Plugged In

I don't often exercise with an iPod. The last time I really remember listening to music while I ran was when I was in high school and the "DiscMan" was a novelty. That was a pain. Did I sign up for a run or an upper body workout?

Anyway. Back to my point.

The other day, my mum encouraged me to do so. Just to get my mind off the workout and tune my mind to some solid worship while I was out enjoying the woods. So, like any well-trained child would do...

I listened to my mother.

I plugged-in my iPod and toted it with me on the trail (much easier than the Stone-age Discman).

I put the earbuds in, lightly wrapped the extra cord around my hand, shook myself out and started up the trail.

....but then one of the earbuds popped out. So I fumbled to get it back in place. At which time, I lost sound in my left ear. So I twisted the cord this way and that, trying to get it to come back. Which almost made me drop the iPod itself, because of course, I am too stubborn to stop running on the trail - lest my heart rate go down - and fix it. So, here I am, zig-zagging down the trail, left hand fixing the earbud, right hand twirling the iPod like a baton and thinking to myself: Why did I bring this thing again?

Oh yeah. Because I wanted to focus. Ha.

So, finally , after all my finagling, I had full sound, ear buds that were staying in place and I was setting a gentle, straight pace down through the woods. While I was running, I found that I really did enjoy having the worship music sounding in my ears.

The words seemed to penetrate to my soul and with every breath I took in, the truth the lyrics proclaimed became a part of me.

After I finished my run, I drove back to my apartment and fixed some lunch, and decided it would be nice to go relax down by the water....

....it was then that I realized something.

I was still hearing music.

I hadn't shut my iPod off or taken the earbuds out after my run. The music was still playing.

After all the fuss of getting those things set in my head, I didn't feel them anymore. I didn't notice the weight of the iPod in my pocket. I didn't feel the pressure of the earbuds.

All I heard was music. Almost as if it was simply a part of me.

I got thinking about all the things that go through my head everyday. Thoughts that I have to fight. Self-criticism, critique, self-judgement and condemnation.

I thought about what I need to do to combat that: Speak Truth to my heart.

It can be so hard somedays, because the lies have been a habit for so long. I've been running without Truth for so long...

...I have to fuss with the earbuds, because they keep falling out. Sometimes they both don't work. Sometimes I drop the iPod.

But, when all is said and done; the earbuds are in, the iPod is firmly in my grip and I'm running straight down the trail...

...I won't notice them anymore. The music, the Truth, will be like breathing. It will be part of my soul.

Sometimes, it just takes a little effort to get it started.

"...for your love is ever before me, I walk continually in Your Truth." Psalm 26:3

Pillow Fights

Pillow fights. A blessed part of growing up. You find the biggest, fluffiest (while still being easy to hold on to for battle purposes) pillow and assume the battle stance. Usually on top of a bed. If you didn't have a big enough bed, you piled all the blankets on the floor with the extra pillows and squared off. Cowboy style. Or perhaps Knight-in-Shining-Armor-Style. Take your pick.

When the battle commenced, fits of laughter and muffled thumps of pillows could be heard throughout the house. Victory was achieved when one lay on the floor laughing uncontrollably with the other person planting their foot victoriously onto the other's chest, striking a haughty pose while trying to also contain their laughter.

I was usually the person laying on the floor. And here's why:

For whatever reason, I was a horrible Swords-woman. (Or Pillows-woman?). I had this problem where I would swing, but I didn't block. My brain had a frustratingly terrible time telling my arms to bring the pillow up in front of my face to block the next blow. I just went in swinging until I couldn't swing anymore. I exhausted myself. When that happened, my opponent saw the opportunity and the retaliation came full force. But instead of raising the pillow up and blocking the blow - as any logical person would do - , I did the first thing that came to mind:

I closed my eyes.

Now tell me, what the heck kind of good does that do? It only meant that Icouldn't see what was coming. Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean its not happening.

No matter how hard I would close my eyes, the blow would still come. I would still get a mouthful of pillow. And soon enough, my pillow would fall to the floor out of my exhausted grip and I would follow right behind it - giggling as my opponent stood over me, gloating about their victory.

I was reading Ephesians the other day and I couldn't help but relate it to this. Paul tells the Ephesians they need to take up the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Belt of Truth, put on the Sandals of Peace and take up the Shield of Faith...and that's where I stopped. The Shield of Faith.

In Biblical times, the soldiers understood the importance of a shield. I read recently that some days, soldiers would come in from battle with over 200 arrows in their shield. If they hadn't had their shield, that would have been200 arrows in their body! And I'm pretty sure, that would mean that they wouldn't be walking in from battle.

I realized that is where my problem lay. I dropped my pillow. I spent so much time attacking, that by the time it came to protect myself, I was too worn out to lift the pillow in my own defense. Instead, I just closed my eyes. So, with my pillow-shield on the floor, and my eyes closed, I would take the blows. And eventually, on the floor I would be.

What I need to do instead, is paint that pillow with the Truth that God has given me. Instead of exhausting myself, I must confidently raise my shield - blaring the Truth of God back in the Enemy's face. I want that Truth and that claim to resonate so loudly that the arrows don't just stop IN my shield, they do a 180 and go back where they came from!

Everyday we are fighting a battle. But unfortunately this battle is not done with pillows and blankets. It is a divine battle, a spiritual battle. One that, if we are not aware of it, is soon going to leave us on the floor with our victor standing over us, gloating...

...but it doesn't have to be that way. We have the equipment to fight, andfight we must! Even when it's exhausting. Even when defeat might seem inevitable. We must remember Who is fighting alongside us.

Hold up your shield. Remember His Truth. Fight like you have divine strength.Because you DO.

"For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight we are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments andevery pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, we take every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ."

2 Corinthians 10:3-5

Whisper-ma-phones, Sneetches and Diffendoofer

I have always been a huge fan of Dr. Seuss. I mean, how can you not enjoy brightly colored pages, with absurd poetry that makes as much sense as it doesn't?

Dr. Seuss had a wonderful knack for creating a world that was completely unique and unlike anything we might relate to on earth - yet, we could relate to it just the same.

Green Eggs and Ham, glippity glop, red fish, blue fish and Truffula Trees.

It didn't matter that there was no such thing as a Triple-Ax-Hacker, much less that it could be invented at the drop of a hat. It didn't matter that half the words he used were made up, just because he needed something to rhyme.

Dr. Seuss didn't play by the literary rules. He made up his own.

But as I thought about this, I began to ponder how many people try to do the same thing with Christianity.

We try to make up our own rules.

We want to pick and choose which laws apply to us. We want to look at God's Word and take certain parts and apply them to our lives, and throw the others away.

Love everyone? Has God met my neighbor? Seriously?

Give generously? If God had given me a better job....

Read His Word? Uh...I don't read...

Share the gospel? I was always told to use words when necessary....right?

....there are so many ways we try to pick and choose. Ways we try to mold our faith into something that's convenient. Something that's easy.

We want to make up our own words. Words that we think should rhyme with our story.

But we can't. We aren't Dr. Seuss. And we aren't writing children's books.

We're followers of Christ that have been given a task, a purpose. In order to fulfill that, we have to play by HIS rules.

We don't get to make up our own.

Come back to reality. Your life is not your own.

Remember whose rules you play by and quit making up words.

The Short Straw

One trauma.

Three teenagers.

Three outcomes.

The first 17 year old girl left the scene of the accident in a body bag.

Her 18 year old boyfriend left in an ambulance, only to be connected to vents and machines so his heart would continue to beat and his lungs continue to breathe....but the inevitable is only a matter of time.

The other 17 year old girl walked out of the Emergency department. Alone.

Last week was their prom.

This week: Their funerals.

When the 17 year old girl was asked to identify the situation prior to the accident, she had said her two friends were in the front seat.

They were in a convertible. It was rainy. They were simply joyriding. Enjoying their youth...

...and forgot for one split second they were not invincible.

Reality sunk in fast.

The impact of the car on pavement blew the windshield in. In one single moment, a life ended, another was changed and yet another hangs in the balance. The crushing weight of loss presses down and begins to suffocate...

As the girl was recalling the incident she stared blankly toward the wall...

...without turning to look at anyone, she spoke.

"I drew the short straw. I drew the short straw, I lost. That's why I was in the backseat."


The short straw saved her life.

I tried to imagine what was going through her mind at that moment..

"Why? Why ME?"
......How was I spared?
.........Why am I walking, when my friends aren't even breathing?
....Could I have stopped them?
.........Could I have prevented this?


I have no answers, no words of wisdom...there is nothing that can take away the pain of this situation. Nothing that can undo what tragedy has occurred.


Her life has been changed forever.

She has however, for whatever reason, been given a second chance.
She was saved.

She drew the short straw.


I think when it comes to life we don't really have any idea what the "short straw" actually is.

We have ideas of how things should go, how life should work, but in the end it's all perspective.

And perspective can change in the blink of an eye.

With a career change..
With an unplanned pregnancy...
....with a crushed in windshield....

Life happens one day at time. There is no predictability.

We can define it as much as we like, but in the end, you only have the present.

NOW.

Short straw, long straw. It doesn't matter.

Just live. Take today alone. Forget yesterday and leave tomorrow for later.

You don't know what the outcome of your straw is going to be.

"We may throw the dice, but the Lord determines how they fall." Proverbs 16:33

Packs, Pride and Thin Air

I am a flatlander. 100%.

A few weeks ago, while hiking up from somewhere in the Grand Canyon, I realized this fact.

Two and a half miles felt like twenty. My lungs were burning; craving the oxygen that they weren't receiving (I have spoiled them for the last twenty-three years with sea level, O2 rich, breathable air). My legs were shaking and my muscles were screaming.

Unfortunately, another couple factors came into play that didn't help my situation.

A) I am not a camel. Which means, I must carry my water with me - because I drink A LOT of it.

B) I have an incessant need to photograph EVERYTHING. Therefore, my camera comes with me, too. It weighs about 5 pounds.

Now, how do you suppose I bring all this junk? That's right. A pack.

Of course, the whole flatlander thing wasn't really a thought when I started out. Dehydration and lack of memory capture while hiking in the Grand Canyon was.

About 2 hrs later, while halfway back up the canyon, with my 2 liters of water and 5 pound camera loaded on my back, I got thinking....

"What kind of ridiculousness is this?!"

Of course, I would never in a million years voice that (although I might have mentioned "misery" in passing at one point during the hike...). Pride has a way of keeping your mouth shut in these circumstances most of the time..

However, voicing it wasn't necessary. My brother looked back from the position he'd stopped at about 100 feet in front up and said:

"You're going really slow."

Ugh. Was it that obvious?

Well, a few minutes later, he turned around again..

"Tracy, let me carry your pack," he told me.

In order to try to keep some semblance of my dignity, I half-heartedly refused.

"No, I brought it, I'll carry it." - which of course got me nowhere, because before I knew it I had been spun around and the pack was off my shoulders and onto his and he had resumed his effortless hike up the trail.

Gosh darn him.

I half-glared and half-smiled as I continued along behind him....

...The weight of the pack gone from my shoulders.

I do that a lot. Carry unnecessary baggage. By myself.

I try to fix circumstances in my own life through my own self discipline or my own will. Thinking that determination alone is going to get me through....

Instead, what just ends up happening is that I'm miserably hiking up an endless slope with weight I don't have to carry. Weight that, if I were to hand it over, would be gladly rested on the shoulders of my Savior.

I always think, "God, I got myself into this mess. I'll get myself out." Simply because I don't want to bother Him with some situation I feel I've created.

Well, just because I've loaded the pack, doesn't mean He isn't willing to carry it.

After all, His shoulders are stronger than mine. His lungs are used to the thin air.

You know, after Andy took my pack, I was able to hike to the top a lot faster.

So hand over the pack. Let go of the pride. You still have to hike...

...but the weight is gone.

"let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us." ~ Hebrews 12:1

Who's the Real Artist?

I can't draw. Seriously.

I want to be able to draw. I'd love to be able to sketch out some amazingly shaded...something...

Heck, if I could make a freaking stick figure I'd be ecstatic.

But it's no use.

When I think about drawing something, I have this beautiful image in my head of what it will look like. So I get excited and pull out a piece of paper and pencil. A nice sharp, pencil that will smoothly trace the image in my mind onto this perfect white piece of paper.

Except that's not what happens. Instead, its almost as if my brain and my hand are on completely different wavelengths.

As my hand begins to form lines and curves on the paper, my brain starts screaming "What are you doing?? That's not what I want you to draw!" But my hand keeps going, completely oblivious to the protests from my brain.

So when I step back and look at my creation, it merely looks like some kid went crazy with the Crayolas.

Devastating, I tell you.

I have to laugh when I think of how bad an artist I am when it comes to my life, too.

Sometimes I wonder if God is thinking, "What are you doing?! That's not what I want you to draw!" as he watches my actions and some of the choices I make.

It's like I take the pencil from Him and think I can draw something better than He can draw for me.

Except, when I start, all that comes out is this mess of scribbles and lines that don't make sense to anyone. Not even Picasso.

What I'm learning, though, is that God is a much better artist than I am. Not only that, He also carries the eraser to clean up my mistakes...

...To redirect and redefine the lines that have been scribbled on His canvas. He can turn them around and shape them into the art that He imagined to begin with.

But I have to give Him back the pencil first. After all, who's the real artist?

The one who paints the sunrise every morning and the sunset every evening? Or the one who struggles to make a stick figure recognizable?

I should think the answer would be obvious.

"This is what the Lord, your Redeemer and Creator, says, 'I am the Lord, who made all things, I alone stretched out the heavens. Who was with me when I made the earth?...I am the First and the Last...before me no other god was formed, nor will there be one after me." ~ Isaiah 44:24, 6, 43:10

Numb

My sweet tooth finally caught up to me. I have two cavities.

Well, seeing as I would like to see my teeth stay in my mouth, I decided to get them filled.

First, the dentist numbed the area with some "tastey" cherry flavored topical cream. This seemed to do a pretty decent job of making my mouth feel fuzzy and tingly. After the topical anesthetic, he injected a deeper local anesthetic to numb the root of the tooth.

Although seeing that needle coming at my face was a wee bit unnerving, I knew I would probably thank him later.

The whole process took about 30 minutes and I left with the knowledge that those particular two cavities wouldn't be a problem any longer.

There was just one problem. I couldn't feel my face.

If I hadn't known what happened, I would have swore I had had a stroke. Or that someone had sliced half my face off. Except that when I reached up to touch the lips that I was sure had disappeared, they were still intact. With a little drool leaking out the side. How attractive.

I tried to eat lunch. That was a trick. I knew my lips, my teeth and the right side of my tongue were there, but I couldn't feel them. No matter how I chewed, I couldn't, for the life of me, feel what that side of my mouth was doing.

Eerily, however, my brain knew what to do. Even though the feeling in my face was non-existent, my brain knew that - whether I felt them or not - my lips were there.

I think God can be like that sometimes.

Each day is different. Sometimes, God feels so close that you can imagine him standing next to you. You can envision Him holding your hand. The feeling can be so strong it drives you to your knees or has tears streaming down your face.

Other days, it's as if there is a local anesthetic in your life. You're numb. Incapable of feeling His presence if you stabbed your face with a fork.

On those days, it can be so hard to remember that He is still there.

Sometimes, no matter how hard you chew, the feeling just won't come.

But that doesn't mean He's gone. It doesn't mean he's left. Scripture tells us he won't EVER leave us or forsake us.

It's on those days that we need to remember the Truth that is manifested in our heart. That truth that screams, "Lord, you're there, even though my pitiful senses can't feel you." We need that heart memory to remember how to believe, even when believing seems impossible.

So, even though you might not feel your face right now, the feeling will come back.

Sometimes with a little soreness. Or maybe just with the fact that you can actually feel your mouth turn up in a smile...

So let your brain remember how to chew. Don't rely on nerves that so easily lose their feeling.

"You love him even though you have never seen him. Though you do not see him now, you trust him; and you rejoice with a glorious inexpressible joy." ~ 1 Peter 1:8