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Thursday, January 13, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
For Sentimental Reasons
Do you remember that girl in elementary school who always used to pass notes? And she would go home with a pocket full of them, put them on her dresser, and a week later shove them into a drawer only to forget about them for a while?
What about that girl in middle school who would save each and every little note or pencil or piece of gum or anything from a boy? After that flavor had expired for the week, she would forget about those little insignificant things she had of his – a note, a pencil, a stick of gum – and they would be buried somewhere in that junk drawer?
What about the girl from highschool? That’s one who saved every corsage from every dance and dried it out and displayed it on her mirror and kept it there until she graduated from college at which point she would tuck it safely away in a shoebox to keep for memories. This girl also has millions of pictures of her and her friends with silly faces, their best smiles, self-photos, pictures of dress shopping, pictures of every single little thing that ever happened and she will keep them forever.
I’m sure you know that girl. She’s the same one who keeps the pictures of herself with every boyfriend she ever had and stores it in the box of corsages. Not because she misses him or wants him back, but because of the memories. She’s the girl who will occasionally pull these things back out years after the fact and smile while looking at them, remembering all the good times and then tuck them safely away for the next trip down memory lane. When she’s old and dies all of the stuff will still be there, in the same box in her attic for her children and grandchildren to discover.
I’m not that girl.
I’m the unsentimental girl, the heartless one. I’m the one who will keep all of the sweet things from a boyfriend until about a week after I break up with him. Then I throw all of the letters in the fireplace, crumble the rose petals into hundreds of tiny rose crumbs, and throw the teddy bear to the dog for a new chew toy. The dog loves that bear.
Sometimes I feel guilt for not being a sentimental person. I do keep the important things such as my favorite book that Papa used to read me and the harmonica he gave me that I always liked to play with. I keep the letter Daddy wrote to me when I graduated from college and the card he gave me after we had a huge heart to heart that changed our father-daughter relationship for the better. I have the Life is Good coffee mug from one of my ex-boyfriends because he wasn’t awful and I really like the mug. I even kept the Canadian coin he gave me, but mostly because I don’t know what else to do with it and you can’t very well throw money away.
There it is. Did you catch it? I’m defending myself because of my guilt over my lack of sentimentality. It’s just that I hate clutter. I see no point in keeping stuff that is just stuff. The memories will still be there even after the stuff is gone. Why do I need dead roses that smell funny and a bear that I’ll just pack away? Do I have to keep every picture that kids I babysat ever colored for me?
I delete digital photos that are taking up hardly any storage space at all on my computer because I haven’t looked at them in years, I’m not in them, and I no longer have any communication with the people in them. My thinking is that I just don’t need to keep them. They’re just digital clutter.
It’s not that I don’t love the roses or the letters or the teddy bears or the pictures or the people or the memories we made when I was gifted with those things or people, but I have my memories even without the stuff.
But it’s the guilt! And the silly little worries! What about when I have kids? Will I have to keep every picture they ever colored for me? Every handmade gift or craft they ever proudly presented to me? Will it make me a bad mom to throw those things away?
And then I think about the fact of death. What if someone I am close to, my mom for example, gives me a card and I don’t keep it and then she dies and I have nothing in her own words telling me that she loves me? I have nothing from Nana except an afghan that she crocheted for me and the only reason I have things from Papa is because I think they got stuffed in a box at some point that disappeared until years after he had passed away and after his death I recognized the value of having The Three Billy Goats Gruff and Old Mother Hubbard.
I’d like to say that my lack of sentimentality is because I store up my treasures in Heaven, but that would be a lie which might prevent me from ever seeing those alleged Heaven-stored treasures.
Sometimes though, when I look over at that little white bear lying on the dog’s bed, hardly worse for the seven-year wear, I feel an urge to pick it up, toss it in the washing machine, and then put it away nice and clean only to pull it out in ten, twenty, sixty years and realize that your heart never really forgets your first love.
What about that girl in middle school who would save each and every little note or pencil or piece of gum or anything from a boy? After that flavor had expired for the week, she would forget about those little insignificant things she had of his – a note, a pencil, a stick of gum – and they would be buried somewhere in that junk drawer?
What about the girl from highschool? That’s one who saved every corsage from every dance and dried it out and displayed it on her mirror and kept it there until she graduated from college at which point she would tuck it safely away in a shoebox to keep for memories. This girl also has millions of pictures of her and her friends with silly faces, their best smiles, self-photos, pictures of dress shopping, pictures of every single little thing that ever happened and she will keep them forever.
I’m sure you know that girl. She’s the same one who keeps the pictures of herself with every boyfriend she ever had and stores it in the box of corsages. Not because she misses him or wants him back, but because of the memories. She’s the girl who will occasionally pull these things back out years after the fact and smile while looking at them, remembering all the good times and then tuck them safely away for the next trip down memory lane. When she’s old and dies all of the stuff will still be there, in the same box in her attic for her children and grandchildren to discover.
I’m not that girl.
I’m the unsentimental girl, the heartless one. I’m the one who will keep all of the sweet things from a boyfriend until about a week after I break up with him. Then I throw all of the letters in the fireplace, crumble the rose petals into hundreds of tiny rose crumbs, and throw the teddy bear to the dog for a new chew toy. The dog loves that bear.
Sometimes I feel guilt for not being a sentimental person. I do keep the important things such as my favorite book that Papa used to read me and the harmonica he gave me that I always liked to play with. I keep the letter Daddy wrote to me when I graduated from college and the card he gave me after we had a huge heart to heart that changed our father-daughter relationship for the better. I have the Life is Good coffee mug from one of my ex-boyfriends because he wasn’t awful and I really like the mug. I even kept the Canadian coin he gave me, but mostly because I don’t know what else to do with it and you can’t very well throw money away.
There it is. Did you catch it? I’m defending myself because of my guilt over my lack of sentimentality. It’s just that I hate clutter. I see no point in keeping stuff that is just stuff. The memories will still be there even after the stuff is gone. Why do I need dead roses that smell funny and a bear that I’ll just pack away? Do I have to keep every picture that kids I babysat ever colored for me?
I delete digital photos that are taking up hardly any storage space at all on my computer because I haven’t looked at them in years, I’m not in them, and I no longer have any communication with the people in them. My thinking is that I just don’t need to keep them. They’re just digital clutter.
It’s not that I don’t love the roses or the letters or the teddy bears or the pictures or the people or the memories we made when I was gifted with those things or people, but I have my memories even without the stuff.
But it’s the guilt! And the silly little worries! What about when I have kids? Will I have to keep every picture they ever colored for me? Every handmade gift or craft they ever proudly presented to me? Will it make me a bad mom to throw those things away?
And then I think about the fact of death. What if someone I am close to, my mom for example, gives me a card and I don’t keep it and then she dies and I have nothing in her own words telling me that she loves me? I have nothing from Nana except an afghan that she crocheted for me and the only reason I have things from Papa is because I think they got stuffed in a box at some point that disappeared until years after he had passed away and after his death I recognized the value of having The Three Billy Goats Gruff and Old Mother Hubbard.
I’d like to say that my lack of sentimentality is because I store up my treasures in Heaven, but that would be a lie which might prevent me from ever seeing those alleged Heaven-stored treasures.
Sometimes though, when I look over at that little white bear lying on the dog’s bed, hardly worse for the seven-year wear, I feel an urge to pick it up, toss it in the washing machine, and then put it away nice and clean only to pull it out in ten, twenty, sixty years and realize that your heart never really forgets your first love.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Memories: Footprints in the Snow
This time of year tends to cause a person to reminisce. Past experiences become a part of the ever-changing landscape of our lives. While Jesus is central to Christmas, it is also a time of togetherness, a celebration of family and love, tradition, and a time to make memories. Tonight I am reminiscing of Christmases past.
When I was a little girl Christmas Eve was always spent at my dad’s parent’s house. The whole family would bring finger foods and the table would almost overflow with the bounty of vegetable trays, fruit trays, cheese and crackers, meatballs, baby cheesecakes, fruit salad, chips and dips, and so much more. Friends and family and neighbors clustered into small groups to mingle or in a haphazard circle to laugh and joke and tease and tell stories. Sometimes Santa Clause would even make a special guest appearance before beginning his worldwide trek to deliver gifts to all the good little boys and girls. Before the night ended we would gather around the tree and exchange gifts.
Christmas day we would go to my mom’s parent’s house. Tables would overflow with food – basically a repeat of Thanksgiving. We would gather in the living room to open our gifts and share in the excitement of each gift given and received, but mostly to watch Nana open her gifts. Nana was the best part of every Christmas family gathering with her child-like excitement over the gifts and the people, though I did not realize this until the last couple of years when watching home videos. Nana was the best part of almost everything family-related, although I was Papa’s girl through-and-through. I was very young and many of the memories of Christmases spent at Nana and Papa’s come in the form of stories that I’ve been told or small snapshots of my own memories.
Holidays were always full of family, but as the years went on people passed away and moved away and things changed. Old traditions fell by the wayside and new ones are formed. Rather than having a large family Christmas, it became time spent with immediate family, partly by choice and partly by circumstances. Memories are constantly being made and reflected upon.
I find that memories are like footprints in the snow. They are evidence of an event that happened, but they are not permanent. In time, more memories come and begin to distort other memories and sometimes completely erase them much like footprints in the falling snow. Sometimes when the snow stops falling, the footprints linger a bit longer, but spring comes and those footprints begin to disappear. This Christmas I challenge you to spend time with those you love remembering past times and making new memories, because like footprints in the snow those memories will change and may, in time, disappear completely.
When I was a little girl Christmas Eve was always spent at my dad’s parent’s house. The whole family would bring finger foods and the table would almost overflow with the bounty of vegetable trays, fruit trays, cheese and crackers, meatballs, baby cheesecakes, fruit salad, chips and dips, and so much more. Friends and family and neighbors clustered into small groups to mingle or in a haphazard circle to laugh and joke and tease and tell stories. Sometimes Santa Clause would even make a special guest appearance before beginning his worldwide trek to deliver gifts to all the good little boys and girls. Before the night ended we would gather around the tree and exchange gifts.
Christmas day we would go to my mom’s parent’s house. Tables would overflow with food – basically a repeat of Thanksgiving. We would gather in the living room to open our gifts and share in the excitement of each gift given and received, but mostly to watch Nana open her gifts. Nana was the best part of every Christmas family gathering with her child-like excitement over the gifts and the people, though I did not realize this until the last couple of years when watching home videos. Nana was the best part of almost everything family-related, although I was Papa’s girl through-and-through. I was very young and many of the memories of Christmases spent at Nana and Papa’s come in the form of stories that I’ve been told or small snapshots of my own memories.
Holidays were always full of family, but as the years went on people passed away and moved away and things changed. Old traditions fell by the wayside and new ones are formed. Rather than having a large family Christmas, it became time spent with immediate family, partly by choice and partly by circumstances. Memories are constantly being made and reflected upon.
I find that memories are like footprints in the snow. They are evidence of an event that happened, but they are not permanent. In time, more memories come and begin to distort other memories and sometimes completely erase them much like footprints in the falling snow. Sometimes when the snow stops falling, the footprints linger a bit longer, but spring comes and those footprints begin to disappear. This Christmas I challenge you to spend time with those you love remembering past times and making new memories, because like footprints in the snow those memories will change and may, in time, disappear completely.
The Reason for Christmas
The Gift |
Friday, September 17, 2010
Be Imitators
Ephesians 5:1, 2
Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.
“Amber! Amber! Amber! You’re here!” she yells as I open the front door and walk inside. She has been waiting for my arrival. A quick hug, sometimes not, and then she disappears. She walks back down the stairs in different clothes, something similar to what I’m wearing (including her mom’s high heels if I’m wearing heels). Her hair has been styled differently and matches mine. She’s carrying an old cell phone, keys, and a purse.
I sit. She sits. I stand. She stands. I run my fingers through my hair; she does the same. I offer to have prayer and she wants to pray too. I make it into a game. I lean over and whisper to her mom, “Watch this.” Then I scratch my nose, clear my throat, cross and uncross my legs, touch my knees, touch my toes, sigh. In quick succession she leans over and whispers, scratches her nose, clears her throat, crosses and uncrosses her legs, touches her knees, her toes, sighs. We call her my mini-me. She makes everyone call her Amber, but that isn’t her name.
I have to be very conscious of my words and actions when she is around knowing that whatever I do, she will do. Whatever I say, she will say.
“Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children…” The verses before this talk about not allowing anything unwholesome to come out of our mouths, but only those things that are useful for building up others. It instructs us to love and forgive as Christ loved and forgave us. And then, it tells us to imitate God, to be like Him. As His dearly loved children, who know of His love, we must strive to live our lives in such a way that we reflect His love. That love is so deeps and so strong that He gave His life, died the death that I deserved to die so that I could choose to love Him in return and spend eternity with Him. What love!
I don’t know what makes me so special and why my little friend wants to be like me, but I love her and I think she knows that. Perhaps it’s because of my love for her and the attention I give her that she has decided that she wants to be just like me. The complete and total admiration is obvious to everyone around.
Isn’t that how we should be with Christ? He has lavished His love on us and the more we come to know and understand the depth of that love, our response to it should be that we strive more and more to imitate God. It should be immediately evident to anyone who sees us and has ever had even a glimpse of our Father, that we are imitating Him in how we live our lives. Our complete and total admiration and Christ-likeness should be what they see, so that instead of seeing us, what they are seeing is Christ in us.
My challenge to you today is to come to know God in such a way that you begin to be like Him. Be imitators of God and live a life of love!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Here am I. Send me. (Part 2)
Yesterday we left off at the part where God made it clear that He wanted me to attend Lighthouse and use my musical talent to serve Him there, which brings us to where God still had bigger plans than I did.
I knew that the group met at a home every Wednesday night for a small group Bible study. I had been putting off attending because it's a long drive for me (about 40 minutes) and was a little intimidated by the group. One day, the leader/ host posted on Facebook an invitation to join them. I remembered that I had told God I would get more involved and so I made the decision to at least go check it out. I thought that I would maybe mention it at some point that I was available to play piano for Lighthouse if they needed me. However, I wasn't eager to actually throw it out there because I'm a little shy when it comes to volunteering. If someone knows and they ask me, that's totally different than me saying, "Oh Oh! Pick me! I play piano!" I didn't have to jump up and down and volunteer myself, because God works around my limitations. Natalie announced that I play piano and sing, which gave me the opening to say, "I do and I'm willing to play for Lighthouse." Well that was easy enough -- I've played and sang for lots of churches. Service to God isn't that easy, because the leader said, "We're having a church plant committee meeting Sabbath at 1:30. Why don't you join us?" Suddenly I had gone from 'just the pianist' to an active part of planting.
Sabbath afternoon, I showed up at the meeting. We were talking about the Sabbath School classes and planning the worship service and basically what goes on Sabbath morning. While we were discussing SS and who was teaching what (keep in mind that there are only about 6-7 households right now), it came time to discuss the youth class. No one really wanted it. As we sat there discussing who could teach that class, I felt God nudging me. Poke. Poke. Poke. You've taught youth before. You enjoyed it. I've given you the gifts -- use them. I spoke up, "I'll teach the youth." God takes us out of our comfort zones so we will depend on Him.
All along, God has had a plan for me. He knew about Lighthouse before anyone thought of it and for the last two years, He has been leading me here. I really believe that. There are times in my life where I feel like God isn't speaking loud enough for me to hear, and then there are other times where I can hear God shouting to me exactly what He wants me to do. This is one of those times that God's voice has been loud and clear.
I told God that I would serve Him. He's endowed me with gifts and talents and I'm humbled that He wants me to use them to help lead others to Him. I feel a little bit like Moses.
I knew that the group met at a home every Wednesday night for a small group Bible study. I had been putting off attending because it's a long drive for me (about 40 minutes) and was a little intimidated by the group. One day, the leader/ host posted on Facebook an invitation to join them. I remembered that I had told God I would get more involved and so I made the decision to at least go check it out. I thought that I would maybe mention it at some point that I was available to play piano for Lighthouse if they needed me. However, I wasn't eager to actually throw it out there because I'm a little shy when it comes to volunteering. If someone knows and they ask me, that's totally different than me saying, "Oh Oh! Pick me! I play piano!" I didn't have to jump up and down and volunteer myself, because God works around my limitations. Natalie announced that I play piano and sing, which gave me the opening to say, "I do and I'm willing to play for Lighthouse." Well that was easy enough -- I've played and sang for lots of churches. Service to God isn't that easy, because the leader said, "We're having a church plant committee meeting Sabbath at 1:30. Why don't you join us?" Suddenly I had gone from 'just the pianist' to an active part of planting.
Sabbath afternoon, I showed up at the meeting. We were talking about the Sabbath School classes and planning the worship service and basically what goes on Sabbath morning. While we were discussing SS and who was teaching what (keep in mind that there are only about 6-7 households right now), it came time to discuss the youth class. No one really wanted it. As we sat there discussing who could teach that class, I felt God nudging me. Poke. Poke. Poke. You've taught youth before. You enjoyed it. I've given you the gifts -- use them. I spoke up, "I'll teach the youth." God takes us out of our comfort zones so we will depend on Him.
All along, God has had a plan for me. He knew about Lighthouse before anyone thought of it and for the last two years, He has been leading me here. I really believe that. There are times in my life where I feel like God isn't speaking loud enough for me to hear, and then there are other times where I can hear God shouting to me exactly what He wants me to do. This is one of those times that God's voice has been loud and clear.
I told God that I would serve Him. He's endowed me with gifts and talents and I'm humbled that He wants me to use them to help lead others to Him. I feel a little bit like Moses.
But Moses said to God, "Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?"
And God said, "I will be with you. And this will be the sign to you
that it is I who have sent you: When you have brought the people out of
Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain."
Moses said to God, "Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them,
'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they ask me, 'What is
his name?' Then what shall I tell them?"
God said to Moses, "I am who I am . This is what you are to say to the Israelites: 'I AM has sent me to you.' " Exodus 3:11-14
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I. Send me!" Isaiah 6:5-8
Here am I. Send me. (Part 1)
Don't tell God that you're willing to serve Him unless you are really willing to serve Him.
For the past couple of years, I haven't had time to be as involved in church as I'd like to be. I also haven't had a church that I could really call my church home. I have come to a point that not only do I have time to serve, but looking at the big picture I can see that God has had a place for me all along and has been working to move me in that direction even before I knew it.
About two years ago, I walked into the University City SDA Church for the first time. I had been toying with the idea of moving to Charlotte after graduation. As soon as I walked in the door, I felt welcome and wanted there. I visited multiple times over the next two years, but had made a decision to go back to Southern and get my bachelor's degree. However, the closer I got to actually attending Southern, the more uncomfortable I became with my decision and I was saddened by the fact that I wouldn't be able to attend UCSDA. After thinking it through and praying about it, I just didn't feel like God was leading me to go to Southern and made the decision to move to my parents (near Charlotte) and look for work. The one consolation to living in Podunk, NC was that I was close enough to attend UCSDA regularly.
Apparently though, that's not really where God wanted me. He just had to get me there to start laying out the rest of the plan. I began attending regularly and learned about Lighthouse. Lighthouse SDA Church is a brand new church that is being planted between where I'm living and Charlotte. Currently there is no SDA church in that area, and they need one. It's literally brand new as in, they haven't even had their first Sabbath yet. After hearing about it, I thought, "Well, when they get up and running, I'll check it out." God had bigger plans.
It seemed like every time I sat down to play piano, I would have this nagging thought that would not go away -- I wonder if Lighthouse needs a pianist.... Finally, one morning I told God that if He wanted me at Lighthouse and wanted me to play piano, they would have to ask me. I thought I had gotten off easy because only one person who was starting the group knew that I play piano, and I figured she had forgotten. God isn't limited by a person's limited knowledge. That night, a few of us were in the car together, two of whom are a part of the group planting the church. They were discussing various churches they had looked at and out of nowhere a hand came flying into the front seat, landed on my shoulder and the ONE PERSON who knew that I played piano said, "You play piano! And you sing! We need you!" I had to just laugh, and then I shared the conversation God and I had just that morning. Still, I was thinking that when they got up and running then I would be there and I would play piano and sing. God thinks bigger.
. . . To be continued. . .
For the past couple of years, I haven't had time to be as involved in church as I'd like to be. I also haven't had a church that I could really call my church home. I have come to a point that not only do I have time to serve, but looking at the big picture I can see that God has had a place for me all along and has been working to move me in that direction even before I knew it.
About two years ago, I walked into the University City SDA Church for the first time. I had been toying with the idea of moving to Charlotte after graduation. As soon as I walked in the door, I felt welcome and wanted there. I visited multiple times over the next two years, but had made a decision to go back to Southern and get my bachelor's degree. However, the closer I got to actually attending Southern, the more uncomfortable I became with my decision and I was saddened by the fact that I wouldn't be able to attend UCSDA. After thinking it through and praying about it, I just didn't feel like God was leading me to go to Southern and made the decision to move to my parents (near Charlotte) and look for work. The one consolation to living in Podunk, NC was that I was close enough to attend UCSDA regularly.
Apparently though, that's not really where God wanted me. He just had to get me there to start laying out the rest of the plan. I began attending regularly and learned about Lighthouse. Lighthouse SDA Church is a brand new church that is being planted between where I'm living and Charlotte. Currently there is no SDA church in that area, and they need one. It's literally brand new as in, they haven't even had their first Sabbath yet. After hearing about it, I thought, "Well, when they get up and running, I'll check it out." God had bigger plans.
It seemed like every time I sat down to play piano, I would have this nagging thought that would not go away -- I wonder if Lighthouse needs a pianist.... Finally, one morning I told God that if He wanted me at Lighthouse and wanted me to play piano, they would have to ask me. I thought I had gotten off easy because only one person who was starting the group knew that I play piano, and I figured she had forgotten. God isn't limited by a person's limited knowledge. That night, a few of us were in the car together, two of whom are a part of the group planting the church. They were discussing various churches they had looked at and out of nowhere a hand came flying into the front seat, landed on my shoulder and the ONE PERSON who knew that I played piano said, "You play piano! And you sing! We need you!" I had to just laugh, and then I shared the conversation God and I had just that morning. Still, I was thinking that when they got up and running then I would be there and I would play piano and sing. God thinks bigger.
. . . To be continued. . .
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