Waiting on God in the winters of our lives

I woke up this morning thinking, "If I don't see some sunshine and color soon, I'm gonna lose it."

I know many of you in the far north are thinking, "Seriously? You live in the SOUTH! What are you complaining about? Try three feet of snow and face-freezing temperatures and thick gray skies... day after day after day!"

Been there, done that. My condolences to you.

My problem is, I don't do winter well. Anywhere.

I know there's a reason for winter. A God ordained purpose.

But a lot of it has to do with waiting. And that's another thing I don't do well...wait.

Yes, I've learned patience throughout the years...God has been very good at answering that prayer.

Now maybe I need to pray for the grace to wait. To wait for that which I know will surely come.
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But I have a feeling I am waiting for something far more glorious than a passing spring.

That the winter of my discontent-- with myself, our country, our world, serves a far greater purpose.

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

Mirrors.

I have a love/hate relationship with them.

I know I'm supposed to love looking into them.

Gazing at myself in doe-eyed amazement at how drop-dead gorgeous I am.

At least that's what Wall Street says.

I just need a little of their help to make myself that way.

Right.

What I see when I even look in a mirror are things that show me "the old gray mare just ain't what she used to be."

That the new 56 will never be the old 29.

No matter what tune Wall Street sings...a siren song that says it's all about what we look like.

Funny, that's not what God says.

He's more concerned with Who we look like...

For all those who have ever asked, "Why?"

Have you ever asked "Why?"

Better yet, cried out, screamed out, whispered, "Why?"

With tears streaming down your cheeks.

And a heart so heavy that it feels it could fall right out of your chest.

I'm thinking if you are living and breathing you have.

Many times.

It's a cry that has echoed down through the ages.

A question that often times seems unanswered.

Or maybe not.

New Year's resolution...no more "F" word!

I bet I know what you're thinking..."YOU say the "F" word?"

Yup. More than I should.

Usually it's only in my head...a silent mantra that no one else hears.

Debilitating. Discouraging. Defeating.

The "F" word...as in "Failure."

It usually appears with its strong-armed cohorts: Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda.

Sounds like a dance beat.

But it's not.

It's a death cry to who I am.

Beloved. Child of the King. Worthy of dying for.

All it takes is one mistake. One thing done wrong. And the record kicks in...

"You're a failure. You always have been and you always will be."

This tirade would continue until I was a soggy-eyed, weak-kneed mess.

Worth nothing.

Just what the enemy wanted...

Putty in his hands.

But then he met his Waterloo...

All He wants for Christmas...

Once again, I marvel that I am alive to celebrate another Christmas.

No, I'm not dying.

Well, yes, I guess we all are.

Rather, that by God's grace I have survived another year.

With a daughter who's a Paramedic, I know how often people don't.

By now you are probably thinking, "Well, this is a not so merry Christmas message!"

It's not meant to be.

Because Christmas isn't about merry. Jolly. Holly. Whatever.

It begins with the messy birth of a baby.

And travels on through the slaughter of innocents.

And ends with a horrifying crucifixion on a cross.

Christmas drew a dividing line between hopeless and hope.

Between lost and found.

Death and life.

He left His Home in Glory to give us the greatest gift ever...

Hey, you! Whoever you are...

I was one of four girls in our family.

Which meant lots of emotion and words and activity.

One way my parents knew to get our attention was to yell.

"ArleneDeeDeeDebbieSusie...who ever you are!"

I hated it. Why couldn't my parents take the time to figure out who they wanted?

I swore I would never do that to my kids.

Then I had kids.

The first time I did it, I cringed.

"JeremyJasonJackiJonathan...whoever you are!"

Ugh.

It was so easy to do. And it got the job done.

But it definitely lacked something...

I was thinking about this last week while volunteering at Operation Christmas Child.

You sign in, fill out a name tag, get oriented, and you're off and running.

For one day you work in a warehouse the size of a football field, with hundreds of other volunteers.

All wearing name tags.

I'm sure it was an extrovert's delight...being surrounded by chatty, singing, cheering people.

But for an introvert? I loved my little assigned spot on the assembly line where I could do my small part unseen...quietly...anonymously.

Except for one problem. I had a name tag. With my name on it.

When you just can't lift your head up one more time

Today was the last day of my year long adventure into "Grand Jury Duty".

Not just "Jury Duty" mind you.

No, I get "Grand Jury Duty".

Which was anything but grand.

If I had any preconceived notions that I lived in a safe, quiet county, forget it.

Shot that one down.

How about the goodness of mankind?

Ha! Let's try the depravity of mankind...that works better.

Drugs. Violence. Rape. Abuse. Murder.

Case after case...295 of them today. With all the sordid details included.

I wanted to weep. Wail. Lash out.

I. Can't. Do. This. Anymore.