We're Not In Kansas Anymore

Many of you know my husband and I went on a great adventure last week. We visited the Sedona and Grand Canyon of Arizona, went and stood on the corner in Winslow, and then made our way to Albuquerque. New Mexico was next and then the highlight and major point of interest of our trip: the Colorado Rocky Mountains. What a tremendous beauty awaited us there!

Next, we drove through--all the way through!--the great state of Kansas, which purports to being the sunflower state but at this time of the year I wasn't able to enjoy that proclamation. I also didn't see Dorothy, nor as we entered into Missouri was there a sign to let me know I wasn't in Kansas anymore. However, there was a sign (as you see pictured) that told me much about this pretty state that Oz likes so much. It got me to wondering: hmn, Stef, if there was a sign up about you for the whole universe to see, what would it say? What information would be included on it? What key points would be made obvious so that that portion of me wasn't to be missed and what parts would be left out, because either they are hidden treasures for only a few to find or perhaps because they are just best left unseen? What features would be highlighted and touted? And, lastly, what would my history say made me this way?

Wow: that's a lot of questions, huh? Hmn hmn hmn. Let me see if I can answer a few and then, as good tourists do, how about you add your responses so I can see what impressions I have left upon you?

The Kansas sign started out talking about a particular region so I will begin by talking about this period of my life. Way into my middle ages, you can see the ground covered as you look into my soulful eyes. Look deeply and you can see the traces of the rivers of tears that have been shed--both happy and sad ones. Look further and you might see the clouds that often shadow my baby blues in hopes of you not discovering all of my past mistakes that often try to haunt me. If you just give my eyes a quick once over, you will see obvious joy because that is what I choose most often to reveal to you.

Those lines on my faces? Uh oh. What stories do they tell? The wrinkles, the creases, the scars? The furrowed brow (although my eyebrows are so light you have to look quite closely for those!). Each tells its own tale of pain, of infections removed, of cancers taken away, and one is there from waaaaaay back from when I was hit near the eye from a baseball. That didn't damage my sight, thank the Good Lord, but it did give me a new appreciation for the gift of vision.

Check out the rest of my body. Be kind! It has some extra padding because through the years I used food as my security when things got too tough. "That's a lot of extra skin" you might say. Well, yes, but maybe that in itself tells you more than you care to fish further for.

More scars are located in various locations. The one I am most proud of but will not be showing you pics of is located on my stomach, from where my beautiful daughter was taken. There's one below it (that you also will not see) that shows where no more babies would be coming from. It's too sad to ponder on so let's move on, shall we? My arms, legs, and back have many more scars from various skin cancers removed. Thankfully, there are no other surgery scars to report so most of my battles have only been skin deep. Ha! Now that's an analogy if I ever heard one!

My left foot has a barely discernible scar from a catfight with my sister Mary. I smile when I look at it 'cause we were kids and did some dumb stuff. Mary's gone but when I look at this scar, she is still with me. I also have two other siblings who left their marks but again, those scars you won't be privy to. Call them the unexplorable regions.

Okay, before I ramble on much more, let's finish this road sign. I have some places I'd love to share with you that aren't evident on my body map. The place where I met Jesus isn't on here. The many scrapes He got me out of won't be able to be seen with the naked eye but you know what? That's why He gave me a voice: to tell you of them. As you know, if you are a faithful reader, you get to read about them often! But how I wish I could take you to some of them, friends. From the mountaintop experiences to the valley of the shadows to the curves in the road and the bumps along this wandering journey, Christ Jesus has been my Guide. Yes, there were times I tried to travel the road less traveled and wound up getting into territory I had no business being in. However, all I had to do was cry out to Him and He beckoned me back, to safety, to home.

In conclusion, if there was a sign, a billboard, or just a notecard that had to sum up the Wandering Stef, it would have a lot to say. Or, perhaps, like the old expression goes "a picture is worth more than a thousand words" it might just be that: a photograph of me for you to determine what and who I am. Like the Mona Lisa, there's more to me than meets the eye. Lucky for you, you don't have to go to a museum to find me! ;)

Let's pray!

Dear Lord, once again I have stumbled about, trying to make some sense from a seemingly random thought. Will You bless what I am trying to say as I endeavour to point others to You? Will You let the folks who read this see that our lives are on constant display and we need to be reflecting You? Will You help me especially, God, 'cause I am the one who needs it the most, to ever be mindful that one day my life will be over and it's what I do now that matters most? Not the things of my past: those cannot be undone. Not my future hopes and dreams because You have not promised me tomorrow. May my daily billboard be one that proclaims Jesus Saves, Redeems, and Restores. That is my prayer, asked in Your Son's precious name: amen.

Take a good look at my face

August 27, 2015

It’s almost that time I again.  I can already feel the dread in the pit of my stomach as the day approaches.  Seven years.  Seven years?  Yeah, tomorrow marks the anniversary of the day my sister Mary left me, left her family, and left this world.

Sigh.  I miss her.  Not just on anniversary dates and not just on her birthday or on holidays. I miss her on a daily basis.  Time has eased much of this sense of loss but there will always be a portion of my heart that also died on that date, August 28, 2008.  While in our past, Mary left me with a visual scar or two (that’s how I got my middle toe on my left foot marred), the scar on my soul is not evident, and is not easily seen with the naked eye.

Scars are fascinating things when you think about them.  If your body was revealed with all of yours, what history lessons would we learn?  I told you about my toe.  The back and top of my head have a couple as well, from my brother Billy.  He thought hitting me with a See-And-Say toy was a good idea, as well as pushing me off of the bed and accidentally knocking me into a trunk.  Stitches were required, just as they were that time Mary swung her Brownie belt round and around and nipped me in the skull way back when.  And the time my dad hit a line-drive right into my eye.  Were you to see my belly, you would see where my darling daughter was removed from me over thirty-one years ago via a C-section.  On my left arm, if you look closely enough, you can see the fading line of where our first dog, Flossie, in her exuberance to “love” me, had her mouth open, slobber fully oozing down her chops, and teeth exposed as she tried to jump up on me and welcome me.  Other scars I have include one on my neck, from when I had surgery to repair some residual damage from a car wreck that could have been so much worse than it was back in 1985.  The surgery itself wasn’t until 1999, the year I finally graduated from college.  Still more proof that I have lived, that I have survived these injuries, are on my face, my arms, back, stomach, and legs where pre-skin cancers have been removed--some more than once.  There’s this one on my right shoulder that resembles a scorpion, my astrological sign (if I went for that kind of thing, that is).  I joke and tell folks it’s my tattoo.  If you studied my face, you could see the long line on my left cheek that goes from my eye to my ear.  When I first had it and it was still so vibrant, I’d joke that I was in a bar fight.  

Okay, Stef, what in the world is all this jabbering about?  Who really wants to know about your scars, your war injuries, and the pains of your childhood?  Or from adulthood, for that matter?

Honestly?  Not many.  Not many of us want to see and hear the others’ tales of woe and such.  But you know what?  You cannot go far without someone having one to show off, some new blight on their body that they must share with someone else.  Steve had this Uncle, Sherley, who was like this.  Oh my cow!  If he had a new scar, he wanted the whole world to see it but if you tried to share with him yours?  He’d cringe, physically walk away, and avoid it all costs.  When Mary, my beloved sister, used to be beaten by her then-husband, she’d show us all her wounds, her bruises, and her injuries--almost proudly--as we all just kind of stood there and shook our heads, wondering when enough would be enough.  I guess the keys dug into her scalp and the loss of a tooth or two finally were enough to convince her that Frank was not going to change.

Okay, Stef, you are rambling again.  Can we just get on with this?  Please!

Sure; here goes.  Remember our Lord Jesus Christ?  Remember how He was beaten for crimes He was accused of but didn’t commit?  Remember how He was whipped within inches of His life?  Lastly, do you remember how He was hung on a cross for my sins and when He finally gave up the ghost, just to be sure, a sword was thrust through His side to ensure that He was really dead?  I remember.  And I cringe at these scars that His precious body underwent for the likes of me.  I try to not conjure up those images in my mind.  Watching the movie “The Passion of the Christ” is not one of my favorite past times because it shows so vividly what Christ suffered in a way that leaves its own scar on my mind.

Thomas, the doubter, though, was one of those rare people who had to see something of this magnitude to believe it.  John 20:25 tells it like this:

The other disciples therefore said unto him, We have seen the Lord. But he

said unto them, Except I shall see in His hands the print of the nails, and put

my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into His side, I will not believe.

Jesus’ response when He and Thomas were again face-to-face was this:

Then saith he to Thomas, Reach hither thy finger, and behold My hands;

and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into My side: and be not faithless,

but believing.  And Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen

Me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.Thomas answered and said unto him, My Lord and my God.

Friends, some of us are this way too.  We won’t believe something until we actually witness it with our own eyes, touch it with our own hands.  And some of us just have to--we cannot help ourselves--we just have to show and tell others what has damaged us.  Maybe it’s to use as a witness that we are survivors?  Maybe it’s to show that what didn’t kill us made us stronger?  Maybe it’s just as a testimony to the great grace God had in our lives that He saved us from these harms and let us live to give Him the glory?  I don’t know.  But, what I suggest, is the next time that someone wants to show you his/her blemishes, the next time someone has a story to tell that is just vital for them to share?  Listen.  Look, if you can.  For you see, you are acknowledging their pain, their purpose, and their presence.  God kept them here for a reason.  Maybe their story will have the effect on you of allowing you to see that your story might help others too.  There are lessons in those scars.  From my own, I learned many:

• Don’t mess with someone bigger than you
• Don’t go near dogs who are too excited
• Don’t play with those whose idea of fun involves weapons
• Stay out of the sun without protection
• Don’t let your husband or significant other hit you

Sigh.  It’s no use thinking we are going to escape life without a few bumps and bruises.  Studies have even proven we won’t get out alive--if you can believe that!  Seriously though, my friends, there are going to be times in life when it hurts.  And in those times, our pain can be so extreme that we must share our boo boos.  Our miracles are so miraculous that we must tell others how God brought us through.  And those scars that are bitter reminders?  Yes, they must be shared too to hopefully warn others that it doesn’t have to go that far.  

Will you pray now with me?  Thanks!  And thanks for reading this to the end.  My hope is that my blogs will be a blessing and an encouragement to you.  We aren’t in life alone, no matter what the devil whispers to us.  Remember that!

Dear Lord God, this was another of those hard to write blogs.  I pray that my words will have the desired effect of revealing to others that it’s not what happens to our bodies on the outside as much as what comes forth that is important.  From Jesus’ flowed life and water as He was pierced for us.  Healing came as the blood washed away our sins and the water provided cleansing from them.  May our wounds too ease and comfort others as we show them off--and as we listen to those whose hurts must be shared, may we let them know that we care, that we are sorry this happened and that they had to go through it, and mostly, that we acknowledge them.  Some wounds we will never see and I thank You for that.  If we truly saw each other and the things we have all survived, we might just give up.  But we aren’t quitters, Father!  No:  we are believers and fighters and with Your help, we will make it until You call us home, wounded and weary, and praising You all the way for what You have brought us through.  May it be so, Lord.  Amen.