Perky Chaplains

August 19, 2014 I must confess: I was a bit put off by the chaplain's visit yesterday to Uncle Wayne's bedside. In she breezed, blonde hair in a loose pony tail, full of life, and a smile as big as Texas. Her voice was chirpy and her attitude was "I'm here. Let's get to business!" It didn't seem to matter to her that we were in the midst of a conversation or that she might be interrupting something. Oh no: she was here and she had a job to do. Introductions were short and to the point. Her focus was not on us but rather the fella in the bed who was on her list. Boldly she declared she was here to pray and before Wayne could quite acquiesce, off she went, murmuring some flighty, cheerful prayer about how in the name of Jesus we loved Him and praised Him; how she was declaring victory for Wayne to heal and to walk right out of this hospital, and again, how much we all loved the Lord. Seemed like she was in and out in a blink, as we all kind of stood back and wondered what had hit us. It bothered me. The more I pondered it, the more conflicted I became. I mean, seriously, who was this woman? Yeah, her tag said she was the chaplain but...Aren't chaplains supposed to be these more formal creatures who nod solemnly and sit you in a chair and pat your hand while you tell them all about it, whatever "it" may be? Aren't they supposed to linger and let you bog them down with all of your needs, as well as those of your loved one who is aching in his/her own right? And that prayer? Ridiculous! How dare she assume we all love Jesus and that our number one desire was for Wayne to be healed so that he could indeed walk out of the hospital, even though his paralysis barely allowed him half of a body to use? And what was with all of this "Praise Jesus" stuff? Didn't she know that we were in a storm and rejoicing in this suffering was not our number one priority? Okay faithful readers, you know what is coming next. Ol' Stef is about to be corrected. Gently, 'cause that's the way her Lord is. This morning in my inbox I had a prayer request from someone I don't know, asking me to join with her in prayer about a personal matter. I sighed within myself as I thought once again, "How am I supposed to pray for someone that I don't know, that I don't know what is wrong with specifically, and to pray in a way that is helpful and encouraging?" Yeah, you guessed it. Ding ding ding! We have a winner! It's really quite easy, isn't it? There is a request, a need, a cry for help (even if the cry barely comes out as a whisper). There is someone nearby who is in touch with our Father, who knows how great He is and how worthy He is of praise in good times and in the bad ones too. He promised to hear us when two or more gather in His name. He is the Great Physician so how absolutely foolish it would be to not ask Him to use His healing powers on our loved ones! Okay, I got it. Again, Lord. Miss Breezy Blonde Chaplain from yesterday: I am sorry. I misjudged you, criticized your cheerful attitude (which in hindsight was really quite pleasant when there was so much sobriety in the air), and brushed off your cavalier attitude of going from room to room as "just a job" rather than as a calling to spread light, to spread cheer, to offer hope, and to talk to Jesus on people's behalfs when they may not have the words to utter and can only hold on to your hand for hope, for relief. Sigh. Please forgive me Lord, for doubting this gal's intentions. Thank You for putting her in my path for a reason: to be both a blessing and a lesson. May she continue to shine brightly for You in her calling and I pray that many more are blessed by this sweet lady. In Jesus' name I pray, with head bowed low in shame but rising as I see the Light. Amen!

Keys

August 13, 2014 Keys. We all have them. Some are for our homes. Others are for our cars. Lockers, desks, filing cabinets. Safes. Ahh, the safes. The places we keep our treasures--both of material and sentimental value. Let's explore these holding places for a moment, shall we? When I was a kid, I had a trunk. You know those kind that were cheaply made but many of us had? They came with a lock but if one was smart, one added a padlock of some sort so that it could not be easily broken into, which unfortunately I didn't have at this stage of the game. The lock that was affixed to my trunk could truthfully be opened with a good knife or clothes hanger. I also had a diary. Same concept. It came with an itty bitty lock on it that had this minuscule key that somehow was supposed to convince the writers that their secrets were safe as long as no one else had access to the key. Well, I don't know about you but I had two nosy sisters and one bratty brother when I grew up. This fact caused me much reason to fear and guard my privacy! I kept those keys close to my heart. Literally. I made a necklace that I kept both keys on so that my siblings did not have easy access to my most sacred thoughts and possessions that I innocently and reverently wrote about in my diary and stored in my trunk. Some people used to bury their worldly savings. Hiding things under mattresses, making time capsules to bury in the backyard, and stashing away money in the barn or under a rock or what have you was often common for those who mistrusted the banks. Old coffee cans were sometimes also places of hiding special monies. Folks could get quite creative in the endeavor to hide the things they valued most. So, what about the things we have hidden in our hearts, in our minds, in our souls? What things are buried deeply within the recesses of our most private parts that perhaps have been corrupted with mold, tarnished by truths that have lessened their values but yet we still refuse to part with? What about those memories that have bound us for years because we have refused to let them see the light of day and have not allowed ourselves to take them out of their hiding spots? Afraid, perhaps, that the light might actually reveal their true worth rather than the value we have (falsely?) placed on them? Yesterday, I was rummaging about in on older filing cabinet and found some letters that had been written to me. One-- from my niece Jill--caused me to laugh out loud as she pondered some of the things going on in her life. Another was from my sister Mary who had written about how she really loved me, valued me, and how my family and I were the only ones she believed loved her in return. Bittersweet words. And then, later in the day, there were the emails in my computer files that I glanced over as I went to an old account that I rarely use while searching for some log in information for Lowe's. Digital letters from my mother were there, begging me to open them and if I would, they promised to bring alive feelings that really just don't need to be reawakened. The old me would have read them and bled over them but the new Stef? Ahh, the smarter Stef realized I didn't need to be a prisoner of my past. The devil would have loved nothing more than to damage my calm and reopen wounds that are still healing. As my hubby is so fond of saying, "You just have to be smarter than what you are working with." I don't dare to say I am smarter than Satan but this time, this time, I made the conscious, concentrated choice to not go back to the prison of negativity and despair. The key was in my hand and I decided to not open that door, to not be chained once again to a past that I cannot change. I found the information I needed for Lowe's and I returned to my regularly scheduled programming that did not involve walking down Memory Lane. In conclusion, like The Eagles sang, "I'm already gone. And I'm feeling strong. I will sing this victory song: Woo Hoo Hoo. Woo hoo hoo!" I don't have to be enslaved to things of my past that only hurt me. I don't have to keep those keys close to my heart and be a masochist. I don't have to live my life in chains. Jesus Christ set me free and He whom the Son has set free is free indeed. He broke the bonds of prison for me. Yes, the devil is not happy about this and I am just so sure he will attack again. And again. He wants me in bondage but with Christ in me, I have the key. The choice to either open up those painful doors of regret, shame, and hurt or to leave them locked up, impenetrable, and remain in love and peace is mine. Guess which one I chose? Dear Lord, What a wonderful Saviour You are. Saved me from my past, from my haunts and hurts, from my feelings of inadequacy, from the dysfunction I faced for so long. You gave me the power through Your love to make better choices, to have second, third, and eightieth chances. You saved me from sin and darkness and brought me into the light, into Your light. Thank You, Jesus! I can indeed do all things through Christ Who strengtheneth me. Hallelujah and oh what a Saviour! I love You, Lord. Thanks for loving me first and teaching me what real love is. You are the best! Amen.

Even as I post this photo, the song "Why Can't We Be Friends?" is playing in my head. That's just the way I am. My dear friend (that I wrote about yesterday) and I were having one of those Facebook private chats that we do every so often and she floated a line from a Billy Joel song (Only The Good Die Young) in our conversation. I always think of her during this song anyway so it was just icing on the cake! How I love music! Turn on my iPod and you are likely to hear Barbra Streisand, Barry Manilow, Conway Twitty, Alabama, The Eagles, Kelly Clarkson, Seals and Crofts, Madonna, Third Day, Bebo Norman, Alanis Morissette, Carrie Underwood, Luke Bryan, Carly Simon, John Denver...I have quite the eclectic taste. I've almost always got a song running through my mind, and--like the picture depicts--those lyrics can pop out at any given moment. I am learning to control that better in my new role as a granny but still...sometimes they just don't stop. When they do and just float around instead inside of my head, they can elicit all kinds of moods, thoughts, and memories. In the Bible, we are told how music was used to soothe. David playing his harp is a prime example. Songs of victory were expressed often in the Psalms, as were songs of loneliness and questioning. Praise and worship music is not anything new and--thankfully--continues to this day. How many of us have not been exposed to the old hymn "Amazing Grace" and the modernized version of it by Chris Tomlin "My Chains Are Gone" as he revised it and added to it? Now that's much better running through my head than the previously mentioned one! Today, as you set about to enjoy your weekend, make sure there is lots of music in it. Let it wash over you and fill you with joy. Sing happy songs, silly songs, songs that cause you to ponder as you miss someone. I love "Go Rest High on That Mountain" and "I Drive Your Truck" when I miss Mary. "Stop! In the Name of Love" reminds me of the time me, my mother, and my lovely Aunt Bo sang it on a karaoke machine at my niece Chastity's 16th birthday party. Tommy Roe's "Dizzy" takes me back to when I was a carefree kid in California, singing it as I went 'round and 'round and around in my front yard, holding one of my dolls as we twirled about. "One Touch" also moves me to a deeper reflection of how grateful I am that Jesus indeed touched the hem of my garment and made me whole, reminding me of the time my "Sisters" and I went to see Nicole C. Mullen at a women's conference years ago. As the O'Jays sang, "I love music." Don't you? I'd love to read some of your favorites and why they are so powerful to you so, please, share. Let's pray! Thank You Lord for Your blessings on me. Music: oh how You know I love it! I appreciate this wonderful gift You have provided for me and for so many others, Lord. For those You've blessed with the ability and talents to provide it, I thank You. May they use their voices and musical skills to uplift Your Name is my prayer. And, although You did not see fit to provide me with a tongue that sounds pretty when I sing, I thank You anyways for the ability to have a song in my heart. I'll praise You in my storms and in my daily ways. You are an awesome God and I love You! Amen!