FOR SUCH A TIME AS THIS...

So many life lessons in these past three weeks in Costa Rica. I guess it really is true that we often need to get out of our daily routine, remove ourselves from the ordinary, to see God at work and to hear the LORD speaking to us.
One revelation from the LORD has been the reminder that my life is in His hands. God has blessed the roads of my life's journey and, as the popular song states, "God [even] blessed the broken roads…." to bring me to this point in life.  Praise the LORD for His Goodness, His patience, His mercy, and His faithfulness. "For now we see through a glass darkly but, then, we will see face to face, now I know in part; but then I shall know even as also I am known (1 Corinthians 13:12). What a joy it is to see a little "face-to-face" during this trip to Costa Rica.
So many events from my life have converged at this point: Children's Choir at Calvary Baptist Church, piano lessons from Mrs. Leila Jo Caughman--a great (very strict!) teacher, choral opportunities in middle school, high school, college, and seminary, church music ministry opportunities in wonderful churches in Columbia, SC, Charleston, SC, Isle of Palms, SC, Lexington, KY, Raleigh, NC, Brentwood TN,  countless Bible studies, teaching undergraduate Bible, music, and worship courses, mission trips to Mexico and Costa Rica, raising four children, two of whom we adopted, the love of a Christ-following husband. Oh, and don't forget the Spanish classes. When Brentwood UMC offered Spanish classes in 2011, I signed-up so I could brush up on my 30-year-old high school level Spanish. This would hopefully enable me to communicate a little better in Costa Rica when we went on sabbatical the following summer. Once that summer trip ended, however  I continued to take Spanish classes, loving every minute of them. I took the cleaning lady (from Guatemala) to lunch to practice my Spanish, I volunteered in an ESL class, I pestered my nephew who had majored in Spanish in college, bribing him with breakfast at Panera's, if he would speak Spanish with me for one hour. Why? Why did I love this language and why was I DRIVEN to learn it? The question surfaced many times and I had answer.
Along with the positive experiences of my life these past few years, there were some events that saddened me and events that caused me to question God's purpose for my life. Why didn't God answer my prayers (the way I thought He should!)? The waiting, the "NO's," the questioning were all part of God's plan, though I could not see it.
It is crystal clear to me now how God prepared me through each of these opportunities/events to bring me to where I am, now: working with a high school chorus and living with 11 children (who are up for adoption) in Costa Rica.  Though I would not begin to compare myself to Queen Esther and the time that Mordecai stated that she was a Hebrew who had been chosen queen  "for such a time as this;" that phrase keeps running through my mind. God's time (kairos) and my time (chronos) join hands at God's bidding. It has taken years down the road to understand but, looking back, the guiding, loving hand of God was there with me all the time. 
Thank-you, Lord.

Tico Patience. HURRY UP, I WANT IT NOW!

Tico Patience 

HURRY UP, I WANT  IT NOW!

This is my fourth trip to Costa Rica. I have been here for 17 days so far this trip, nine of those days without Rob. While the loneliness and isolation I experience in the evenings and weekends is unsettling, there are many good things about this trip. One of these is the patience and manners of these lovely Costa Rican people (Ticos).

Traffic is HORRIBLE, here. Cars, buses, motorcycles, and bicycles weave in and out with no attention to driving rules such as the lines in the road or not passing on the right. I find myself getting upset with these drivers, after squealing and prying open my eyes, certain that my driver is going to hit their vehicles. Somehow it all works, though. I observe that the drivers seem to be patient. If someone moves out ahead of them, they acquiesce and then continue on their way when all is clear. Four cars may approach an intersection. All stop and with the nod of a head, they signal who will go first. Pedestrians begin to move out into the road when oncoming traffic is approaching and that traffic will slow down for them. No angry honking of horns, no cussing or making obscene gestures. Oh, a driver may honk his car horn, but only lightly to signal to the other drivers that he is moving out. I'm not advocating that the rest of the world drive this way (USA especially) but Tico patience is admirable.

This cultural patience is found in other places, too. In all my time at Colegio Metodista, teaching chorus classes and participating in school events, I have never seen anyone in a hurry. Yet, this is one of the top private schools in the country, academically.  How do they do it? The gentility of staff and students alike demonstrates a lesson many of us could learn. Costa Ricans greet everyone in the room when they enter it, often with a kiss on the cheek. They say good-bye to everyone in the room when they leave. The students stand by their desks, after entering my classroom, until I sit or tell them to be seated. I've attended two morning coffees and there was no rush. The food was delicious and elegantly prepared and people seemed to genuinely enjoy taking the time to socialize. I did not see ONE PERSON PULL OUT AN iPHONE during the entire hour of both coffees! People and relationships matter the most--what a pleasant atmosphere.

I'm afraid that in the USA, we would be checking our watches, our phones, and hurrying through such social events to get to our next event, only to check that off our list and head to the next thing. As for me, I am now inspired be more patient, courteous, mannered, and interested in people. If the greatest commandments are to love the Lord our God with all our hearts and to love people as ourselves, this will be a step in the right direction.

A tribute to my Mom

My dear mother is as sweet as she ever was and, yet, she is unaware of most of her life -- due to the demons of dementia. 
As I look at Mom, I am flooded with many emotions, some I can't begin to explain, and many questions. Where is my mother? How can she be sitting there and not remember most of the people and events of her 86 years? Who took her memory? What did she eat, or do, or expose herself to throughout her life, that caused this to happen? 
God's Word says we see through a glass darkly, now, and will THEN see clearly but, I really want to know now and I want to know why. How could this happen to someone who is a true example of a servant of Christ? She lived her entire life to support, encourage, and nourish other people. She read her Bible and prayed daily. She humbly taught Sunday School. She never said an angry word to anyone. She listened and never criticized. She only offered advice when asked for it. She was forever taking soup or casseroles to sick folks or buying a present for anyone's new baby (though Mom and Dad were always on a tight budget). She once told me, when I questioned her about how she felt after being confined to the house for a month with an illness, that she was perfectly content to be with Dad in her home.
I recently heard a sermon on the Beatitudes and one part, in particular, struck me, "Blessed are the meek." As the preacher spoke, my mother's face came to mind. The synonyms and phrases for meekness all describe my mother: gentleness, humility, not seeking credit from people, inner strength, never criticizing, even when criticized. The pastor further clarified this picture of Mom, "Meekness is an unconscious anointing of God." 
As long as I live, I will not make sense of this illness and why it happened to her. The only good thing I can fathom is the way in which she continues to touch the lives of people, those who attend her in the skilled nursing center, those old friends who visit, and me. I would love to be more like her and, in being more like her,  be more like Jesus. I love you, Mom.

Sub'n: Views from several angles on substitute teaching

Throughout my adult life, I have substitute taught in various schools in many different cities where we lived. After a 12-year hiatus, I "subbed" in five high school classes today. Here are some thoughts I had:

"Substitute teacher!" Upon hearing this announcement, a student may experience an extreme quickening of heartbeats, euphoric waves of gratitude, and explosive jolts of creativity. The mind of this student, a.k.a. sub-CAT, whirls with anticipation. "How can I take advantage of this substitute teacher's disorientation, the deference and timidity that accompany her still-dry feet?"  Careful to remain unemotional, expressionless, and uninterested, sub-CAT contemplates where and when to pounce. He lies-in-wait for the opportune moment to catch this unsuspecting, surrogate leader.

"Substitute teacher!" A title revered by… no one. The school administrators dread the thought of the extra work involved with a sub: more paperwork, more interruptions, more complaints, more discipline problems but, also, less work-- less work toward achieving yearly goals and optimum student test results.

"Substitute teacher!" The "absent" teacher dislikes subs, though understands they are a necessity. A substitute teacher mean extra work typing instructions and explaining lesson plans. A sub means there will be even more-than-the-usual-work to do when the absent teacher returns to school, including catching up, cleaning up, shoring up. Anxiety comes hand-in-hand with calling a sub since that call often occurs from a sickbed, on the way to daycare to fetch an ailing child, or in the fog of emotions concerning a family emergency.

"Substitute teacher!" A phrase uttered over the phone, at the crack of dawn, while the would-be sub is still warm under bedcovers. Her response is a half-truth. "Sure, I'll be glad to come in for you today," when, in reality, she is thinking, "I might as well, I have no other job and I need the money." After hanging up the phone, her sleepy brain comes into focus and she tries to recall the "who, what, when, where, and why?" of her assignment.  She tumbles out of bed, stumbles to the coffeepot, and pauses to humbly beseech help from the One Who knows her best. "Dear God, thank-you for this day. Please give me strength… and patience… and wisdom to outsmart sub-CAT!"

I Love Hymns. I Love Worship Choruses.

I love hymns. There... I said it. I am unashamed to say it. I'll shout it and sing it if I need to. Today, I am praising God with a favorite, "When Morning Gilds the Skies"(Caswall, Barby).

I love worship songs/choruses. There... I said it. I am unashamed to say it. I'll shout it and sing it if I need to. Yesterday, I worshiped by singing, "Overcome" (Jeremy Camp).

For so long, the "worship wars" of modern Christian churches divided the Body into camps that, when biopsied with careful scrutiny, showed a serious disease. That sickness, which is the root of all spiritual sickness, is the exaltation of "I." Our world is full of this: Loreal caters, "I'm worth it!" Frank Sinatra crooned, "I did it my way" and more examples than I can list here.
But what is wrong with personal preference? Not a thing. Not a thing, as along as it does not disrupt the community and unity of the church. That very hymn that opens your weekly church service may resonate with long-absent worshiper returned after many years. That repetitious praise chorus strikes a chord with the college student who is wondering if there really is a God and does God love her? The next time we think about complaining about the musical packaging of God's Word, we should ask ourselves, "Could this hymn or song be used by the Holy Spirit to reveal God to someone, to teach biblical truth, to encourage or to exhort someone?" Let us pray that our worship music will do these. Let us rejoice that believers come in all shapes and sizes (and with all musical preferences). How beautiful is the Body of Christ!
Make us one, Lord, make us one. Holy Spirit, make us one. Let your love flow so the world will know we are ONE in YOU (Cindy Morgan and John 17:21).

Be this the eternal song, through all the ages long, may Jesus Christ be praised! 

Savior, worthy of honor and glory, worthy of all our praise, You overcame. Jesus, awesome in power forever,  awesome and great is Your name, You overcame.

Joys of Moving, Joys of Stuff

 OH MY!! It has been 18+ months since I've visited this blogsite. For a while, I DID NOT WANT TO blog. Then, the excitement of new jobs and moving to NC consumed us as we readied and sold our Brentwood home, said good-byes, and moved to Lake Junaluska. We finally bought and moved into a house, here, two weeks ago. After a week of family house guests, it is eerily quiet. I should be unpacking the 70+ boxes in the garage but--I DO NOT WANT TO!
Moving is exciting. Moving is scary. Moving is exhausting. Moving is creative. Moving is reflective. Moving is sad. Moving is hopeful. Moving is painful. Moving is joyful. Moving is cleansing. Moving is opportunity.
The most outstanding aspect of moving this time around has been the discovery/realization of an exorbitant amount of our stuff. Unnecessary stuff. Stuff that remained unopened from the previous move from NC to TN 11 years ago; yet, found its way to this home. What's up with that?!
Living in a rental house for seven months, using only half our "stuff" and leaving the rest in storage, begs a LOUD and CLEAR question: Do I own this stuff or does it OWN ME? As I look through the laundry room door to the garage and see the mountains of boxes, I think I know the answer.
My Dad was a wee-one during the depression (late 1920's). Growing up. my siblings and I often shook our heads and tried to overlook his packrattedness and stinginess, blaming these on the "lack of's" he experienced as child.
But, now, what's our excuse? Will hanging on to these things make our lives better: things such as the kids' report cards, early artwork, piano recital programs or a trivet given us when we left a church, or a box of Christmas cards from 2010? Is the fleeting moment of joy I experience when I come across these things (once every ten years) worth the space they consume and the dust they collect?
We thought that offering much of this stuff to our children would be a good way to clean out. Surely, they would want to keep their own memorabilia but, NO, they would have nothing to do with it. "How selfish and unappreciative," was my first reaction to their refusal. But, deep down, I admire my kids and many others of their generation. They seem to weigh carefully the stuff they allow in their lives, just as they are much more aware of the earth's limited resources, recycling, re-using, etc.
Oh well... I'm procrastinating now and feeling a little more motivated to tackle the looming 70-headed cardboard monster awaiting me in the garage. May God give me the wisdom and strength to save that which needs saving and let go that which needs letting go of. Oh--and, Thank-you, Lord, for this opportunity. Use it for Your Glory.

Blissfully Exhausted

I purchased, wrapped, labeled and delivered over 50 gifts. I spent WAY too much money. I baked five or six "goodies" to share. I prepared numerous potluck dishes for Christmas parties. I attended two staff gatherings. I hosted three Christmas dinners for family and friends. I planned or attended at least five more-than-usual-Christmas worship services. I travelled over 1300 miles to visit family in eight days, returning home on icy, snowy, mountainous roads. Would I do it again? YES! Though my body is still dragging (extra Christmas pounds don't help!), the JOY of spending time with family and friends, the JOY of sharing good conversation and seeing faces as gifts are opened, the JOY of experiencing once again the birth of Jesus Christ in my heart and in the world---is priceless. I thank God for these times and these relationships. We were created to be in community. I think Christmas is such as happy time because we "commune" in so many ways--with God, with family and friends, with the Body of Christ.
One of my friends says, "Sleep is overated." Not so sure about that--but I know for sure that, right now, I'm blissfully exhausted, energized by the memories and promises of the season.