurance. This was a flesh-colored, beady-eyed, black-eyed lizard stuck to the side of the shower stall. This lizard was way too creepy to sell insurance or anything else, although I’m certain his Peruvian accent would have been lovely.

And I met him after I stepped, fully clothed and trailing a dirt cloud behind me, into a shower in a “hotel” room high in the Andes Mountains. I was on my first ever mission trip, my first trip outside the US, my first trip to Peru, my first trip to the Andes, and the day began with my first ever forced march in said mountains with a group of much more athletic-y people than myself. We drove as far as we could and as the road became too narrow and unstable to drive, we got out to walk, carrying our backpacks filled with eyeglasses and small New Testaments. And I started out well...walking at an unbelievable altitude on a rocky, dirt path with two temperatures...freeze-you-in-the-shade or fry-you-in-the-sun. And then the path got a little harder, a little higher, a little steeper and my heart began to race and my head to pound and the spirit was willing to continue but the flesh was so, so very weak.

I begged to stop. I'd happily sit in the dirt, on a rock, in the sun, or in the shade as long as I could just sit and wait for them to return. That was before I knew about the lizards. At that point, sitting (and maybe not dying from massive heart eruption or head combustion) was my deepest desire. I prayed fervently. I didn't want to be the weak one or for anyone to turn around for me. “Please, God, don’t let me fail. Please, please just don’t let me fail” was my mantra, until it changed over to “Please, God, don’t let me fall. Please just don’t let me die because my mother will kill me.” I just wanted to sit, maybe dangle my feet over the edge of the road, and look at the very, very, very long way down. Yes, you could literally do that. And I'm not surefooted on my best days, but with pounding head and heart and heaving chest, I had to turn around and get back to the truck. It felt like the longest hike in the world, although I never lost sight of the truck so we’re probably talking yards instead of miles. With my tingling feet and hands, flying back to it seemed as likely as actually being able to walk back. I spent more time in the dirt trying to catch my breath and listening to my heart pound than I did upright. Eventually, my snail’s pace progress paid off and I made it back to the truck and into town.

And the aforementioned hotel was, of course, locked. We were the only people staying there. So I sat on the steps of a town in the Andes, all alone, baking in the sun but at a lower heat due to the lower altitude until the children came. They thought I had candy. They believe all strangers have candy. And I agree that they should. I didn't. I had dirt and sweat and very warm water and a crushing disappointment, but no candy. We chatted. In Spanish, my conversation consists of birthday questions, days of the week, time, colors, and other elementary comments just perfect for a group of children who came looking for candy.

I stuttered along and they giggled until the manager came along to unlock the door. And then I ditched those children quickly, as quickly as they would have deserted me if someone with candy instead of broken Spanish came along. I was following the siren song of an icicle shower to wash away my pains. My experience with water is in the Andes isn't so much whether it's warm. It usually isn’t. Again, here you have two choices: numbing cold runoff from melting mountain snow or blistering hot scald thanks to unknown electric water-heater-upper. No, the biggest question is whether the water is actually running. And this was my lucky break that day. It was running. It was brain-freeze cold and running.

So I made it to the bathroom, turned on the blessed water, and stepped inside fully clothed. I stayed there for a moment, watching the dirt on my shirt and pants and shoes turn into mud. And rejoiced to be alive. And back in my natural habitat (anywhere indoors). And then I saw the lizard and I began to pray again. I think it went something like “Please, God, don’t let it jump on my face. Please don’t let it jump.”

And I know God answers prayers. That lizard never moved. Clearly, I wanted that shower. I wanted that shower more than I wanted away from that lizard. And that’s saying something. And he never moved. Even after I had my fill of water and dragged my soggy mess out of that shower, he didn’t move. Mr. Shower Lizard was probably busy praying too. Mr. Shower Lizard was probably afraid I was going to take my clothes off next. I’m glad I couldn’t hear his prayers.

I don’t really remember much clearly after that, but eventually my brain began to thaw and I began to worry. Worry is actually my natural state so that was probably a good sign of my recovery. How was I going to face the rest of the group after my spectacular failure? And I was certain that everyone else would view it the same way. I couldn’t keep up, too out of shape to make the hike that everyone else made. And, really, this isn’t all that unusual a place for me. I don’t run unless someone’s chasing me, I try to avoid the extremes in temperature normally associated with the whole “being outside” thing, and walking can strain the limits of my coordination. The entire trip for me was a series of “God, what am I doing here?” moments. This was just one more.

The memory verse that we were using to help teach English that week was Phillippians 4:13: I can do everything through him who gives me strength. Or “Todo es posible con Cristo” if you prefer. And just to make sure that I got the message, God sent a lizard. Before that trip, I would have told you that showering with a lizard would be impossible. Visions of the horrors of a leaping lizard would have convinced me that there is no way to remain in a confined space with a lizard, no matter the trauma leading up to it. Clearly, I would have been wrong. And I think that’s the thing about surrendering to God’s will.

There are innumerable things about that trip that I would have said were impossible if you’d asked me. The very idea that I would go on a mission trip…you know, all outside and stuff would have topped the list. And the inconceivable idea that I’d shower with a lizard? Never! How much time do you think about the indigenous shower dwelling lizards of the Andes Mountains? Probably no more than I did before that trip. Now, I think about indigenous shower lizards a little more often.

I have an awesome God. My God sees high in the Andes Mountains. He knows all the days of my life, the ones before that trip and the ones that followed. He sees me and knows me. And in that moment, my God was with me. My God knew that I would need a way to break the ice, to get over myself and my failure, and to let others love me anyway. My God knew that the only way for me to conquer this disappointment was to laugh. And, truly, my God works in mysterious ways.

That lizard never moved until he was escorted out, tail-end up. When my group returned, someone asked me how I was feeling and I explained the shower and the lizard. The girls squealed and shuddered as is only proper and one brave soul, a valiant he-man type, picked up Mr. Shower Lizard and threw him out the window, where he no doubt, thanked his lucky stars and scampered away.

I can’t explain all the lessons that I learned on that trip. Away from my comfort and security, there is only God. There are dozens of stories that illustrate who I was and what I learned about Him, myself, and His overwhelming love for me. Some of them are even deep, meaningful, and surpassingly theologically relevant. The lizard story is just easier to tell.