CVS- not just for drugs… Now dispensing: mercy and kindness.

Phone call from kid crying- due to migraine. Check.

Bank. Check.

Kid picked up from school due to migraine. Check.

Cash paid for camp. Check. (See # 1- But-not actually a check- the school wanted cash. ((Did you know that still exists?) Which would have been fine, if I knew my PIN number….Which:  I don’t. Which also would have been fine if I had a physical bank… and could have cashed a check. But , we use an online bank…. so: not so much. UGH. )

(Yes. I said I went to the bank AND that I don’t have a physical bank. After a 20 minute phone call with the online bank of doom- I was told I can get a cash advance on my credit card at any bank. BUT- that I could be charged. They didn’t. But I would have paid.- Also- new PIN is being sent. Don’t judge me. 1) I have a hard time with numbers. and 2) I’ve received 3 new cards/ pins in the past 12 months. BLAH.)

Anyway:

Phone call to schedule pediatrician appointment. Check.

Phone call to schedule genetic counseling/testing appointment for hubby- Check. (Cancer= enough appointments to baffle Google calendar. Justsayin. A lot.)

Trip to CVS to pick up allergy meds and energy drinks with migraine-y kid in tow…. Check.

Except- almost not check.

Because CVS is where I almost broke my neck. (Can you do that while in an actual neck brace? Let’s just say I don’t want to find out…)

 

When there’s nothing there. God still is.

Quiet. It’s very quiet at the Cancer center. They try to cover it up with classical music playing softly through invisible speakers constructed by some medical 007 musical research team. But, even high class, spy created music cannot drown out the quiet. The quiet keeps growing. It gets louder with every person who walks through the door. The quiet grows in the hush of emotions being held  in check. The quiet is the sound of the tension between managing fear and hope.The quiet is the holding of breath before the breaking of news.

I am: not quiet.

In trying to keep myself from being driven mad by the quiet-(And driving everyone else nuts in the process-)  I tend to pace, knit, listen to music or books on my iPod , read and or wander, while we wait. Sometimes all of the above at the same time.  Trust me. But it’s not just an abundance of nervous energy.

The truth is: I’m looking for God. I’m desperate for a reminder of his presence in this place. In the quiet.

Most of the time- I find something. A word. A visual. Something. A tiny nest of peace found in storm of anxious silence.

Last week- I found: nothing.

I walked around the corner. I looked at every piece of art, (Art therapy is big at cancer centers. Gotta love that.) expecting to find some little reminder. A bird. A nest. SOMETHING. I found: Nada. Nothing. Pretty, challenging and intriguing stuff. But: NOTHING.

I did the magic bible trick-(Come on- we all know the magic bible trick- it’s when you ask God to say SOMETHING and then flip open your bible like a leather magic 8 ball and “claim” what is written there as a personal promise.) I landed on the blank leaf between old and new testaments. I tried the spiritual discipline of iPod shuffle. (Same deal- just with your iPod.) A random Lascivious Biddies song popped up. I feared my ipod would spontaneously combust due to some “Nothing but classical Music” cancer center policy that I probably received a copy of, but never read. (Cancer= a lot of papers. Like- if we stopped printing so much rainforest devastating cancer information paper- we could find the cancer cure- amount of paper. Justsayin. it’s a  lot. I don’t read it all. Of course. )

Just:

 

Jesus Hates Cancer. So Do I. In which- the news stinks and God is still Good.

“TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK: BOOM!”  

The verdict is in. The cancer is still: somewhere.

Yup- instead of a field goal, yesterday’s appointment was a cancer grenade. (I’d say it was a cancer IED  but I doubt terrorists are involved. Even if there is a little element of terror. And Now I’m afraid I’m on some watch-list for even using the word IED. Grand)

I’ll be honest. I’m usually a “prepare for the worst, hope for the best ” kind of girl. I really thought that yesterdays appointment was going to have a happy outcome.

It didn’t. I was really caught off guard. (Why do we think we can be on guard and protect ourselves from this stuff- anyway? I’ll tell ya- it doesn’t always work.)

It wasn’t the worst news. (The worst would be: it’s too late he’s already dead.  In fact-the man you’re married to has become a bacon craving zombie. That would be the worst.)

So, like I said- it wasn’t the worst- but- it also isn’t good.

My husband’s battle with prostate cancer ain’t over. (I even tried singing before the appointment to assure the outcome. Apparently a fat-lady singing isn’t magic. Bummer. ) His PSA has crept up. Into a range that means we’re now being referred to an Oncologist.

The Dr. said we need to look at this as managing a chronic illness. This battle may never end. (Well eventually- we all DIE. Duh. But, we may have this as part of our journey for the rest of our lives. However long that is.)

That’s NOT, what I wanted to hear.

I wanted to hear: “YAY! it looks good- you beat the odds! “ I wanted to hear: “I just don’t understand- it looks like he’s never had cancer- it’s just: gone.”  (I keep asking trusting and believing that God could heal. He just: hasn’t. Not so far.) I wanted to hear: “Okay one year down- 4 more till we declare you “cancer free!”

So now what?

Well. I’m angry and scared and frustrated. I spent some time crying to and yelling at God. I took some time last night with friends. We took some time with our kids. We took some time together to talk about how we’re feeling.

Now- we take the next step. We wait for the oncology appointment and find out what’s next. Most likely it will be specialized hormone management. Which sucks- But not as much as many other cancer treatments. We’ve already done a couple rounds of that- so we know what to expect. It’s manageable. He can work.

All of which is good.

But this: sucks.

Over the course of this journey- I’ve had lots of people respond lots of ways…. my favorite? The one that’s helped the most, so far?

Carol Kuykendall during a series of emails said: that “Jesus Hates Cancer.”  I told Carol: that needs to be a book. (I still think it does.)

Those 3 words gave me permission to hate  cancer, too. I don’t have to be thankful for my husband’s cancer. (I tried to do that… it was just so WRONG.) I have LOADS to be thankful for IN this situation….. but for it? Not so much.

Those words communicated to me that while God is going to do good things in this- HE DOESN”T LIKE IT WHEN HIS CHILDREN HURT.

Those words gave me permission to feel. They helped me to stop trying to doctrinate myself out of feeling…..all the things I feel. it wasn’t helping….. it was exhausting me. It was making me feel like My husband’s LIfe was as precarious as my ability to BELIEVE enough and have faith enough to make him live. (Yeah- not going into the whole doctrinal thing rt now- but let’s just say: I was forgetting I’m not God. God, is God. He holds us. It’s not dependent on our strength- but His.)

Those words also remind me: He weeps when we weep. He knows this is hard. Scary. Sad. And real. He cares. He understands all that is involved in this struggle:

¹³ Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.

¹⁴ Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has ascended into heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. ¹⁵ For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. ¹⁶ Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. Hebrews 4:13-16

Funny. I may have a reminder of that verse tattooed on my back.

He is present. Even Here. I know and trust that. Even when I don’t like what I see or hear. Which if you haven’t figured it out yet: I don’t. I hate it.

And that’s Okay.

Jesus Hates Cancer, too.

“Dear Lord- I love you but I HATE cancer. Please God- continue to work in and through this whole mess. I ask you to heal- I ask you to be our strength and hope. Thank you for the mercy you show when we feel and grieve- and the grace you offer- by joining in our pain with love and understanding. We weep. But- I know you weep with us. We hope- because you are. Thank you Jesus- for hating cancer. Thank you for fighting through this journey WITH us. And with all who do. I love you Lord- Amen.”

Dear Reader- If you’re struggling- know you’re not alone. God hates the things that hurt us….. but promises to do good things in them and to be there with us. Even Here.

 

A Mile in Her Shoes- Competing for the Mommy-Martyr Crown

I watched as each woman gracefully walked to her place on the stage. Each one a picture of poise and beauty. Their Runway strut and pivot turns were  ”America’s Top Model” perfect.

They were all:
• Beautiful
• Intelligent
• Resourceful
• Unique
• Dedicated
• Incredible

And, vying for the same crown. The competition was fierce. It was game on. I eyed the crown, for inspiration, before I went to take my place along side them. The glitter and prestige made me gag on my insecurity.  Nausea be darned: “I want that crown.” I thought. I strode across the stage.

The music slowed, then quieted. The announcer made her way across the stage to ask the “crowning” question of each contestant. I worked to listen to their answers and reconsider my own well-practiced one, while trying to simultaneously size the other contestants’ answers up.

Each one gave it her best. (This was a serious contest.)

Each answer was more difficult than the next.

I started to feel small. Smaller. Smallest. I don’t mean in dress size. I wondered if my answer would seem petty. I wondered if I should be on the stage with these women, at all. I wondered if I could sneak out, without being noticed.

I wondered which of them would win the crown. It wasn’t going to be me.

What was the question?

“What’s the hardest type of mom to be?”

Not exactly the type of question you were expecting in a pageant?

Well, I admit it. I lied. There was no pageant. I’ve never even been to a formal gowns, bathing suits and brutal stage lighting pageant. Please, being in one? That would be my nightmare.. Especially after 3 kids and more years than I care to count. Let’s just say, the bathing suit thing gives me hives- which might camouflage my stretch-marks, but won’t win me a crown.

I have, however, competed for the Mommy Martyrdom Crown. Several times. Whether it’s a question that’s actually been posed to a group- or one that’s implied, it’s one I’ve competed to answer.

Have you competed for the same crown? It’s a one-up-momship. A “my life is hard than your’s–so- you- should- not complain”  contest.

The thing is, no one wins.

After a winner is crowned, the rest of the contestants line up to congratulate her: “I don’t know how you do it.” “I could never do that” We offer them as blessings, but the words become walls. Miss congeniality ends up feeling “less than.” And the winner? She feels…… “more than.”

The Crowned Martyr-Mom has convinced herself (and others) how awful her life is, while at the same time convincing the others how petty their struggles are. She’s got skillz. We all do. Because we all know how to play the game.

We just don’t know how to win- because – everyone loses. We disconnect because we can’t be authentic with each other.  We’re too busy either trying to top each other or feeling guilty about feeling frustrated by “our little issues.”  In the end- intimacy is lost. Intimacy is way more valuable than a tinsel crown.

The Martyr -Mom  is miserable. So are the rest of us.

What if we stopped competing? What would it look like if we could learn to hear and understand the struggles of others without comparing our own? What if we set aside the Martyr-Mom crown for the crown of friendship?

What if we learned to respect each other’s challenges?

We are all:

• Beautiful
• Intelligent
• Resourceful
• Unique
• Dedicated
• Incredible

We’re also all:

• Living with challenges
• Imperfect
• Frustrated
• Overwhelmed
• Grieved
• Perplexed

At any moment in time- we could each win that crown. But, we could have so much more than that.

• We could learn the grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the fence.
• We could grow in compassion
• We could learn from the struggles of others- before they become ours. (Trust me, it happens.)
• We could find out we’re not alone.
• We could find help and hope in the stories of others.

How can we stop the pageant? Maybe, we just need to leave the stage. Together.

I quit. I quit comparing. I want to listen and love. I want to build intimacy not compete for martyrdom.

How ’bout you?

 

Let’s Talk About: Sustaining Grace. In which the clock ticks and my heart skips beats- but, I trust.

We don’t even have a clock that is actually ticking. (We have a few that could, if someone wound them. But clock winding is way down on the housekeeping priority list. So far down the list, that they haven’t been wound in years.) Anyway– I swear I can hear one ticking…. “Tick, Tock. Tick… Tick…. Tick.. Tick.Tick.”  It’s speeding up. It seems to be ticking faster and louder the past few days. I know it is. If time flies- I’m pretty sure it just broke the sound barrier.

Or, I may be losing my mind. In general- auditory hallucinations?  Not a good thing.

It’s not a hallucination. It’s not even an audible sound. But, it is a clock that has run in the background of our life since my husband’s diagnosis with Prostate cancer. Sometimes, its’ ticking has felt like the ticking away of our time together. At other times- like a countdown clock in a ballgame we’re about to win, or lose. Sometimes, it ticks loud enough to drown out the sounds of a busy, noisy family. Sometimes it’s so quiet, I [almost] think it stopped.

This is not, a quiet ticking week.

This is a week where the ticking is thunderous.

This is a PSA testing week.

“Tick. Tock. TICK. Tock. TICK! TOCK! “

Honestly? I have no idea what we’re ticking down to. I can only hear the ticking. We could be ticking down to a field goal kind of week. This could be the third, non-detectable PSA in a row!  (Is that a prostate cancer hat trick? I think so. Yes, it is. I just decided. Awesome.) The field goal count down would mean: we have more space for our lungs to fully expand.  A chance to take some cancer-free breaths for the first time, in a long time.

It could also be ticking away to another cancer grenade. An attack we have to fight. (And we will. Oh, we will. Trust me.)  A creeping PSA test means: the cancer is still somewhere and we start the next round. I don’t know what the next round means. I refuse to Google it. (Just a tip: when fighting cancer? Google is not your best source for treatment planning and information. You’re welcome. I just saved you a potential nervous breakdown. Except, you probably won’t listen. You will Google. You may obsess. You may have to learn the hard way- like I did. Don’t worry- I’ll be here when you’re done.)

Regardless of what the clock is ticking down to- I know this: Like it or not- we’ll get through it.

That doesn’t mean I believe God will make “everything okay.”  (Even though, I believe he can heal- people die. Hence- he obviously doesn’t always heal. Justsayin.) It does mean:  I know that His grace that has already sustained us through so much- diagnosis, surgery, treatment etc. can and will sustain us through whatever comes next. (That’s just this ONE issue’s list of grace. Multiply that by all the other issues we’ve faced as a family? And the Grace tally adds up to a thunderous chorus of resounding grace. We’re talking every band ever created playing it’s heart out- at the same time, kind of sound.  (Only, probably more harmonic. Okay? Let’s face it- The Clash playing with The Philharmonic,  Def Leppard and Green Day, may not exactly be harmonic, but it sure would be loud.)

Louder than cancer.

Louder than any diagnosis.

Louder than my whining complaints and worries.

Louder than the ticking clock that haunts a million insomnia-filled nights.

Grace is like that.

Grace sustains by resonating through our lives. All of it. Every moment.  Louder than any background noise or cancer grenade.

Grace is not ticking away this week- grace is building to a crescendo.

Regardless of the PSA outcome. regardless of prognosis or treatment plan.

Grace will.  It always does. Grace keeps us going and growing and renewed. Even here.

“Dear Lord- I don’t know who’s reading today. I don’t know what kind of clock is ticking away in their life. But I know this- your grace can be heard over, under and through it. Like the music heard over a metronome. Like a radio cranked above an engines’ whine.  Lord- I ask you to bring to remembrance every instance of grace in our lives. Start with the Grace that saves- the grace heard first on the cross. And keep going lord, with grace that has carried us through hard things- happy things and even the hardest things. Let it be a chorus that crescendo’s in our hearts this week. Even Here. Where ever we are. I love you Lord. And trust you to continue to be present. No matter what happens. Amen.

Sunday one of our Pastor’s preached on Sustaining grace. I’m glad he did. I needed the reminder. Maybe you do, too.

Especially this one:

^“ But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” 2 Corinthians 2:9

Which led me to this:

“To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—to the
only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore!
Amen”  From Jude 24

And this- by Max Lucado:

“Sustaining grace does not promise the absence of struggle but the presence of God.”

 

MOPS, I’m More Than a Member. I’m Part of a Movement.

“Membership has it’s privileges.”  Yes, I’m old enough to remember that commercial. (And now- you are too. See? I just leveled the age field. I’m awesome like that. So is YouTube.You’re welcome.) There are plenty of old commercials I don’t remember….. but that one? Almost every word. Maybe it’s because it made American Express sound like a magical mix of:  Concierge, Fairy God Mother, Personal Assistant and Personal (if only financial)  Security Guard. Or, maybe it’s because I was young and dreaming of bing a fancy-pants adult. (Reality of growing up? Now, I just  I dream of pants that fit. Especially jeans. Fancy- not a priority. justsayin.)

Yet- the ad mens’ words haunt: “Membership has it’s privileges.” They seem to haunt the world I live in. Their marketing butterfly effect follows me every where I go.  Now- everything involves a membership. “with privileges.” From grocery stores to bookstores. Pharmacies to gym’s. Membership is everywhere. Along with it’s subsequent “privileges.” The privileges include: cash back. (In my brain that’s just evidence of over pricing. Yes, I’m jaded.) bonus’ with purchase (usually free stuff I probably wouldn’t buy for the MSRP and usually throw out years after it expires. But still feel a rush of “FREE” when it’s forked over to me.) , special discounts (An extra 2% off an item I don’t need? Yup. It might make me buy it. after all- it’s a member’s only deal!) and secret sales. I keep waiting to find a special membership offer in a bathroom stall that will give me a special pass to a private stall with a sink, full length- magical body shrinking mirror, where I can bathe, check my email and adjust my spanx in private. Oh, and spend as much time in there as I want or need, without fear of someone judging my feet. (I have issues.)

Anyway- memberships make me feel: special. Indulged. I’m a member, and still spoken as part of the marketing schpeil or not we all know:  membership has it’s privileges. Privileges for me. Because, like I said: I’m special. At least in a weirdly over-marketed to- maybe a little shallow kind of way. (It also makes me feel: like my in-box should be a spam box, and that my actual mailbox should have a spam box. (Membership typically means= I give you access to and permission to use, my personal information for your marketing purposes.And  then somehow- be thankful for it. Weird.)

If you haven’t guessed by now- I’m kind of over the membership thing. What was once a word that meant mutual (group) dedication to an idea, cause or purpose (People used to be members of actual groups they attended. Churches, non- profit organizations etc.) now, just feels like  a marketing campaign on crack.

I hold several memberships anyway. Some- I know are about marketing. I know they are to get me into the store so I spend more. (I should just have our income- auto deposited to certain places where I am a “Member.” I’m looking at you: Barnes and Noble, and Sam’s Club.I love you. But I know what you’re doing. justsayin.) And then.. there are other memberships.

Like my MOPS International Membership. On one hand- it does have it’s privileges. There is a great website with members only deals and content that inspires and connects. There are inspirational mom-e-mails that turn up in my inbox uncannily at the exact moment when I most need to hear their honestly written words.  There is a beautiful magazine- MomSense that I adore. And have even been published in. There is MOPS swag-  who doesn’t love beautifully branded swag? I admit it: I do.

And like other memberships- there is also a feeling of being special…..I am not alone in mothering. I am a MOPS mom. (Yes- I’m still a member- No my kids are not in Preschool. Although somedays I wonder….)

However, I’m not a member of MOPS International because of the swag. I’m not a member of MOPS International because of the marketing. The Magazine subscription or it’s other privileges… I’m a member for old school reasons.

I’m a member because I believe mothering matters. I’m a member because I believe there should be no Mom alone. I’m a member because I believe the hand that rocks the cradle rocks the world. I’m a member because I believe we mother better when we mother together. I’m a member because I know that MOPS reaches Moms on (almost) every continent. (we’ll get there. I know we will.)

I’m a member because I have MOPS sisters who believe the same things in countries all over the world. Russia. New Zealand. Australia. England. Guatemala. China. Meeting on military bases all over the world, in Starbucks, in churches in living rooms and rented spaces.

My membership isn’t [just] about ME. Honestly? I could care less about the wonderful swag. Swag is available everywhere. In truth- MOPS membership doesn’t come in a box. It comes in your heart.

MOPS Membership is found in being devoted enough to the cause of mothering to invest in reaching another mom. (MOPS Membership? It’s the main source of financing for all MOPS Ministry. If you broke down MOPS’ yearly budget and interpreted it as a household budget. The membership fees invested into MOPS by our members is the equivalent to MOPS’ paycheck. It pays the bills. Memberships make the MOPS Ministry possible, the same way our personal paychecks make feeding our families possible.)

Membership may have it’s privileges- but MOPS Membership is so much more than privilege. It’s an investment in reaching out to other mothers. It’s a statement that “I value mothering in word- and in deed.”  In word- by calling my self  MOPS mom and recognizing my sisters as MOPS moms- and in deed by investing my time, talents and treasure into a ministry focused on reaching every mother. That’s a lot of bang for a $23.95 price.

The truth is—-MOPS Membership is about others. It’s about commitment. Membership is NOT a marketing campaign. Being a part of MOPS Membership is about being part of a movement. A movement of Mothers passionate about loving and helping each other. As messy and imperfectly and beautifully as we can.

MOPS is a movement that stems from the very heart of God.  MOPS flows out of His love and tenderness towards mothers. MOPS is something I’m honored and privileged to be a part of. And something I hope you’ll join me in.

Isaiah 40:11

¹¹ He tends his flock like a shepherd:

    He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
    he gently leads those that have young.

(Confession- I’m a MOPS member, Volunteer Field Staff and a MOPS International Board Member. This article is me- speaking as a MOPS Member. It is in no way is speaking for the organization. There- Disclaimer- disclosed. ;)

Dear Lord, I love you, and I love the women you’ve called me to reach out to through MOPS. Thank you- not only for the privileges  I receive from that membership, but also for the privilege of being involved in this ministry and movement. Help me to get over my issues with membership feeling like a marketing campaign…. and help me and all members to see it as a way to invest and give to further reach out to those who have young. Help me to gently and lovingly lead. Thank you for an organization of people devoted to loving and helping mothers of all kinds. I love you Lord- amen.

So— if you’re a reader- I’d love to know- What are you a member of?

MOPS? Some other group? Tell me!

And tell me why you’re a member! I want to hear what you’re passionate about! And seriously- in the comments- you can totally tell me about your favorite retail “membership.”  What’s your favorite “perk?”  I am admittedly in love with that Barnes and Noble 10% discount, and Amazon Prime? yes. I’m a member. Free videos? Free shipping? You had me at video….. Which reminds me- I need to check the Gold Box deal of the day…. ;)

 

Walk in love…. (wobble, hobble, stumble-whatever- but do it in love.)

It’s not what shoes you wear- it’s how you walk….. Walk in love

Truth: I walk like a moose in heels. Or, maybe a like panda in platforms? Either way,  the years and physical mess that is my body, have snatched what little dance trained elegance, my gait once had. It’s gone like the Swallows of Capistrano-in October. That is- if the Duck Dynasty crew showed up with guns in hand. Let’s just say: My poise? Gone. And, it ain’t coming back.

Instead: I stomp. I stumble. (That’s what happens when your neck brace keeps you from watching where you’re walking.) I hobble and wobble. (Of course, I still wear cute shoes. because: duh- if I’m gonna hobble, wobble, stomp and stumble- it may as well be in cute shoes.) Maybe, you do too. Or maybe, you have all the grace of Princess Diana, Audrey Hepburn and Cinderella rolled into one. (In which case: I’m trying not to hate you….in Christian love- of course.) Or, maybe you’re a wheelchair maven, or a scooter driving momma. Whatever your mode of transport- today I want to talk about how we move through our days.

Nope,  I’m not (actually) talking shoes, mobility or grace. I’m talking about attitude. Motive. Jesus calls us to walk, but not with the poise of a runway model. He calls us to walk- in love.

Another truth: I find it easier to buy adorable shoes than to walk in love.  Honestly? It may be easier for me to train an elephant to walk in stilettos than it is to manage my attitude. (Am I a licensed elephant trainer? Don’t ask- I’m tempted to lie. Just go with me here….okay?)

Back to attitude. (Even though I’d rather talk elephant training….) It matters.

Because- love matters. (It must. That, or God had a lot of space in the Bible he was just trying to fill…..)

Ephesians 5      ¹ Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children ² and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

Luke 11     “Then the Lord said to him, “Now then, you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness. ⁴⁰ You foolish people! Did not the one who made the outside make the inside also? ⁴¹ But now as for what is inside you—be generous to the poor, and everything will be clean for you. ⁴² “Woe to you Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone.

1 Corinthians 13 “If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,but do not have love, I gain nothing.⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.⁸ Love never fails.”

Here’s the thing: Love may not fail, but, I, do. Often. When it comes to walking in love?  I stumble, stomp and wobble more than I do in heels with the neck brace. (Trust me, no matter how long I’m in this thing, it’s not pretty.)

I am less than considerate of others. I say harsh things. (I think I’m hilarious- but sometimes? I’m just mean.) I assume the worst. I am impatient. I am critical. I fail.(The list could go forever.. I think you get the idea.)

But, Jesus loves me anyway. And that love? It picks me up, so I can try to walk in love again.

Ephesians 5      ¹ Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children ² and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

I’ve read that verse hundreds of times– and all the verses that challenge us to be loving- and follow God.  (Sometimes searching for loopholes, if I’m honest.) Interestingly enough- He never demands that we KEEP UP with Him. He just asks that we follow. To follow- to walk behind. To move in the right direction. Toward Him.

Today- whether in heels, running shoes, ballet slippers or barefoot, with poise or with teetering, wobbly pain-filled steps- I ask you to join me in following God and taking the next step in love.  Wobbly, hobbly, stumbly or graceful….  Because You ARE loved.

Dear Jesus- I love you. Thank you for challenging me to walk in the love you’ve poured out to me. Thank you for the reminder that you don’t expect me to keep up with you- but to follow you. Today- where ever I walk- let me do so in love. amen