Escort service....

Ever thought about being an escort? No? I was an escort recently. Well I was a part of an escort ride, something that some of the Harley Davidson riders in town do on Sunday afternoons.

 I had learned through a friend that the mothers of some young men, departing the central valley of California for the United States Marine Corps boot camp in San Diego, were in need of needed some moms to support them as they bid their children farewell. I understand that, having been through the process of letting go of a child choosing military service,  I understand too well the fear of the unknown, the sense of loss, the finality of that last "Goodbye,Mom".  I also understand the pride, that sense of my boy becoming part of something much bigger than the little family which stood around with tears in their eyes trying to say good bye.

So I got on the bike with my husband, adjusted my helmet and rode to the Marine recruiting office. There were dozens of bikes assembled there when we arrived. Some had little American flags attached, some were dressed with stickers and other patriotic decor.  Our bike is not decorated, but we wear a love for America deep in our hearts. We hold a deep appreciation, too for those who serve in the various military branches.

As the time to depart drew near, we riders gathered to share a few encouraging words with the recruits and their families. The moms, wives and sisters were teary eyed, and the dads and brothers stood a bit taller, working to control their emotions as we reminded the young men and women that we were grateful indeed for their service to our nation. We offered them a prayer of blessing, asking God to protect them.

Then it was time for individual words with each of the young recruits. I stood in a long line, waiting my turn.  A guy in front of me was behaving in a manner that disturbed me as he clearly had only his own interest and folly in mind when he told a recruit, "Don't give 'em anything you don't have to!" and walked away with a sneer on his face, apparently satisifed to get in a dig at the Marines for whatever he had endured in his own time in the service.

Then it was my turn. I have no military experience except the vicarous one through my son's eyes, and memories of the Vietnamese war years when I sold POW/MIA bracelets as an act of support for my country.  Taking  the hand of a tall, slender young man with coffee colored skin, I gazed solomnly into the deep brown eyes of the first recruit and said, "Call your mother. She will be counting the minutes until you do. Step up and serve wherever you find opportunity. The world needs more people like you who want to give to this great nation. Serve well, and finish well whatever you start."  My throat was tight as I pulled him close and gave him a long tight hug. "Go with God, my friend."  Releasing him from my arms, I turned to his mom, who was struggling to maintain composure, "He will come home to you. He will!  I know this is frightening, because I said good bye to my own son just like you are doing now. Do not fear. Your boy will be home again, and the difference will be that he will return a man. Be proud of him. I will pray for you."  With this I hugged her long and gently, and she held on tight and sobbed quietly.

Letting go of our children is not easy, weather sending them off to college, or whatever brings about their first departure from home.  Those who say farewell to children who opt to spend time in military service should recognize that their child is displaying a great deal of bravery and maturity.

When we had finished blessing and encouraging, bikes were started, riders fell in line behind the military vehicle which we followed, two bikes at a time, out of town and south on interstate 5.  At the base of the Grapevine, near the county line, the military vehicle slowed to allow all bike riders to slip past. As my husband and I pulled past the recruit's car, I turned, waved solomny and offered a "thank you" sign, touching one palm to my chin and downward toward my chest.  The recruit I had spoken to smiled softly through the car window, returning a small wave.

It will aways be my great honor to be this kind of escort.

To Save a Life

For Jake Taylor, life seems easy: everybody likes him, he is athletically gifted, good looking. He has a basketball scholarship, a hot girlfriend and a bright future.  Jake has the appearance of a perfect life.   But privately, Jake is struggling: his parents struggle with disappointments in their relationship, his mother makes excuses for her husband’s bad behavior and his father shows a lack of character reflected in marital infidelity and a focus on worldly ideals. 

Jake has mirrored his father’s lack of character in his dealing with Roger Dawson.  Roger is Jake’s childhood pal who gave his all for his friend.  But in high school everything changes, and Jake chooses his own growing popularity over his old friendship. Tired of rejection and having no place to belong, Roger walks onto his high school campus one day with a gun in his pocket: his pain-filled heart the impetus for a tragic event.

Jake is devastated by Roger’s action.  As Jake seeks to reconcile his choices with the decision Roger made, he finds himself deeply compelled to reach out to God, and to the kids on the fringe – the social outcasts. The decision threatens Jake's world. His desire to find meaning in his life could cost him dearly. Jake has to decide what really matters in his life.

“To Save a Life” could have been considered melodrama forty years ago, but today’s teenager faces these kinds of challenges and worse week in and week out on high school campuses across America.  Dealing with the struggle of climbing the social ladder while enduring hormonal changes, conflict and moral dilemma on a daily basis, high school kids worry as much about if they will graduate as they do about what they will do if they manage to make it through the next four years.  Jake and his friends are everyday kids in today’s world, and their struggles are magnified by the typical lack of a moral compass at home, forcing them to seek each other’s opinions for approval rather than the example of parents or the Word of the God who created them.  

When the film was viewed recently at Heritage Bible Church by the youth, it struck a chord with students and parents alike. One dad was observed weeping as he watched the portrayal of Roger being rejected by his peers.  Another parent, Susan, said, “A key part of the movie for me was how Christians were not portrayed as perfect, hypocrisy in the church was evident, but because he was searching, God touched Jake and helped him see past that and try to do the right thing despite the mixed message.”  Katherine, another mom who watched the flick, mused, “We should be more attentive to the person who is the outcast….as Christians, there should be no outcasts in our (community).”  

“I wasn’t sure anyone else felt like I do.” Stated Leah, a student who watched the video and was relieved to relate to and be understood by the characters in To Save a Life.  Its human nature to want to be liked, and countercultural to choose to be inclusive of all people.  But as much as Jesus was counter cultural, and we are called to be like him, we must find ways to ramp up the welcome to all who come seeking after a place of safety and loving kindness. To Save a Life points a glaring spotlight on our weakness as a body of believers when we do not offer this basic response to human need.  Utilizing this media to teach and convey the message, perhaps we can get steps closer to growing a church where the love of God is so evident, so palpable, that people can’t help but feel the love and want to step up and join us on the journey. 

I was found...

"Been reading in Romans, "I was found by people who were not looking for me. I showed myself to those who were not asking for me."
Whew... Christ reveals himself to people like me who were not looking. He showed himself in the mountains where I grew up. He showed himself in the trees and the mountain goats, in the mosses and the granite rock. He showed himself in the myriad clouds and the shadows of nightfall, and in the starry skies. I did not seek but I could not help but to find Him.

Blindness to the presence of Christ is like ignoring the tree that is growing in my back yard. It started as just a seedling: tiny, a few leaves. Nothing to be concerned about and yet... it was there and its presence bothered me. I did not want to notice. I was preoccupied. The seedling grew, and became a sapling. Long and thin, it was rather gangly and I could not identify it. Perhaps I would pay attention to it next fall, pull it out with the fall weeding chores. Or perhaps I could nurture it, transplant it and call it my own. Perhaps.

The tree grew, despite my lack of interest and it could not be ignored. It grew under the cement and stone in my yard and it swelled and fractured the very foundation it was growing under. I could not ignore it anymore.  But what was I to do with this tree? Was it in my way, or was it offering shelter and shade if I would only nurture it and pay it a little attention?

Do you have a sapling growing in your life?  Are the roots trying to catch on and flourish, if only you would feed it and water it a little?  Its so easy to ignore saplings, and yet, they produce shelter from the storms if you will only encourage the growth of that young tree.

The Lord is a very strong presence. He is there, nudging at you, at me. He is willing to reveal himself to those who are not looking for him. Are you looking? Has He nudged you?  Bring to Him the water of your presence, soak up the wisdom in His word and see if the very roots that grow and the leaves that flourish don't offer you the sustenance and protection that you need in a future storm.  He is waiting.

Turn on the faucet of acceptance, and let Him flourish in your garden.

my waving buddy

In this less than friendly world there are pockets of kindness. Oh yes there are. One of them is my waving buddy. He's an older gentleman, skin the color of dark chocolate and a fuzz of gray hair on his head. He drives a white pick up truck and he parks in the same place every day. He is a crossing guard for children going to elementary school and he is my waving buddy.

For two years he has waved and smiled at me every time I caught his eye as I drove to work in the mornings. He has one of those marvelous smiles that light up his entire face, and his teeth are white as white can be. Wonderful!  He exudes genuine friendliness, warmth and welcome greeting to all who pass his corner. He is never less than pleasant, and he is always at his post. Rain or shine.  His demeanor seems to glow with contentment for life. I think he probably knows Jesus. He knows who he is and were he is headed. And he knows how to be kind and friendly to others. No matter who you are.

Last Friday, my waving buddy wasn't there. He was not at his post, and my morning didn't feel right with him gone. Today, in his place was this young woman sitting in a lawn chair, sullen and not waving. She was smoking. She did not smile. She did not wave. She doesn't know the corner she occupies was formerly graced by a great man. Perhaps I should stop and tell her.

"Excuse me, miss. But my waving buddy is gone. You have taken his place. You have big shoes to fill, young lady. Get off that lawn chair, put out your cigarette and start waving. Smile, at least."
I don't suppose she would be impressed. But she needs to know.  Some one needs to tell her.

But maybe she has never been fortunate enough to have a waving buddy: someone you can count on for a smile and a wave every day.  Maybe she needs to be introduced gently. Maybe, I should just smile at her and wave. Yes,  I think thats what she needs:  I will become her waving buddy. She looks like she could use a friend.

Meanwhile, I pray that my first waving buddy is okay, and that he is still smiling and waving somewhere.

God bless you, my first waving buddy, where ever you are.
o/

Grief

The lessons God has taught me in times of grieving are the greatest lessons of my life time. And on top of the comfort He brings and the things God teaches me in my loss, He somehow turns the pain into a gift. Its amazing, and wonderful, and mysterious indeed. And when I think it couldn't be more amazing, God takes those times of sadness and turn them into the compassionate moments in my future where I can share with someone else who is hurting. God's love and care are that exquisite, that precious. I do not ask for the pain of loss, and yet... and yet I wouldn't trade a single lesson learned through it all. More to come...

Isaiah 28:23-29

23-26Listen to me now. Give me your closest attention.Do farmers plow and plow and do nothing but plow? Or harrow and harrow and do nothing but harrow?After they've prepared the ground, don't they plant? Don't they scatter dill and spread cumin,Plant wheat and barley in the fields and raspberries along the borders?They know exactly what to do and when to do it. Their God is their teacher.
27-29And at the harvest, the delicate herbs and spices, the dill and cumin, are treated delicately.On the other hand, wheat is threshed and milled, but still not endlessly. The farmer knows how to treat each kind of grain.He's learned it all from God-of-the-Angel-Armies, who knows everything about when and how and where.

The writer is drawing an analogy between the Lord's treatment of his various "crops" (peoples) and the farmer in his field. The farmer does not till his dirt forever, but just until it is properly prepared. Sometimes that soil requires the picking out of rocks, sometimes it takes extra nutrition in the form of fertilizers and amendments to support its crop. Each field is different and each crop is different. So preparation varies but the end result will be the same if a farmer prepares his land according to the requirements of the crop he has purposed to grow.
I need to be patient with others and with myself as each person in my life is a different "field" in an individual sense, as well as in a corporate sense of church family, government, nation, world. We are all at different places in life. Just as some crops will grow in Bakersfield's heat and thrive, others will shrivel and die if planted in the wrong time and place. Tomatos flourish in abundance in summer here, but fuscias, if they manage to survive the heat of summer, will die in the cold of the valley winters.

What a beautiful description of God's timing as he plants, nurtures, and harvests at so many different junctures in time, not as a commercial farmer would plough a field and then harvest one determinate crop at one time, but rather as a home gardner walks through his or her garden daily, pulling a weed here, watering a little extra there, watching each tomato or cucumber or pumpkin come into it's peak of flavor and ripeness before the harvest moment.
Father, I ask you to pull me back to the small garden where I can be effective, planting, weeding, and harvesting the crop in my plot rather than trying to plant huge fields which I cannot manage. Help me to be content with my garden, dilligent in its care, and vigilant to protect, nurture and care for the blessings of fruit that you allow me to harvest in Your time.

Mamogram day

I'd rather have a root canal procedure than a mamogram and of course, its Breast Cancer Awareness month and we are thinking about "the girls" and their health.

I had my mammogram this morning. What a way to start the day.

I arrived at the Kern Radiology here in town at 7:25. I signed in at 7:29. My appt. was for 7:30. I had written it down, I am sure of this. I checked in at the desk and the girl says to me, "You know, you are late!"

I said, "I beg your pardon? No, I am not late, my appt was for 7:30."

She tells me that's not true, I was actually scheduled for 7:10 and then she demands to know who I talked to who told me different.

I stared at her for several seconds, then said, "Really, are you kidding? Do you ask for the person's name and write it down when you make medical appointments? 'Cause I don't." What is she, nuts? I made this appointment a month ago, I don't remember who I spoke to.

So the girl gives me my update form to fill out and I go sit down to fill it in. When I bring the form back to her, she and the girl next to her are making jokes about being LATE!!! By now I am angry-- I asked her if I should just reschedule because obviously she has a problem with my arrival time, and she says, "Oh no, we were talking about ourselves, not you." UH huh. Sure. I buy that story.

So I go sit down to wait to be called. I watched, and this receptionist waits until 8:00 AM before putting my chart on the counter to be picked up by the technician. WHen I finally get called back by the technician, I asked her if I was being worked in instead of being treated like a regular appt., and she says no, she doesn't think anyone is ahead of me.

By now I am pretty upset. The women in the back office are so lovely and kind, and I am embarrassed because now I am not only dreading having the mash-o-gram, but I am angry and trying not to cry. Not fun. I end did manage to endure it by hunkering down in a corner of the room with the stupid gown on, and hiding behind a magazine from the other woman in the room.

Finally my name is called, I manage to get through the procedure without crying. Congrats to me!

The best part of this story is, this rude receptionist girl is unaware that the people who own the radiology place are people I know. I plan to write a nice letter and let them know all about the vindictive wenches they have working for them. I sorta feel like the woman in that movie, Fried Green Tomatoes, who, after the teenager whisks into her parking spot ahead of her at the mall, the older woman rams her car into the teen girl's vehicle, over and over and then says to her, "Ive got more insurance than you do."

Gotta love it!