Screeches and Squeals

I love my red jeep.  It's old and beat up, but I still love it.  For the last few months it's been making a sound that's progressively getting worse.  I took it to the garage last week where I was confidently told there was nothing wrong with it, but I beg to differ.  The other night I drove into the parking garage under the baseball stadium to have it parked, and the look on the man's face as I handed him the keys said it all.  I know he wanted to ask me "Lady, why are you driving such a beat up car?"  Truthfully, my car sounds like the wheels are going to come off and roll down the highway in front of me.  I just smiled and said "Park it somewhere safe" with a sly grin that he knew was sarcasm begging to dance with reason. 

At first I was embarrassed to drive the car, wondering what people thought as I pulled up to a light with screeches and squeals singing like a rock band.  Then I went into "fix it" mode, trying to figure out what was wrong.  And finally I've settled into an acceptance of a car with a lot of mileage starting to show its age.  I still love my jeep, I'm just learning to accept that it doesn't drive or sound like it used to...and that's OK.

Those of you that know me know that I've struggled for many years with two debilitating autoimmune diseases.  I've seen every kind of doctor you can imagine, tried countless medicines and remedies, and experienced seasons of relative improvement as well as seasons of great physical pain.  Yesterday I visited a massage therapist for some hopeful relief from a few weeks of chronic aches and muscle fatigue. As she was stroking my body she whispered in a concerned voice "You have bruises all over your body."  I could only account for one bruise on my leg (I was hit by a fowl ball during our game against the Texas Rangers...that's a bruise you can't forget!)  She explained that sometimes when the body is experiencing trauma inside, it bruises on the outside.

Physical pain is something I've trained myself to master.  I've taught myself to deal with it much like a mailman that delivers packages.  I put the pain in a box and say to it "You need to sit over there till I'm done with my day."  When I was first diagnosed with a pain disease I took the pain out of the box and played with it all day.  It was my constant companion, and the one I had most of my conversations with.  I got sick of paying it so much attention, so I started putting it in a mental box; not allowing it any play time.  I prayed for healing, I prayed for comfort; and although I believe  God can take it away from my body in an instant, I've learned to live out the meaning of one of the most compelling scriptures I know...  "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness."   (1 Corinthians 12: 9)

We will never know strength if we don't first know weakness.  We will never know power if we don't understand defeat.  At times I feel like my body is the little engine that could.  Always chugging up a mountain, trying to huff and puff to the top so it can coast down the other side chanting "I think I can, I think I can!"  Wouldn't you know I married a man with the immune system of steel.  I can hardly count the times he's had a cold in 30 years, and here I am "I think I can, I think I can," hoping that this precious body I call home can carry me through all the things I want to do. 

Weakness begs for power to swoop in and help it.  To answer the questions we don't understand, and to strengthen us to live fully in the midst of things we'd never choose, but learn to accept.  So, like my jeep, I may squeak and rattle a bit on the inside, but I still plan to live boldly on the outside.  Even when people look at me like "Lady, why don't you trade that mess in for a newer version or better model?" I know that His grace is perfected in weakness, and that's enough for me.

Blessings!
Gari

God’s Little Fingerprints

Over the past three years I have been tested tremendously as a parent. Working through feelings of stress and sadness thinking I was failing miserably at the most important job of my life. I thought there was no way my children would grow up to be normal, average adults.

Over time, with continuous prayer and unlimited support from my mother and mother-in-law, I have now decided my children will certainly not grow up to be normal average adults. They will be innovative, extraordinary adults. There is a gradual switch happening in my life now from raising them in my mind—with my thoughts, and my ideas—to forming them within their minds, acknowledging and validating their thoughts, and challenging and building on their ideas. They are not to be the children I created in my image; they are the children God created in his own (his little fingerprints.) I am here to guide, guard, and direct them back to Him—using all the character, talents, and challenges He gave them.

As a parent I am not called to raise my children to be like me,
Rather, I am called to raise them to be individuals they were created to be;
Not to follow a specific parenting guide,
But to approach my child in the most appropriate and effective way for them;
Not to judge their wrongs,
But to encourage their rights;
Not to limit their successes by labeling their weaknesses,
But to find their strengths and build on them;
Not to shame inappropriate behavior,
But to guide them to better choices;
Not to blame them for family dynamics,
But to work through family issues together;
Not to expect perfection,
But to acknowledge my own imperfections and show my continual strives to improve;
Not to buy toys and devices to entertain them,
But to play dolls and power rangers along with them;
Not to play God over their life,
But to teach God in their life;
Not to carry, Not to push,
But to walk alongside and help them keep their footing.

My oldest son (8 years old) has his share of battles to fight and challenges to overcome but he is a child of God…fearfully and wonderfully made. As you can probably tell from the blog this week we are currently walking through a bit of a storm with him right now. When storms arise in his life I sometimes feel like I am the one drowning while he is still swimming and trying to pull me to shore. Then the guilt sets in that I was not the mother he needed in his rough times. Yes, we have all been there. 

If you have children or grandchildren that struggle with learning disabilities, physical handicaps, self-image, or even just being misunderstood; take heart. God has placed each bump in their path for a reason and we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)

Let us love these children with all that is in us no matter the circumstance. After all, they are all little fingerprints of God.

Blessings,

Jessica

In the meantime...

Last weekend we had the joy of attending our son Colton's college graduation. It was joyous for a few reasons. First, he's entering a new phase of life. He's now a man not a college student. Responsible... not cared for (or should I say paid for). Second, he graduated...need I say more?

Although we celebrated his many accomplishments over the past four years, the pictures above truly capture the feel of this new timeframe. The first shows the smiles and romantic notion of a life free from assignments and classwork. The second shows the panic of a timeframe that has yet to be defined.

I've often said "Change is good, it's the transitions that stink!" Change is a given. It's the natural ebb and flow of life. Jobs change, relationships change, homes change, circumstances change; and although we know that change is inevitable, the transitional time that it takes to settle into it is what unnerves us. It's uncomfortable, unpredictable, and sometimes lonely.

I remember when I transferred from Colorado State University to San Diego State my Junior year. I was sick and tired of going to class in snow covered hiking boots and a ski cap, so I explored options that led me to a warmer climate. I didn't care one lick if San Diego had a program for my current major, all I cared about was placing myself in the middle of the brochure pictures that promised days at the beach and a constant flow of sunshine.

When I stepped off the plane in the San Diego airport it dawned on me that I had no more than my apartment complex name written on a scrap of paper in my purse. This was before cell phones, internet, and google; so I climbed into a phonebooth near baggage claim and nervously thumbed through the yellow pages to find my apartment's address. Suitcases and trunks in tow, my cab driver pulled up to the less than lovely apartment complex and promptly dumped all my luggage on a curb as he drove off with the last of my cash.

As I lugged my belongings up three flights of stairs I opened the door to my first apartment. It was then that I realized I would sit in it alone for three days--no electricity, no phone, and no car--until my roommates joined me from their summer residences. I knew this change was going to be good for me, but what I didn't realize was how hard the transition would be.

Maybe you've heard the saying "in the meantime" when referring to the time between one segment of life and the next. I've come to realize that those timeframes can truly be "mean" times, as we struggle to settle into a new direction or phase of our lives. Moving to a new place, starting a new job, entering a new relationship,ending an old one that's run its course, joining a new church, trying something you've longed to do but haven't been able to make happen...all require a transition through the "mean" time to get to the needed change.

  Moses fled Eygpt after he murdered an Eygptian. He lived in the meantime of hills and sheep until he was ready to lead a nation in exodus from the very home he grew up in. The Apostle Paul spent years of ministry in the meantime of prison. If he hadn't been behind bars, much of our New Testament wouldn't have been written. And the Apostle Peter fished in the meantime before he preached.

It takes a brave soul to push through the uncertainity of the meantime, into the confidence of a "new" time. Don't let where you are or what you see now, determine where you'll go or who you'll be in the future. Push through your meantimes. Lay your hopes, dreams, and ambition down before God, and let Him breathe life into them. With God there's no such thing as meantime; only opportune time...and He will show you the difference.

Blessings! Gari

Not a Catalina Cowgirl

When I was young traveling the rodeo circuit I just knew I wanted to grow up to be a Catalina Cowgirl from Bryan, TX. Watching them parade out in their glitzy vests mounted on beautiful paint horses was my favorite part of the Houston rodeo. The plan was set for me to one day be in that pack, riding through the arena with my hair blowing back and carrying an American flag that blasted fireworks out of the top. Yep, that was definitely my future.

As time passed I moved off to college, met my wonderful husband Chip, and my life changed from dust on my boots to concrete under my pumps. Thinking back there were so many things I had anticipated for my future; so many expectations I was determined to meet. As a young adolescent I would have never thought I would be where I am now, and that I would have the experiences I’ve had thus far. Although I have learned that each experience teaches and prepares me for what is ahead, sometimes I still catch myself wondering why God has placed me certain situations or guided me down certain paths.

Proverbs 3:5-6

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, And do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He will make your paths straight.

While thinking about God’s plan and how it unfolds with or without our understanding or consent I thought of three instances that most of us can relate to:

1.     Scolding your child and realizing, for the first time, you are looking up at them. Not something a parent is ever prepared for but an instant realization that life unfolds and transforms us all whether or not we notice, whether or not we prepare, or whether or not we agree.

2.     Losing a job or income to support your family and wondering how to make ends meet. Life changes like this can immediately redirect your life and test your faith in so many ways. Somehow when we walk through the storm we end up in greener pastures on the other side of it. The situation itself may not change but we are changed by it.

3.     Caring for a loved one during their last days is a heart-wrenching task that we all eventually face. I wasn’t prepared to lose my Father so early and could not understand why this was God’s plan. Why the suffering? Why the immense pain? Through it I learned the power of God, the mortality of each of us on this earth, and the peace that awaits us when we are called home.

We will never foresee God’s plan for our lives but if we keep our hearts and eyes on him he has promised us this:

-          He will equip and prepare us ( Hebrews 13:21)

-          He is bigger than all of it ( John 16:33)

-          His plan and will for us is perfect ( Romans 12:2)

So, I may never gallop into the grand entry shooting fireworks from atop the flag hoisted from my hip during the National Anthem while everyone stands, proudly covers their heart and covets every graceful movement my horse and I make. It is more likely I will get out of bed each morning, check the boys’ sheets for accidents in the night, spend 10 minutes looking for matching socks, all while they ungratefully choke down their breakfast and gripe about having to wear collar shirts. Then get them off to school and hide with my bible and cup of coffee in the corner hoping for a few minutes of quite time to re-center. Yes, it may not be as glamorous as I had once planned, but it is right where I’m supposed to be and it is perfect.

Blessings!

Jessica

Seasons

Two nights ago my daughter Ally and I were driving home from an Astros game when we discovered we were both scheduled to see the gynecologist/obgyn at the same time the following day. She was scheduled for a check-up as she approached her 5 month mark in pregnancy, and I was struggling with the joy of not sleeping, feeling crampy, and swinging in and out of heat stroke.  Being new to Texas, we both began seeing the same doctor when we moved here, but we never thought we'd be strapped into stir-ups at the same time!

We planned to meet at the office so I could watch her 2 year old Reese while she saw Dr. Pierce, then I'd have my turn seeing the doctor.  As it turned out, I got called into a patient room shortly after Ally did, so stroller in tow, I climbed up onto the table and waited.  I could hear my new grand baby's heartbeat through the wall, loud and strong, as if singing within my daughter's womb.  Listening to that rhythm took me back to the years I laid on this same kind of table in a different season of life; a season that anticipated heartbeats rather than hot flashes! I smiled as I remembered a wise scripture that reminds us:
         "There is an appointed time for everything.  And there is a time for every season under heaven."     (Ecclesiastes 3: 1)

The funny thing about seasons is whenever I'm in the middle of one, it seems I'm anxious to get to the next one.  I remember being eleven years old, dreaming about being thirteen.  When I was thirteen I couldn't wait to be sixteen.  At sixteen I could barely hold myself together until eighteen.

This pattern has continued as a woman.  I couldn't wait to leave my single life to be married.  Soon after getting married I couldn't wait to be pregnant; and after being pregnant for a short while I couldn't wait to get that over with and give birth.  Each stage of child rearing held the reward of getting to the next season: past sleepless nights with a new born, potty training a two year old, elementary school homework and busy schedules, high school drama, college entry exams... new seasons led to the anticipation of the next season, sure to be full of hope and promise. 

I remember a young mom asking me once "What's been the best season of your life?"  I could tell she really wanted some wisdom on this one.  The hope to blaze through one season to get to the season that flashed with glory and fanfare.  I simply said to her "Each season has been the best season."  She looked at me with disbelief as it obviously wasn't the answer she wanted.  She was a new mom with a colicky baby who demanded she walk the floors well into the night, rocking that little body until it calmed into a quiet hush.  I assured her that even this colicky season has its reward, as her baby was getting more prayer from her during these sleepless nights than it might get the rest of its life!  The truth is, when we rush through seasons anxiously anticipating what's coming next, we miss the treasures embedded in what's happening now. 

Solomon had it right when he said there's a time for every season under heaven.  We laugh, cry, hope, disappoint, yell, whisper, kiss, hold, and let go.  It's the way God created life, and the way we're meant to live it. 

Still on the table in the doctor's office, I was shocked when the doctor came in and informed me that my ovaries are still in great shape.  I wish she had been talking about my thighs, because there was a part of me that wanted to hear I was in full blown menopause and she could give me something to help!  But I tell you what I decided to do instead, I thanked God for my shapely ovaries, and the exact season I'm living in now.

 Even if I break out in a hot flash giving thanks, the season I'm living in now is the right season for me.

Blessings!
Gari

Heart Readers

A few weeks ago I attended a fabulous wedding in New Orleans. Lively music, fantastic food, and family were all in one place for this exciting event. There were two little girls there, one a 9 year old cousin of mine, and the other a 7 year old from Norway. The little 7 year old did not speak any English. Together the two girls played games, built jump ropes out of strands of beads, and played tricks on other wedding guests. For several hours they played, laughed, and communicated without speaking.

Watching these children made me think back to Genesis 11 when God separated language. It is written that he separated language in order to place necessary limitations on the people after seeing the enormous tower they were building up to the heavens (Tower of Babel).

Although the separation of language did in fact place limitations on the spoken communication; I wonder if God was also encouraging a deeper communication that surpasses words. Perhaps a communication similar to that which we have with him. When praying I often just sit in silence and go through so many thoughts in my head, communicating my heart without speaking.

Psalm 139:4
Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.

Wouldn’t it be so much easier if people spoke less with words and more with their actions and their hearts?

All too often I confuse my words and they don’t always accurately reflect what my heart is trying to communicate. Have you ever said something to a friend and they just sit quietly and stare at you, so you follow up with: “Well you know what I mean.” The people in my life that know what I mean even when I speak it wrong I call my “heart readers.”

After studying the communication between the little girls and pondering it for a while, I have challenged myself with three things:

1. Surround myself with my heart readers
2. Take responsibility in showing others my heart so they too can look beyond the words and see my truth.
3. Not to hold others accountable to just the words they speak but to look deeper. I too must become a heart reader.

We can look beyond what our mother, father, children, sibling, spouse, and friends say to us (even when it’s difficult) to find the underlying message, feeling, or issue the words derived from. God separated language because, quite frankly, words get us into trouble but always know the heart never lies. If you are walking with the Lord your heart will never steer you wrong because he is at the wheel.

My prayer for myself and all of you this week is that we communicate our inner truths with open hearts in all we say and do.

Blessings,
Jessica

Squeezing Grapes

I love this picture taken the night before Easter. First of all, I'm sure you can see my granddaughter Reese somehow figured out how to wink for the camera. Pretty amazing for a 2 year old! The second thing I love about this photo is it includes Brooke's boyfriend Mitch, who we got to meet for the first time over the weekend.
He's a casual mix of funny,caring and personable; a perfect blend of attributes to add to this wildly wired family of ours.
Arriving home from the airport he reached into his bag and handed Bobby and I a gift. It was a beautiful book of photographs taken from the vineyards of Sonoma where he lives and works. Picturesque hilltops and valleys draped with acres of vines bursting forth color; drenched in the beauty of luscious grapes. He is a winemaker--schooled in the art of turning fruit into liquid. I quickly became enthralled considering Jesus happened to be a fabulous winemaker Himself.

The day Mitch left I poured over the pages of this book, photo by photo, as I studied the process of grapes becoming wine. The first photos capture the image of barren wooden sticks. Entangled and interwoven, these sticks are the vines that will one day house blossoms of fruit, but truthfully, they look like dead wood for a fire. Lifeless and empty, tangled on the poles meant to help them grow straight.

The next pictures show the beginning of buds. Months of harsh weather, and careful wrapping by the vine keepers have brought about a tiny bud that can hardly be seen with the eye. The buds don't look anything like grapes. As a matter of fact, they look like tiny beads of sweat on the unshaven face of a man. So fragile, that with the wipe of a tissue they might fall off the branch and dissolve in mid-air.

Now comes the sun, shining through the camera lens as though a new carpet of life has been laid over the barren rug of sticks and buds. Tiny balls of green and purple hang off the branches like toy prizes in a gumball machine. Round and plump, the acres of land host rows of purple mixed with the rich hue of green; leaves that nestle the grapes like a mama nestles her child.

The final pictures show the calloused hands of the vine dresser carrying the grapes to their final stage before fulfilling their ultimate purpose. The vine dresser places the grapes in a machine that squeezes them until they can't be recognized as grapes any longer. If grapes could cry, their tears would splash all over the drone of this machine as it takes them from their branches, and pushes them to be something far different than what they started as.

As I looked with awe at the stunning process of wine making, I was reminded that this is exactly what God does in our lives. From tangled branches that look like dead wood, to the tiny buds of new life--we begin to develop and grow. Just when we feel pretty good, and seem to look good too--it's time for the vine dresser to squeeze us so we become even more useful.

The great writer and teacher Oswald Chamber says "If we believe in Jesus, it is not what we gain, but what He pours through us that counts. It is not that God makes us beautifully rounded grapes, but that He squeezes the sweetness out of us. Spiritually, we cannot measure our lives by success, but only by what God pours through us, and we cannot measure that at all."


I don't think it's any accident that the first miracle of Jesus was to take shapeless, tasteless water--and make it valuable wine. Our lives are like that wine...to be enjoyed by many and celebrated by all. Wine squeezed and cared for by the vine dresser Himself.

Blessings!

Gari