Chance, or Something Else?

My husband recently wrote a piece entitled "Ten Quotes That Changed My Life."  I was intrigued by the thought as I read it, and my mind has been composing my own list ever since, making me realize my life has indeed been impacted and forever altered because of both written and spoken words.

Coupled with that realization was a recent walk through a bookstore and the face of a book I spotted with a title along the lines of Chance Encounters That Changed My Life.  I didn't pick up the book, but the title started another list of top tens in my mind.  When I pause and consider my life as a timeline, I can see the random encounters with a few people pop up in big, block letters.  It was those "chance" conversations that altered a course, changed my direction. 

The friend who casually invited me to a youth group where I met a youth pastor who invited me to a missions organization's rally where I heard about a group I would eventually travel with to a far-away nation where I would have my life forever marked with a passion for sharing the gospel on foreign soil.

The aquaintance who happened to tell me about a drama team that was auditioning for new members, which I attended and where I met my future husband.

The pastor I met at a friend's wedding rehearsal who would eventually become our pastor and take us under his wing, sending us out to the city in which we lived for fourteen years as leaders of a church plant.

The church meeting we attended at someone else's church and by someone else's suggestion where we happened to buy a book that changed the course of our ministry and gave it sustaining purpose.

Seemingly small conversations that led to big revelations.  Seemingly small events that led to huge changes.

Chance encounters that weren't by chance, after all, but rather part of the big picture we can not see as we live out the minute moments of our lives.

Those life-altering words could happen in the very next phone conversation.  The course of your future could change through one encounter on the very next trip to the grocery store. 

And I find myself wondering if there were others.  Other words, other encounters that I sailed right through, never picking up on their significance, never seeing the stamp of God on the ordinary that was meant to change my life.

So I kneel and pray that I don't miss them. 

I pray my ears will always hear His voice, speaking when I least expect it, "Pay attention to this, baby.  I'm sending these words, this encounter to you, and they come with a gift attached.  Don't miss out on the opening."

And I look forward to the next package, wrapped in the chance encounter.

Next

My son is home from college on his fall break.  He brought a friend home with him who needed a place to stay, since he lives across the globe and can't fly back for the few short days of break in the school routine.  It's been good to have them here, sleeping until almost noon and eating all of our food.  Evidently it's really exhausting being a college freshman.


But, what I've loved most is listening to these guys talk and plan for the future.  Next semester's classes.  Next summer's mission trips.  What comes next, after college.


They're in such an exciting time in life.  The time where "next" is wide open and could contain anything.  Nothing is set in stone and nothing is impossible.  And yes, "next" is a little scary, too, since it's wide open and could contain anything.  But, judging from these men's faces, it's more exciting than scary.


And that's where I pause.  Because somewhere in life, excitement for next has a habit of turning into playing it safe.  And playing it safe makes a cozy nest of comfort that becomes hard to leave when it's time to climb the next mountain of next.  And if you choose not to climb the mountain, you become a settler in the village of almost and maybe later.  And if you stay too long in a village like that, you lose it all.  You lose all sense of zest and wonder over what's on the other side of the mountain.  You lose your joy for the journey itself.


If that's where you are right now, I wish I could box up that tangible sense of next that's been permeating my kitchen table between the hours of noon and midnight this last week.  I wish I could  wrap it, add a shiny gift tag, and ship it to you today.  But, that's the thing, isn't it?  Next can't come from someone else.  It can only come from the deep places.  The places that make you who you are.  The places you dream about and share only with those you feel safe.  The places you long for, but sometimes can't even find language to give them shape.


Yet, longings have a way of making themselves known, and so they come out in expressions of joy, bursts of happy that rise up when we see our feet leaving the village and heading toward the mountain trail.  The deep satisfaction that occurs when our lives intersect with purpose that is bigger than the running of errands and writing of checks.  


Frederick Buechner writes, "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." 


And in the very reading of those words, there is a stirring, isn't there?  A sense of beckoning to find the trail that leads over the mountain to the place of your gladness.  To the place where you can pioneer a new village, one that will be a refuge for the weary travelers who come behind you, filling their hunger with good things and helping them find their own deep gladness. 


A place where regret for the years of settling in the village fades away with one question.


What's next?

Date Night, Part Three

Author's Note:  This is the last of a three part series on date night suggestions.  Happy Valentine's Day!


Date Night #3:  "The Cheap Skate Date"

• Prepare each other a gift that cost you nothing.  Give it to one another as you leave the house.  It will set the "thrifty" tone!
• Go to at least 4 fast food locations.  Order ONLY one item per person at each restaurant.  (Example:  your drink at Taco Bell, your appetizer at Wendy's, your main dish at Arby's, and your dessert at McDonald's)
• If you have a smart phone that has a good photo app, take a picture of yourselves at each place and create a photo collage of your "dinner."
• Find a free community event and attend it.  Choose something that you never would have attended otherwise--it'll make it more memorable.
• Take a blanket to a scenic spot and watch the sun go down together, with a carafe of coffee from home!

The Way I Want To See

"There is beauty and adventure in the commonplace for those with eyes to see beyond."  - Jonathan Lockwood Huie

The older I become, the more I've realized that my life is not made up of hills and valleys like I once thought.  It's made up of tiny moments on the road that stretches over hills and valleys. 

Tiny moments like making my husband a cup of coffee.

Brushing my daughter's hair.

Listening to my son laugh.

Feeding the whole crew yet another meal.

Hearing about my child's day.

Watching the oldest wink at the youngest.

The choked up feeling in my throat when my friend tells of a victory.

The choked up feeling in my throat when another tells of personal pain.

The feel of the blanket in my hand as I tuck in the one who still asks.

Starting the last load of laundry for the day.

The sound of his breathing as he settles into sleep.

These moments make up my life.  They lead me from the valley to the mountain that always stretches in the horizon.

They are everyday.  They are common.  They are nothing.

Until He gives me eyes to see beyond.

The God Of All Comfort

My husband and I just returned from a ten day trip to Eastern Europe.  We spent time in three nations, four hotels, and seven airplanes.  An exhausting, but glorious adventure.  Exhausting because we're getting older and felt the intense schedule a little more than we used to.  Glorious because we spent those ten days encouraging church leaders who are quietly doing the work of the Kingdom day in and day out, in nations where they are not only few in number, but often persecuted.

I was humbled to sit across table after table, drinking coffee after coffee, listening to their stories.

The band of brothers who met Jesus from reading a Bible after communism fell, with no one to help them in their new-found faith.  They are now four churches strong, each a vibrant fellowship.

The seaman who drove us to the airport who found the Lord when an elderly man asked him what he was looking for in life, and then proceeded to share with him life's greatest treasure.

The smiling pastor and his brilliant wife who have launched the only Bible school in their nation, pioneered three churches, and built a pre-school to minister to gypsy cast-offs.  They have now once again handed their work over to someone who will take it with care, and are starting over from scratch in yet another un-reached area.

The shoe maker who drove us over the mountains who has shared his faith at great personal cost, introducing everyone he meets to the love of his Jesus, even if that person happens to be an influential mafia leader.

The teenage girl who still loves Jesus, despite being often mocked as the only Christian in her entire high school.

The earnest church leader who prays with his teenage sons every morning for three hours for God to open up Heaven and rain down grace on his city.

The young woman who just married a pastor, whose face glowed as she told me they will travel to a new region to lead the only church in the city as they begin their lives together.  She is absorbing every teaching she can sit under and asking every question she can think of, just to be ready to love people and love them well.

The person after person who told us how they first heard of the name of Jesus, most of them late in life, a testament to how rarely His truth has been proclaimed there since the grip of communism first clenched the life out of their countries.

I was humbled because these people are heroes, living out their faith in a reality I have never had to walk in. 

I was humbled because they do so with joy and hope that what they are doing will make a difference in their nations. 

And I was humbled the most because they thanked me for sharing myself with them.

And when I returned home and faced the problems I had left on my desk and the new ones that had accumulated while I was gone, they didn't seem as impossible as they might have before.  In fact, they seemed quite possible.

So today, as I think of my new friends in the far-reaches of the earth, I pray Paul's thousands year old prayer,

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too."  (2 Corinthians 1:3-5)

May those who suffer for His name be filled with all measure of comfort and joy.  May they never lose sight of the great reward of seeing the lost come to faith.  And may I, when I face suffering, be as courageous as these.  Amen.

Home (reposted)

Author's Note:  As I am returning from vacation, I chose this post from the archives about the glory of coming home.  One of the most frequent spiritual questions my pastor husband is asked is, "What will Heaven be like?"  I think the best answer to that is, "Like returning from a long trip to the home you love."  I pray you are blessed today as you ponder your eternal home.

Growing up in West Texas meant cotton fields and burnt grass and thunderstorms and sunsets that reached from one end of the horizon to the other. It meant dried up tank beds and pump jacks and incessant wind. It meant tractors and cows, boots and skirts, and slow-talking men in donut shops who still went out of their way to open the door for a lady. It meant mesquites for trees, cactus for flowers, and rain showers being the cause for celebrations featuring children in swimsuits running wildly through brown yards and neighbors gathering on porches giving thanks. It meant unlocked doors, Friday night football games, and Sunday afternoon naps after church. It meant catching horned toads and going barefoot and staying out until it got dark. It meant sweet tea and chicken-fried steak, pecan pie and rib-eyes, and gourmet being something that had a sprig of parsley on the side. It meant people whose hearts were as wide open as the sky.

The older I get, the more I realize this land is in my blood. When I come home after being away, I breathe easier and my smile comes faster. Home, with all its faults, is right here where my heart leaps.

And then I find myself wondering, what will this land be like when He comes and makes all things new? How will it reflect His beauty then? What part of Him will be newly birthed in the fields, the trees, the wind? Will I recognize my homeland and all my old lanes of memory, or will I need a welcome tour?

And I find a prayer on my lips that when the time comes, He will take my hand and show me how it was meant to be, the old passed away and the new wine running free.

What Vacation Is Meant For

Somewhere in the midst of sweeping out the borrowed travel trailer, loading up the sleeping bags, and digging out the lake gear from the garage, my son asked an interesting question.  "Why do people go on vacation?"

Why indeed?  Why do we spend money to pack up all our things, give up the comfort of our own beds, drive great distances, spend more money, sleep in strange beds, drive some more, and stand in lines to spend more money before we pack up all our things and drive great distances back to our homes?  Maybe it does seem a little strange.

But, if it is, it's strangely wonderful.

"We go on vacations to refresh our souls."

Because we were created to live life in a garden.  A garden of peace, a place where rest came easy.  So life without rest becomes anxious.

Because we were created to live life in communion with the Father, taking walks with Him in the cool of the day.  So life without time to see the world He created, hand in hand with Him, becomes dry.

Because we were created to live lives of wonder, exploration without end.  So life without adventure becomes stale.

And sometimes it takes a vacation to shake off the anxious, dry, staleness that we've allowed to envelope us.

And if we make a mistake in vacationing, it's not in the taking of one.  It's making it about entertainment, rather than embracing rest, communion, and adventure.

And if there's something we do right in vacationing, it's when we taste enough of the real things of life that we bring them home with us and continue to live them.

May you and your family taste of the real things this summer, and may it refresh you, down to the deepest places of your soul.


Author's Note:  As our family will be vacationing for the next two weeks, Treasure the Ordinary will feature a couple of archived blog posts.  Hope you enjoy dusting off some old "treasure."

Backyard Adventure

For his tenth birthday, my son got a zipline built in our backyard.  A real one, not like the attempts he had made over Spring Break with three feet of rope.  No, this one stretches a hundred and ten feet and flies out of the tree house, twelve feet in the air.

It was his father's idea, of course.  And my mother heart was a little slower to get behind the project.  But, I knew it would make two little kids' dreams come true.

Last New Year's Eve, our family sat down in the living room and spent some time praying together.  I then asked everyone to answer a few questions about their goals for the new year.  What ways did they want to grow spiritually?  What aspect of self-discipline did they want to see incorporated into their daily routine?  What was a fun goal they wanted to accomplish before the year was out?

My two youngest, independent of each other, answered "go zip-lining" on that last question.  I was immediately concerned about that.  We don't have a zip-lining facility anywhere close to our home.  My husband and I had only experienced it for the first time the previous year on an anniversary trip to Tennessee.  How were we going to help that dream come true?

And then a few months later, my husband solved the dilemna.  He would build them one.

And there I was.  Stuck.

I really wanted to see that happen, to see their faces light up with the dream accomplished.  And to have a way to not just do it once, but over and over again in their own backyard?  That was amazing.

But, I'm a mom.  And moms worry about their babies being safe.  I was the one who had insisted the tree house have lattice all the way around every edge, making it virtually impossible for anyone to fall out.  And now my kids were going to launch themselves out of it, attached only to a wire?  And not just once, but over and over again? 

When he asked my opinion, I agreed to the plan, keeping my concerns fairly well hidden.  I knew I was being overprotective.  I knew he would make it safe.  I knew they would be fine.

But, still I found myself nervous about it. 

Until I remembered something that happened in that same backyard, many years ago.  Our oldest two boys were small, one of them still in diapers.  We were out on the back patio, eating a watermelon.  I had cut slices for them and thought I was a cool mom by letting them eat them while running around, the juice dripping around their chins.  This was pretty out of my normal routine, as I had always been the eat at the table and don't make a mess kind of person.

And then it happened.  Laughing the whole time, my husband picked up the end of the watermelon that was lying on the patio table and smooshed it down on top of my oldest son's head.  "Here's a watermelon hat!" he yelled, as our son giggled and tried to lick the juice that now ran out of his hair and down his face, dripping down his belly and landing all over the patio.  

Of course, our younger son wanted a hat, too.  So my husband lopped off the other end of the watermelon and smooshed it down on his head as well.  Then, the two boys spent thirty minutes running around the yard with watermelons on their heads, laughing endlessly.

I remember watching my husband who was watching his boys with a smile, realizing that he thought nothing of the incident.  I, on the other hand, was having a major life-change moment.  You never really know when those are going to happen.  But, something was breaking inside of me.  And something was being born.

Watching my boys play with such abandon.  Seeing my husband chase them around the yard while they had big melons on their heads.  Listening to their cries of amazement as he helped them throw the melons as far as they could be thrown when it was time to come inside, the shrieks of delight when the watermelon ends busted into pieces as they hit the ground.  Loving the playfulness in him as he scooped up my filthy boys and dumped them in the bathtub.

It somehow set me free.  I understood that I was going to have to step back and let him be dad.  Because of course, kids need the tender ways of mom.  But, they also need the wildness of their dad.  They have to have someone in their lives who nudges them into risk, beyond the limits of mom's safe world.

And I've realized through this journey called parenting that he's rubbed off on me.  I've grown to be the kind of mom that can handle the mess, even though I still like to clean it up when we're done.  I have found my own ways to challenge our kids to try new things--in fact, I was the first one who took our oldest out to a country road and let him try his hand at driving the car last summer.  And when I really stop to ponder it, I realize that just living with this man called my husband has made me more ready to take risks in my own life, challenging myself to go beyond what is comfortable.

And so I watched, these many years later, as he built the zipline, and one by one, every one of my four children left his arms in the treehouse and flew to the other end of the yard, out into the great adventure.

And I thanked him sincerely for his token of love to me.  A new gate on the treehouse, ensuring that when they aren't ziplining, they still won't fall out.