Is He Big Enough??

Is he big enough? You probably think I'm talking about Barnabas, but this time I'm not. I'm talking about God. I keep repeating that question to myself over and over it seems, and somehow, it seems to give me a quiet and undefined confidence.

He is big enough. Big enough for my questions. Big enough for my doubts. Big enough to wrestle through struggles with me without snapping me in two. Big enough to hold the world in His hands yet still cradle me in His arms. One of the reasons I am not afraid of who I am is because God is not afraid of who I am. He knows me. And He's big enough to handle me.

There are so many people that doubt. Or they're angry or paralyzed by some gripping fear, but they don't want God to know about it. They would feel "unspiritual" by telling Him. That might, in their minds, seem blasphemous. But I have found freedom in that raw honesty. If God really is who He says He is, then He's big enough to handle anything that I could throw at Him. Not that I'm out to be the devil's advocate and wreak havoc of my faith, that's not what I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is raw and uncensored relationship with Jesus. Being able to deal with who I am where I am, without fear of rejection or stoning. The Pharisees did a superb job of derailing many a layman's faith in the Bible, and unfortunately, I've met one too many Pharisees in my day. I'm over religion .... that's not what I'm here for.

You may be surprised to hear my saying this. I mean, I'm a pastor's wife for crying out loud. Aren't I supposed to wear jumpers and lace blouses and play the piano? (Don't hold your breath on that one!) I'm not supposed to wear my frailty on my sleeves and openly admit that I struggle. Sorry. You're not going to get that from me. You're not going to get anything but the raw deal, and I know that that will make some people uncomfortable. But I hope that more people find it refreshing and comforting than those that it ruffles their feathers. I don't know how to be any other way .... I'm not in this journey to please other people or make my family look like the Cleavers. I'm just here to figure out who my God is and fall in love with Him. The outpouring of my in-love heart will be evidence of that relationship.

So, how am I putting hands and feet on this idea? For one, God has probably heard more than enough about how I feel and what I think. I'm sure I sound like a broken record, but unfortunately, I am sort of hung up like one. Second, I'm going to start studying His attributes. I figure the best way for me to re-rail my faith is to go back to the Source, and study who God is.... based on His Word alone ... straight from the horse's mouth. Then I can maybe begin tossing out the wrong ideas or concepts that I have lazily acquired over the years. I'll be sure to let you know what I'm learning along the way. Right now I'm just getting my cool binder organized and ready for take off. Thanks for reading!

When Relationships Get Messy

What a week! I think that I probably experienced the entire emotional range possible on just about any given day last week. I’m not afraid to admit that I’m glad it’s over! It all started Tuesday morning when I decided to get up early and go to the gym before my husband’s outpatient surgery. My rational was that I would spend the majority of the day sitting, so I’d get ahead of the curve with an early workout and then enjoy my time resting in the waiting room. Unfortunately … that didn’t go as planned. As soon as I walked out my bedroom door I could smell the foul fumes of Great Dane explosion rising up the stairs. It was 6:45am. It was appalling. When I opened my laundry room door it looked like a mud slinging contest had erupted during the night, and there were no winners, only casualties. I was shell-shocked. And then I did what any chicken of a person would do. I quickly let all three dogs out into the backyard, posted a sticky note on the laundry room door saying “Do Not Enter,” and quietly slipped out the door. It was just too early to deal with that shit … literally.

Admittedly, I knew that it was a bad decision at the time. My in-laws would be coming into town to see my post-surgery hubby, and our sweet live-in college graduate would be taking care of our three kids all day in the midst of the nastiness. I fully intended to clean it up as soon as we got home from the hospital, but other people would have to deal with my procrastination and laziness in the meantime. Where am I going with this? Relationships are messy. Real messy.

Not only did Barnabas download his unhappy stomach one night, not two nights, but three nights in a row. His jail cell sized crate is too big to fit through the laundry room door so it can’t just be carried out and hosed off. You have to take the liner pan out and tilt it to the side to get it through the door, all the while trying to keep any output from slipping off the pan and splattering on the floor. Then you have to take his monster size body pillow out to “breathe” in the sunshine before you can even attempt to remove it and shove it in the washer. Then come the scrubbing and disinfecting of the entire laundry room floor and walls. All while a less than two year old hangs onto your left leg and keeps repeating “I clean Mama too.” It was a lot of mess and a lot of work.

But do I still love Barnabas? Yes. Did I spend all that time cleaning up his mess and bathing him in my Jacuzzi tub because I love him? Yes. Our relationship got messy for the first real time, and probably will have at least 100 more minor disasters, but that’s a part of loving something … or someone. We are going to disgust each other, hurt each other, and let each other down. And then it’s our choice to get over it and move on, or stew in it and grow bitter. Inventory of my life may show that I've spent far too much time stewing.

My husband likes to find funny things on the internet and share them with me. Once of his favorite findings was a site of demotivational posters. One of my favorites is this ...

Unfortunately, it is funny and sad, but true. I am the weak link in all my relationships. Granted, my friends and family may be weaker and more dysfunctional than I am, but that still doesn't negate the fact that I'm dysfunctional too. Dysfunctional from birth because of the fall. Dysfunctional still because I'm waiting on the Second Coming. No matter how hard we all try, we are tainted by sin, and not just sin at our appendages, but sin at our core. It is deeply woven into the fabric of our being. Yes, Jesus promises to give those of us who call on Him a new heart (and Praise Jesus for that!) but we're still going to be broken and hurting people who break and hurt people on this side of eternity.

At least if we understand our contribution to the problems in our relationships, then we're half way to correcting what is within our power. We can't fix other people, but we can try to fix the junk that is honestly ours. That doesn't sound like much fun, but it's the only productive way of changing something ... starting with yourself. I think I'm about to begin a very long journey on that ... wish me well : )

Anything else is just religion.

Sooooo .... either PMS has decided to camp out at my house for an extra long summer vacation or my crazy pills aren't working very well. Either way, I laid down on my bed this afternoon for a few brief moments. I wanted to calm my heart. I wanted to rest my mind. The ceiling fan was turned on its highest setting, which is pretty much like mach 7, and the house was unbelievably absolutely quiet. I covered up with the teacup quilt my mom had made me for Christmas. Not that I was actually cold, but needed the comfort of something homegrown and momma made. And I listened to some small but lively bird singing outside the window. It is moments like these that I really try to soak in the blessing of God's love that is momentarily obvious ... and mine.


I found myself thinking of the verse in Zephaniah about God "rejoicing over me with singing," and I thought to myself, "There is absolutely NO WAY that God ... THE God of the universe ... wants to spend His Saturday afternoon rejoicing over me with singing!" That just sounds absurd! But I still wanted it. I still somehow wildly and insanely craved in my deepest crevices to feel that singing and feel that love of God. So I asked for it. I just prayed ... "God ... I want to FEEL you rejoicing over me with singing." And I lay there. And I rested. And my heart grew still and my head slowed down. Singing? No. No angelic choirs broke through in my robin's egg blue bedroom. No golden harps floated by on ethereal clouds. But I think He was there. I think that somewhere deep down my spirit believed for the first time that it could be true ... that He could love me that much. Maybe he sang me to sleep? Cause the next thing I know my alarm clock is going off and I wake up with this blissful feeling of perfect peace. It didn't really last all that long mind you, but it was mine for that moment.


You know, I've always struggled with believing that God loves me. And I'm not talking about the "Jesus Loves Me" Sunday school song. I mean deeply saturated and rooted in the rock solid affirmation that I am desired, loved, and chosen by my God. That's what I want to know. That's what I'm after. I don't want to live out my Christian life following rules and commandments because the Bible says to. I want to trust and obey God actively in my choices and life because I am mesmerized by Him, by His promised and unconditional love for me. Anything else is just religion.


But unfortunately my feeble and weak faith knees were knocked clean out from under me a few years ago, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm still trying to get back on my feet. People that I trusted. People that I had long time respected as spiritual leaders and fathers, failed to be loving and forgiving. They failed to live out and extend the grace that they professed to have received themselves. A private sin that became extremely public. A broken heart and repentant spirit that was ridiculed and disregarded. A community of believers that was removed from me and my family because they were unable to deal with life honestly and biblically. It nearly destroyed me.


So I've found myself at the crossroads of having to untangle the fall inflicted confusion between church and God. The Head and the body. You would think that they are one and the same, but they can unfortunately be miles apart. And listening to the voice of one can so easily infect your thoughts towards the other. So I'm having to decipher what's truth and what's rubble. And rediscover God’s love for me for the first time. So I’m spending my days looking for God-holes … little windows into my world that beam His love onto me. I want to figure out what that love looks like and respond to it. Cause really … anything else is just religion.

Hard Heads

So .... I'm beginning to realize why Barnabas and I are such good friends .... we are actually pretty similar as far as a person and a beast goes. He's awkward and gangly ... I'm awkward and gangly at times ... as evidenced by the fact that I fell down the lower half of my stairs this morning while carrying a cup of hot coffee. It was fast but not graceful and I'm pretty sure I have a slight concussion from the whole ordeal. Barnabas is friendly .... and I've won all sorts of superlatives for being the "Friendliest" friend around. But the real kicker is the whole hard headed thing. Barnabas has a HARD head, and let me tell you, you better duck if you see it heading your way. He has busted my lip clean open on more than one occasion just while being sweet or excited. For anyone that has known me for any length of time, you would probably say the same thing ... I've got a hard head too. And when Barnabas and I collide ... it hurts!

Why the hard head? Some of it came at birth. I was born with a swagger towards independence. Some of it came as I matured and flew the nest. I was finally going to do things MY way. Some of it has come from trial and error ... and errors meaning I won't make that same mistake twice. And some of it has come in self-defense. Just simply putting up walls against people and things that have hurt in the past vowing that that won't ever happen again.

But a hard head can sometimes silently influence and callous a hard heart. And that's where it gets tricky. I've found myself there lately ... hard headed and hard hearted. The walls that you throw up around your heart and your head are meant for protection, they're meant to keep you safely locked inside. But somehow they always end up leading you into a dry and weary wasteland wandering around lost, not exactly sure how you got there and definitely without a clue as to how to get back. I've spent a lot of time wandering.

I've read two books lately relating to the subject. The first is Paul Miller's "A Praying Life." In it he describes being hard hearted or cynical as having "built up scar tissue from our frustrations, and we don't want to expose ourselves anymore. Fear constrains us. Cynicism and defeated weariness have this in common: They both question the active goodness of God on our behalf. Left unchallenged, their low-level doubt opens the door for bigger doubt. They've lost their childlike spirit." One of Miller's remedies for a hard heart is to cultivate a spirit of thankfulness. "Nothing undercuts cynicism more than a spirit of thankfulness. You begin to realize that your whole life is a gift."

The second book that has been a beautiful companion is Ann Voskamp's "One Thousand Gifts." It focuses on her journey out of ruptured hopes and crushing disappointments into a life full of thankfulness and every day Love. In her attempt to redeem losses she describes her shattered worldview: "Losses do that. One life-loss can infect the whole of a life. Like a rash that wears through our days, our sight becomes peppered with black voids. Now everywhere we look, we only see all that isn't: holes, lack, deficiency ... Years, I have felt it in the veins, the pulsing of ruptured hopes." But she goes on to describe "that which tears open our souls, those holes that splatter our sight, may actually become the thin, open places to see through the mess of this place to the heart-aching beauty beyond. To Him. To the God whom we endlessly crave."

Maybe so. Maybe God will eventually peek through those fracture lines and reveal to me something infinitely more beautiful than I think possible. Voskamp's book details her journaling journey as she tries to write a list of one thousand things that she loves. One thousand blessings. One thousand gifts that she already HAS ... in her every day life. "They are just the common things and maybe I don't even know they are gifts really until I write them down ... Gifts He bestows. This writing it down - is is sort of like ... unwrapping love."

In my attempt to rediscover my God, I'm going to play around with the same idea. What are some every day gifts that He has given me that bring me so much joy and reflect His beauty? This is where I've started ...


1. The color robin's egg blue.
2. Puppy breath.
3. The smell of baby's feet.
4. The sound of the TV clicking off.
5. NOT having to do the ironing.
6. Golden aspens in Colorado
7. Fancy travel coffee mugs
8. Warm chocolate chip cookies
9. New running shoes
10. Blue Ridge mountains in the Fall
11. Cutting into a brand new jar of peanut butter
12. Fireflies in the summer sky
13. A good back massage.
14. My dog Zack.
15. Eli's dimples.
16. The smell of pumpkin pie baking.
17. The sound of frogs and crickets at dusk.
18. Being on any body of water.
19. Thomas Donut Shack!
20. The smell of a coffee shop.
21. Soft puppy ears and a warm cup of coffee in bed.
22. Unexpected grace and love from a long lost friend.
23. A perfect Georgia peach ... fragrant and sweet.
24. Chic-fil-a's sweet tea and lemonade mixed.
25. Girls' weekend at the lake.

Fences

So I spent the morning working in the yard. I was busy digging and transplanting some very neglected flowers to a place where they will hopefully have a better chance of survival. My family likes to refer to me as the Dr. Kevorkian of plants. I think that is rather harsh given that I'm still "green," but when you come from a long line of gardeners and Master gardeners, you really don't have a chance. I do enjoy digging in the dirt and watching my potted containers begin to overflow with life and color, but it is one more thing to maintain, and in my case, try to keep alive.

As if my black thumb were not enough, now I have the massive feet of my miniature horse (Barnabas) to contend with. Our other dogs, Bebo and Annie, are both small terriers who love to dig in my raised flower beds hunting chipmunks. They had already done a significant amount of damage before Barnabas came on board. Now there's one whole section that has just been beaten to the ground and trampled. Even the weeds have given up trying to grow there! Well, I realized that I could move the wire to our invisible dog fence just enough to keep Bebo and Barnabas out of my favorite shade bed. Then I might actually be able to concentrate on one area of the yard and protect it all at the same time. It's a win/win situation! So I spent the morning transplanting all that I could into this one raised flower bed and then carefully re-burying the invisible fence to protect it from monster feet and jabber jaws. Sometimes we have to put up fences to protect things that are fragile or especially important to us.

On a completely different note, I remember going to see my OB when I was pregnant with my third child and lamenting over all the aches and pains I was experiencing. I told him that I felt like this baby was literally going to fall out at any time! I'll never forget what he told me. He graciously explained to me that "my pelvic floor had been compromised, and that it would never be the same again." And I thought "Well ... damn. That was both insulting and disgusting all at the same time!" But I got what he said. Even though my body had completely healed from the two previous childbirths, it had been permanently altered and would not be as strong as it once was. I was susceptible to more aches and pains and discomfort than before.

I think that there are areas of our lives that are much the same way. There are areas where we have struggled and fallen or been tempted and momentarily defeated, that have left weak pockets within the fabric of our being. Whether it be a recurring struggle with a particular sin or deep scars from one traumatic experience, we are now vulnerable where we once were not. We may have healed completely, in the sense that there are no longer any gaping wounds or bloody show, but there is almost always scar tissue or compromised muscles. And it serves us well to be mindful of those weaknesses. It is to our benefit to know where they are and what triggers them. In knowing them, we may learn how to protect them. And it may be wise to put up some fences around those places.

Fences can be anything constructive that help us avoid or protect us from dangerous situations. Just like I don't want my anemic flowers to be trampled by Barnabas' feet, I also don't want my vulnerable soul to get trampled by things that I know will hurt it. By moving the invisible dog fence I was able to protect my plants. I also have fences in place in my life to protect me from temptations I am susceptible to. And there is no shame in that. There is no shame in knowing where you are prone to fall and being preventative in caring for your soul. Just like my OB explained to me that my "innards" would never be the same, he was also telling me that if I continue to do certain exercises and activities, that I am going to hurt. And I probably will pee on myself the rest of my life when I go running ... but that's another issue that will probably never get better : )

Just some thoughts on being spiritually proactive ...

Angry Chic Music

Usually when I go running I listen to music. And not just any old music. It's what my husband likes to refer to as my "angry chic" music. It's got to have a strong beat, some gut wrenching lyrics, and something to make me want to pound the pavement or shake my booty. I am convinced that my youngest daughter will be the next Beyonce' because of all the booty music she heard in utero on my runs! But seriously, I've gotten to the point that I don't like to run without music. I used to think it was because I didn't like to hear the sound of my own breathing or my feet scuffing along the hot pavement. Their sounds were a constant reminder that I was doing something that actually felt torturous at the time with benefits paying off later.

But now I realize that more honestly, the reason is that I don't want to be alone with my thoughts. I've been in some dark places over the last few years, and I'm usually running to get away from my thoughts or fighting my own personal demons. At least it's a constructive way of channeling my inner beast. But my angry chic music gets me going and makes me feel not so alone in my war against the world. So it's been a long time since I've been out walking or running with nothing but the sounds of every day life filling my ears.

Until I met Barnabas. And now that we have settled into a routine, part of our day consists of time on the leash walking the neighborhood to socialize him with other dogs and people, as well as work on his obedience skills. It is quickly becoming one of my favorite parts of the day. Not just because I feel kinda cool strutting my beast of a dog down the street, but because I have found a refreshing comfort in the quiet and solitude. Maybe it's a good crutch for me, cause I'm not really alone after all. And I'm still doing something, which is a lot easier for me than doing nothing. Nothingness scares me for the same reasons ... I'm uncomfortable with being alone with my thoughts.

I haven't always been this way, but for the last three years I've experienced what I like to call a "soul quake" .... God destroying anything in my life that stands in between me and Him. And unfortunately, I'm not a passive person. And I haven't gone down without a fight. I'm not like Joseph in the Old Testament who can go to jail for crimes he did not commit and have the inner man to still praise God and wait patiently. I have questioned, and doubted, and raised the roof with four letter words and clenched fists. And three years later, I'm slowly starting to run out of steam. I'm slowly beginning to lower my inner voice and stop arching my back in defiance. It's been a long road and I am sure there are still many miles ahead, but I'm just now learning to stop and enjoy the scenery along the way ... thanks to Barnabas.

The Gentlest of Giants

So, it's been almost two weeks with my new baby, and I have to admit .... he's absolutely WONDERFUL!! I had no idea that such a LARGE dog could be so gentle. That is the thing that has fascinated me the most about who we now affectionately call "BarnaBEAST." It's like he has no awareness of his size .... at all. Meaning he lets our 15 lb. Jack Russell boss him around all day long, he desperately wants to be a lap dog (which is ironic since only 10% of him could actually fit in a lap), and he still tries to squeeze his massive body through our tiny doggy door. It is it's own form of entertainment to sit on the sofa and whistle for Barnabas to come in ... knowing that the only way he can get in is through the dog door. We just sit back and watch in amazement as he twists and contorts his way through the tiny opening. In all honesty, it totally reminds me of what labor and delivery look like!

Before we got Barnabas I wanted to go meet him and observe how he interacted with the kids. I had to be sure that he would be gentle with them and had absolutely no aggressive tendencies whatsoever. So we loaded up in the swagger wagon (minivan) and headed to Jonesboro to meet the breeder. Unfortunately, I had not checked the weather before we set off and had no idea that we were heading straight into a horrible thunder and lightning storm. Once we were over halfway there I realized how bad it was going to be, but by that time had already driven far enough that I didn't want to turn around.

So ... we ended up meeting the breeder and her teenage son at a covered gas station off the interstate to make our acquaintances with Barnabas. It was obviously not an ideal situation. Since the rain was still pouring and I didn't really want my redneck kids running around the gas station chasing a poor puppy, I suggested that we all pile back in the minivan to visit. That meant that all three of my children and me were situated in the back with the breeder and her son in the captains seats up front. Barnabas just climbed in and flopped down in the center aisle and panted happily. No worries, no hesitations, no concerns. My son climbed down and started trying to saddle up on him like a horse and then my youngest grabbed a hold of his long tail and began swinging it like a jump rope. Still nothing. I really don't think he even turned his head. He just wagged his tail, panted and tried to get in as many kisses as possible. I was shocked. Here was this massive beast confined within very close quarters with three children under the age of six and a thunder/lightning storm raging outside .... and he was so chill. Just happy to be with people and obviously the center of attention. If there was ever a trial under fire this was it ... and he aced it with flying colors.

Thinking about Barnabas' size and potential force I am reminded of how mighty and dangerous God can be. He can destroy entire cities with a single blow. He can send a disastrous plague with the utterance of one word. He can turn a half-hearted servant into a pillar of salt. Yet He describes Himself as gentle. He describes Himself as patient and kind (I Cor 13). His earthly ministry was seasoned with cradling little children in His arms and gently restoring the sick and needy. My God is capable of so much, yet chooses to wear the garments of humility as He pursues His relationship with me. I need a gentle God. One who doesn't wield an iron fist and strike people with lightning bolts when they fail to be perfect. I need a God who doesn't let his size and power prevent Him from sitting down in the dirt with me and entering into the daily grind. But I also want a God that is capable of mighty things. Who can dry up the Red Sea and resurrect Christ from the grave. And somehow, majestically and mysteriously, He is both. He is a Gentle Giant (if you'll allow me the freedom). He is exactly what I need when I need it ... and so much more.

I'm learning .... this is just a little hint of something I've been pondering this week. Thanks for wanting to read more .... hope you're not disappointed : )