Surrender: It's a Game Changer

Dear Diary,

I know it's been three whole years since I've last written. I mostly write on insignificant topics that I can fully find meaning in.

[Go ahead, take another look at this diary. If it's your first time here, I suggest starting with Half Full & Half Empty, IMG! or Dressing Room Moments II. Really, there's not a bad post in this diary, so go ahead and start at the beginning. wink! ]

The following post has been on my heart for a long time, and this is the best way I know how to share it. It is a more serious topic, but also helpful. I hope.

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God is in control.

My faith tells me this.

My Bible tells me this. (Just ask Moses, David, or Paul.)

But am I really giving control over to Him?
When I am put to the test, relinquishing control of a situation becomes a wrestling match with God himself. A match I’m not going to win. (And I would forgo a lot of pain if I just realized that at the starting bell.)

God is in control whether I give it over to Him or not. I’m kidding myself if I think otherwise.

This lesson never has been more blatantly demonstrated in my life until my third child was born almost 12 weeks premature, at 2 pounds 1 oz. Three weeks earlier, my body started rejecting the pregnancy in the form of preeclampsia symptoms, landing me in the hospital with a forthright doctor spewing a list of all the possible things that could go wrong if my baby girl was born during that crisis. Praise God she stayed in the womb another three weeks.

I don’t want to focus on the drama of having a baby born that early. Truly, that is a story I tell only when asked. Each one of us has unique come-to-God moments. My focus is not the specifics of what I faced during those three months, but how I responded and what I learned. He is a God who gives and takes away, but He also is a God who always loves, who is always in control. (Just ask Job.)

I listened to Twila Paris’ song “God is in Control” daily while driving home from NICU hospital visits. I would blast that Greatest Hits CD, song #1, and belt it like no one was listening. It was a way to release the feelings of fear that I had bottled up that day amidst the tubes and wires, beeping screens, basinets, and sick babies of the NICU. Driving home in the darkness of the evening, the song brought me to a place where faith met reality: God was in control, I was not.

The fate of my baby, whether she was healthy or ill, lived or died, was not in my hands.

I could not muster control,

I could not conjure it,

I could not create it.  

My feelings could be summed up in one word: helpless.

Completely and utterly.

Twila’s opening line, “This is no time for fear. This is a time for faith and determination.” was a perfect antidote for my emotions. She was a cheerleader to buoy my spirit, squelch the fear, and keep hope alive.

God is in control…God is in control…my nightly mantra as I put miles between me and the hospital, and put blind trust in those giving her the complex care she needed.

So why didn’t I feel any better? Why didn’t I go through my days with confidence and true joy, knowing I had an all powerful God who could do almighty deeds, who loved me and would not run out on me during my crisis?

God is in control. Yes, but what about (fill in the blank).

God is in control. Yes, but I just need to (fill in the blank).

God is in control. Yes, but if I only had (fill in the blank).

It is the “Yes, buts” that is our undoing --a sure way to keep the stress level high, to lie awake in the dark in a disheveled bed regretting the past or scheming for the future, to let the devil get a hold of our pride and tell us it is our job to fix the problem.

God is in control PERIOD. 

Stop. 

Zip it. 

No more talking.

Get rid of the “Yes, buts” and accept His control.

Acceptance is a type of surrender.

It wasn’t until I accepted the outcome of His control that I found peace.
Even in war, peace follows surrender.

You want peace that passes all understanding in any crisis? It’s “only” a two-step process: 

1) Acknowledge that our sovereign God is in control and you are not.

2) Accept the outcome of His control, no matter what it is. No matter what your wildest imagination or nightmare scenario is, put up your white flag and surrender.

Like I say, it is a process. It happens differently for everyone.

Weeks and weeks of intensive care visits gave me the time to finally stop wrestling and relinquish.

I’d been pinned to the mat and cried Uncle “Abba!”

I resigned myself to what God would ordain.

I let go.

And it was a game changer.

There is one thing that has always been true.
It will be true forever.
God is in control!

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Until next time,
LJ

Are You Mexican?

Dear Diary,

I work in a bilingual school. 
The minorities are the majority here.
These dark haired children with varying degrees of beautiful, not-so-pale skin dominate the hallways and classrooms.  I am hard pressed to find any child of Anglo/European descent in the building.

Family and friends who are readers of this blog know what I look like. But in case a reader comes across this highly entertaining and thoughtful diary who has never heard of LJ, let me provide a sweeping generalization.

I am of Euro descent. Gazing upon my countenance one might guess I am German, which is partly correct; however, thanks to my maternal grandmother, I have more Bohemian in me than any other single nationality. So it is fair to say I am...well...fair!

This week I had the privilege of participating in this conversation in my kindergarten room. Names have been changed.

Niki (to her friend):  Katy, are you Mexican?  I'm Mexican.
Katy:  I'm Mexican-American.
Niki:  I will make you a bracelet that's Mexican! (Turns to other friend) Claire, are you Mexican?
Claire: No, I'm not from Mexico.
Niki (turning to me): Mrs. LJ, are you Mexican?

The absurdity of her question really made me laugh (inwardly of course) as I straight-faced answered her, "No. No I'm not Mexican."

But the really cool thing about that exchange was that it wasn't an absurd question to her.  At five years old, she has little notion about what being Mexican -- or any minority for that matter -- means. 
Thus she did not hesitate to ask her blond haired, blue eyed teacher, "Are you Mexican?".

We are approaching the birthday of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. 
As part of his famous I Have A Dream speech, he said:

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

Dr. King, I just met your dream, and her name is Niki.

LJ

Keep Calm and ?

Dear Diary,
I am baking cookies today and while I wait for them to cool I decided it was a good time to share my new fridge mantra for the year. 

But before I did that, I needed to do some research on the "Keep Calm and Carry On" slogan that became so popular in the last couple of years.  I wondered about its origin.  I had heard it was from Britain, hence the crown, but other than that, as far as I knew it could have been the name of another boy band Simon Cowell had discovered.



Original poster from 1939.

I learned it was not a boy band but a slogan the British government was prepared to use prior to WWII to keep the public from freaking out about predicted air raids.  It never was publicized properly and so never caught on at the time, unlike the American slogan, "Loose lips sink ships" and Uncle Sam's "I want YOU" declaration.

I did my research because I wanted to share with you the napkin I pilfered from the home of my brother and sister-in-law over Christmas.  Many of my readers know how much I love cookies. And though I didn't know what I was going to do with it at the time, I just couldn't see using it and throwing it away! 

So I hang it on my fridge. 
And take pictures of it for my blog. 

I suppose you, too, can fill in the blank for how you could handle what comes your way in the year ahead:  Keep Calm and ____________
Pray?
Drink coffee/wine/both?
Hide under the covers?

I think my Snickerdoodles have cooled.  Care to join me?

LJ

Pick Your Own IHS (#6)

This is my sixth installment of a series of posts describing an IHS moment leading up to Christmas. For those of you not keeping track, IHS means Inward Heart Swell, the antithesis of the IMG (Inward Mental Groan). It is my attempt to highlight the joy in the mundane, run-of-the-mill, or not-so-noticeable side of the Christmas season.

 

Dear Diary,

Today you can pick your own IHS. 
I could have searched online for fabulous photos of a palm tree, crystal waters, and white sandy beaches, as well as the deep blue and pure white of an Alaskan mountain range or glacier.

Instead I chose a scene I see every day 'cuz it is my reality.  I have cold weather friends and fair weather friends.  Anyone who knows me knows which weather friend I am!  So rather than hog this page with what I want to see, I thought I'd make it IHS friendly for all.

Which photo takes you to your happy place?

Photo #1

Photo #2

Come back and visit this page anytime you need a pick-me-up.

You're welcome,
LJ

 



 



His Story - My Story

Dear Diary,

Recently I read an article about the deeds of a tattoo artist.

I never thought it would put a tear in my eye.

The reasons for my emotions are two-fold. 
     #1-- His story is a cool one. 
     #2 --I want to have a story like that.

His Story
You wouldn't know it by looking at him but tattoo artist Chris Baker, a well-inked, tough-looking dude ya wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, actually has a heart for the less fortunate.

A year ago he had an idea: to cover or remove the branding tattoos of former gang members and sex trafficking victims at no charge.  A year since, his idea was so well-received he was invited to attend the US State Department's international meeting on Trafficking Persons.  His idea, coming from a talent he already has, and from a heart that reflects his love of God, has grown bigger than anything he thought possible, and has resulted in his founding of a ministry called Ink 180.

My Story
Chris and I share a love for Jesus and a desire to help the less fortunate.  But that is where the similarities end.  He and I don't share the same talent.  It has taken me decades to figure out what mine are, and I still only have general ideas.  I feel like a "jack of all trades but master of none." 

When I read a success story like this one, my emotions are at play because Chris embodies (tats and all) an ideal I want to live up to:
An everyday gal using her resources and talents she already owns, to share her blessings and somehow provide a better life to others in the name of Jesus.

Don't get me wrong.  I am not going around searching for the meaning of life. 
I like what I do, and I know it is worthwhile. 
And my ministry to my family is foremost and has been full of successes and blessings indeed.
But reading stories like Chris's gives me an itch.  A desire that there is more I could or should be doing.

I believe the most golden ideas are simple ones; ones that use the resources and talents already at hand, like Chris did. 

It is a special person, indeed, that must move mountains to get the job done.  That person I will never become.

Which is why I love reading about the everyday guy or gal who whispers an idea in his basement, only for it to grow into a voluminous shout to the persons who matter.

Idealistically yours,
LJ